Chapter by Chapter: My Cousin Rachel; Chapter Three
Cover art: My Cousin Rachel, by Daphne du Maurier
My Cousin Rachel, Chapter Three:
Philip is a giant baby.
First sentence: I think what shamed me most was the delight of his friends, their real pleasure and true thought for his welfare.
Breathless recap:
Philip is sad that Ambrose got married!
Then he is sad some more!
He gets called on—gently AND correctly—for being jealous, but bites the pointer-outer’s head off!
Then his godfather points out that if Ambrose and Rachel have a son, that Philip can kiss the inheritance goodbye, and he’s even MORE sad!
He starts imagining all sorts of versions of Rachel, all of them terrible in different ways (and all of them speaking to his larger Issues With Women, cough)!
Ambrose writes to say that they’re going to stay abroad longer than expected!
Time passes!
The tone of Ambrose’s letters changes: Now it sounds like there is Trouble In Paradise!!!
Ambrose sounds paranoid and scared and ill; Philip’s godfather is concerned that Ambrose has a brain tumor, or is maybe drunk!
Philip sets out for Italy, but is very very worried that he will not make it to Ambrose before Disaster Strikes!!!
Notes:
• I would probably have more sympathy for Philip—it makes sense that he’s reacting like this, Ambrose is his only family, it’s been just the two of them forever, etc., etc., etc.—if he wasn’t such a self-centered tool.
• More Fun With Misogyny: refers to the vicar’s wife as a shrew and later, as “vacuous” (I have developed a headcanon where she is deliberately needling Philip because he’s such a turd); his various Imagined Rachels range from “simpering bride” to “aging matron” (the latter imagining brings his good cheer roaring back).
• If you think Philip is worried about how Rachel will change things, his uncle’s steward Seecombe is even MORE riled up—he thinks “…the hours of the meals would no doubt be changed, the furniture altered, and an interminable cleaning be ordered from dawn till dusk with no repose for anybody, and, as a final thrust, even the poor dogs destroyed.” Rather than commiserate with Seecombe, though, Philip “is careful not to side with him” because you gotta keep those class divisions intact.
• The horrors of the future with A Lady around: “Putting out my pipe, rising to my feet, making an effort at conversation, drilling myself to the rigours and tedium of feminine society.” MAKING AN EFFORT AT CONVERSATION. Horror inDEED.
• I’d ask if any of these dudes had ever actually even MET a woman, but as Philip interacts with two women other than Rachel in this chapter, no excuse there.
• The shift in tone in Ambrose’s letters is GREAT, and while I am still not on the Philip Train, I very much see where he’d be worried and suspicious upon reading the following (and ALSO it made me think of Mexican Gothic, which I HIGHLY RECOMMEND if you haven’t read it yet):
““I was never one for headaches,“ he said, “but now I have them frequently. Almost blinding at times. I am sick of the sight of the sun. I miss you more than I can say. So much to talk about, difficult in a letter. My wife is in town today, hence my opportunity to write.” It was the first time that he had used the words “my wife.” Always before he had said Rachel or “your cousin Rachel,” and the words “my wife” looked formal to me, and cold.”
I mean, I’m not even predisposed to be Down On Rachel, but my mind went straight to poison, so, like I said, it’s TOTALLY understandable that Philip would be losing his mind with worry at this point.
• And then later there’s a letter that’s more explicitly paranoid and more explicitly Anti-Rachel (or, well, we assume that “she” is Rachel, since Ambrose only knows one woman): “Better keep silent, though. She watches me all the time. I have written to you several times, but there is no one I can trust, and unless I can get out myself to mail the letters they may not reach you.“
• The undated note from Ambrose that Philip receives just as he’s leaving for Italy is even MORE explicit: “For God’s sake, come to me quickly. She has done fore me at last, Rachel my torment. If you delay, it may be too late.“ Which is ALSO pretty great, as it’s been established that it’ll take Philip at least three weeks to get to Ambrose in Italy, so it leaves him worried sick but unable to really do anything about it.
• Semi-unrelated: the phrase “Rachel my torment” suggests to me that V.C. Andrews must have lovedddddddd Daphne du Maurier. AND WHO COULD BLAME HER?
Last sentence: I sat in the carriage, the scrap of paper in my hand, knowing that no power on heaven or earth could bring me to him before mid-August.
