6 The Tenant Of Wildfell Hall: Abridged By Stephanie Poppins

Hello.

Welcome to Sleep Stories with Steph,

A romantic bedtime podcast guaranteed to help you drift off into a calm,

Relaxing sleep.

Come with me as we travel back to a time long ago where Helen Huntingdon is sacrificing everything she knows in order to protect her son.

But before we begin,

Let us take a moment to focus on where we are now.

Take a deep breath in through your nose.

Then let it out on a long sigh.

That's it.

It is time to relax and really let go.

Feel your shoulders melt away from your ears as you sink into the support beneath you.

Feel the pressure seep away from your cheeks as your breath drops into a natural rhythm.

There is nothing you need to be doing right now and nowhere you need to go.

We are together and it is time for sleep.

Progression During the next four months,

I did not enter Mrs.

Graham's house,

Nor she mine,

But still the ladies continued to talk about her,

And still our acquaintance continued,

Though slowly,

To advance.

As for their talk,

I paid but little attention to that,

And the only information I derived from it was that one fine frosty day she had ventured to take her little boy as far as the vicarage,

And that unfortunately no one was at home but Miss Wilwood.

Nevertheless,

She had sat a long time,

And by all accounts they had found a good deal to say to each other,

And parted with a mutual desire to meet again.

But Mary liked children,

And fond Mama liked those who can duly appreciate their treasures.

But sometimes I saw her myself,

Not only when she came to church,

But when she was out on the hills with her son,

Whether taking a long purpose-like walk,

Or on specially fine days,

Leisurely rambling over the moor or the bleak pasture lands surrounding the old hall,

Herself,

With a book in her hand,

Her son gambling about her.

And on any of these occasions when I caught sight of her in my solitary walks or rides,

Or while following my agricultural pursuits,

I generally contrived to meet or overtake her,

For I rather liked to see Mrs.

Graham and talk to her,

And I decidedly liked to talk to her little companion,

Whom,

When once the ice of his shyness was fairly broken,

I found to be a very amiable,

Intelligent,

And entertaining little fellow,

And we soon became excellent friends.

How much to the gratification of his Mama I cannot undertake to say.

I suspected at first she was desirous of throwing cold water on this growing intimacy,

To quench,

As it were,

The kindling flame of our friendship,

But discovering at length,

In spite of her prejudice against me,

That I was perfectly harmless,

And even well intentioned,

And that,

Between myself and my dog,

Her son derived a great deal of pleasure from the acquaintance than he would not otherwise have known,

She ceased to object,

And even welcomed my coming with a smile.

As for Arthur,

He would shout his welcome from afar,

And run to meet me fifty yards from his mother's side.

If I happened to be on horseback,

He was sure to get a canter or a gallop,

Or,

If there were one of the draft horses within available distance,

He was treated to a steady ride upon that,

Which served his turn almost as well.

But his mother would always follow and trudge beside him,

Not so much,

I believe,

To ensure his safe conduct,

As to see I instilled no objectionable notions into his infant mind,

For she was ever on the watch,

And never would allow him to be taken out of her sight.

What pleased her best of all was to see him romping and racing with Sancho while I walked by her side.

Not,

I fear,

For love of my company,

Though I sometimes deluded myself with that idea,

So much as for the delight she took in seeing her son thus happily engaged,

In the enjoyment of those active sports so invigorating to his tender frame,

Yet so seldom exercised for want of playmates suited to his ears.

And perhaps her pleasure was sweetened,

Not a little,

By the fact of my being with her instead of with him,

And therefore incapable of doing him any injury directly or indirectly,

Designedly or otherwise.

Small thanks to her for that saying.

But sometimes,

I believe,

She really had some little gratification in conversing with me,

And one bright February morning,

During twenty-minute stroll along the moor,

She lay aside her usual asperity and reserve,

And fairly entered into conversation with me,

Discoursing with so much eloquence and a depth of thought and feeling,

On a subject happily coinciding with my own ideas,

And looking so beautiful with awe,

That I went home enchanted,

And on the way started to find myself thinking that,

After all,

It would perhaps be better to spend one's days with such a woman than with Eliza Millwood.

And then I blush for my inconstancy.

On entering the parlour,

I found Eliza there with Rose and no one else.

The surprise was not altogether so agreeable as it ought to have been.

We chatted together a long time,

But I found her rather frivolous,

And even a little insipid,

Compared with the more mature and earnest Mrs.

Graham.

Alas,

For human constancy!

However,

Thought I,

I ought not to marry Eliza since my mother so strongly objects to it,

Had I ought not to delude the girl with the idea I intended to do so.

Now,

If this mood continue,

I shall have less difficulty in emancipating my affections from her soft yet unrelenting sway,

And though Mrs.

Graham might be equally objectionable,

I may be permitted,

Like the doctors,

To cure a greater evil by a less.

For I shall not fall seriously in love with a young widow,

I think,

Nor she with me,

That's certain,

But if I find a little pleasure in her society,

I may surely be allowed to seek it.

And if the star of her divinity be bright enough to dim the lustre of Eliza's,

So much the better,

But I scarcely can think it.

And thereafter I seldom suffered a fine day to pass,

Without paying a visit to Wild Fell,

About the time my new acquaintance usually left her hermitage,

But so frequently was I balked in my expectations of another interview,

So changeable were she in her times of coming forth,

And her places of resort,

So transient were the occasional glimpses I was able to obtain,

That I felt half inclined to think it took as much pains to avoid my company as I to seek hers,

But this was too disagreeable a supposition to be entertained a moment after it could conveniently be dismissed.

One calm,

Clear afternoon,

However,

In March,

As I was superintending the rolling of the meadowland and the repairing of a hedge in the valley,

I saw Mrs.

Graham down by the brook,

With a sketchbook in her hand,

Absorbed in the exercise of her favourite art,

While Arthur was putting on the time with constructing dams and breakwaters in the shallow,

Stony stream.

I was rather in want of amusement,

And so rare an opportunity was not to be neglected,

So leaving both meadow and hedge,

I quickly repaired to the spot,

But not before Sancho,

Who immediately upon perceiving his young friend,

Scowled at full gallop the intervening space,

And pounced upon him with an impetuous mirth that precipitated the child almost into the middle of the bank,

But happily the stones preserved him from any serious wetting,

While their smoothness prevented him being too much hurt to laugh at the untold event.

Mrs.

Graham was studying the distinctive characters of the different varieties of trees in their wintered nakedness,

And copying with a spirited,

Though delicate touch,

Their various ramifications.

She did not talk much,

But I stood and watched the progress of her pencil.

It was a pleasure to behold it so dexterously guided by those fair and graceful fingers,

But ere long their dexterity became impaired,

They began to hesitate,

To tremble slightly and make full strokes,

And then suddenly came to a pause,

While their owner laughingly raised her face to mine,

And told me her sketch did not profit by my superintendence.

Then,

Said I,

I'll talk to Arthur till you've done.

I should like to have a ride,

Mr.

Markham,

If Mama will let me,

Said the child.

What on,

My boy?

I think there's a horse in that field,

Replied he,

Pointing to where the strong black mare was pulling the roller.

No,

No,

Arthur,

It's too far,

Objected his mother.

But I promised to bring him safe back,

After a turn or two up and down the meadow,

And when she looked at his eager face,

She smiled and let him go.

It was the first time she had even allowed me to take him so much as half a field's length from her side.

Enthroned upon his monstrous steed,

And solemnly proceeding up and down the wide,

Steep field,

He looked the very incarnation of quiet,

Gleeful satisfaction and delight.

The rolling,

However,

Was soon completed,

But when I dismounted the gallant horseman and restored him to his mother,

She seemed rather displeased at my keeping him so long.

She had shut up her sketchbook,

And been probably for some minutes,

Impatiently awaiting his return.

It was now high time to go home,

She said,

And would have me bid good evening,

But I was not going to leave her yet.

I accompanied her half-way up the hill.

She became more sociable,

And I was beginning to be very happy,

But on coming within sight of the grim old hall,

She stood still and turned towards me while she spoke,

As if expecting I should go no further.

That the conversation would end here.

That the conversation would end here,

And I should now take leave and depart,

As indeed it was time to do,

For the dear,

Clear,

Cold eve was fast declining,

The sun had set and the gibbous moon was visibly brightening in the pale grey sky,

But a feeling almost of compassion riveted me to the spot.

It seemed hard to leave her to such a lonely,

Comfortless home.

I looked up at it.

Silent and grim it frowned before us.

A faint red light was gleaming from the lower windows of one wing,

But all the other windows were in darkness,

And many exhibited their black,

Cavernous gulfs,

Entirely destitute of glazing or framework.

Do you not find it a desolate place to live in?

Said I,

After a moment of silent contemplation.

I do sometimes,

Replied she,

On winter evenings,

When Arthur is in bed and I am sitting here alone,

Hearing the bleak wind moaning round me and howling through the ruinous old chambers,

No books or occupations can repress the dismal thoughts and apprehensions that come crowding in,

But it is folly to give way to such weakness,

I know.

If Rachel is satisfied with such a life,

Why should not I?

Indeed,

I cannot be too thankful for such an asylum,

While it has left me.

The closing sentence was uttered in an undertone as if spoken rather to herself than to me.

She then bid me good evening and withdrew.

I had not proceeded many steps on my way homeward,

When I began to feel a sense of a sense of when I perceived Mr.

Lawrence on his pretty grey pony,

Coming up the rugged lane that crossed over the hilltop.

I went a little out of my way to speak to him,

For we had not met for some time.

Was that Mrs.

Graham you were speaking to just now?

Said he,

After the first few words of greeting had passed.

Yes.

I thought so.

He looked contemplatively at his horse's mane,

As if he had some serious cause of dissatisfaction with it,

Or something else.

Well,

What then?

Oh,

Nothing,

Replied he,

Only I thought you disliked her,

He quietly added,

Curling his classic lip with a slightly sarcastic smile.

Suppose I did,

Maintenance changed his mind on further acquaintance.

Further acquaintance?

Yes,

Of course,

Returned he,

Nicely reducing the entanglement in the pony's redundant hoary mane.

Then suddenly turning to me and fixing his shy hazel eyes upon me with a steady penetrating gaze,

He added.

Then you have changed your mind.

I can't say that I have exactly,

Said I.

No,

I think I hold the same opinion respecting her as before.

Oh,

He looked around for something else to talk about,

And glancing out at the moon,

Made some remark upon the beauty of the evening,

Which I did not answer as being irrelevant to the subject.

Lawrence,

Said I,

Calmly looking him in the face.

Are you in love with Mrs.

Graham?

Instead of his being deeply offended at this,

As I more than half expected he would,

The first start of surprise at the audacious question was followed by a tittering laugh,

As if he were highly amused at the idea.

I,

In love with her,

Repeated he,

What makes you dream of such a thing?

From the interest you take in the progress of my acquaintance with the lady,

And the changes of my opinion concerning her,

I thought you might be jealous.

He laughed again.

Jealous,

No,

But I thought you were going to marry Eliza Millwood.

You thought wrong then.

I am not going to marry either one or the other that I know of.

Then I think you better let them alone.

Are you going to marry Jane Wilson?

He coloured at this,

And playing with the mane again,

Answered,

No,

I think not.

Then you had better let her alone.

I was too late for tea,

But my mother had kindly kept the teapot and muffin warm upon the hobs,

And though she scolded me a little,

Readily admitted my excuses,

And when I complained of the flavour of the overdrawn tea,

She poured the remainder into the slot basin,

And bade Rose put some fresh into the pot,

And re-boil the kettle.

Well,

If it had been me now,

I should have had no tea at all.

If it had been Fergus even,

He would have had to put up with such as there was,

And been told to be thankful.

Make that pie a large one,

Rose.

I dare say the boys will be hungry,

And don't put so much pepper in,

They'll not like it,

I'm sure.

You know,

Rose,

In all household matters,

We have only two things to consider.

First,

What's proper to be done,

And secondly,

What's most agreeable to the gentlemen of the house.

Anything will do for the ladies.

Very convenient doctrine for us at all events,

Said I,

But if you would really study my pleasure,

Mother,

You must consider your own comfort and convenience a little more than you do.

As for Rose,

I have no doubt she'll take care of herself,

And whenever she does make a sacrifice,

Or perform a remarkable act of devotedness,

She'll take good care to let me know the extent of it.

But for you,

I might sink into the grossest condition of self-indulgence and carelessness about the wants of others,

From the mere habit of being constantly cared for myself,

And having all my wants anticipated.

I should receive all your kindness as a matter of course,

And never know how much I owe you.

Ah,

And you will never know,

Gilbert,

Until you're married.

Then,

When you've got some trifling self-conceited girl like Eliza Millwood,

Careless of everything but her own immediate pleasure and advantage,

Or some misguided,

Obstinate woman like Mrs Graham,

Fluent of her principal duties and clever only in what concerns her least to know,

Then you'll find the difference.

It will do me good,

Mother.

I was not sent into the world merely to exercise the good capacities and good feelings of others,

Was I?

But to exert my own towards them.

And when I do marry,

I shall expect to find more pleasure in making my wife happy and comfortable than in being made so by her.

I would rather give than receive.

Oh,

That's all nonsense,

My dear.

It's me boys talk that.

You're so tired of petting and humouring your wife.

Be she ever so charming,

And then comes the trial.

Well,

Then,

We must bear one another's burdens.

Then you must fall each into your proper place.

You will do your business,

And she,

If she's worthy of you,

Will do hers.

But it's your business to please yourself,

And hers to please you.

I'm sure your poor dear father was as good a husband as ever lived,

And after the first six months or so were over,

I should as soon as expected him to fly as to put himself out of his way to pleasure me.

He always said I was a good wife and did my duty,

And he always did his blessing.

He was steady and punctual,

Seldom found fault without reason,

Always did justice to my good dinners,

And hardly ever spoiled my cookery by a delay.

And that's as much as any woman can expect of any man.