'Who's that driving the Hector's pony12, Tom?' Mr. Plantagenet asked of the hostler in a lordly voice, as a pretty girl went past in an unpretentious trap. 'She's a stranger in Chiddingwick.' For Mr. Plantagenet, as one of the oldest inhabitants, prided himself upon knowing, by sight at least, every person in the parish, from Lady Agatha herself to the workhouse children.
Tom removed the straw he was sucking from his mouth for a moment, as he answered, with the contempt of the horsy man for the inferior gentry13: 'Oh, she! she ain't nobody, sir. That lot's the new governess.'
Mr. Plantagenet regarded the lady in the carriage with the passing interest which a gentleman of his distinction might naturally bestow14 upon so unimportant a personage. He was a plethoric15 man, of pompous16 aspect, and he plumed17 himself on being a connoisseur18 in female beauty.
'Not a bad-looking little girl, though, Tom,' he responded condescendingly, closing one eye and scanning her as one might scan a two-year-old filly. 'She holds herself well. I like to see a woman who can sit up straight in her place when she's driving.'
Mr. Plantagenet's opinion on all questions of deportment was much respected at Chiddingwick; so Tom made no reply save to chow a little further the meditative19 straw; while Mr. Plantagenet, having by this time sufficiently20 surveyed the street for all practical purposes, retired21 into the bar-parlour of the friendly White Horse for his regulation morning brandy-and-soda.
But the new governess, all unconscious of the comments she excited, drove placidly22 on to the principal bookseller and stationer's.
There were not many booksellers' shops in Chiddingwick; people in Surrey import their literature, if any, direct from London. But the one at whose door the pretty governess stopped was the best in the town, and would at least do well enough for the job she wanted. It bore, in fact, the proud legend, 'Wells's select Library then by an obvious afterthought, in smaller letters, 'In connection with Mudie's.' An obsequious23 small boy rushed up, as she descended24, to hold the Rector's horse, almost as in the days before compulsory25 education, when small hoys lurked26 unseen, on the look-out for stray ha'pence, at every street corner. Mary accepted his proffered27 aid with a sunny smile, and went into the shop carrying a paper parcel.
There was nobody in the place, however, to take her order; and Mary, who was a timid girl, not too sure of her position, stood for a moment irresolute28, uncertain how to call the attention of the inmates29. Just as she was on the point of giving it up as useless, and retiring discomfited30, the door that led into the room behind the shop opened suddenly, and a young man entered. He seemed about nineteen, and he was tall and handsome, with deep-blue eyes, and long straggling locks of delicate yellow hair, that fell picturesquely31 though not affectedly32 about his ears and shoulders. He somehow reminded Mary of a painted window. She didn't know why, but instinctively33, as he entered, she felt as if there were something medieval and romantic about the good-looking shopman. His face was almost statuesquely beautiful—a fair, frank, open face, like a bonny young sailor's, and the loose curls above were thrown lightly off the tall white forehead in a singularly graceful34 yet unstudied fashion. He was really quite Florentine. The head altogether was the head of a gentleman, and something more than that: it had the bold and clear-cut, fearless look about it that one seldom finds among our English population, except as the badge of rank and race in the very highest classes. Mary felt half ashamed of herself, indeed, for noting all these things immediately and instinctively about a mere ordinary shopman; for, after all, a shopman he was, and nothing more: though his head and face were the head and face of a gentleman of distinction, his dress was simply the every-day dress of his class and occupation. He was a son of the people. And as Mary was herself a daughter of the clergy35, the eldest36 girl of a country rector, compelled by the many mouths and the narrow endowment at home to take a place as governess with a more favoured family at Chiddingwick Rectory, she knew she could have no possible right of any sort to take any personal interest in a bookseller's lad, however handsome and yellow-haired and distinguished-looking.
'I beg your pardon for not having come sooner,' the tall young man began in a very cultivated tone, which took Mary aback even more than did his singular and noteworthy appearance; 'but the fact is, you opened the door so very softly the bell didn't ring; and I didn't notice there was anybody in the shop, as I was busy cutting, till I happened to look up accidentally from my ream, and then I saw you. I hope I haven't kept you unnecessarily waiting?'
He spoke37 like a gentleman; and Mary observed, almost without remarking it, that he didn't call her 'miss,' though she was hardly even aware of the unusual omission38, his manner and address were so perfectly39 those of a courteous40 and wellbred equal. If she had fancied the customary title was left out on purpose, as a special tribute of disrespect to her position as governess, her sensitive little soul would have been deeply hurt by the slight, even from an utter stranger; but she felt instinctively the handsome young mail had no such intention. He didn't mean to be anything but perfectly polite, so she hardly even noticed the curious omission.
'Oh dear no,' she answered, in her timid little voice, unfolding her parcel as she spoke with a kind of shrinking fear that she must be hurting his feelings by treating him as a tradesman. 'I've only just come in; and I—well, I wanted to know whether you could bind41 this again for me? Or is it quite too old to be worth the trouble of binding42?'
The young man took it from her hands, and looked at her as he took it. The book was a 'British Flora,' in two stout43 octavo volumes, and it had evidently seen wear and tear, for it was tattered44 and dog-eared. But he received it mechanically, without glancing at it for a moment. His eyes, in fact, were fixed45 hard on Mary's. A woman knows at once what a man is thinking—especially, of course, when it's herself he's thinking about; and Mary knew that minute the young man with the fine brow and the loose yellow hair was thinking in his own head how exceedingly pretty she was. That makes a girl blush under any circumstances, and all the more so when the man who thinks it is her social inferior. Now, when Mary blushed, she coloured up to her delicate shell-like ears, which made her look prettier and daintier and more charming than ever; and the young man, withdrawing his eyes guiltily and suddenly—for he, too, knew what that blush must mean—was still further confirmed in his first opinion that she was very pretty.
The young lady, however, was ashamed he should even look at her. He was accustomed to that, and yet somehow in this case it particularly hurt him. He didn't know why, but he wanted her to like him. He look up the book to cover his confusion, and examined it carefully. 'At the time of the French Revolution,' he observed, as if to himself, in a curious, far-away tone, like one who volunteers for no particular reason a piece of general information, 'many of the refugees who came to this country were compelled to take up mechanical work of the commonest description. A Rochefoucauld mended shoes—and Talleyrand was a bookbinder.'
He said it exactly as if it was a casual remark about the volume he was holding, or the comparative merits of cloth and leather, with his eyes intently fixed on the backs of the covers, and his mind to all appearance profoundly absorbed in the alternative contemplation of morocco or russia. Mary thought him the oddest young man she had ever met in her life; she fancied he must be mad, and wondered by what chance of fate or fortune he could ever have wandered into a bookseller's shop at Chiddingwick.
The young man volunteered no more stray remarks about the French Revolution, however, but continued to inspect the backs of the books with more business-like consideration. Then he turned to her quietly: 'We could do this for you very cheap in half-calf,' he said, holding it up. 'It's not at all past mending. I see it's a favourite volume; and a book of reference of the sort you're constantly using in the open air ought to have sound, stout edges. The original binding, which was cloth, is quite unsuitable, of course, for such a purpose. If you'll leave it to me, I'll do my best to make a workman-like job of it.'
There was something in the earnest way the young man spoke that made Mary feel he took a pride in his work, simple and ordinary as it was; and his instant recognition of the needs and object of the particular volume in question, which in point of fact had been her companion in many country rambles46 over hill or moor47, seemed to her singularly different from the perfunctory habit of most common English workmen. To them, a book is just a book to be covered. She conceived in her own mind, therefore, a vague respect at once for the young man's character. But he himself was just then looking down at the volume once more, engaged in examining the inside of the binding. As he turned to the fly-leaf he gave a sudden little start of intense surprise. 'Tudor!' he murmured—'Mary Tudor! How very curious! Did this book, then, once belong to someone named Mary Tudor?'
'It belongs to me, and that's my name,' Mary answered, a little astonished, for he was gazing fixedly48 at her autograph on the blank page of the first volume. Never before in her experience had any shop people anywhere showed the slightest symptom of surprise at recognition of her royal surname.
The young man made a sudden gesture of curious incredulity. 'I beg your pardon,' he said, jotting49 down something in pencil in the inside of the book; 'do I understand you to mean your own real name is Mary Tudor?'
'Why, yes, certainly,' Mary answered, much amused at his earnestness. 'That's my own real name—Mary Empson Tudor.'
He looked at it again. 'What a singular coincidence!' he murmured to himself half inaudibly.
'It's not an uncommon50 name in Wales,' Mary answered, just to cover the awkwardness, for she was surprised the young man should feel any interest at all in so abstract a subject.
'Oh, that's not it,' the yellow-haired lad replied in a hasty little way. 'The coincidence is—that my name happens to be Richard Plantagenet.'
As he spoke, he drew himself up, and met her gaze once more with conscious pride in his clear blue eye. For a moment their glances answered each other; then both dropped their lids together. But Richard Plantagenet's cheek had flushed crimson51 meanwhile, as a very fair man's often will, almost like a girl's, and a strange fluttering had seized upon his heart well-nigh before he knew it. This was not remarkable52. Mary Tudor was an extremely pretty girl; and her name seemed fateful; but who was she? Who could she be? Why had she happened to come there? Richard Plantagenet determined53 in his own heart that moment he would surely search this out, and never rest until he had discovered the secret of their encounter.
'You shall have it on Wednesday,' he said, coming back to the book with a sudden drop from cloudland. 'Where may I send it?' This last in the common tone of business.
'To the Rectory,' Mary answered, 'addressed to Miss Tudor.' And then Richard knew at once she must be the new governess. His eye wandered to the door. He hadn't noticed till that minute the Rectory pony; but once he saw it, he understood all; for Chiddingwick was one of those very small places where everyone knows everyone else's business. And Fraulein had gone back just three weeks ago to Hanover.
There was a moment's pause: then Mary said 'Good-morning,' sidling off a little awkwardly; for she thought Richard Plantagenet's manner a trifle embarrassing for a man in his position; and she didn't even feel quite sure he wasn't going to claim relationship with her on the strength of his surname. Now, a shopman may be handsome and gentlemanly, and a descendant of kings, but he mustn't aspire54 to acquaintance on such grounds as these with the family of a clergyman of the Church of England.
'Good-morning,' Richard replied with a courtly bow, like a gentleman of the old school, which indeed he was. 'Your books shall be covered as well as we can do them.'
Mary returned to the pony, and Richard to his ream, which he was cutting into sermon-paper. But Mary Tudor's pretty face seemed to haunt him at his work; and he thought to himself more than once, between the clips of the knife, that if ever he married at all, that was just the sort of girl a descendant of the Plantagenets would like to marry. Yet the last time one of his house had espoused55 a Tudor, he said to himself very gravely, the relative roles of man and woman were reversed; for the Tudor was Henry of Richmond, 'called Henry VII., of our younger branch and the Plantagenet was Elizabeth of York, his consort56. And that was how 'the estates' went out of the family.
But 'the estates' were England, Wales, and Ireland, he often complained in the bosom57 of the family.
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1
quaintest
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| adj.古色古香的( quaint的最高级 )；少见的，古怪的 | |
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picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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stump
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| n.残株，烟蒂，讲演台；v.砍断，蹒跚而走 | |
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relic
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| n.神圣的遗物，遗迹，纪念物 | |
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chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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alcoholic
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| adj.（含）酒精的，由酒精引起的；n.酗酒者 | |
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9
refreshment
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| n.恢复，精神爽快，提神之事物；（复数）refreshments:点心，茶点 | |
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bland
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| adj.淡而无味的，温和的，无刺激性的 | |
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panorama
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| n.全景，全景画，全景摄影，全景照片[装置] | |
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12
pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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gentry
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| n.绅士阶级，上层阶级 | |
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14
bestow
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| v.把…赠与，把…授予；花费 | |
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15
plethoric
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| adj.过多的，多血症的 | |
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16
pompous
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| adj.傲慢的，自大的；夸大的；豪华的 | |
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plumed
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| 饰有羽毛的 | |
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18
connoisseur
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| n.鉴赏家，行家，内行 | |
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meditative
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| adj.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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20
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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21
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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placidly
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| adv.平稳地，平静地 | |
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23
obsequious
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| adj.谄媚的，奉承的，顺从的 | |
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24
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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25
compulsory
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| n.强制的，必修的；规定的，义务的 | |
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lurked
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| vi.潜伏，埋伏（lurk的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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proffered
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| v.提供，贡献，提出( proffer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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28
irresolute
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| adj.无决断的，优柔寡断的，踌躇不定的 | |
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29
inmates
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| n.囚犯( inmate的名词复数 ) | |
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30
discomfited
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| v.使为难( discomfit的过去式和过去分词)；使狼狈；使挫折；挫败 | |
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31
picturesquely
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32
affectedly
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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34
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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35
clergy
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| n.[总称]牧师，神职人员 | |
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36
eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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37
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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38
omission
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| n.省略，删节；遗漏或省略的事物，冗长 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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40
courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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41
bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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42
binding
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| 有约束力的，有效的，应遵守的 | |
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44
tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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45
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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46
rambles
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| （无目的地）漫游( ramble的第三人称单数 )； （喻）漫谈； 扯淡； 长篇大论 | |
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47
moor
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| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
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48
fixedly
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| adv.固定地；不屈地，坚定不移地 | |
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49
jotting
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| n.简短的笔记，略记v.匆忙记下( jot的现在分词 )；草草记下，匆匆记下 | |
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50
uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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51
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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52
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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53
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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54
aspire
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| vi.(to，after)渴望，追求，有志于 | |
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55
espoused
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| v.（决定）支持，拥护（目标、主张等）( espouse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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56
consort
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| v.相伴；结交 | |
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57
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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