But the fortnight, uneventful as it was, had not been a fortnight lost. Experience had already satisfied her on one important point—experience had shown that she could set the rooted distrust of the other servants safely at defiance2. Time had accustomed the women to her presence in the house, without shaking the vague conviction which possessed3 them all alike, that the newcomer was not one of themselves. All that Magdalen could do in her own defense4 was to keep the instinctive5 female suspicion of her confined within those purely6 negative limits which it had occupied from the first, and this she accomplished7.
Day after day the women watched her with the untiring vigilance of malice8 and distrust, and day after day not the vestige9 of a discovery rewarded them for their pains. Silently, intelligently, and industriously—with an ever-present remembrance of herself and her place—the new parlor-maid did her work. Her only intervals11 of rest and relaxation12 were the intervals passed occasionally in the day with old Mazey and the dogs, and the precious interval10 of the night during which she was secure from observation in the solitude13 of her room. Thanks to the superfluity of bed-chambers at St. Crux, each one of the servants had the choice, if she pleased, of sleeping in a room of her own. Alone in the night, Magdalen might dare to be herself again—might dream of the past, and wake from the dream, encountering no curious eyes to notice that she was in tears—might ponder over the future, and be roused by no whisperings in corners, which tainted14 her with the suspicion of “having something on her mind.”
Satisfied, thus far, of the perfect security of her position in the house, she profited next by a second chance in her favor, which—before the fortnight was at an end—relieved her mind of all doubt on the formidable subject of Mrs. Lecount.
Partly from the accidental gossip of the women at the table in the servants’ hall; partly from a marked paragraph in a Swiss newspaper, which she had found one morning lying open on the admiral’s easy-chair—she gained the welcome assurance that no danger was to be dreaded15, this time, from the housekeeper’s presence on the scene. Mrs. Lecount had, as it appeared, passed a week or more at St. Crux after the date of her master’s death, and had then left England, to live on the interest of her legacy16, in honorable and prosperous retirement17, in her native place. The paragraph in the Swiss newspaper described the fulfillment of this laudable project. Mrs. Lecount had not only established herself at Zurich, but (wisely mindful of the uncertainty18 of life) had also settled the charitable uses to which her fortune was to be applied19 after her death. One half of it was to go to the founding of a “Lecompte Scholarship” for poor students in the University of Geneva. The other half was to be employed by the municipal authorities of Zurich in the maintenance and education of a certain number of orphan20 girls, natives of the city, who were to be trained for domestic service in later life. The Swiss journalist adverted21 to these philanthropic bequests22 in terms of extravagant23 eulogy24. Zurich was congratulated on the possession of a Paragon25 of public virtue26; and William Tell, in the character of benefactor27 to Switzerland, was compared disadvantageously with Mrs. Lecount.
The third week began, and Magdalen was now at liberty to take her first step forward on the way to the discovery of the Secret Trust.
She ascertained28 from old Mazey that it was his master’s custom, during the winter and spring months, to occupy the rooms in the north wing; and during the summer and autumn to cross the Arctic passage of “Freeze-your-Bones,” and live in the eastward29 apartments which looked out on the garden. While the Banqueting-Hall remained—owing to the admiral’s inadequate30 pecuniary31 resources—in its damp and dismantled32 state, and while the interior of St. Crux was thus comfortlessly divided into two separate residences, no more convenient arrangement than this could well have been devised. Now and then (as Magdalen understood from her informant) there were days, both in winter and summer, when the admiral became anxious about the condition of the rooms which he was not occupying at the time, and when he insisted on investigating the state of the furniture, the pictures, and the books with his own eyes. On these occasions, in summer as in winter, a blazing fire was kindled33 for some days previously34 in the large grate, and the charcoal35 was lighted in the tripod-pan, to keep the Banqueting-Hall as warm as circumstances would admit. As soon as the old gentleman’s anxieties were set at rest the rooms were shut up again, and “Freeze-your-Bones” was once more abandoned for weeks and weeks together to damp, desolation, and decay. The last of these temporary migrations36 had taken place only a few days since; the admiral had satisfied himself that the rooms in the east wing were none the worse for the absence of their master, and he might now be safely reckoned on as settled in the north wing for weeks, and perhaps, if the season was cold, for months to come.
Trifling37 as they might be in themselves, these particulars were of serious importance to Magdalen, for they helped her to fix the limits of the field of search. Assuming that the admiral was likely to keep all his important documents within easy reach of his own hand, she might now feel certain that the Secret Trust was secured in one or other of the rooms in the north wing.
In which room? That question was not easy to answer.
Of the four inhabitable rooms which were all at the admiral’s disposal during the day—that is to say, of the dining-room, the library, the morning-room, and the drawing-room opening out of the vestibule—the library appeared to be the apartment in which, if he had a preference, he passed the greater part of his time. There was a table in this room, with drawers that locked; there was a magnificent Italian cabinet, with doors that locked; there were five cupboards under the book-cases, every one of which locked. There were receptacles similarly secured in the other rooms; and in all or any of these papers might be kept.
She had answered the bell, and had seen him locking and unlocking, now in one room, now in another, but oftenest in the library. She had noticed occasionally that his expression was fretful and impatient when he looked round at her from an open cabinet or cupboard and gave his orders; and she inferred that something in connection with his papers and possessions—it might or might not be the Secret Trust—irritated and annoyed him from time to time. She had heard him more than once lock something up in one of the rooms, come out and go into another room, wait there a few minutes, then return to the first room with his keys in his hand, and sharply turn the locks and turn them again. This fidgety anxiety about his keys and his cupboards might be the result of the inbred restlessness of his disposition38, aggravated39 in a naturally active man by the aimless indolence of a life in retirement—a life drifting backward and forward among trifles, with no regular employment to steady it at any given hour of the day. On the other hand, it was just as probable that these comings and goings, these lockings and unlockings, might be attributable to the existence of some private responsibility which had unexpectedly intruded40 itself into the old man’s easy existence, and which tormented41 him with a sense of oppression new to the experience of his later years. Either one of these interpretations43 might explain his conduct as reasonably and as probably as the other. Which was the right interpretation42 of the two, it was, in Magdalen’s position, impossible to say.
The one certain discovery at which she arrived was made in her first day’s observation of him. The admiral was a rigidly44 careful man with his keys.
All the smaller keys he kept on a ring in the breast-pocket of his coat. The larger he locked up together; generally, but not always, in one of the drawers of the library table. Sometimes he left them secured in this way at night; sometimes he took them up to the bedroom with him in a little basket. He had no regular times for leaving them or for taking them away with him; he had no discoverable reason for now securing them in the library-table drawer, and now again locking them up in some other place. The inveterate45 willfulness and caprice of his proceedings46 in these particulars defied every effort to reduce them to a system, and baffled all attempts at calculating on them beforehand.
The hope of gaining positive information to act on, by laying artful snares47 for him which he might fall into in his talk, proved, from the outset, to be utterly48 futile49.
In Magdalen’s situation all experiments of this sort would have been in the last degree difficult and dangerous with any man. With the admiral they were simply impossible. His tendency to veer50 about from one subject to another; his habit of keeping his tongue perpetually going, so long as there was anybody, no matter whom, within reach of the sound of his voice; his comical want of all dignity and reserve with his servants, promised, in appearance, much, and performed in reality nothing. No matter how diffidently or how respectfully Magdalen might presume on her master’s example, and on her master’s evident liking51 for her, the old man instantly discovered the advance she was making from her proper position, and instantly put her back in it again, with a quaint52 good humor which inflicted53 no pain, but with a blunt straightforwardness54 of purpose which permitted no escape. Contradictory55 as it may sound, Admiral Bartram was too familiar to be approached; he kept the distance between himself and his servant more effectually than if he had been the proudest man in England. The systematic56 reserve of a superior toward an inferior may be occasionally overcome—the systematic familiarity never.
Slowly the time dragged on. The fourth week came; and Magdalen had made no new discoveries. The prospect57 was depressing in the last degree. Even in the apparently58 hopeless event of her devising a means of getting at the admiral’s keys, she could not count on retaining possession of them unsuspected more than a few hours—hours which might be utterly wasted through her not knowing in what direction to begin the search. The Trust might be locked up in any one of some twenty receptacles for papers, situated59 in four different rooms; and which room was the likeliest to look in, which receptacle was the most promising60 to begin with, which position among other heaps of papers the one paper needful might be expected to occupy, was more than she could say. Hemmed61 in by immeasurable uncertainties62 on every side; condemned63, as it were, to wander blindfold64 on the very brink65 of success, she waited for the chance that never came, for the event that never happened, with a patience which was sinking already into the patience of despair.
Night after night she looked back over the vanished days, and not an event rose on her memory to distinguish them one from the other. The only interruptions to the weary uniformity of the life at St. Crux were caused by the characteristic delinquencies of old Mazey and the dogs.
At certain intervals, the original wildness broke out in the natures of Brutus and Cassius. The modest comforts of home, the savory66 charms of made dishes, the decorous joy of digestions67 accomplished on hearth-rugs, lost all their attractions, and the dogs ungratefully left the house to seek dissipation and adventure in the outer world. On these occasions the established after-dinner formula of question and answer between old Mazey and his master varied68 a little in one particular. “God bless the Queen, Mazey,” and “How’s the wind, Mazey?” were followed by a new inquiry69: “Where are the dogs, Mazey?” “Out on the loose, your honor, and be damned to ‘em,” was the veteran’s unvarying answer. The admiral always sighed and shook his head gravely at the news, as if Brutus and Cassius had been sons of his own, who treated him with a want of proper filial respect. In two or three days’ time the dogs always returned, lean, dirty, and heartily70 ashamed of themselves. For the whole of the next day they were invariably tied up in disgrace. On the day after they were scrubbed clean, and were formally re-admitted to the dining-room. There, Civilization, acting71 through the subtle medium of the Saucepan, recovered its hold on them; and the admiral’s two prodigal72 sons, when they saw the covers removed, watered at the mouth as copiously73 as ever.
Old Mazey, in his way, proved to be just as disreputably inclined on certain occasions as the dogs. At intervals, the original wildness in his nature broke out; he, too, lost all relish74 for the comforts of home, and ungratefully left the house. He usually disappeared in the afternoon, and returned at night as drunk as liquor could make him. He was by many degrees too seasoned a vessel75 to meet with any disasters on these occasions. His wicked old legs might take roundabout methods of progression, but they never failed him; his wicked old eyes might see double, but they always showed him the way home. Try as hard as they might, the servants could never succeed in persuading him that he was drunk; he always scorned the imputation76. He even declined to admit the idea privately77 into his mind, until he had first tested his condition by an infallible criterion of his own.
It was his habit, in these cases of Bacchanalian78 emergency, to stagger obstinately79 into his room on the ground-floor, to take the model-ship out of the cupboard, and to try if he could proceed with the never-to-be-completed employment of setting up the rigging. When he had smashed the tiny spars, and snapped asunder80 the delicate ropes—then, and not till then, the veteran admitted facts as they were, on the authority of practical evidence. “Ay! ay!” he used to say confidentially81 to himself, “the women are right. Drunk again, Mazey—drunk again!” Having reached this discovery, it was his habit to wait cunningly in the lower regions until the admiral was safe in his room, and then to ascend82 in discreet83 list slippers84 to his post. Too wary85 to attempt getting into the truckle-bed (which would have been only inviting86 the catastrophe87 of a fall against his master’s door), he always walked himself sober up and down the passage. More than once Magdalen had peeped round the screen, and had seen the old sailor unsteadily keeping his watch, and fancying himself once more at his duty on board ship. “This is an uncommonly88 lively vessel in a sea-way,” he used to mutter under his breath, when his legs took him down the passage in zigzag89 directions, or left him for the moment studying the “Pints of the Compass” on his own system, with his back against the wall. “A nasty night, mind you,” he would maunder on, taking another turn. “As dark as your pocket, and the wind heading us again from the old quarter.” On the next day old Mazey, like the dogs, was kept downstairs in disgrace. On the day after, like the dogs again, he was reinstated in his privileges; and another change was introduced in the after-dinner formula. On entering the room, the old sailor stopped short and made his excuses in this brief yet comprehensive form of words, with his back against the door: “Please your honor, I’m ashamed of myself.” So the apology began and ended. “This mustn’t happen again, Mazey,” the admiral used to answer. “It shan’t happen again, your honor.” “Very good. Come here, and drink your glass of wine. God bless the Queen, Mazey.” The veteran tossed off his port, and the dialogue ended as usual.
So the days passed, with no incidents more important than these to relieve their monotony, until the end of the fourth week was at hand.
On the last day, an event happened; on the last day, the long deferred90 promise of the future unexpectedly began to dawn. While Magdalen was spreading the cloth in the dining-room, as usual, Mrs. Drake looked in, and instructed her on this occasion, for the first time, to lay the table for two persons. The admiral had received a letter from his nephew. Early that evening Mr. George Bartram was expected to return to St. Crux.
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1
crux
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| adj.十字形；难事，关键，最重要点 | |
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defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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defense
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| n.防御，保卫；[pl.]防务工事；辩护，答辩 | |
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instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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vestige
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| n.痕迹，遗迹，残余 | |
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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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relaxation
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| n.松弛，放松；休息；消遣；娱乐 | |
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solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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tainted
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| adj.腐坏的；污染的；沾污的；感染的v.使变质( taint的过去式和过去分词 )；使污染；败坏；被污染，腐坏，败坏 | |
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15
dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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legacy
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| n.遗产，遗赠；先人(或过去)留下的东西 | |
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retirement
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| n.退休，退职 | |
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uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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orphan
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| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
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adverted
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| 引起注意（advert的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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bequests
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| n.遗赠( bequest的名词复数 )；遗产，遗赠物 | |
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extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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eulogy
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| n.颂词；颂扬 | |
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paragon
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| n.模范，典型 | |
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virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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benefactor
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| n. 恩人，行善的人，捐助人 | |
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ascertained
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| v.弄清，确定，查明( ascertain的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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inadequate
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| adj.(for,to)不充足的，不适当的 | |
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pecuniary
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| adj.金钱的；金钱上的 | |
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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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kindled
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| （使某物）燃烧，着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 )； 激起（感情等）； 发亮，放光 | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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charcoal
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| n.炭，木炭，生物炭 | |
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migrations
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| n.迁移，移居( migration的名词复数 ) | |
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trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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aggravated
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| 使恶化( aggravate的过去式和过去分词 )； 使更严重； 激怒； 使恼火 | |
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intruded
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| n.侵入的，推进的v.侵入，侵扰，打扰( intrude的过去式和过去分词 )；把…强加于 | |
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tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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interpretation
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| n.解释，说明，描述；艺术处理 | |
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interpretations
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| n.解释( interpretation的名词复数 )；表演；演绎；理解 | |
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rigidly
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| adv.刻板地，僵化地 | |
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inveterate
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| adj.积习已深的，根深蒂固的 | |
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proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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snares
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| n.陷阱( snare的名词复数 )；圈套；诱人遭受失败（丢脸、损失等）的东西；诱惑物v.用罗网捕捉，诱陷，陷害( snare的第三人称单数 ) | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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50
veer
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| vt.转向，顺时针转，改变；n.转向 | |
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51
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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52
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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inflicted
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| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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straightforwardness
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| n.坦白，率直 | |
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contradictory
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| adj.反驳的，反对的，抗辩的；n.正反对，矛盾对立 | |
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systematic
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| adj.有系统的，有计划的，有方法的 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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hemmed
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| 缝…的褶边( hem的过去式和过去分词 )； 包围 | |
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uncertainties
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| 无把握( uncertainty的名词复数 )； 不确定； 变化不定； 无把握、不确定的事物 | |
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condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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blindfold
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| vt.蒙住…的眼睛；adj.盲目的；adv.盲目地；n.蒙眼的绷带[布等]； 障眼物，蒙蔽人的事物 | |
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brink
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| n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘，边沿 | |
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savory
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| adj.风味极佳的，可口的，味香的 | |
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digestions
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| n.消化能力( digestion的名词复数 )；消化，领悟 | |
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varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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69
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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70
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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71
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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72
prodigal
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| adj.浪费的，挥霍的，放荡的 | |
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73
copiously
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| adv.丰富地，充裕地 | |
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74
relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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75
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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76
imputation
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| n.归罪，责难 | |
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77
privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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78
bacchanalian
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| adj.闹酒狂饮的；n.发酒疯的人 | |
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79
obstinately
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| ad.固执地，顽固地 | |
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80
asunder
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| adj.分离的，化为碎片 | |
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81
confidentially
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| ad.秘密地，悄悄地 | |
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82
ascend
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| vi.渐渐上升，升高；vt.攀登，登上 | |
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83
discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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84
slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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85
wary
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| adj.谨慎的，机警的，小心的 | |
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86
inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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87
catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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88
uncommonly
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| adv. 稀罕(极，非常) | |
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89
zigzag
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| n.曲折，之字形；adj.曲折的，锯齿形的；adv.曲折地，成锯齿形地；vt.使曲折；vi.曲折前行 | |
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90
deferred
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| adj.延期的，缓召的v.拖延，延缓，推迟( defer的过去式和过去分词 )；服从某人的意愿，遵从 | |
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