In Volume 1, Chapter 1, the narrator uses a simile and a metaphor to depict the power of Lucy's radiant personality:
Wherever she went she seemed to take joy and brightness with her. In the cottages of the poor her fair face shone like a sunbeam.
The simile in this passage likens Lucy’s face to a “sunbeam.” She is so happy to be visiting the homes of others—as she is in this passage—that it shines from her “fair face” as if she is herself a source of light. This comparison does two things. It points to the universal appeal of her physical beauty, as it seems to radiate from her and affect everyone she meets. On a symbolic level, it also suggests that her less fortunate companions might like her for more than the simple fact of her company. Her beauty and positivity are so intense, Braddon suggests, that they are also gifts that she gives to the less fortunate. This passage portrays Lucy’s presence as a source of light in the dreariness of their lives.
The metaphor of "taking joy and brightness with her" solidifies this idea. The narrator speaks about "joy and brightness" as if they're tangible things that Lucy can carry in her hands. This also suggests that when Lucy departs, these positive emotions might leave with her. The relationship Lucy seems to have with the happiness of those around her is clearly outlined in this passage. Whether she’s present or absent, Lady Audley is a central figure who influences people’s feelings and desires.
In this passage from Lady Audley's Secret, the author digs into Sir Michael's emotional turmoil upon recognizing that Lucy cannot and does not truly love him. In order to do so, Braddon deploys a simile comparing his heart to a corpse, appealing to the reader’s sense of pathos:
He walked straight out of the house, this foolish old man, because there was some strong emotion at work in his breast—neither joy nor triumph, but something almost akin to disappointment—some stifled and unsatisfied longing which lay heavy and dull at his heart, as if he had carried a corpse in his bosom. He carried the corpse of that hope which had died at the sound of Lucy's words.
The simile in this passage really drives home the heartbreak and disappointment Sir Michael is feeling. He leaves Lucy feeling "as if he had carried a corpse in his bosom." His obsessive love for her has died, and his heart has something “heavy and dull” lying on it. This comparison does not merely hint at his sadness. It amplifies the sheer weight of his disillusionment, suggesting that his hopes and dreams concerning Lucy's love are as dead and lifeless as a "corpse."
The narrator also imbues the passage with pathos. Braddon ensures, in this passage, that readers not only understand but deeply feel the emotional burden Sir Michael is bearing. Terms like "foolish old man" and the repeated references to the "corpse of that hope" serve to heighten the reader's sympathy for this sad predicament. Her choice of words portrays Sir Michael as a tragic figure, a man whose love and hopes have been cruelly dashed. This deeply mournful portrayal is further compounded by the revelation that, despite these internal revelations, Lucy and Michael will still maintain the façade of a "happy couple."
In this passage, the narrative uses a simile to explore Lucy's ability to charm and deceive people. Lucy is able to make everyone feel like the most important person in the world, no matter who they are:
She would sit for a quarter of an hour talking to some old woman, and apparently as pleased with the admiration of a toothless crone as if she had been listening to the compliments of a marquis; and when she tripped away, leaving nothing behind her (for her poor salary gave no scope to her benevolence), the old woman would burst out into senile raptures with her grace, beauty, and her kindliness, such as she never bestowed upon the vicar's wife, who half fed and clothed her.
The simile in this passage likens Lucy's joy in receiving admiration to getting a compliment from a marquis (one of the highest echelons of British aristocracy). This simile underscores Lucy's genuine delight in being admired, regardless of the source. It highlights her ability to captivate and win over people through her charm and beauty, even when she may not deserve their affection.
The passage also contrasts Lucy's superficial interactions with “some old woman” with the vicar's wife's practical support of the poor in her community. Even if Lucy doesn’t do anything tangible to help, her attention and the sight of her glorious golden curls are more appreciated than any actual charitable work done by others.
At the beginning of Chapter 3, the narrator uses a simile that compares the unsettling stillness of Audley Court to the stillness of death:
The very repose of the place grew painful from its intensity, and you felt as if a corpse must be lying somewhere within that gray and ivy-covered pile of building—so deathlike was the tranquillity of all around.
In the passage just before this, the countryside around Audley Court is silent and expectant. This passage continues that work, but moves into a distinctly creepy and uneasy mode of describing the pastoral scene. The narrator describes the "very repose" of the twilight countryside as not just quiet, but eerily silent. It's so quiet in this place, so intensely still, that it feels as if "a corpse must be lying somewhere." By comparing the tranquility of the setting to the stillness associated with death, the passage suggests that there’s more to the scene than the reader is aware of. There’s an unsettling, creeping undercurrent at play here.
Terms such as "painful repose" further compound this sense of unease, and contribute to the foreshadowing this passage sets up. The word “repose” would typically suggest a peaceful state of rest, but in this context, it's reframed as "painful." This choice by the author suggests that the "rest" itself is confining, unpleasant, and akin to the sleep of death. The scene is full of breathless expectation, as the reader is led to believe that the silence is building toward a break. On the whole, the reader feels that the surrounding environment is just waiting for a disturbance to shatter its silence.
In this section from Lady Audley's Secret, the author introduces information about the chilly, rigid character Harcourt Talboys. To highlight certain aspects of his personality, the narrative uses a simile referring to architecture and a metaphor comparing intelligence to sunlight:
Nobody ever remembered getting upon what is popularly called the blind side of Harcourt Talboys. He was like his own square-built, northern-fronted, shelterless house. There were no shady nooks in his character into which one could creep for shelter from his hard daylight. He was all daylight. He looked at everything in the same broad glare of intellectual sunlight, and would see no softening shadows that might alter the sharp outlines of cruel facts, subduing them to beauty.
The simile that likens Harcourt Talboys to "his own square-built, northern-fronted, shelterless house" gives readers a clear idea of what his personality is like. Just as his house is rigid, uncompromising stone, Talboys is unyielding and without pretense. The narrator lists descriptions of the “square-built, northern-fronted, shelterless” dwelling one after the other, drawing a parallel between this diction and Talboys’s way of operating with others. He’s as relentless and “square-built” as this list of compound words.
The metaphor that aligns intelligence with “daylight” further solidifies this characterization. Braddon refers to him as being "all daylight" and as being only able to see things in the “broad glare” of "intellectual sunlight." This metaphor suggests that Talboys is transparent in his beliefs and thoughts. He never shies away from the truth, and he’s uninterested in the nuances or gray areas. By describing him in this manner, Braddon highlights Talboys's unwillingness to see the "softening shadows" that might otherwise change the way he views other people and their behavior.
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 a description of Lady Audley's mannerisms and showy taste in clothes, Braddon uses a simile and some auditory and tactile imagery:
Her fragile figure, which she loved to dress in heavy velvets, and stiff, rustling silks, till she looked like a child tricked out for a masquerade, was as girlish as if she had just left the nursery. [...]
Lucy’s appearance is brought to life with the appealing and luscious auditory imagery of her "stiff, rustling silks." The sound of her movement in these expensive fabrics paints a picture of opulence and indulgence. She’s so draped in finery that the soft “heavy” fabrics all rub against each other. The sensory languages of touch and hearing are combined here so that the reader can almost feel the thickness and luxuriousness of her “stiff” dress.
The simile that compares Lucy to "a child tricked out for masquerade" further highlights an important aspect of her character. Lucy chooses clothes the way a child might dress a doll up to play the part of a lady. She does this because that is what she’s doing: she is pretending to be something she is not. The simile suggests that there's an element of self-awareness and artificiality to her "frail" appearance. The narrator implies that Lucy's transformation into Lady Audley is a performance—a show she puts on for those around her—rather than an authentic expression of her true self. The word "masquerade" further underscores the element of disguise in her dress. By hiding her “frail figure” in these heavy fabrics, she’s actually making it seem even frailer and more “childish” than it might otherwise, “as if she had just left the nursery.”
In this passage, the narrator uses visual imagery and a simile referring to a signal light to describe Alicia Audley’s features and their contrast with Lucy’s. Even though Alicia is undeniably beautiful, it does her no good when Lucy’s next to her. Writing as if they are directly warning Alicia about this misfortune, the narrator notes:
So it was not in the least use, my poor Alicia [...]The black curls (nothing like Lady Audley's feathery ringlets, but heavy clustering locks, that clung about your slender brown throat), the red and pouting lips, the nose inclined to be retrousse, the dark complexion, with its bright crimson flush, always ready to glance up like a signal light in a dusky sky [...]
The visual imagery of "black curls," "pouting lips," and "dark complexion" as they’re described here paint a sharp picture of Alicia's intense, contrasting features. The reader is supposed to understand Alicia to be an attractive person. This isn’t subtle, as the imagery of the "heavy clustering locks" around the “slender throat” is suggestive and almost erotic. Alicia’s "red and pouting lips" and "nose inclined to be retroussé" (tilted upward) are also very much in line with the beauty standards of the Victorian period. However, the qualifier that her curls are "nothing like Lady Audley's feathery ringlets" underscores the insurmountable difference between the two women being described. Alicia is in love with Robert Audley, but he’s in love with Lucy. It doesn’t matter how attractive Alicia’s hair and eyes are: Robert Audley's clear preference is for Lucy’s “feathery ringlets.”
The simile at the end of the passage likens Alicia’s bright complexion to "a signal light in a dusky sky." This reference to her “crimson” cheeks and dark hair also suggests that Alicia’s face “signals” her feelings easily. However, Robert is completely oblivious to her “signals,” no matter how she tries to attract him. The rueful tone the narrator takes in this quotation underlines the reality that, despite her appearance, Alicia goes unnoticed because Lucy overshadows her.
In this section of Lady Audley's Secret, the narrator describes a portrait of Lady Audley when Alicia, Robert, and George sneak into her private rooms. Braddon uses visual imagery and a simile comparing Lucy to a demon to suggest the underlying, unpleasant facets of her character:
[Lucy] had something of the aspect of a beautiful fiend. Her crimson dress, exaggerated like all the rest in this strange picture, hung about her in folds that looked like flames, her fair head peeping out of the lurid mass of color as if out of a raging furnace. Indeed the crimson dress, the sunshine on the face, the red gold gleaming in the yellow hair, the ripe scarlet of the pouting lips, the glowing colors of each accessory of the minutely painted background [...]
The visual language of this passage clearly points to aspects of Lucy’s character that her physical appearance might usually mask. With this in mind, it's interesting to consider that the portrait is hung in her own (usually locked) private rooms. While she looks deceptively innocent in person, in this painting the artist has captured some of her malevolence. She still looks beautiful, but the mask she usually wears has slipped a little. It’s not obvious at first glance, but it’s subtly there. While the word "fiend" would usually refer to demons or other evil beings, its pairing with "beautiful" captures Lucy’s duality. On one hand, she is charming and attractive, while on the other, there is something sinister in her.
It's important to remember that she hasn’t been literally painted as a devil in this portrait. Rather, she has “some aspect” of one. The simile "as if out of a raging furnace" furthers this association with the demonic, connecting Lucy to motifs of hell and heat. The "crimson dress" and "yellow hair" of the painting point to her vibrancy and intensity, traits that would have been considered unfeminine in the Victorian period. Adding to this, the description of her dress as appearing like "flames" and the overall scene of the picture as reminiscent of a "raging furnace" implies that Lucy has something burning below her surface. This portrayal sharply contrasts with earlier characterizations of her, suggesting that it is possible for other characters—like this artist—to see that she’s not totally angelic.
This passage offers a description of Mrs. Plowson, illustrating her imperfect and faded beauty through a simile. It also highlights the novel’s complex associations between a person’s looks and their character:
She had been a rustic beauty, perhaps, in her time, but her features, although tolerably regular in their shape, had a mean, pinched look, as if they had been made too small for her face.
Here, the narrator uses a simile describing the size of Mrs. Plowson’s features to convey the idea that Mrs. Plowson’s face has not aged well. What beauty she had as a young girl has diminished, leaving her features poorly distributed. There's a sense that she wasn't provided with enough features to fill out her face correctly. It's also implied that this is partially not her fault, as the narrator tells the reader she was "made" that way. The “pinched look” this gives Mrs. Plowson reflects her character, which is similarly narrow-minded and ungenerous.
This comparison is one important instance of the multifaceted relationship that Braddon conveys between outward appearances and inner character in Lady Audley’s Secret. While some characters (like Mrs. Plowson) appear in a way that implies things about their personality, that is not the case for others. She looks mean because she is mean, but that doesn't mean readers can infer this to be true of everyone.
When George and Robert visit his house in Ventnor, Braddon depicts Lieutenant Maldon's state of confusion and intoxication through a metaphor of weak sunlight and uses a simile to illustrate the slow clearing of his alcohol-induced mental fog:
The old man's drunken imbecility was slowly clearing away like the heavy mists of a London fog, through which the feeble sunshine struggles dimly to appear. The very uncertain radiance of Lieutenant Maldon's intellect took a considerable time in piercing the hazy vapors of rum-and-water; but the flickering light at last faintly glimmered athwart the clouds, and the old man screwed his poor wits to the sticking-point.
In this passage, Braddon metaphorically represents Maldon's slow realization of what's happening to feeble sunshine attempting to pierce through a heavy London fog. Maldon’s wits are the “sunlight” that is struggling to pierce the “vapors” of his intoxication. This metaphor conveys the confusion and lack of clarity in his thinking, emphasizing his slow struggle to regain sobriety and coherence.
London fogs in the Victorian period were notoriously thick and soupy, in part because of all the dust from coal fires that filled the air in the city. The simile in this passage illustrates the impenetrability and density of Maldon’s stupor. He doesn’t just come suddenly to consciousness. He has to “screw his poor wits to the sticking point” to dissipate the dense mist that surrounds his clarity.
In this passage, the narrator employs a simile to spotlight the pronounced power disparity between Harcourt Talboys and his butler, Wilson. When he is dismissed from Talboys’s presence, Wilson leaves the room very deferentially:
The man bowed and retired, opening and shutting the door as cautiously as if he were taking a liberty in doing it at all, or as if the respect due to Mr. Talboys demanded his walking straight through the oaken panel like a ghost in a German story.
The simile comparing Wilson's quiet and respectful demeanor to "a ghost in a German story" accentuates the degree of deference he feels obligated to display in George Talboys's presence. This comparison conveys an almost surreal level of caution. Here, the author is suggesting that even a minor disturbance, such as the sound of a door, might be perceived as an affront to Mr. Talboys’s need for order and control. This phrase illustrates Wilson's trepidation and the looming presence of Harcourt Talboys in the household. This domineering man was previously described by the narrator as being exactly like his hard, square house in personality. In this scene, it becomes clear that Harcourt Talboys rules both himself and his household quite seriously.
Moreover, the passage shines a light on the rigid power structures of the Victorian household. Just as Wilson must navigate his master’s household with excessive caution, so too must other characters tread lightly around the domineering figures who populate this book. The omnipresence and influence of men like Harcourt Talboys is reinforced in moments like this one. The fact that Wilson knows he must disappear like a "ghost" demonstrates his position in a household and society where authority and dominance by the wealthy elite are inescapable facts of life.
