“It’s a nice day,” observed Harry3, the elder. “Is that bump your feet?”
I wriggled4 my toes and assured him he had surmised5 correctly.
“You’re pretty long, aren’t you? Do you think we can play in the fountain to-day?”
“We’ll make a try for it, son. It will do us all good to get out into the sunshine.”
“We always took Chang for a walk every day, Mademoiselle and Chang and Freddie and I.”
Freddie had found my cap on the dressing6 table and had put it on his yellow head. But now, on hearing the beloved name of his pet, he burst into loud grief-stricken howls.
“Want Mam’selle,” he cried. “Want Chang too. Poor Freddie!”
The children were adorable. I bathed and dressed them and, mindful of my predecessor’s story of crackers7 and milk, prepared for an excursion kitchenward. The nights might be full of mystery, murder might romp8 from room to room, but I intended to see that the youngsters 24 breakfasted. But before I was ready to go down breakfast arrived.
Perhaps the other nurse had told the Reeds a few plain truths before she left; perhaps, and this I think was the case, the cloud had lifted just a little. Whatever it may have been, two rather flushed and blistered9 young people tapped at the door that morning and were admitted, Mr. Reed first, with a tray, Mrs. Reed following with a coffee-pot and cream.
The little nursery table was small for five, but we made room somehow. What if the eggs were underdone and the toast dry? The children munched10 blissfully. What if Mr. Reed’s face was still drawn11 and haggard and his wife a limp little huddle12 on the floor? She sat with her head against his knee and her eyes on the little boys, and drank her pale coffee slowly. She was very tired, poor thing. She dropped asleep sitting there, and he sat for a long time, not liking13 to disturb her.
It made me feel homesick for the home I didn’t have. I’ve had the same feeling before, of being a rank outsider, a sort of defrauded14 feeling. I’ve had it when I’ve seen the look in a man’s eyes when his wife comes-to after an operation. And I’ve had it, for that matter, when I’ve put a new baby in its mother’s arms for the first time. I had it for sure that morning, while she slept there and he stroked her pretty hair.
I put in my plea for the children then.
“It’s bright and sunny,” I argued. “And if you are nervous I’ll keep them away from other children. But if you want to keep them well you must give them exercise.”
It was the argument about keeping them well that 25 influenced him, I think. He sat silent for a long time. His wife was still asleep, her lips parted.
“Very well,” he said finally, “from two to three, Miss Adams. But not in the garden back of the house. Take them on the street.”
I agreed to that.
“I shall want a short walk every evening myself,” I added. “That is a rule of mine. I am a more useful person and a more agreeable one if I have it.”
I think he would have demurred15 if he dared. But one does not easily deny so sane16 a request. He yielded grudgingly17.
That first day was calm and quiet enough. Had it not been for the strange condition of the house and the necessity for keeping the children locked in I would have smiled at my terror of the night. Luncheon18 was sent in; so was dinner. The children and I lunched and supped alone. As far as I could see, Mrs. Reed made no attempt at housework; but the cot at the head of the stairs disappeared in the early morning and the dog did not howl again.
I took the boys out for an hour in the early afternoon. Two incidents occurred, both of them significant. I bought myself a screw driver—that was one. The other was our meeting with a slender young woman in black who knew the boys and stopped them. She proved to be one of the dismissed servants—the waitress, she said.
“Why, Freddie!” she cried. “And Harry too! Aren’t you going to speak to Nora?”
After a moment or two she turned to me, and I felt she wanted to say something, but hardly dared.
“How is Mrs. Reed?” she asked. “Not sick, I hope?”
26
She glanced at my St. Luke’s cloak and bonnet19.
“No, she is quite well.”
“And Mr. Reed?”
“Quite well also.”
“Is Mademoiselle still there?”
“No, there is no one there but the family. There are no maids in the house.”
She stared at me curiously20.
“Mademoiselle has gone? Are you cer—— Excuse me, Miss. But I thought she would never go. The children were like her own.”
“She is not there, Nora.”
She stood for a moment debating, I thought. Then she burst out:
“Mr. Reed made a mistake, miss. You can’t take a houseful of first-class servants and dismiss them the way he did, without half an hour to get out bag and baggage, without making talk. And there’s talk enough all through the neighborhood.”
“What sort of talk?”
“Different people say different things. They say Mademoiselle is still there, locked in her room on the third floor. There’s a light there sometimes, but nobody sees her. And other folks say Mr. Reed is crazy. And there is worse being said than that.”
But she refused to tell me any more—evidently concluded she had said too much and got away as quickly as she could, looking rather worried.
I was a trifle over my hour getting back, but nothing was said. To leave the clean and tidy street for the disordered house was not pleasant. But once in the children’s suite22, with the goldfish in the aquarium23 darting24 like 27 tongues of flame in the sunlight, with the tulips and hyacinths of the window-boxes glowing and the orderly toys on their white shelves, I felt comforted. After all, disorder21 and dust did not imply crime.
But one thing I did that afternoon—did it with firmness and no attempt at secrecy25, and after asking permission of no one. I took the new screw driver and unfastened the bolt from the outside of my door.
I was prepared, if necessary, to make a stand on that issue. But although it was noticed, I knew, no mention of it was made to me.
Mrs. Reed pleaded a headache that evening, and I believe her husband ate alone in the dismantled26 dining room. For every room on the lower floor, I had discovered, was in the same curious disorder.
At seven Mr. Reed relieved me to go out. The children were in bed. He did not go into the day nursery, but placed a straight chair outside the door of the back room and sat there, bent27 over, elbows on knees, chin cupped in his palm, staring at the staircase. He roused enough to ask me to bring an evening paper when I returned.
When I am on a department case I always take my off-duty in the evening by arrangement and walk round the block. Some time in my walk I am sure to see Mr. Patton himself if the case is big enough, or one of his agents if he cannot come. If I have nothing to communicate it resolves itself into a bow and nothing more.
I was nervous on this particular jaunt28. For one thing my St. Luke’s cloak and bonnet marked me at once, made me conspicuous29; for another, I was afraid Mr. Patton 28 would think the Reed house no place for a woman and order me home.
It was a quarter to eight and quite dark before he fell into step beside me.
“Well,” I replied rather shakily; “I’m still alive, as you see.”
“Then it is pretty bad?”
“It’s exceedingly queer,” I admitted, and told my story. I had meant to conceal30 the bolt on the outside of my door, and one or two other things, but I blurted31 them all out right then and there, and felt a lot better at once.
He listened intently.
“It’s fear of the deadliest sort,” I finished.
“Fear of the police?”
“I—I think not. It is fear of something in the house. They are always listening and watching at the top of the front stairs. They have lifted all the carpets, so that every footstep echoes through the whole house. Mrs. Reed goes down to the first door, but never alone. To-day I found that the back staircase is locked off at top and bottom. There are doors.”
I gave him my rough diagram of the house. It was too dark to see it.
“It is only tentative,” I explained. “So much of the house is locked up, and every movement of mine is under surveillance. Without baths there are about twelve large rooms, counting the third floor. I’ve not been able to get there, but I thought that to-night I’d try to look about.”
“You had no sleep last night?”
“Three hours—from four to seven this morning.”
We had crossed into the public square and were walking 29 slowly under the trees. Now he stopped and faced me.
“I don’t like the look of it, Miss Adams,” he said. “Ordinary panic goes and hides. But here’s a fear that knows what it’s afraid of and takes methodical steps for protection. I didn’t want you to take the case, you know that; but now I’m not going to insult you by asking you to give it up. But I’m going to see that you are protected. There will be some one across the street every night as long as you are in the house.”
“Have you any theory?” I asked him. He is not strong for theories generally. He is very practical. “That is, do you think the other nurse was right and there is some sort of crime being concealed32?”
“Well, think about it,” he prompted me. “If a murder has been committed, what are they afraid of? The police? Then why a trained nurse and all this caution about the children? A ghost? Would they lift the carpets so that they could hear the specter tramping about?”
“If there is no crime, but something—a lunatic perhaps?” I asked.
“Possibly. But then why this secrecy and keeping out the police? It is, of course, possible that your respected employers have both gone off mentally, and the whole thing is a nightmare delusion33. On my word it sounds like it. But it’s too much for credulity to believe they’ve both gone crazy with the same form of delusion.”
“Perhaps I’m the lunatic,” I said despairingly. “When you reduce it like that to an absurdity34 I wonder if I didn’t imagine it all, the lights burning everywhere and the carpets up, and Mrs. Reed staring down the staircase, and 30 I locked in a room and hanging on by my nails to peer out through a closet transom.”
“Perhaps. But how about the deadly sane young woman who preceded you? She had no imagination. Now about Reed and his wife—how do they strike you? They get along all right and that sort of thing, I suppose?”
“They are nice people,” I said emphatically. “He’s a gentleman and they’re devoted35. He just looks like a big boy who’s got into an awful mess and doesn’t know how to get out. And she’s backing him up. She’s a dear.”
“Humph!” said Mr. Patton. “Don’t suppress any evidence because she’s a dear and he’s a handsome big boy!”
“I didn’t say he was handsome,” I snapped.
“Did you ever see a ghost or think you saw one?” he inquired suddenly.
“No, but one of my aunts has. Hers always carry their heads. She asked one a question once and the head nodded.”
“Then you believe in things of that sort?”
“Not a particle—but I’m afraid of them.”
He smiled, and shortly after that I went back to the house. I think he was sorry about the ghost question, for he explained that he had been trying me out, and that I looked well in my cloak and bonnet.
“I’m afraid of your chin generally,” he said; “but the white lawn ties have a softening36 effect. In view of the ties I have almost the courage——”
“Yes?”
“I think not, after all.” he decided37. “The chin is there, 31 ties or no ties. Good-night, and—for heaven’s sake don’t run any unnecessary risks.”
The change from his facetious38 tone to earnestness was so unexpected that I was still standing39 there on the pavement when he plunged40 into the darkness of the square and disappeared.
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收听单词发音
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1
trotted
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| 小跑，急走( trot的过去分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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2
slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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3
harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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4
wriggled
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| v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的过去式和过去分词 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等） | |
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5
surmised
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| v.臆测，推断( surmise的过去式和过去分词 )；揣测；猜想 | |
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dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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crackers
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| adj.精神错乱的，癫狂的n.爆竹( cracker的名词复数 )；薄脆饼干；（认为）十分愉快的事；迷人的姑娘 | |
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romp
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| n.欢闹；v.嬉闹玩笑 | |
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9
blistered
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| adj.水疮状的，泡状的v.（使）起水泡( blister的过去式和过去分词 )；（使表皮等）涨破，爆裂 | |
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10
munched
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| v.用力咀嚼（某物），大嚼( munch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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11
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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12
huddle
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| vi.挤作一团；蜷缩；vt.聚集；n.挤在一起的人 | |
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13
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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14
defrauded
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| v.诈取，骗取( defraud的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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15
demurred
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| v.表示异议，反对( demur的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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16
sane
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| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
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17
grudgingly
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18
luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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19
bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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20
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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21
disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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22
suite
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| n.一套(家具)；套房；随从人员 | |
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23
aquarium
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| n.水族馆，养鱼池，玻璃缸 | |
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24
darting
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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25
secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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26
dismantled
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| 拆开( dismantle的过去式和过去分词 )； 拆卸； 废除； 取消 | |
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27
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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28
jaunt
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| v.短程旅游；n.游览 | |
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29
conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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30
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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31
blurted
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| v.突然说出，脱口而出( blurt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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32
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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33
delusion
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| n.谬见，欺骗，幻觉，迷惑 | |
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34
absurdity
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| n.荒谬，愚蠢；谬论 | |
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35
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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36
softening
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| 变软，软化 | |
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37
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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38
facetious
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| adj.轻浮的，好开玩笑的 | |
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39
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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40
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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