She glanced at the card presented by her groom-of-the-chambers without taking the trouble to lift it from the salver. “‘Mr. Moss1 Rubelius.’ I do not know the name—I have no knowledge of any urgent business. You must tell him to go away at once, and not call again.”
“Begging your Grace’s pardon,” remarked the official, “the person seemed to anticipate a message of the kind——”
“Did he? Then,” thought her Grace, “he is not disappointed.”
“And, still begging your Grace’s pardon,” pursued the discreet3 domestic, “he asked me to hand this second card to your Grace.”
It was rather a shabby card, and dog’s-eared as though it had been carried long in somebody’s pocket; but it was large and feminine, and adorned4 with a ducal coronet and the Duchess’s own cipher5, and scribbled6 upon it in pencil, in the Duchess’s own handwriting, were two or three words, simple enough, apparently8, and yet sufficiently9 fraught10 with meaning to make their fair reader turn very pale. She did not replace this card upon the salver, but kept it as she said:
“Bring the person to me at once.”
And when the softly stepping servant had left the room—one of her Grace’s private suite11, charmingly furnished as a study—she made haste to tear the card up, 277dropping the fragments into the hottest part of the wood-fire, and thrusting at them with the poker12 until the last tremulous fragment of gray ash had disappeared. Rising from this exercise with a radiant glow upon her usually colorless cheeks the Duchess became aware that she was not alone. A person of vulgar appearance, outrageously13 attired14 in a travesty15 of the ordinary afternoon costume of an English gentleman, stood three or four feet off, regarding her with an observant and rather wily smile. Not at all discomposed, he was the first to speak.
“Before burnin’ that,” he remarked, in the thick, snuffling accents of the low-bred, “your Grace ought to have asked yourself whether it was any use. Because—I put it to your Grace, as a poker-player, being told the game’s fashionable in your Grace’s set—a man who holds four aces16 can afford to throw away the fifth card, even if it’s a king. And people of my profession don’t go in for bluff17. It ain’t their fancy.”
“What is your profession?” asked the Duchess, regarding with contempt the dark, full-fed, red-lipped, hook-beaked countenance18 before her.
“Money!” returned Mr. Moss Rubelius. He rattled19 coin in his trousers-pockets as he spoke20, and the superfluity of gold manifested in large, coarse rings upon his thick fingers, the massy chain festooned across his broad chest, the enormous links fastening his cuffs21, and the huge diamond pin in his cravat22, seemed to echo “Money.”
The Duchess lost no time in coming to the point. She was not guided by previous experience, having hitherto, by grace as well as luck, steered23 clear of scandal. But, girl of twenty as she was, she asked, as coolly as an intrigante of forty, though her young heart was fluttering wildly against the walls of its beautiful prison, “How did you get that card?”
278“I will be quite plain with your Grace,” returned the money-lender. “When the second lot of cavalry24 drafts sailed for South Africa early in the year of 1900, our firm, ’aving a writ7 of ’abeas out against Captain Sir Hugh Delaving of the Royal Red Dragoon Guards—I have reason to believe your Grace knew something of the Captain?”
“Yes,” said the Duchess, turning her cold blue eyes upon the twinkling orbs25 of Mr. Moss Rubelius, “I knew something of the Captain. You do not need to ask the question. Please go on!”
“The Captain was,” resumed Mr. Rubelius, “for a born aristocrat26, the downiest I ever see—saw, I mean. He gave our clerks and the men with the warrant the slip by being ’eaded up in a wooden packin’ case, labeled ‘Officers’ Stores,’ and got away to the Cape27, where he was killed in his first engagement.”
“This,” said the Duchess, “is no news to me.”
“No,” said the money-lender; “but it may be news to your Grace that, though we couldn’t lay our ‘ands on the Captain himself, we got hold of all his luggage. Not much there that was of any marketable value, except a silver-gilt toilet-set. But there was a packet of letters in a Russia writin’-case with a patent lock, all of ’em written in the large-sized, square ’and peculiar28 to the leadin’ female aristocracy, and signed ‘Ethelwyne,’ or merely ‘E.’”
“And this discovery procures29 me the pleasure of this interview?” remarked the Duchess. “The letters are mine—you come on the errand of a blackmailer30. I have only one thing to wonder at, and that is—why you have not come before?”
“Myself and partner thought, as honorable men of business, it would be better to approach the Captain first,” explained the usurer. “His mother died the week he sailed for Africa, and left him ten thousand 279pounds. We ’astened to communicate with him, but——”
“But he had been killed meanwhile,” said the Duchess. “You would have had the money he owed—or did not owe—you, and your price for the letters, had you reached him in time; but you did not, and your goods are left upon your hands. Why, as honorable men of business”—her lovely lip curled—“did you not take them at once to the Duke?”
Mr. Moss Rubelius seemed for the first time a little nonplussed31. He looked down at his large, shiny boots, and the sight did not appear to relieve him.
“I will be quite plain with your Grace.”
“Pray endeavor!” said the Duchess.
“The letters are—to put it delicately—not compromising enough. They’re more,” said Mr. Rubelius, “the letters a school-girl at Brighton would write to her music-master, supposing him to be young and possessed32 of a pair of cavalry legs and a moustache. There’s fuel in ’em for a First-Class Connubial33 Row,” continued Mr. Rubelius, “but not material for a Domestic Upheaval—followed by an Action for Divorce. As a man, no longer, but once in business—for within this last month our firm has dissolved, and myself and my partner have retired34 upon our means—this is my opinion with regard to these letters in your Grace’s handwriting, addressed to the late Captain Sir H. Delaving: The Duke, I believe, would only laugh at ’em.”
The Duchess started violently, and seemed about to speak.
“But, still, the letters are worth paying for,” ended Mr. Moss Rubelius. “And your Grace can have em—at my price.”
“What is your price?” asked the Duchess, trying in vain to read in the stolid35 physiognomy before her the secret purpose of the soul within.
280“Perhaps your Grace wouldn’t mind my taking a chair?” insinuated36 Mr. Rubelius.
“Do as you please, sir,” said the Duchess, “only be brief.”
“I’ll try,” said the money-lender, comfortably crossing his legs. “To begin—we’re in the London Season and the month of March, and your Grace has a party at Rantorlie for the April salmon37-fishing. Angling’s my one vice—my only weakness, ever since I caught minnows in the Regent’s Canal with a pickle-bottle tied to a string. Coarse fishing in the Thames was my recreation in grub times, whenever I ’ad a day away from our office in the Minories. Trout38 I’ve caught now and then, with a worm on a Stuart tackle—since I became a butterfly. But I’ve never had a slap at a salmon, and the finest salmon-anglin’ in the kingdom is to be ’ad in the Haste, below Rantorlie. Ask me there for April, see that I ’ave the pick of the sport, even if you ’ave a Royal duke to cater39 for, as you ’ad last year, and, the day I land my first twenty-pounder, the letters are yours.”
The Duchess burst out laughing wildly.
“Ha, ha! Oh!” she cried; “it is impossible to help it.... I can’t!... It is so.... Ha, ha, ha!”
“I shan’t disgrace you,” said Mr. Rubelius. “My kit40 and turn-out will be by the best makers41, and I’ll tip the ’ead gillie fifty pound. I’m a soft-hearted hass to let the letters go so cheap, but——Golly! the chance of catchin’ a twenty-pound specimen42 of Salmo salar that a Royal ’Ighness ’as angled for in vain!... Look ’ere, your Grace”—his tones were oily with entreaty—“write me the invitation now, on the spot, and you shall ’ave back the first three of those nine letters down on the nail.”
“You have them——?”
“With me!” said Mr. Rubelius, producing a letter-case 281attached to his stout43 person by a chain. “The others are—say, in retirement44 for the present.” He extracted from the case three large, square, gray envelopes, their addresses penned in a large, angular, girlish hand. “Write me the invite now,” he said, “and these are yours to burn or show to his Grace—whichever you please. The others shall be yours the day I land my twenty-pounder.”
The Duchess moved to her writing-table and sat down. She chose paper and a pen, and dashed off these few lines:
“900, Berkeley Square, W.
“Dear Mr. Moss Rubelius,
“The Duke and myself have asked a few friends to join us at Rantorlie on April 1, for the salmon-fishing, and we should be so pleased if you would come.
“Sincerely yours,
“Ethelwyne Rantorlie.”
“The first letter I ever had, dated from Berkeley Square,” commented Mr. Rubelius, as, holding the letter very firmly down upon the blotter with her slim and white, but very strong hands, the Duchess signed to him with her chin to read, “that was anything in the nature of a genial45 invitation.”
He allowed the Duchess to take the three letters previously46 referred to from his right hand, as he dexterously47 twitched48 the invitation from the blotter with his left finger and thumb. “This, your Grace, will be as good as half a dozen more to me,” he observed, “when I show it about and get a par2. into the papers.”
“Horrible!” cried the Duchess, shuddering49. “You would not do that!”
Mr. Rubelius favored her with a knowing smile as he produced his shiny hat, his gloves, and a malacca 282cane, gold-handled, from some remote corner in which he had concealed50 them.
“Let us, being now on the footing of ’ostess and guest, part friendly,” he said. “Your Grace, may I take your ’and?”
“I think the formality absolutely unnecessary,” said the Duchess, ringing the bell.
Then the money-lender went away, and she caught up a little portrait of the Duke that stood upon her writing-table and began to cry over it and kiss it, and say incoherent, affectionate things, like quite an ordinary, commonplace young wife. For, after eighteen months of marriage, she had fallen seriously in love with her quiet, well-bred, intellectual husband, and the remembrance of the silly, romantic flirtation51 with dead Hugh Delaving was gall52 and wormwood to the palate that had learned a finer taste. How had she fallen so low as to write those idiotic53, gushing54 letters?
Their perfume sickened her. She shuddered55 at the touch of them, as she would have shuddered at the touch of the man to whom they had been written had he still lived. But he was dead, and she had never let him kiss her. She was thankful to remember that, as she put the letters in the fire and watched them blacken and burst into flame.
“My dear Ethelwyne,” asked the Duke, “where did you pick up Mr. Rubelius? Or, I should ask, perhaps, how did that gentleman attain56 to your acquaintance?”
“It is rather a long, dull story,” said his wife, “but he is really an excellent person, if a little vulgar, and—— You won’t bother me any more about him, Rantorlie, will you?”
She clasped her gloved hands about her husband’s arm as they stood together on the river beach below Rantorlie. The turbid57 flood of the Haste, tinged58 brown 283by spate59, raced past between its rocky banks; the pine-forests climbed to meet the mountains, and the mountains lifted to the sky their crowns of snow. There was a smell of spring in the air, and word of new-run fish in the string of deep pools below the famous Falls.
“I will not, if you particularly wish it,” said her husband. “But to banish60 your guest from my mind—that is impossible. For one thing, he is hung with air-belts, bottles, and canteens, as though he were starting for a tour in the wildest part of Norway. I believe his equipment includes a hatchet61, and I think that wad he wears upon his shoulders is a rubber tent, but I am not sure. He has never heard of prawn-baiting, his rods are of the most alarming weight and size, and his salmon-flies are as large and gaudy62 as paroquets, and calculated, McDona says, to frighten any self-respecting fish out of his senses. We can’t allow such a gorgeous tyro63 to spoil the best water. He must be sent to some of the smaller pools, with a man to look after him.”
“But he—he won’t be likely to catch anything there, will he?” asked the Duchess anxiously.
“A seven-pounder, if he has luck!”
“Oh, Rantorlie, that won’t do at all!” cried Rantorlie’s wife in dismay. “I want him to have the chance of something really big. It’s our duty to see that our guests are properly treated, and, though you don’t like Mr. Rubelius——”
“Dear child, I don’t dislike Mr. Rubelius. I simply don’t think about him any more than I think about the sea-lice on the new-run fish. They are there, and they look nasty. Rubelius is here, and so does he.”
“Doesn’t he—especially in evening-dress with a red camelia and a turn-down collar?” gasped64 the Duchess.
The Duke could not restrain a smile at the vision 284evoked, as Mr. Rubelius, panoplied65 in india-rubber, cork66, and unshrinkables, strode into view. One of the gillies bore his rod, the other his basket. A third followed with that wobbliest of aquatic67 vehicles, a coracle, strapped68 upon his back. With a grin, the man waded69 into the water, unhitched his light burden, placed it on the rapid stream, and stood, knee-deep, holding the short painter, as the frisky70 coracle tugged71 at it.
“You’re going to try one of those things?” said the Duke, as Rubelius gracefully72 lifted his waterproof73 helmet to the Duchess. “You know they’re awfully74 crank, don’t you, and not at all safe for a bung—I mean, a beginner?”
“The men, your Grace,” explained Mr. Rubelius, “are going to peg75 me down in the bed of the stream, a little way out from the shore.”
“But if your peg draws,” said his host, “do you know how to use your paddle?”
“That will be all right, your Grace,” said the affable Rubelius. “I know how to punt. Often on the Thames at Twicken’am——”
“My dear sir, the Haste in Moss-shire and the Thames at Twickenham are two very different rivers,” said the Duke, beckoning76 his gillies to follow, and turning away. “I hope the man may not come to any harm,” he said. “Ethelwyne, will you walk down to the Falls with me? I”—he reddened a little—“I sent the others on in carts by road. We see so little of each other these days.”
And the young couple started, leaving Mr. Rubelius to be put into his coracle, with much splashing, and swearing on his part, by two of the gillies and a volunteer. It was a mild day for April in the North. A single cuckoo called by the riverside, and the Duke and Duchess did not hurry, though Ethelwyne turned back before she reached the Falls, below which the deepest salmon-pools were situated77, and where the men, the 285boats, and the rest of the party waited. She had her rod and gillie, and meant to spin a little desultorily78 from the bank, the Haste being almost in every part too deep for waders, except in the upper reaches.
“I wonder how that horror is getting on?” she thought, as the gillie baited her prawn-tackle. Then, stepping out upon a natural pier79 of rough stones leading well out into the turbulent whitey-brown stream, the Duchess skilfully80 swung out her line, and, after a little manipulation, found herself fast in a good-sized fish.
“What weight should you judge it?” she asked the attendant, when the silvery prey81 had been gaffed and landed.
As the man held up his hand the noise was repeated.
“It sounds like somebody shouting ‘Help!’” said the Duchess.
And, rod in hand, she ran out upon the pier of bowlders, and, shading her eyes with her hand, gazed upstream, as round a rocky point above came something like a tarred washing-basket with a human figure huddled83 knees-to-chin inside. The coracle had betrayed the confidence of Mr. Rubelius, and drifted with its hapless tenant84 down the mile and a half of racing85 water which lay between Rantorlie and the Falls. The Falls! At that remembrance the laughter died upon the Duchess’s lips, and the ridiculous figure drifting towards her in the bobbing coracle became upon an instant a tragic86 spectacle. For Death waited for Mr. Rubelius a little below the next bend in the rocky bed of the Haste. And—if the money-lender were drowned—those letters ... yes, those letters, the proofs of the Duchess’s folly87, might be regained88 and destroyed, secretly, and nobody would ever——
286It seemed an age of reflection, but really only a second or two went by before the Duchess cried out to Rubelius in her sweet, shrill89 voice, and ran out to the very end of the pier of rocks, and with a clever underhand jerk sent the heavy prawn-tackle spinning out up and down the river. Once she tried—and failed. The second time, two of the three hooks stuck firmly into the wickerwork of the coracle. It spun90 round, suddenly arrested in its course, but the strong salmon-gut held, and, after an anxious minute or two, the livid Rubelius safely reached shore.
“I’ve ’ad my lesson,” said he, as the gillie administered whisky. “Never any more salmon-fishing for me! It’s too tryin’,” he gulped—“too ’ard upon the nerves of a man not born to it!” Then he got up, and came bare-headed to the Duchess. His face was very pale and flabby, and his thick lips had lost their color, as he held out a black leather notecase to her Grace. “You—you saved my life,” he said, “and I’m not going to be ungrateful. Here they are—the six letters. Look ’em over, if you like, and see for yourself. And, my obliged thanks to his Grace for his hospitality—but I leave for town to-morrow. Good-by, your Grace. You won’t hear of me again!” And Mr. Rubelius kept his word.
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1
moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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par
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| n.标准，票面价值，平均数量；adj.票面的，平常的，标准的 | |
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discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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cipher
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| n.零；无影响力的人；密码 | |
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6
scribbled
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| v.潦草的书写( scribble的过去式和过去分词 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
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writ
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| n.命令状，书面命令 | |
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8
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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fraught
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| adj.充满…的，伴有(危险等)的；忧虑的 | |
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suite
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| n.一套(家具)；套房；随从人员 | |
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poker
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| n.扑克；vt.烙制 | |
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outrageously
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| 凶残地； 肆无忌惮地； 令人不能容忍地； 不寻常地 | |
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attired
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| adj.穿着整齐的v.使穿上衣服，使穿上盛装( attire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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travesty
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| n.歪曲，嘲弄，滑稽化 | |
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aces
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| abbr.adjustable convertible-rate equity security (units) 可调节的股本证券兑换率；aircraft ejection seat 飞机弹射座椅；automatic control evaluation simulator 自动控制评估模拟器n.擅长…的人( ace的名词复数 )；精于…的人；（ 网球 ）（对手接不到发球的）发球得分；爱司球 | |
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bluff
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| v.虚张声势，用假象骗人；n.虚张声势，欺骗 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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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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cuffs
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| n.袖口( cuff的名词复数 )v.掌打，拳打( cuff的第三人称单数 ) | |
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cravat
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| n.领巾，领结；v.使穿有领结的服装，使结领结 | |
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steered
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| v.驾驶( steer的过去式和过去分词 )；操纵；控制；引导 | |
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cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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orbs
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| abbr.off-reservation boarding school 在校寄宿学校n.球，天体，圆形物( orb的名词复数 ) | |
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aristocrat
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| n.贵族，有贵族气派的人，上层人物 | |
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cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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procures
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的第三人称单数 )；拉皮条 | |
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blackmailer
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| 敲诈者，勒索者 | |
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nonplussed
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| adj.不知所措的，陷于窘境的v.使迷惑( nonplus的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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connubial
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| adj.婚姻的，夫妇的 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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stolid
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| adj.无动于衷的，感情麻木的 | |
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insinuated
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| v.暗示( insinuate的过去式和过去分词 )；巧妙或迂回地潜入；（使）缓慢进入；慢慢伸入 | |
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salmon
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| n.鲑，大马哈鱼，橙红色的 | |
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trout
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| n.鳟鱼；鲑鱼(属) | |
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cater
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| vi.(for/to)满足，迎合；(for)提供饮食及服务 | |
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kit
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| n.用具包，成套工具；随身携带物 | |
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makers
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| n.制造者，制造商（maker的复数形式） | |
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specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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retirement
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| n.退休，退职 | |
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genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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46
previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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dexterously
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| adv.巧妙地，敏捷地 | |
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48
twitched
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| vt.& vi.（使）抽动，（使）颤动（twitch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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49
shuddering
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| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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50
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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51
flirtation
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| n.调情，调戏，挑逗 | |
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52
gall
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| v.使烦恼，使焦躁，难堪；n.磨难 | |
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53
idiotic
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| adj.白痴的 | |
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gushing
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| adj.迸出的；涌出的；喷出的；过分热情的v.喷，涌( gush的现在分词 )；滔滔不绝地说话 | |
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shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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attain
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| vt.达到，获得，完成 | |
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turbid
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| adj.混浊的，泥水的，浓的 | |
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tinged
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| v.（使）发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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spate
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| n.泛滥，洪水，突然的一阵 | |
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banish
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| vt.放逐，驱逐；消除，排除 | |
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hatchet
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| n.短柄小斧；v.扼杀 | |
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gaudy
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| adj.华而不实的；俗丽的 | |
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tyro
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| n.初学者；生手 | |
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gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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panoplied
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| adj.全套披甲的，装饰漂亮的 | |
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cork
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| n.软木，软木塞 | |
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aquatic
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| adj.水生的，水栖的 | |
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strapped
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| adj.用皮带捆住的，用皮带装饰的；身无分文的；缺钱；手头紧v.用皮带捆扎(strap的过去式和过去分词)；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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waded
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| （从水、泥等）蹚，走过，跋( wade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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frisky
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| adj.活泼的，欢闹的；n.活泼，闹着玩；adv.活泼地，闹着玩地 | |
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71
tugged
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| v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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73
waterproof
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| n.防水材料；adj.防水的；v.使...能防水 | |
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awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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peg
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| n.木栓，木钉；vt.用木钉钉，用短桩固定 | |
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beckoning
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| adj.引诱人的，令人心动的v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的现在分词 ) | |
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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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desultorily
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| adv. 杂乱无章地, 散漫地 | |
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pier
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| n.码头；桥墩，桥柱；[建]窗间壁，支柱 | |
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skilfully
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| adv. (美skillfully)熟练地 | |
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81
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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83
huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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84
tenant
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| n.承租人；房客；佃户；v.租借，租用 | |
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racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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