Dixon had accompanied her mistress to foreign parts; and it was Martha, housemaid, who told Mrs. Brookes that a lady, who had been shown into her own room, wanted to see her.
"Which, I dare say, she's come after Susan's character," remarked Martha, parenthetically, "for she ain't this side Hamherst, I know."
Mrs. Brookes rose from the chair that she had placed opposite George's picture, took off her spectacles, from which she wiped a suspicious moisture, placed them carefully in her pocket, arranged her cap and shawl, and, without vouchsafing13 any answer to the speculations14 of Martha, she took her way slowly to the housekeeper's room. As she crossed the hall she saw a fly standing15 at the open door; and the driver, a man from Page's, touched his hat to her as she passed.
"I don't know this lady," she thought. "Nobody about here takes a fly to come to Poynings."
Her visitor was seated on the heavy horsehair sofa, which in the winter flanked the fire, but was now drawn16 close under the window through which George had entered on that memorable night, which came freshly into the memory of the old woman at that moment. As she looked sharply at the figure which rose to greet her, Mrs. Brookes felt in a moment that she was in the presence of a woman with some purpose.
The fixedness17 of Harriet Routh's face, the effort of a smile--for loneliness told upon her nerves now with rapidity and power--a something forced and painful in her voice, aroused an instinctive18 fear in Mrs. Brookes, and put her on her guard. She made a stiff bow and a movement with her body, which, when she was younger, would have been a curtsey, but was now only a duck, and asked her visitor's pleasure.
"I have called upon you, Mrs. Brookes," said Harriet, in a sweet and winning tone, "in consequence of a paragraph which I have seen in a newspaper."
It was an unfortunate beginning, for it set the old nurse instantly on her guard by arousing her suspicions, and making her resolve that the blue-eyed, sweet-spoken lady, who looked as if she had a purpose, should get nothing out of her.
"Indeed," she replied, very stiffly. "Please to sit down, ma'am."
Harriet resumed her seat, and began to speak rather quickly. Mrs. Brookes looked at her steadily20, immovably, having put on her spectacles for the purpose, but gave her neither encouragement nor assistance by so much as a sound or a nod.
"I am Mrs. Routh," she said, "and a friend of Mr. George Dallas, Mrs. Carruthers's son. It is on his account and for his sake I have come here."
Mrs. Brookes's black-mittened hands pressed each other more closely as they lay clasped together in her lap, but she made no sign.
"I am aware of the unfortunate circumstances which keep Mr. Dallas and his mother apart," continued Harriet, who maintained a watch upon the old woman as steady as her own, but more covert21; "and I am afraid he will be much distressed22 and alarmed if this reaches him without any preparation."
She held out a newspaper as she spoke19--a newspaper she had procured23 at the inn at Amherst, and pointed24 to the paragraph which recorded the departure of Mr. and Mrs. Carruthers of Poynings and suite25 for the Continent; and, in addition, the regret with which "we" had learned that the departure in question had been occasioned by the dangerous illness of Mrs. Carruthers. Mrs. Brookes was immensely relieved, but not altogether reassured26. She had a vague idea that the business of detection was sometimes intrusted to women, and she still had her doubts of the blue-eyed, sweet-spoken lady whose face indicated a purpose, without betraying it.
"Mr. Dallas knows of his mother's illness," said Mrs. Brookes. "He will not hear of it first from any newspaper."
"Indeed," said Harriet. "I am glad to know that. I am much relieved. Mr. Dallas is so intimate with Mr. Routh, my husband, and we are so much attached to him, that anything which is of importance to him concerns us. I am on my way to Dover, and I thought I would turn out of it a little to inquire into this matter."
"Thank you, ma'am," said Mrs. Brookes, still unsoftened. "May I ask if you have left your house in London?"
"We have for the present," replied Harriet; "indeed, I don't think we shall return there."
Mrs. Brookes looked confused and distressed.
"Excuse me," she said, after an awkward pause, "if I appear at all impertinent. I am George Dallas's old nurse, and more his mother's friend than her servant, and I can't be particular about other people when they are concerned. George Dallas is not as welcome here as he ought to be in his mother's house; you say you know that. If you really are Mrs. Routh, you ought to know more about him than that--more, in fact, than I do."
"Certainly," said Harriet, with unchanged sweetness of tone, and just the least gleam of colour in her cheek, showing that she was approaching her object. "I do know a great deal more about George Dallas than you do, if, as I conclude from your words, nothing has been heard of him since his last visit to his mother."
She paused very slightly, but Mrs. Brookes did not utter a word.
"You are quite right to be cautious, Mrs. Brookes; in such a delicate family matter as this, caution is most essential. Poor George has been so foolish, that he has laid himself open to being harmed either by enemies or injudicious friends; but I assure you, Mrs. Brookes, I am neither. I really am Mrs. Routh, and I am quite in George's confidence, and am here solely27 with the purpose of saving him any trouble or anxiety I can."
"Where is he?" asked the old woman, suddenly, as if the question were forced upon her.
"He is at Amsterdam, in Holland," replied Harriet, in a frank tone, and changing her seat for one beside Mrs. Brookes, as she spoke; "here are several letters from him. See," and she drew half a dozen sheets of foreign paper, closely written over, from her pocket, and put them into the old woman's hands. She beheld28 the letters with mingled pleasure and avoidance: they could not answer the question which tormented29 her, but they relieved her misgivings30 about her visitor. She felt assured now that she really was speaking to Mrs. Routh, and that the object of her visit was one of kindness to George. The letters were in his well-known hand; the thin paper and the postmarks satisfied her that they came from abroad. He was still out of the country, then; so far there was safety, but she must be cautious still concerning him. What if she could make Harriet the unconscious bearer of a further warning to him--a warning carefully contrived31 so that none but he should know its meaning, and he should understand it thoroughly32? She would try. She had thought all this while she turned the letters over in her hands; then she returned them to Harriet, and said:
"Thank you, ma'am. I see these are from Master George, and it's plain he has great confidence in you. He never answered a letter I sent him: it went to your house."
"All communications for him are addressed to Mr. Routh," said Harriet, "and forwarded at once."
"Well, ma'am, he never told me where he had gone to, or wrote a letter but one to his mother; and when that came, she was too ill to read it, or know anything about it."
"Indeed," said Harriet, in a tone of commiseration33; "she must have been taken ill just after he saw her, then?"
"She was," returned Mrs. Brookes, emphatically, "and you, ma'am, know, no doubt, why she saw him, and can understand that his conduct caused her illness."
"Not exactly that," said Harriet. "He told me all that had passed, and described his mother as full of forgiveness and hope, and he even said how well and handsome he thought her looking. George amuses us very much by constantly talking of his mother's beauty; he will be all the more distressed when he hears of her illness, now, and I really think, Mrs. Brookes, it cannot be quite fair to impute34 it to his conduct."
"It was just that, and nothing else," said the old woman; and her voice shook as she spoke, though she strove to control it. "It was, indeed, ma'am, and you must tell him the truth, without softening35 it, or making it any better. Tell him that she nearly died of the knowledge of his conduct, and that her mind is weakened, and her memory gone."
"Her memory gone!" exclaimed Harriet. "You don't mean to say it is so bad as that?"
"I do, indeed," said Mrs. Brookes. "And will you tell him exactly what I tell you? Tell him that his mother has forgotten all that led to her illness, all the fear and suspense36 she underwent. Of course she was frightened at what she had to do, and in suspense until it was done; but I am sure she has not forgotten him, and if he were to see her, or even be mentioned to her suddenly, it might have the worst effect. Be sure to tell him this, and that the only thing he can do to atone37 for the past in any way is to keep out of his mother's sight. He knows some of this already, for I wrote to him, and he knows from Mr. Carruthers that his mother is gone away."
"From Mr. Carruthers?" said Harriet, in a tone of admirably simulated surprise; "does he ever communicate with George?"
"My master is a very just man," replied Mrs. Brookes, in a stately tone, "and he would not allow his wife's son to be kept in ignorance of his mother's danger. I am sure he will send for him, wherever he may be, if there is no chance of her recovery. I don't say he would send for him sooner."
"Of course Mr. Carruthers has no idea of the cause of Mrs. Carruthers's illness?"
"No, no; it was her fear of his finding out that George had been here, and what for, that brought it on; but, of course, he did not suspect anything."
"It is very strange," said Harriet, musingly38; "she seems to have borne all this business perfectly39 well at the time, and given way completely afterwards. It must have surprised you very much, Mrs. Brookes, though, no doubt, you understand your mistress's constitution."
"Yes," replied the old woman, dryly, and ignoring the beginning of the sentence, "I understand my mistress's constitution."
"I will give your message to Mr. Dallas," said Harriet, rising, "and I had better leave you our temporary address, unless, indeed, you would prefer writing to Mr. Dallas direct."
"No," said Mrs. Brookes, "I have nothing to say. When news of his mother comes from abroad, I will send it to you."
The old woman was constrained40 and miserable41 in her visitor's presence, but the hospitality of Poynings must be vindicated42; and she felt, besides, that Mrs. Carruthers would, in other days, have been glad of an opportunity of being kind to any one who had been kind to George. So she pressed Harriet to take some refreshment43 and to prolong her visit. But Harriet would not touch bread or wine in the house, and told Mrs. Brookes she must return to Amherst immediately, to catch the train for Dover. "I dined at the inn in the town," she said, in explanation of her refusal, "as I had to wait awhile before I could get a fly."
"I hope they made you comfortable, ma'am," said Mrs. Brookes, who had resumed, when their interview assumed a commonplace complexion44, her head-servant-like manner. "Page's people are obliging, and it is a respectable house."
"Very much so indeed," returned Harriet, carelessly. "The town seems a clean dull sort of place. I had a funeral to look at while I waited for my dinner, and the waiter entertained me with the biography of the deceased."
"I had not heard of a death at Amherst," said Mrs. Brookes, primly46. She did not like the flippant tone in which her visitor spoke. "The servants have not been in the town this week."
"An estimable person--one Evans, a tailor, I believe; so the waiter said," Harriet returned, still more carelessly, as she took up her parasol and railway-guide, glanced covertly47 at the old woman's face, and moved to the door.
Mrs. Brookes stood quite still for several seconds; then she followed Harriet, joined her at the red-baize door which opened into the hall, accompanied her to the great door, where a footman waited, took a respectful leave of her, and then shut herself up in her room, and remained invisible to the household for the remainder of the day.
As Harriet Routh drove back to Amherst, she leaned her head wearily against the uncongenial woodwork of the fly, and summed up the results of her journey.
"Whatever the mother knows, the old woman knows. The old woman is as staunch as steel, and she will conceal48 her suspicions all the more tenaciously49, the stronger they are; and I have strengthened them. What a clever old woman she is, and how brave! If my purpose had been what she suspected, I should have had some real difficulty in getting the information I required. It is clear that nothing is to be feared now, in this direction. Mrs. Brookes will never speak. Mrs. Carruthers is in the best possible condition for our purposes, and her son has no pretext50 for returning to Poynings, even if the death of the tailor had not made it quite safe for him to do so."
She did not look out upon the fair scene through which she was passing. To her, all beauty of nature was a dead thing; she had no heart-throbs of exultation51 in "the pomp that fills the summer-circuit of the hills;" no sense of its serene52 loveliness reached her busy brain, or tempted53 her troubled brooding eyes. When she occasionally lifted them, in shifting her position, they might have been blind for any knowledge of the sunshine or the greenery that was in them. "I will write to him," she went on in her thoughts, "just what she told me to say. Poor George! It is hard to have to make him believe that he has broken his mother's heart, and turned his mother's brain. He does not deserve it, fool as he is. He is easily persuaded, fortunately. I don't feel fit for much that is not easy, now.--The letter must be sent on at once, and, if I do my part well, and this woman dies, or remains54 abroad--and I fancy Mr. Carruthers is not the man to bring an imbecile wife back, if he can help it--there's no reason why George should come to England again for years, that I can see."
The driver of the fly pulled up for a minute, and letting down one of the front windows, inquired whether he was to go to the inn or to the railway station. While Harriet was answering his question by desiring him to drive to the station, and looking out of the window, a young girl on horseback, a large black Newfoundland dog galloping55 by her horse's side, passed the fly. The driver touched his hat respectfully, and the young lady acknowledged the salute56 with her whip.
"That's Miss Carruthers, ma'am," said the man to Harriet, giving her the information in a manner which duly indicated the local importance of Miss Carruthers. Harriet looked back at the girl, and noted57 the golden gleam of her beautiful hair, the easy swaying of her graceful58 figure, the air of youth and refinement59 which characterized her.
"That's Miss Carruthers, is it?" she thought. "George has never seen her, I fancy, as he never mentioned her to me."
She had some time to wait for the train, and she went into the waiting-room. But she found it already occupied by some cheery, chatty women and children, returning from a holiday excursion. Their idle talk, their careless laughter, jarred with her mood; the children looked askance at her, and hushed their prattle60; the women drew close together on the hard high leather bench which lined the room, a solemn mockery of a divan61, and moderated their tones to a prim45 gentility. Harriet perceived the effect her presence produced, smiled slowly, and went out again upon the platform, which she paced from end to end, until the train came up, listening idly to the raised voices and renewed laughter which reached her through the open door.
When all the other passengers had taken their places, Harriet got into a carriage which had no other occupant, and so travelled up to London alone.
Routh was in the house when she reached the Tavistock, and was surprised at her speedy return. She told him how the intelligence she had heard on her arrival at Amherst had simplified her task of investigation62. She made her narrative63 as brief as possible, she spoke in a cold measured voice which had become habitual64 to her, and which filled Routh with intense concealed65 irritation66; and she never looked at him until she had concluded.
"I'll post the letter from the old fellow at once then," said Routh; "it's only a couple of days late, and Dallas is too careless to notice that. When you write--you'd better not do it for a day or so, lest he might take it into his head to suspect you of a motive--you can tell him about our move."
Harriet acquiesced67, and changed the subject to their new residence, a furnished house in May-fair. She would go there on the morrow, she said, and arrange all their little property. Had everything been removed from South Molton-street?
Everything. Routh had seen to it himself, and had employed the boy who was always about there.
"Ay," said Harriet, dreamily, for she was thinking of the time, gone for ever, when she had been happy in the home she had left without one regret or hope. "What of him?"
"Nothing that I can make out," answered Routh, irritably68. "But I hate the sort of half-recollection I seem to have of him. There's something in my mind connected with him, and I can't disentangle it."
Harriet looked up at her husband in some surprise, and turned very pale. She had a painful, an indelible remembrance connected with the first time she had seen Jim Swain. But Routh knew nothing of that; so she said nothing; she made no effort to aid his memory. She would avoid the torture when she could. Besides, she was utterly69 weary in body and in spirits.
Mr. Carruthers's letter reached George Dallas not exactly duly, indeed, but after a delay which would have astonished and exasperated70 the writer, had he known it, to the last degree.
Stewart Routh and Harriet were very much superior to George Dallas in many mental attributes, and in particular in cunning; but they were incapable71 of understanding the young man on certain points. One of these points was his love for his mother, with its concomitants of remorse72, repentance73, and resolution. Not comprehending this mixed feeling, they made a serious miscalculation. The day or two which Harriet allowed to intervene before she wrote the letter which was to prolong George's absence, exactly sufficed to bring him to England.
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1
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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stoutly
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| adv.牢固地，粗壮的 | |
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guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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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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7
drowsily
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| adv.睡地，懒洋洋地，昏昏欲睡地 | |
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8
supervision
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| n.监督，管理 | |
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superseded
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| [医]被代替的，废弃的 | |
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alterations
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| n.改动( alteration的名词复数 )；更改；变化；改变 | |
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innovating
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| v.改革，创新( innovate的现在分词 )；引入（新事物、思想或方法）， | |
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incompatible
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| adj.不相容的，不协调的，不相配的 | |
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13
vouchsafing
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| v.给予，赐予( vouchsafe的现在分词 )；允诺 | |
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speculations
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| n.投机买卖( speculation的名词复数 )；思考；投机活动；推断 | |
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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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16
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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fixedness
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| n.固定；稳定；稳固 | |
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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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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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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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covert
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| adj.隐藏的；暗地里的 | |
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distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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procured
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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suite
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| n.一套(家具)；套房；随从人员 | |
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reassured
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| adj.使消除疑虑的；使放心的v.再保证，恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
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solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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misgivings
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕；疑虑，担心，恐惧( misgiving的名词复数 )；疑惧 | |
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contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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33
commiseration
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| n.怜悯，同情 | |
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impute
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| v.归咎于 | |
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35
softening
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| 变软，软化 | |
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36
suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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atone
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| v.赎罪，补偿 | |
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musingly
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| adv.沉思地，冥想地 | |
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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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constrained
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| adj.束缚的,节制的 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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vindicated
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| v.澄清（某人/某事物）受到的责难或嫌疑( vindicate的过去式和过去分词 )；表明或证明（所争辩的事物）属实、正当、有效等；维护 | |
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43
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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44
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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45
prim
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| adj.拘泥形式的，一本正经的；n.循规蹈矩，整洁；adv.循规蹈矩地，整洁地 | |
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46
primly
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| adv.循规蹈矩地，整洁地 | |
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47
covertly
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| adv.偷偷摸摸地 | |
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48
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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49
tenaciously
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| 坚持地 | |
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50
pretext
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| n.借口，托词 | |
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51
exultation
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| n.狂喜，得意 | |
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52
serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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53
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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54
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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55
galloping
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| adj. 飞驰的, 急性的 动词gallop的现在分词形式 | |
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56
salute
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| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
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57
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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58
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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59
refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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60
prattle
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| n.闲谈；v.（小孩般）天真无邪地说话；发出连续而无意义的声音 | |
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61
divan
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| n.长沙发；（波斯或其他东方诗人的）诗集 | |
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62
investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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63
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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64
habitual
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| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
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65
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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66
irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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67
acquiesced
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| v.默认，默许( acquiesce的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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68
irritably
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| ad.易生气地 | |
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69
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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70
exasperated
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| adj.恼怒的 | |
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71
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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72
remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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73
repentance
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| n.懊悔 | |
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