23 Tenant Of Wildfell Hall- By Stephanie Poppins

Contrary to the early 19th-century norms, she pursues an artist's career and makes an income by selling her pictures. Her strict seclusion soon gives rise to gossip in the neighbouring village and she becomes a social outcast. Refusing to believe anything scandalous about her, Gilbert befriends her and discovers her past.
In this episode: Helen wishes that Arthur could express himself differently at times. She wonders when they’re married what she’ll do with the serious side of herself.

Transcript

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 Huntington 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.

The Tenant of Wildfelm Hall by Anne Bronte Read and abridged by Stephanie Poppins Chapter 22.

Continued.

When I entered my room,

I was surprised to see Annabella Wilmot standing before my toilet table,

Composedly surveying her features in the glass,

With one hand flirting her gold-mounted whip and the other holding up her long habit.

She certainly is a magnificent creature,

Thought I,

As I beheld that tall,

Finely developed figure and the reflection of the handsome face in the mirror before me,

With the glossy dark hair,

Slightly and not ungracefully disordered by the breezy ride,

The rich brown complexion glowing with exercise,

And the black eyes sparkling with unwanted pleasure.

On perceiving me,

She turned round exclaiming with a laugh that savoured more of malice than mirth.

Why,

Helen,

What have you been doing so long?

I came to tell you my good fortune,

She continued,

Regardless of Rachel's presence.

Lord Lobras proposed,

And I have been graciously pleased to accept him.

Lord Lobras proposed,

And I have been graciously pleased to accept him.

Don't you envy me,

Dear?

No,

Said I,

Or him either,

I mentally added.

And do you like him,

Annabella?

Like him?

Yes,

To be sure,

Over head and ears in love.

Well,

I hope you make him a good wife.

Thank you,

My dear,

And what besides do you hope?

I hope you will both love each other and both be happy.

Thanks,

And I hope you will make a very good wife to Mr Huntington,

Said she with a queenly bow,

Who retired.

Oh,

Miss,

How could you say so to her?

Cried Rachel.

Say what?

Replied I.

Why,

That you'd hope she'd make him a good wife.

I never heard such a thing.

Because I do hope,

Or rather I wish it.

She's almost past hope.

Well,

Said Rachel,

I'm sure I hope he'll make her a good husband.

They tell queer things about him downstairs,

They were saying.

I know,

Rachel,

I've heard all about him,

But he's reformed now and they have no business to tell tales about their masters.

No,

Mum,

Or else they'd have said some things about Mr Huntington too.

I won't hear them,

Rachel,

They'll tell lies.

Yes,

Mum,

She said quietly as she went on arranging my hair.

Do you believe them,

Rachel?

I asked after a short pause.

No,

Miss,

Not all.

You know when a lot of servants get together,

They like to talk about their betters,

And some for a bit of swagger likes to make it appear as though they know more than they do,

And to throw out hints and things just to astonish the others.

But I think if I was you,

Miss Helen,

I'd look very well before I leaped.

I do believe a young lady can't be too careful who she marries.

Of course not,

Said I,

But quick,

Will you,

Rachel,

I want to be dressed.

And indeed I was anxious to be rid of the good woman,

For I was in such a melancholy frame I could hardly keep the tears out of my eyes while she dressed me.

It was not for Lord Lopre,

It was not for Annabella,

It was not for myself,

It was for Arthur Huntington that they rose.

The thirteenth.

They are gone,

And he is gone.

We are to be parted for more than two months,

Above ten weeks.

A long,

Long time to live and not to see him,

But he's promised to write often and make me promise to write still oftener,

Because he will be busy settling his affairs,

And I shall have nothing to do.

Twenty-second.

I have had several letters from Arthur already.

They're not long,

But passing sweet and just like himself,

Full of ardent affection and playful lively humour.

But there is always a but in this imperfect world,

And I do wish he would sometimes write to me.

There is always a but in this imperfect world,

And I do wish he would sometimes be serious.

I cannot get him to write or speak in real solid earnest.

I don't much mind it now,

But if it be always so,

What shall I do with a serious part of myself?

Chapter twenty-three.

First weeks of matrimony.

February the 18th,

1822.

Early this morning,

Arthur mounted his hunter and set off in a high glee to meet the hounds.

He will be away all day,

And so I will amuse myself with my neglected diary,

If I can give that name to such an irregular composition.

It's exactly four months since I opened it last.

I am married to Arthur.

I am married now,

And settled down as Mrs Huntingdon of Grassedale Manor.

I have had eight weeks' experience of matrimony,

And do I regret the step I have taken?

No,

Though I must confess in my secret heart that Arthur is not what I thought him at first,

And if I had known him in the beginning as thoroughly as I do now,

I probably never should have loved him.

And if I had loved him first,

And then made the discovery,

I fear I should have thought it my duty not to have married him.

To be sure,

I might have known him,

For everyone was willing enough to tell me about him,

And he himself was no accomplished hypocrite,

But I was willfully blind,

And now,

Instead of regretting I did not discern his full character before I was bound to him,

I am glad,

For it has saved me a great deal of battling with my conscience,

And a great deal of consequent trouble and pain.

And whatever I ought to have done,

My duty now is plainly to love him and cleave to him,

And this just tallies with my inclination.

He is very fond of me,

Almost too fond.

I could do with less caressing and more rationality.

I should like to be less of a pet and more of a friend,

If I might choose,

But I won't complain of that.

I am only afraid his affection loses in depth when it gains in order.

I sometimes liken it to a fire of dry figs and branches compared with one of solid coal,

Very bright and hot,

But if it should burn itself out and leave nothing but ashes behind,

What shall I do?

But it won't.

It's sharp.

I'm determined,

And surely I have power to keep it alive,

So let me dismiss that thought at once.

But Arthur is selfish.

I'm constrained to acknowledge that,

And indeed the admission gives me less pain than might be expected,

For since I love him so much,

I can easily forgive him for loving himself.

He likes to be pleased,

And it's my delight to please him,

And when I regret this tendency of his,

It is for his own sake,

Not for mine.

The first instant he gave was on the occasion of our bridal tour.

He wanted to hurry it over,

For all the continental scenes were already familiar to him.

Many had lost their interest in his eyes,

And others had never had anything to lose.

The consequence was,

After a flying transit through part of France and Italy,

I came back nearly as ignorant as I went,

Having made no acquaintance with persons and manners,

And very little with things.

As for Paris,

We only just touched at that,

And he would not give me time to see one-tenth of the beauties and interesting objects of Rome.

He wanted to get me home,

He said,

To have me all to himself,

And to see me safely installed as the mistress of Grassedale Manor,

Just as single-minded and naïve and piquant as I was,

And if I had been some frail butterfly,

He expressed himself fearful of rubbing the silver off my wings by bringing me into contact with society,

Especially that of Paris and Rome,

And moreover he did not scruple to tell me there were ladies in both places that would tear his eyes out if they happened to meet with me.

Of course I was vexed at all this,

But still it was less the disappointment to myself that annoyed me than the disappointment in him,

And the trouble I was at to frame excuses to my friends,

Having seen and observed so little,

Without imputing one particle of blame to my companion.

But when we got home,

To my new delightful home,

I was so happy,

And he was so kind,

I freely forgave him all,

And I was beginning to think my lot too happy,

And my husband actually too good for me,

If not too good for this world,

When on the second Sunday after our arrival,

He shocked and horrified me by another instance of his unreasonable exaction.

We were walking home from the morning service,

For it was a fine frosty day,

And as we were so near the church,

I requested the carriage should not be used.

Helen,

He said,

With unusual gravity,

I'm not quite satisfied with you.

I desired to know what was wrong,

But will you promise to reform if I tell you?

Yes,

If I can,

And without offending a higher authority.

Ah,

There it is,

You see,

You don't love me with all your heart.

I don't understand you,

Arthur.

Pray tell me what I've done or said amiss.

It is nothing you've done or said.

It is something you are.

You are too religious.

Now,

I like a woman to be religious,

And I think your piety when it comes to religion is a good thing,

And I think your piety one of your greatest charms.

But then,

Like all other good things,

It may be carried too far.

To my thinking,

A woman's religion ought not to lessen her devotion to her earthy lord.

She should have enough to purify and etherealize her soul,

But not enough to refine away her heart and raise her above all human sympathies.

And am I above all human sympathies?

Said I.

No,

Darling,

But you're making more progress towards that sainty condition that I like.

For all these two hours,

I've been thinking of you and wanting to catch your eye,

And you were so absorbed in your devotions,

You had not even a glance to spare for me.

I declare,

It's enough to make one jealous of one's maker,

Which is very wrong,

You know.

So don't excite such wicked passions again for my soul's sake.

I will give my whole heart and soul to my maker if I can,

I answered,

And not one atom more of it to you than he allows.

What are you,

Sir,

That you should set yourself up as a god and presume to dispute possession of my heart with him,

To whom I owe all I have and all I am,

Every blessing I ever did or ever I can enjoy,

And yourself among the rest,

If you are a blessing,

Which I'm half inclined to doubt.

Don't be so hard upon me,

Helen,

And don't pinch my arm so you're squeezing your fingers into the bone.

Arthur,

Continued I,

Relaxing my hold of his arm,

You don't love me half as much as I do you,

And yet if you loved me far less than you do,

I would not complain,

Provided you loved your maker more.

I should rejoice to see you at any time,

So deeply absorbed in your devotions,

You had not a single thought to spare for me.

But indeed I should lose nothing by the change,

For the more you loved your god,

The more deep and pure and true would be your love to me.

At this he only laughed and kissed my hand,

Calling me a sweet enthusiast,

Then taking off his hat,

He added.

But look here,

Helen,

What can a man do with such a head as this?

The head looked right enough,

But when he placed my hand on the top of it,

It sunk in a bed of coals rather alarmingly low,

Especially in the middle.

You see,

I was not made to be made a saint,

Said he,

Laughing.

If God meant me to be religious,

Why didn't he give me a proper organ of veneration?

You are like the servant,

I replied,

Who instead of employing his one talent in his master's service,

Restored it to him unimproved,

Alleging as an excuse he knew him to be a hard man,

Reaping where he had not sown and gathering where he had not strawed.

Of him to whom less is given,

Less will be required.

But our utmost exertions are required of all of us.

You speak like an oracle,

Helen,

And all you say is undisputably true.

But listen here,

I am hungry.

I see before me a good substantial dinner.

I am told that if I abstain from this today,

I shall have a sumptuous feast tomorrow.

Now,

In the first place,

I should both loathe to wait until tomorrow,

When I have the means of appeasing my hunger today.

And in the second place,

The solid veins of today are more to my taste than the dainties that have promised me.

In the third place,

I don't see tomorrow's banquet,

And how can I tell it's not all a fable got up by the greasy-faced fellow that is advising me to abstain,

In order that he may have all the good rituals to himself.

In the fourth place,

This table must be spread for somebody,

And,

As Solomon says,

Who can eat or who else can hasten hereunto more than I.

And finally,

With your leave,

I'll sit down and satisfy my cravings today,

And leave tomorrow to shift for itself.

Who knows but what I may secure,

Both this and that.

But you are not required to abstain from the substantial dinner of today.

You are only advised to partake of these coarse oveons in such moderation as not to incapacitate you from enjoying the choicer banquet of tomorrow.

If,

Regardless of that counsel,

You choose to make a beast of yourself now,

And overeat and overdrink,

Until you turn the good rituals into poison,

Who is to blame if,

Hereafter,

While you are suffering the torments of yesterday's gluttony and drunkenness,

You see more temperate men sitting down to enjoy themselves at that splendid entertainment which you are unable to taste.

Most true,

My patron saint.

But again,

Our friend Solomon says,

There's nothing better for a man than to eat and drink and be merry.

And again,

Returned I,

He says,

Rejoice,

O young man,

In thy youth,

And walk in the ways of thine heart,

And in the sight of thine eyes.

But know that,

For all these things,

God will bring thee into judgment.

Well,

But Helen,

I'm sure I've been very good these last few weeks.

What have you seen amiss in me,

And what would you have me do?

Nothing more than you do,

Arthur.

Your actions are all right so far,

But I would have your thoughts changed.

I would have you to fortify yourself against temptation,

And not call evil good and good evil.

I should wish you to think more deeply,

To look further,

And aim higher than you do.

We now stood before our own door,

And I said no more.

But with an ardent and tearful embrace,

I left him,

And went into the house,

And upstairs to take off my bonnet and mantle.

Reviews

Yes, their temperaments are not well suited… but I do agree with him on religion😂 thanks Steph!❤️🙏🏼