25 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 neighboring village and she becomes a social outcast. Refusing to believe anything scandalous about her, Gilbert befriends her and discovers her past.

In this episode: Arthur explains that he needs to sell a piece of property to pay some debts on the estate. The details are fuzzy, but Helen assumes it’s just her ignorance hindering her understanding. But later, at home in Grassdale, she begins to suspect that it’s not business keeping him in London but his old friends. A month passes and still, he does not return, even though he promises in every letter to be home soon.

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 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. The Tenant of Wildfelm Hall by Anne Bronte Read and abridged by Stephanie Poppins Stephanie Poppins Chapter 25 First Absence On the 8th of April we went to London. On the 8th of May I returned in obedience to Arthur's wish, Very much against my own because I left him behind. If he had come with me I should have been very glad to get home again for he led me such a round of restless dissipation while there that in the short space of time I was quite tired out. He seemed bent upon displaying me to his friends and acquaintances in particular and the public in general on every possible occasion and to the greatest possible advantage. It was something to feel he considered me a worthy object of pride but I paid dear for the gratification for in the first place to please him I had to violate my cherished predilections, My almost rooted principles, In favour of a plain, Dark, Sober style of dress. I must sparkle in costly jewels and deck out myself like a painted butterfly. Just as I had long since determined I would never do and this was no trifling sacrifice. In the second place I was continually straining to satisfy sanguine expectations and do honour to his choice by my general conduct and deportment and fearing to disappoint him by some awkward misdemeanour or some trait of inexperienced ignorance about the customs of society, Especially when I acted the part of hostess, Which I was not unfrequently called upon to do. And in the third, As I intimated before, I was wearied of the throng and bustle, The restless hurry and ceaselessness change of a life so alien to all my previous habits. At last he suddenly discovered that the London air did not agree with me and I was languishing for my country home and must immediately return to Grasdale. I laughingly assured him the case was not so urgent as he appeared to think, But I was quite willing to go home if he was. He replied he should be obliged to remain a week or two longer as he had business that required his presence. Then I will stay with you, Said I, But I can't do without you, Helen. Said I, But I can't do without you, Helen, Was his answer. As long as you stay, I shall attend to you and neglect my business. But I won't let you, I returned. Now I know you've business to attend to. I shall insist upon your attending to it and let me alone. And to tell you the truth, I shall be glad of a little rest. I can take my rides and walks in the park as usual and your business cannot occupy all your time. I shall see you at mealtimes and in the evenings at least, And that will be better than being leaks away and never seeing you at all. But my love, I cannot let you stay. How could I settle my affairs when I know you're here neglected? I shall not feel myself neglected. While you're doing your duty, Arthur, I shall never complain of neglect. If you had told me before you had anything to do, It would have been half done before this. Now you must make up for lost time by redoubled exertions. Tell me what it is and I will be your taskmaster instead of being a hindrance. No, No, Persisted the impracticable creature. You must go home, Helen. I must have the satisfaction of knowing you're safe and well, Though far away. Don't I see you're looking quite rakish? Your bright eyes are faded and that tender, Delicate bloom has quite deserted your cheek. That is only with you too much gaiety and fatigue. It is not, I tell you. It is the London air. You are pining for the fresh breezes of your country home and you shall feel them. Then tell me, Arthur, What is this tiresome business and why did you never mention it before? It is only a little business with my lawyer, Said he, And he told me something about a piece of property he wanted to sell in order to pay off a part of the encumbrances on his estate. But either the account was a little confused or I was rather dull of comprehension, For I could not easily understand how that should keep him in town a fortnight after me. Still less can I now comprehend how it should keep him a month, For it's nearly that time since I left him and no signs of his return as yet. In every letter he promises to be with me in a few days and every time he deceives me or deceives himself. His excuses are vague and insufficient. I cannot doubt he's gone among his former companions again. Why did I leave him? I do intensely wish he would return. June 29th. No, Arthur, Yet, And for many days I've been looking and longing in vain for a letter. His letters, When they come a kind, If fair words and endearing epithets can give them acclaim to the title, But very short and full of trivial excuses and promises I cannot trust, And yet how anxiously I look forward to them, How eagerly I open and devour every one of those little hastily scribbled returns. Oh, It is cruel to leave me so long alone. He knows I've no one but Rachel to speak to, For we have no neighbours here except the Hargraves, Whose residence I can dimly describe from these upper windows embosomed among those low woody hills beyond the dale. I was glad when I learned that Millicent was so near us and her company would be a soothing solace to me now, But she is still in town with her mother. There is no one at the grove but little Esther and her French governess, For Walter is always away. Oh, Arthur, Why won't you come? Why won't you write me at least? You talked about my health. How can you expect me to gather bloom and vigour here, Pining in solitude and restless anxiety from day to day? It would serve you right to come back and find my good looks entirely wasted away. I would beg my uncle and aunt, Or my brother, To come and see me, But I do not like to complain of my loneliness to them, And indeed loneliness is the least of my sufferings. But what is he doing? What is it that keeps him away? Is it this ever-recurring question and the horrible suggestions it raises that distract me? July the 3rd. My last bitter letter has rung from him an answer at last, And a rather longer one than usual, But still I don't know what to make of it. He playfully abuses me for the gall and vinegar of my latest effusion, Tells me I can have no conception of the multitudinous engagement that keep him away, But averse that in spite of them all he will assuredly be with me before the close of next week, Though it is impossible for a man so circumstantious he is to fix the precise day. He desires me to remember the saying, Absence makes the heart grow fonder, And comfort myself with the assurance that the longer he stays away, The better he shall love me when he returns. He adds this piece of intelligence respecting poor Millicent Hargrave. Your little friend Millicent is likely before long to follow your example and take upon her the yoke of matrimony in conjunction with a friend of mine. Hattersley, As you know, Has not yet fulfilled his direful threat of throwing his precious person away on the first old maid that chose to evince a tenderness for him, But he still preserves a resolute determination to see himself a married man before the year is out. Only, Said he to me, I must have somebody that will let me have my own way in everything, Not like your wife Huntington. She's a charming creature, But she looks as if she had a will of her own and could play the vixen upon occasion. I must have some good quiet soul that will let me do what I like and go where I like, Keep at home or stay away without a word of reproach or complaint, For I can't do with being bothered. Well, Said I, I know somebody that will suit you to a tee if you don't care for money, And that's Hargrave's sister Millicent. He desired to be introduced to her forthwith, For he said he'd plenty of the needful thing himself, Or should have when his old governor chose to quit the stage. So you see, Helen, I've managed pretty well, Both for your friend and for mine. Poor Millicent, But I cannot imagine she will ever be led to accept such a suitor, One so repugnant to all her ideas of a man to be honoured and loved. July the 5th. Alas, I was mistaken. I've got a long letter from her this morning telling me she's already engaged and expects to be married before the close of the month. I hardly know what to say about it, She writes, Or what to think. To tell you the truth, Helen, I don't like the thought of it at all. If I am to be Mr Hattersley's wife, I must try to love him. I do try with all my might, But I've made very little progress yet, And the worst symptom of the case is, The further he is from me, The better I like him. He frightens me with his abrupt manners and strange, Hectoring ways, And I dread the thought of marrying him. Then why have you accepted him, You will ask. I didn't know I had accepted him, But Mamma tells me I have, And he seems to think so too. I certainly didn't mean to do so, But I did not like to give him a flat refusal for fear Mamma should be grieved and angry. Next time I saw him, He accosted me in all confidence as his affiance bride, And immediately began to settle matters with Mamma. I had not the courage to contradict them then, And how can I do it now? I cannot, They would think me mad. Besides, Mamma is so delighted with the idea of the match, She thinks she's managed to do so well for me, That I cannot bear to disappoint her. I do object sometimes and tell her what I feel, But you don't know how she talks. Mr Hattersley, You know, Is a son of a rich banker, And as Esther and I have no fortunes and water very little, Our dear Mamma is anxious to see us all well married, That is, United to rich partners. It's not my idea of being well married, But she means it all for the best. Alas, Poor Millicent, Thought I, What encouragement can I give you now, Or what advice, Except that it's better to make a bold stand, Though at the expense of disappointing and angering both mother and brother and lover, Than to devote your whole life hereafter to misery and vain regret. Saturday the 13th. The week is over and Arthur is still not come. All the sweet summer is passing away without one breath of pleasure to me or benefit to him, And I had all along been looking forward to this season with a fond elusive hope we should enjoy it so sweetly together. But now at evening when I see the round red sun sink quietly down behind those woody hills, Leaving them sleeping in a warm red golden haze, I only think another lovely day is lost to him and me, And at morning when roused by the flutter and chirp of the sparrows and the gleeful twitter of the swallows, All intent upon feeding their young, I open the window to inhale the balmy soul-reviving air and look out upon the lovely landscape. I shame that glorious scene with tears of thankless misery, Because Arthur cannot feel its freshening influence. And when I walk in the ancient woods and meet the little wildflowers smiling in my path, Or sit in the shadow of our noble ash trees by the water side, Where their branches gently swaying in the light summer breeze, My ears full of that low music mingled with the dreamy hum of insects, Still I have no pleasure for the greater the happiness that nature sets before me. The more I lament, Arthur is not here to taste it. " July 23rd Thank heaven, He has come at last! But how altered, Flushed and feverish, Listless in language, His beauty strangely diminished, His vigor and vivacity quite departed. I have not upbraided him by word, Or had the heart to do it, For I think he's ashamed of himself. He must be so indeed, And such inquiries could not fail to be painful to both. He says he's glad to be home again, And God knows how glad I am to get him back even as he is. He lies on the sofa nearly all day long, And I play and sing to him for hours together. I write his letters for him and get him everything he wants. Sometimes I read to him, And sometimes I talk, And sometimes only sit by him and soothe him with silent caresses. I know he does not deserve it, And I fear I'm spotting him, But this once I will forgive him freely and entirely. Arthur is pleased with my attentions. He likes to have me near him, And though he's peevish and testy with his servants and his dogs, He's gentle and kind to me. What he would be if I did not so watchfully anticipate his wants, And so carefully avoid from doing anything that has a tendency to irritate or disturb him, I cannot tell. How intensely I wish he was worthy of all this care. Last night as I sat beside him with his head in my lap, Passing my fingers through his beautiful curls, This thought made my eyes overflow with sorrowful tears, As it often does, But this time a tear fell on his face and made him look up. Dear Helen, He said, Why do you cry? You know I love you. What more could you desire? Oh Arthur, That you would only love yourself as truly and faithfully as you are loved by me. That would be hard indeed, He replied, Tenderly squeezing my hand. I don't know whether he fully understood my meaning, But he smiled thoughtfully and even sadly, A most unusual thing with Arthur. Then he closed his eyes and fell asleep, Looking as careless and sinless as a child, And I watched that placid slumber, And my heart swelled fuller than ever, And my tears flowed unrestrained.

Reviews

Not fun, the poor dear is starting to have buyers remorse… thank you for reading!😳🙏🏼🙏🏼❤️