As he sails back to England from Sydney, George Talboys looks over the side of the Argus and feels discontented with the view. Describing this, Braddon engages alliteration and situational irony to convey his discontentment and displeasure:
"How wearisome they are," he said; "blue and green, and opal; opal, and blue, and green; all very well in their way, of course, but three months of them are rather too much, especially—"
As he looks at the ocean, George complains to Miss Morley about how bored he is with seeing waves crash against the boat. The repetition of the colors "blue and green, and opal" as they appear mirrors the monotonous rhythm of the waves. George can’t even enjoy their gorgeous colors because he’s so sick of their repetition after “three months of them.” This cyclical pattern of words makes the reader feel the sensation of the waves lapping continuously, reinforcing George's sense of world-weariness. The repetition also mimics the lulling rhythm of the waves. The effect, as a whole, is of a sentence that mimmicks the view it describes, going back and forth, over and over again.
This scene is situationally ironic because waves—especially ones that even the discontented George describes as being jewel-like and "opal"— are usually considered a pleasant view. The irony Braddon uses here underscores the notion that anything, even the sublime beauty of the ocean, can become mundane or even irksome when experienced in excess.
In this passage from Volume 1, the narrator uses verbal irony to offer a funny, biting commentary on the character Robert Audley:
Robert Audley was supposed to be a barrister. As a barrister was his name inscribed in the law-list; as a barrister he had chambers in Figtree Court, Temple; as a barrister he had eaten the allotted number of dinners, which form the sublime ordeal through which the forensic aspirant wades on to fame and fortune. If these things can make a man a barrister, Robert Audley decidedly was one.
In this description, Braddon presents Robert Audley's occupation with a clearly sarcastic tone. The assertion that he "was supposed to be a barrister" sets the tone for the ironic portrayal that follows. Audley works as a barrister. A barrister is a kind of lawyer in England and Wales who specializes in advocacy, or speaking in court on behalf of clients. However, Audley is one in name alone, as he never does anything beyond reap the benefits of his title and position in “Figtree Court, Temple.” As a barrister, Audley is permitted to occupy rooms in a set of lawyers' buildings called the Inner Temple. While “Figtree Court” is fictional, Inner Temple is a real place. It’s one of the four Inns of Court, grand institutions of legal education and practice in London.
The narrator points to some of the formalities “aspirants” to the Inns go through to become barristers and have their names "inscribed in the law-list." Prospectives usually undergo a difficult, competitive process of qualifying to become a member of an Inn of Court. Qualifying allows them to practice law and is referred to as being “called to the Bar.” Braddon lampoons the way aristocrats like Audley are able to avoid all this unpleasantness in this section of the novel. She writes that his “sublime ordeal” in being called to the Bar only really involved “eating the allotted number of dinners.” Rather than undergoing an arduous journey, Audley just had to eat and drink in the right place to achieve “fame and fortune.”
The narrator uses verbal irony by suggesting that Robert Audley is "decidedly" a barrister when it's clear that, for all intents and purposes, he isn't. Despite all appearances, he’s not genuinely engaged or professionally skilled. Through this irony, Braddon critiques Robert's potentially superficial engagement with his profession and also makes a broader comment on the "professions" of the upper class. In this passage, then, the narrative pokes fun at the emptiness beneath all Audley’s titles.
In this section from Lady Audley's Secret, the author uses a simile and situational irony to describe Robert's unexpected display of capability when faced with the crisis of the “recent death of Helen Talboys”:
[George] looked at him with a pitiful, bewildered expression. The big dragoon was as helpless as a baby; and Robert Audley, the most vacillating and unenergetic of men, found himself called upon to act for another. He rose superior to himself, and equal to the occasion.
The simile "as helpless as a baby" used to describe the "big dragoon" George—a strong and theoretically brave soldier—drives home the point of his new vulnerability. It's surprising to imagine someone as sturdy as George as baby-like and unable to move forward. This makes George's helplessness in the face of the news he’s received even more pronounced. It heightens the urgency of the situation significantly. Robert, who is usually more of a follower than a leader, is left wondering how to proceed.
However, Braddon then subverts readers’ expectations with a twist of situational irony. Robert, who has previously been depicted as indecisive and “unenergetic” (or "vacillating"), is suddenly the one who has to make the best of the situation. The phrase "rose superior to himself" points to this unexpected shift. Readers might think Robert wouldn't be capable of getting George back on his feet, given what they've seen of him before. In defiance of expectations, he demonstrates that he’s up to the challenge. He even seems to surprise himself in this situation, rising “superior to himself” and undergoing an important shift in his own self-perception.
In this segment of Lady Audley's Secret, the narrative uses hyperbolic language and dramatic irony to talk about Lady Audley's beauty and how it has made her selfish and self-obsessed:
Did she remember the day in which that fairy dower of beauty had first taught her to be selfish and cruel, indifferent to the joys and sorrows of others, cold-hearted and capricious, greedy of admiration, exacting and tyrannical with that petty woman's tyranny which is the worst of despotism?
The phrase "worst of despotism" is an example of hyperbole because it’s an amplification of Lucy’s situations beyond a degree that’s reasonable. By saying Lady Audley is behaving like a “despot”(which means a ruler with total power who can be cruel and selfish) Braddon emphasizes the idea that the access and ease her beauty has provided her with have ultimately corrupted her.
The irony here is that, while readers know Lady Audley has a deceptive and even malicious side, most characters in the novel only see her as gentle and pretty. This difference between what readers know and what other characters see highlights how dangerous her charm can be. While beauty is usually seen as a good thing, for Lucy it functions mainly as a cover for her true, self-interested intentions. Because her beauty has won her so much praise and so many allowances, she can be “greedy of admiration” and “tyrannical.” The narrator wonders if she can remember a time before she was beautiful, or if she can understand that her beauty is not a positive force on her personality.
Toward the end of the novel, Lady Audley is deeply uneasy amidst her many luxuries. This is because her enemies aren’t yet totally crushed. Her desire for revenge and loss of interest in the trappings of wealth is highlighted by her discomfort with her fancy possessions. These are briefly alluded to and then ironically dismissed as "bric-a-brac" in the following passage:
My lady shivered and looked round at the bright collection of bric-a-brac, as if the Sèvres and bronze, the buhl and ormolu, had been the moldering adornments of some ruined castle.
Lucy is sitting in her private rooms reflecting on the fact that nothing that she has makes her happy anymore. She believes she can only be content if the people she hates, like Robert Audley, are destroyed. The author emphasizes her disengagement from her surroundings through an allusion to "Sèvres" and "buhl and ormolu." These references allude to expensive, imported china and decorations. These would have been difficult and extremely costly to acquire, and as such were considered exotic and fashionable during the Victorian period. This allusion points to the idea that Lady Audley's inherited wealth and exclusive access to luxurious items has become so normalized to her that it’s no longer enough to sustain her happiness. It also points to the cultural significance of these items during the Victorian era, highlighting the opulence and social status associated with them. The fact that she might as well be in “some ruined castle” when she is surrounded by all her treasures speaks to the degradation her personality has undergone. She now only lives to hurt people.
The passage is also rife with situational irony. Lucy has lied, stolen and (she believes) murdered in order to obtain luxury and escape poverty forever. However, now that she has so many of them, the signifiers of wealth and opulence that she might have once craved now seem meaningless to her. The most expensive items are dismissed as mere "bric-a-brac." What would amount to a fortune to anyone less wealthy seems like nothing to her.
In the novel’s final chapter, readers learn about George Talboys's survival before Lucy finds out herself. The situational irony comes into full effect when, having learned all the facts, Robert Audley writes Lucy a letter finally informing her of the truth:
Robert Audley wrote a long letter that evening, addressed to Madame Taylor, care of Monsieur Val, Villebrumeuse; a long letter in which he told the wretched woman who had borne so many names, and was to bear a false one for the rest of her life, the story that the dying man had told him.
"It may be some comfort to her to hear that her husband did not perish in his youth by her wicked hand," he thought, "if her selfish soul can hold any sentiment of pity or sorrow for others.”
Here, at the end of the novel, a climactic sense of situational irony is at play. Lucy spends the majority of the book under the impression that she has killed George Talboys, and her actions, choices, and anxieties stem from this belief. The revelation that George is, in fact, alive is deeply ironic, given that the "secret" that has so tortured her turns out to be a falsehood. She was burdened by a guilt and fear that were, in this one specific regard, unfounded. It’s particularly ironic because, by this point, Lucy has been relegated to a mental hospital. Her days as Lady Audley are already over in every way that matters.
The narrator also accentuates the irony by discussing Lucy's various "names" and the duplicitous life she has led. Each name or identity that Lucy has taken on has been a part of her strategy for self-preservation. This feels doubly ironic when it turns out that the crime she thought she was hiding from never actually took place. It's also worth noting that, because readers find out that Geroge Talboys survived before Lucy finds out, there is a degree of dramatic irony at play until Lucy finally receives the information herself.
