Man and Wife Wilkie Collins (read 50 shades of grey .TXT) 📖

they had done with me from that time forth. Mr. Bapchild was much moved; shed tears, and said he would pray for me.

“I was married in London by a pastor who was a stranger; and we settled in London with fair prospects. I had a little fortune of my own⁠—my share of some money left to us girls by our aunt Hester, whom I was named after. It was three hundred pounds. Nearly one hundred of this I spent in buying furniture to fit up the little house we took to live in. The rest I gave to my husband to put into the bank against the time when he wanted it to set up in business for himself.

“For three months, more or less, we got on nicely⁠—except in one particular. My husband never stirred in the matter of starting in business for himself.

“He was once or twice cross with me when I said it seemed a pity to be spending the money in the bank (which might be afterward wanted) instead of earning more in business. Good Mr. Bapchild, happening about this time to be in London, stayed over Sunday, and came to dine with us between the services. He had tried to make my peace with my relations⁠—but he had not succeeded. At my request he spoke to my husband about the necessity of exerting himself. My husband took it ill. I then saw him seriously out of temper for the first time. Good Mr. Bapchild said no more. He appeared to be alarmed at what had happened, and he took his leave early.

“Shortly afterward my husband went out. I got tea ready for him⁠—but he never came back. I got supper ready for him⁠—but he never came back. It was past twelve at night before I saw him again. I was very much startled by the state he came home in. He didn’t speak like himself, or look like himself: he didn’t seem to know me⁠—wandered in his mind, and fell all in a lump like on our bed. I ran out and fetched the doctor to him.

“The doctor pulled him up to the light, and looked at him; smelled his breath, and dropped him down again on the bed; turned about, and stared at me. ‘What’s the matter, Sir?’ I says. ‘Do you mean to tell me you don’t know?’ says the doctor. ‘No, Sir,’ says I. ‘Why what sort of a woman are you,’ says he, ‘not to know a drunken man when you see him!’ With that he went away, and left me standing by the bedside, all in a tremble from head to foot.

“This was how I first found out that I was the wife of a drunken man.”

IV

“I have omitted to say anything about my husband’s family.

“While we were keeping company together he told me he was an orphan⁠—with an uncle and aunt in Canada, and an only brother settled in Scotland. Before we were married he gave me a letter from this brother. It was to say that he was sorry he was not able to come to England, and be present at my marriage, and to wish me joy and the rest of it. Good Mr. Bapchild (to whom, in my distress, I wrote word privately of what had happened) wrote back in return, telling me to wait a little, and see whether my husband did it again.

“I had not long to wait. He was in liquor again the next day, and the next. Hearing this, Mr. Bapchild instructed me to send him the letter from my husband’s brother. He reminded me of some of the stories about my husband which I had refused to believe in the time before I was married; and he said it might be well to make inquiries.

“The end of the inquiries was this. The brother, at that very time, was placed privately (by his own request) under a doctor’s care to get broken of habits of drinking. The craving for strong liquor (the doctor wrote) was in the family. They would be sober sometimes for months together, drinking nothing stronger than tea. Then the fit would seize them; and they would drink, drink, drink, for days together, like the mad and miserable wretches that they were.

“This was the husband I was married to. And I had offended all my relations, and estranged them from me, for his sake. Here was surely a sad prospect for a woman after only a few months of wedded life!

“In a year’s time the money in the bank was gone; and my husband was out of employment. He always got work⁠—being a first-rate hand when he was sober⁠—and always lost it again when the drinking-fit seized him. I was loth to leave our nice little house, and part with my pretty furniture; and I proposed to him to let me try for employment, by the day, as cook, and so keep things going while he was looking out again for work. He was sober and penitent at the time; and he agreed to what I proposed. And, more than that, he took the Total Abstinence Pledge, and promised to turn over a new leaf. Matters, as I thought, began to look fairly again. We had nobody but our two selves to think of. I had borne no child, and had no prospect of bearing one. Unlike most women, I thought this a mercy instead of a misfortune. In my situation (as I soon grew to know) my becoming a mother would only have proved to be an aggravation of my hard lot.

“The sort of employment I wanted was not to be got in a day. Good Mr. Bapchild gave me a character; and our landlord, a worthy man (belonging, I am sorry to say, to the Popish Church), spoke for me to the steward of a club. Still, it took time to persuade people that I was the thorough good cook I claimed to be. Nigh on a fortnight had passed