It was the last day of July. The long hot summer was coming to an end, and I was feeling ill and depressed. I was also short of money, so I had little chance of escaping from the dusty London streets, and would have to spend the autumn economically between my rooms in the city and my mother's house.
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My mother and my sister, Sarah, lived in a cottage in Hampstead, in the northern suburbs, and I usually went to see them twice a week. This evening I arrived at the gate of the cottage just as it was starting to get dark. I had hardly rung the bell before the door was opened violently, and my Italian friend, Professor Pesca, rushed out to greet me.
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Pesca was a language teacher who had left Italy for political reasons and had made his home in England. He was a strange, excitable little man, who was always trying to be more English than the English. I had met him from time to time when he was teaching in the same houses as I was, and then one day I met him by chance in Brighton. We agreed to go for a swim together in the sea. He was very enthusiastic and it never for a moment occurred to me that he did not know how to swim! Fortunately, when he suddenly sank to the bottom, I was able to dive down and save him. From that day on he was my grateful friend, and that evening he showed his gratitude to me in a way that changed my whole life.
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"Now, my good friends," he said, when we were all in my mother's sitting-room. "I have some wonderful news for you. I have been asked by my employer to recommend a drawing teacher for a post with a rich family in the north of England. And who do you think I have recommended? The best drawing teacher in the world -- Mr Walter Hartright!"
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"My dear Pesca! How good you are to Walter!" exclaimed my mother. "How kind, how generous you are!"
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As for myself, although I was certainly grateful for his kindness, I still felt strangely depressed. I thanked him warmly, however, and asked to see the conditions. The note he gave me said that a qualified drawing teacher was wanted by Mr Frederick Fairlie of Limmeridge House, Cumberland, to teach his two young nieces for a period of at least four months. The teacher was to live at Limmeridge House as a gentleman and receive four pounds a week. Letters to show he was of good character would be required.
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The position was certainly an attractive one, and I could not understand why I felt so little enthusiasm for it. However, since my mother and sister thought it was a great opportunity, and I had no wish to hurt Pesca's feelings, I agreed to apply for the job.
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The next morning I sent my letters of recommendation to the Professor's employer, and four days later I heard that Mr Fairlie accepted my services and requested me to start for Cumberland immediately. I arranged to leave the next day, and in the evening I walked to Hampstead to say goodbye to my mother and Sarah.
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When I left them at midnight, a full moon was shining in a dark blue, starless sky, and the air was soft and warm. I decided to take the long route home, and walk across Hampstead Heath before joining the road into the centre of the city. After a while I came to a crossroads and turned onto the London road. I was lost in my own thoughts, wondering about the two young ladies in Cumberland, when suddenly, my heart seemed to stop beating. A hand had touched my shoulder from behind.
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I turned at once, my hand tightening on my walking stick.
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There, as if it had dropped from the sky, stood the figure of a woman, dressed from head to foot in white clothes. I was too surprised to speak.
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"Is that the road into London?" she said.
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I looked at her carefully. It was then nearly one o'clock. All I could see in the moonlight was a young colourless face, large sad eyes, and light brown hair. Her manner was quiet and self-controlled. What sort of woman she was, and why she was out so late alone, I could not guess. But there was nothing evil about her -- indeed, a kind of sad innocence seemed to come from her.
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"Did you hear me?" she said, quietly and rapidly.
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"Yes," I replied, "that's the road. Please excuse me -- I was rather surprised by your sudden appearance."
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"You don't suspect me of doing anything wrong, do you?"
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"No, no, seeing you so suddenly gave me a shock, that's all."
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"I heard you coming," she said, "and hid behind those trees to see what sort of man you were, before I risked speaking. May I trust you?" Her eyes searched my face, anxiously.
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Her loneliness and helplessness were so obvious that I felt great sympathy for her. "Tell me how I can help you," I said, "and if I can, I will."
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"Oh, thank you, thank you. You are very kind." Her voice trembled a little as she spoke. "I don't know London at all. Can I get a cab or a carriage at this time of night? Could you show me where to get one, and will you promise not to interfere with me? I have a friend in London who will be glad to receive me. I want nothing else -- will you promise?"
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She looked nervously up and down the road, then back at me.
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How could I refuse? Her fear and confusion were painful to see.
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"Will you promise?" she repeated.
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"Yes."
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We set off together towards the centre of London. It was like a dream -- walking along that familiar road, with so strange and so mysterious a companion at my side.
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"Do you know any men of the rank of Baronet in London?" she asked suddenly.
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There was a note of suspicion in the strange question, and when I said I knew no Baronets, she seemed relieved. I questioned her further, and she murmured that she had been cruelly used by a Baronet she would not name. She told me she came from Hampshire and asked if I lived in London. I explained that I did, but that I was leaving for Cumberland the next day.
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"Cumberland!" she repeated softly. "Ah! I wish I was going there too. I was once happy in Cumberland, in Limmeridge village. I'd like to see Limmeridge House again."
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Limmeridge House! I stopped, amazed.
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"What's wrong?" she asked anxiously. "Did you hear anybody calling after us?"
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"No, no. It's just that I heard the name of Limmeridge House very recently. Do you know somebody there?"
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"I did once," she said. "But Mrs Fairlie is dead; and her husband is dead; and their little girl may be married and gone away…"
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Perhaps she would have told me more, but just at that moment we saw a cab. I stopped it, and she quickly got in.
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"Please," I said, "let me see you safely to your friend's house."
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"No, no," she cried. "I'm quite safe, and you must let me go. Remember your promise! But thank you -- oh! thank you."
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She caught my hand in hers, kissed it, and pushed it away. The cab disappeared into the black shadows on the road -- and the woman in white had gone.
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Ten minutes later I was still on the same road, thinking uneasily about the whole adventure, when I heard wheels behind me. An open carriage with two men in it passed me, then stopped when they saw a policeman walking further down the street.
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"Officer!" cried one of the men. "Have you seen a woman pass this way? A woman in white clothes?"
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"No, sir. Why? What has she done?"
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"Done! She has escaped from my asylum."
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An asylum! But the woman had not seemed mad to me. Nervous, and a little strange, perhaps, but not mad. What had I done? Had I helped a woman wrongly imprisoned to escape? Or had I failed to protect a sick person who might come to harm? These disturbing thoughts kept me awake all night after I had got back to my rooms, until at last it was time to leave London and set out for Cumberland.
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My travelling instructions directed me to Carlisle and then to change trains for Limmeridge. However, because of a long delay I missed my connection and did not get to Limmeridge till past ten. A servant in rather a bad temper was waiting for me at the station with a carriage and when I arrived at Limmeridge House everyone had gone to bed. I was shown to my room and when I at last put out the candle, I thought to myself, "What shall I see in my dreams tonight? The woman in white? Or the unknown inhabitants of this Cumberland house?"
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