In outward appearance, Mr. Fransemmery was a cheerful little person. Somewhat under medium height, he was inclined to portliness; like many little men, he carried himself very erect12, and was proud of the fact that he was as straight of back and square of shoulder at fifty as he had been at twenty-five. His clean-shaven face was round and rosy13; his eyes were bright behind his big gold-mounted spectacles; he had beautiful teeth and plentiful14 light-brown hair; scrupulous15 to a fault about his personal appearance, he always looked, said the village folk, as if he had just come out of a band-box, by which they meant that he was perfectly16 groomed17. There was, indeed, an air of perpetual youth and freshness about Mr. Fransemmery: each spring seemed to find him younger than the last. People chaffed him about his juvenility18; if he ever troubled himself to explain it, he did so by solemnly repeating the old saying—“Early to bed and early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise.” Mr. Fransemmery, since his arrival at The Warren, and his beginning of a truly rural existence, had always gone to bed at half-past nine o’clock and risen with the lark19.
He was up with the lark on this particular morning; was rising, as a matter of fact, at the very moment wherein, half a mile away at Markenmore Court, Harry20 Markenmore was quietly telling his sister Valencia that their father had died in his sleep. Mr. Fransemmery, of course, knew nothing of that; his thoughts were not of death but of life. He, too, drew his blinds and saw the red dawn, and heard the thrushes and blackbirds in the neighbouring plantations21; he smelled the scent22 of the spring-tide, and longed to be out of doors. It was his custom to go for a long walk every morning before his nine-o’clock breakfast; he was going to keep to it this morning. But first there were things to be done. His servants were never up before six: Mr. Fransemmery did things for himself. He was a great man for labour-saving devices; in his house at any hour of the day or night, hot water was ready in any sleeping chamber23. Accordingly Mr. Fransemmery could get his bath and his shaving water by merely twisting a tap; he had a patent stove, too, in his own bedroom whereon he would make tea or coffee in a few minutes. So now, long before his housekeeper24, his parlourmaid, and his housemaid had opened their eyes, he was bathing, shaving, dressing25, and in due time sipping26 his fragrant27 Mocha and nibbling28 digestive biscuits. At precisely29 six o’clock, clad in a smart suit of grey tweed, and shod in stout30 shooting boots, strong enough to meet the searching morning dews, he went downstairs, picked up an ashplant stick in his hall, and putting a rakish-looking cap on his head, set out across the high lands across The Warren.
Mr. Fransemmery’s first steps took him out of his own trim surroundings and across a little well-stocked orchard—planted by himself—to the lane which ran up from Markenmore to the crest31 of the downs. This was one of those lanes peculiar32 to the south of England, and rarely found elsewhere. It was deep-set in the land; high banks on either side shut it in; each bank was topped by an equally high hedgerow of hawthorne, holly33, and elder-bush, liberally mixed with bramble, gorse, and honeysuckle. The road-surface, rough and rutty, lay deep down beneath these prodigalities of vegetation; in winter it was usually a mass of mud; in summer it was ankle-deep in dust. But Mr. Fransemmery did not propose to follow the lane: he descended34 into it by a rustic35 stairway of logs, set in the bank, crossed the ruts at the bottom, and ascended36 the opposite bank by a similar series of steps. There he climbed a stile and betook himself along a narrow footpath37 hedged in on either side by laurel shrubs38; this led him to the palings of a smart little garden at the back of which stood a commodious39 dwelling40 house, Woodland Cottage, the residence of Mrs. Braxfield. And there, on a bit of open ground at the side of the garden, flinging corn to her fowls41, Mr. Fransemmery saw Mrs. Braxfield herself.
Mr. Fransemmery had known Mrs. Braxfield for some years. He had once or twice stayed at the Sceptre Inn before he came to live at The Warren. In those days Mrs. Braxfield was Mrs. Wrenne, relict of Peter Wrenne, deceased. She was a clever, bustling42, managing woman, who knew how to do things. Peter had left her money and one child—a girl named Poppy, who from the days of short frocks bade fair to be a beauty, and had made good her promise. Mrs. Wrenne continued to make money at the Sceptre; folks said she was putting by a fortune for Poppy—certainly Poppy was being brought up like a lady, sent to smart boarding schools, and such like. And then, all of a sudden, Mrs. Wrenne retired43 from business, took Woodland Cottage, and married Braxfield. Why she married him, nobody ever knew; Braxfield continued to live in his accustomed fashion at Markenmore Court, and if he ever visited his spouse44, it was only for an hour or two of an afternoon or evening, or for a very occasional week-end. But, as people of the neighbourhood said, Braxfield, too, would retire sometime, probably when Sir Anthony died—and then, no doubt, he would go home to Woodland Cottage and his wife for good.
Mr. Fransemmery looked approvingly at Mrs. Braxfield as he drew near to her and her chickens. He admired her. Being a little man himself, he had a keen eye for women of the somewhat massive order. Mrs. Braxfield was a big, strong, handsome woman of forty-seven or so, who looked quite five years younger—she had an excellent figure, fine hair, teeth, and colouring, and a pair of quick, shrewd, hazel eyes, in which there was still a spice of roguishness. She smiled at Mr. Fransemmery as he put his fingers to his rakish shepherd’s-plaid cap, and Mr. Fransemmery smiled back.
“The top of the morning to you, ma’am!” exclaimed Mr. Fransemmery. “Many of ’em, too! Ah, Mrs. Braxfield, you and I are the only sensible people about here, I think. Here we are, fresh and rosy—and in your case, beautiful as the day itself—enjoying fresh air and these delightful45 country sights and sounds while most of our neighbours—forgetful of Dr. Watts46 and his little hymn—are snoring in their beds. You’re a wise woman, ma’am!”
Mrs. Braxfield laughed, showing her white teeth, and bringing a dimpled chin into play.
“Why that’s as may be, Mr. Fransemmery,” she retorted, coquettishly. “But perhaps I’d lie snoring—not that I ever do snore that I know of—in my bed, if I’d the chance. You get up early because you like it—I get up because I’ve things to do. If I’d three strong women servants, as you have, I’d not get up at five o’clock of a morning, nor yet at six, I’d promise you—not I! I could do with more bed than I get.”
“In that case, ma’am,” said Mr. Fransemmery, “I should do one of two things. Either I should get a stout serving-lass into the house, or I should request Miss Poppy to rise and feed the fowls.”
“Oh well,” she said. “Poppy’s not a bad one for getting up and doing her bit. But she’s away just now, visiting one of her old school friends, so I’m alone. And as to having a girl, Mr. Fransemmery, I’d rather not be bothered with one—they’re more bother than they’re worth. Of course, I’ve a woman comes every day to do the rough work—what else there is to do, Poppy and me can manage well enough. I don’t know how it’ll be though, when Braxfield comes to live here—a man makes a difference, and I suppose we shall have to keep a servant or two when he retires.”
“He’s expecting to retire, then?” asked Mr. Fransemmery, who had a weakness for village gossip. “Had enough of it, eh?”
“He’ll not retire while Sir Anthony lives,” answered Mrs. Braxfield.
“From what I hear that won’t be long,” observed Mr. Fransemmery. “When I called at the Court, yesterday morning, to enquire48, as I do every day, ma’am, I understood from Miss Markenmore that according to the doctors her father might go any time.”
“He’s a very old man, Mr. Fransemmery,” said Mrs. Braxfield. “He was near sixty when he married the second time. However, whether he lasts long or little, Braxfield’ll stop with him till the end.”
“Good old faithful servant, Braxfield,” observed Mr. Fransemmery. “Well—when he does retire, ma’am, you’ve got a very cozy49 nest for him to come to! Lucky man!—pleasant home, delightful surroundings, and—the handsomest woman in the South Country! Eh, ma’am?”
“Lord, Mr. Fransemmery, what a flatterer you are!” said Mrs. Braxfield with a conscious laugh. “Go away with you!—you’ll be turning my head.”
Mr. Fransemmery laughed too, and went. He had a trick of teasing people, and derived50 great pleasure from it; its exercise kept him in good spirits. He was in high good spirits now, and he began to whistle when he had passed Woodland Cottage and had stepped out on the open downs beyond. But before he had gone far across the springy turf his whistling stopped abruptly51. Rounding a corner of the undulating surface Mr. Fransemmery suddenly saw that which made him pause. A hundred yards or so in front, a little to the left of the broad grass-covered foot-track which led from Markenmore Court to Mitbourne, a village on the further side of the downs, lay a deep depression in the land, locally known as Markenmore Hollow. It was, in reality, a long-disused chalk pit of unusual extent, but since its workings had been given up, a hundred years previously52, thick under-growth of gorse and bramble had accumulated there beneath a cluster of old Scotch53 fir, and the place was now a wilderness54 as lonely as it was wild. But it was not lonely at that moment. Standing55 by one of the Scotch firs, in close proximity56 to a great clump57 of gorse, were men—one of them, from his uniform, Mr. Fransemmery immediately recognized as the Markenmore village policeman; another, from his velveteen coat, as Sir Anthony Markenmore’s gamekeeper; the third was a farm-labourer whom Mr. Fransemmery often met of a morning as the man crossed the downs on his way to work in the village.
But it was not the sight of these three men that made Mr. Fransemmery suddenly halt and stop his blithe58 whistle and catch his breath. He was familiar with the three men—to his eyes they were known. But as they moved, he saw that at their feet there was lying something that was unknown. That something looked like the figure of a man, supine, motionless, covered by some wrap, a coat or overcoat, thrown carefully across its immobility. And it was with a sudden sense of he scarcely knew what, that Mr. Fransemmery, grave and silent enough by that time, went down into the Hollow.
The village policeman, a sharp-eyed fellow, who had once confided59 to Mr. Fransemmery that he had ambitions and meant to rise in the force, came towards him. His face betokened60 a good deal, and he shook his head slightly as he put his fingers to his peaked cap.
“What’s all this?” asked Mr. Fransemmery in a hushed voice. “Something wrong?”
“Something very wrong, sir,” replied the policeman. He drew nearer, and turning, pointed61 to the shrouded62 figure. “Gentleman lying there dead, sir. Shot through the head!—but whether its murder or suicide, I can’t say, sir. Murder I think—anyhow, there’s no revolver lying near. And it’s been a revolver.”
“Good heavens!” exclaimed Mr. Fransemmery. “Why—who was he?”
The policeman gave him a sharp look.
“I couldn’t have said, sir,” he replied. “I’ve only been here three years, so of course I don’t know him. But these other two men, they do: Mr. Guy Markenmore, sir.”
Mr. Fransemmery started.
“What!” he exclaimed. “Sir Anthony’s elder son? You don’t mean it.”
“They say so, sir, and they know him well enough,” answered the policeman. “That man, Hobbs, the ploughman, found him. He ran down to the keeper’s cottage, and to me, and we came up at once. But before coming I telephoned to Selcaster, and the Chief Constable63 himself is coming along—they said he was starting out then, with the doctor. Come and look at him, sir.”
Mr. Fransemmery nerved himself to this sad task, and went nearer. The keeper and the labourer touched their caps; the policeman drew aside the cloak which the labourer had taken from his shoulders and laid over the dead man. And Mr. Fransemmery, wondering what all this meant, bent64 down.
Dead enough, he thought. And peaceful enough. A calm, bloodless face, neither smile nor frown on it—nothing but a little drawing together of the finely marked eyebrows65, a slightly puzzled expression. Otherwise, so still. . . .
“It must have been murder, sir,” whispered the policeman, “and at close quarters. Look there!—the skin over his temples slightly burnt. And——”
“They’re coming,” said the keeper suddenly. “Two or three of them.”
Mr. Fransemmery straightened himself and looked across the downs. A dog-cart, driven at considerable speed, was coming along the grass-track from the direction of Selcaster, the tall spire66 of whose cathedral showed above the woods which lay between the downs and the old city. In the gleam of the rapidly rising sun he caught the glint of the silver and blue uniform of the county police, and as the keeper had said, the dog-cart, driven by a policeman, seemed filled with men. And presently it raced up the sward to the lip of the hollow, and the Chief Constable, a military-looking man of middle age, jumped out and followed by two other men, one the police-surgeon, the other obviously a plain-clothes officer, came hurrying down to the little group beneath the Scotch firs. He nodded to Mr. Fransemmery, whom everybody in the district knew, and turned sharply on the village constable.
“Who found this man?” he asked quickly.
The ploughman came forward, with evident distaste.
“I did, sir!” he answered. “James Hobbs—work at Mr. Marrow’s.”
“When—and how?” asked the Chief Constable.
“About an hour ago, sir—maybe a bit more,” replied Hobbs. “I come this way to my work every morning. I caught sight of him as I was passing the top there, and I came down to take a look at him. Then I saw he was dead, so I covered him up with my coat and ran along to the village to tell the policeman there.”
“He was dead when you found him?” asked the Chief Constable.
“Made out he was dead enough, sir! I touched his hand and his face—stone cold they was, both of ’em.”
The Chief Constable turned to the police-surgeon, who went forward and removed the cloak. He stooped down and made a hasty examination; then rose and spoke67 with decision.
“He’s been dead from, I should say, two to three hours—perhaps a little longer,” he said. “Shot dead—a revolver, presumably.”
“Found anything of that sort?” asked the Chief Constable of the policeman.
“Nothing, sir. I’ve looked carefully all round. There’s nothing.”
“Murder then!” muttered the Chief Constable. He went nearer and looked intently at the dead man. “I suppose this is Mr. Guy Markenmore?” he said, glancing at the keeper and the policeman. “I’ve never seen him, you know—he’d left before I came to Selcaster.”
“This is Guy Markenmore, without a doubt,” said the police-surgeon. “I knew him well enough. He’s very little altered, either. You knew him, too, of course,” he continued, with a look at the keeper. “You can recognize him?”
“Oh, I know him, sir,” exclaimed the keeper. “That’s Mr. Guy, right enough, that is! I’d know him anywhere—poor gentleman!”
The Chief Constable looked round. Markenmore Court caught his eye, lying amongst its elms and beeches68 three-quarters of a mile away across the shelving hill-side. He shook his head.
“This is a bad business,” he muttered. “Who on earth should want to murder him? Been away for—seven years, isn’t it? Well, he’ll have to be removed, and we shall have to inform the coroner at once. Blick,” he continued, turning to the plain-clothes man, “you take charge of this. Send down to the village for help—have the body brought down to the Court; the inquest can be held there. Let Hobbs there run down to the village—send Walshaw back in the dog-cart to Selcaster for the other policeman—and have all round here thoroughly69 examined for footmarks, and so on. Doctor, will you stay by and come down with them to the Court when they’re ready to remove him?—you’ll no doubt want to make a more careful examination. Now then—we’ve got to break the news to the family. Mr. Fransemmery, I think you know them all pretty well—will you walk down with me? A painful duty, but it’s got to be done.”
Mr. Fransemmery bowed his head, and he and the Chief Constable set off at a smart pace across the downs. For awhile they walked in silence: the Chief Constable broke it.
“I understand that Sir Anthony’s about at his last end,” he said. “This—hello, what’s that?”
The two men stopped, staring at each other. Then, with a mutual70 understanding, they turned sharply towards the valley. From the tower of Markenmore Church came the deep, booming note of a bell; a moment passed and it was repeated.
“The minute bell!” muttered the Chief Constable. “Then—Sir Anthony Markenmore’s gone!”
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
coverts
|
|
| n.隐蔽的，不公开的，秘密的( covert的名词复数 )；复羽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
picturesque
|
|
| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
steward
|
|
| n.乘务员，服务员；看管人；膳食管理员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
stewards
|
|
| （轮船、飞机等的）乘务员( steward的名词复数 )； （俱乐部、旅馆、工会等的）管理员； （大型活动的）组织者； （私人家中的）管家 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
relegated
|
|
| v.使降级( relegate的过去式和过去分词 )；使降职；转移；把…归类 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
tenants
|
|
| n.房客( tenant的名词复数 )；佃户；占用者；占有者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
middle-aged
|
|
| adj.中年的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
possessed
|
|
| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
antiquities
|
|
| n.古老( antiquity的名词复数 )；古迹；古人们；古代的风俗习惯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
botanist
|
|
| n.植物学家 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
geologist
|
|
| n.地质学家 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
erect
|
|
| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
rosy
|
|
| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
plentiful
|
|
| adj.富裕的，丰富的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
scrupulous
|
|
| adj.审慎的，小心翼翼的，完全的，纯粹的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
groomed
|
|
| v.照料或梳洗（马等）( groom的过去式和过去分词 )；使做好准备；训练；（给动物）擦洗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
juvenility
|
|
| n.年轻，不成熟 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
lark
|
|
| n.云雀，百灵鸟；n.嬉戏，玩笑；vi.嬉戏 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
harry
|
|
| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
plantations
|
|
| n.种植园，大农场( plantation的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
scent
|
|
| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
chamber
|
|
| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
housekeeper
|
|
| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
dressing
|
|
| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
sipping
|
|
| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
fragrant
|
|
| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
nibbling
|
|
| v.啃，一点一点地咬（吃）( nibble的现在分词 )；啃出（洞），一点一点咬出（洞）；慢慢减少；小口咬 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
precisely
|
|
| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
crest
|
|
| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
peculiar
|
|
| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
holly
|
|
| n.[植]冬青属灌木 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
descended
|
|
| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
rustic
|
|
| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
ascended
|
|
| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
footpath
|
|
| n.小路，人行道 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
shrubs
|
|
| 灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
commodious
|
|
| adj.宽敞的；使用方便的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
dwelling
|
|
| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
fowls
|
|
| 鸟( fowl的名词复数 )； 禽肉； 既不是这； 非驴非马 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
bustling
|
|
| adj.喧闹的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
retired
|
|
| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
spouse
|
|
| n.配偶(指夫或妻) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
delightful
|
|
| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
watts
|
|
| （电力计量单位）瓦，瓦特( watt的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
sieve
|
|
| n.筛，滤器，漏勺 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
enquire
|
|
| v.打听，询问；调查，查问 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
cozy
|
|
| adj.亲如手足的，密切的，暖和舒服的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
derived
|
|
| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
abruptly
|
|
| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
previously
|
|
| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
scotch
|
|
| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
wilderness
|
|
| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
proximity
|
|
| n.接近，邻近 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
clump
|
|
| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
blithe
|
|
| adj.快乐的，无忧无虑的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
confided
|
|
| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
betokened
|
|
| v.预示，表示( betoken的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
pointed
|
|
| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
shrouded
|
|
| v.隐瞒( shroud的过去式和过去分词 )；保密 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
constable
|
|
| n.(英国)警察，警官 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
eyebrows
|
|
| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
spire
|
|
| n.(教堂)尖顶，尖塔，高点 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
spoke
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
beeches
|
|
| n.山毛榉( beech的名词复数 )；山毛榉木材 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
thoroughly
|
|
| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
mutual
|
|
| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |