That was a wretched evening for Martin Gurwood. He and his mother dined in solemn state together, and during the repast and afterwards, when they were seated in the vast drawing-room, where Mrs. Calverley's worktable and reading-lamp formed a mere3 oasis4 of light in the midst of the great desert of darkness, he had to listen to an unbroken plaint, carried on in an unvaried monotone. 'Was there ever such a life as hers? What had she done that she should be so afflicted5? Why was her advice never taken? If it had been, Mr. Gurwood would not have killed himself with drink; Mr. Calverley would have had nothing to do with the ironworks worry, which had undoubtedly6 caused his death. What was to become of the business? The arrangements made in Mr. Calverley's will sounded all very right and proper, but she very much questioned whether they would be found to work well. Was not too much mastery and power given to Mr. Jeffreys? He had been a confidential7 clerk certainly, but it was by no means to be argued from that that he would be either as industrious8 or as useful when placed in command. She could bear testimony9 to that from her experience of Mr. Calverley, whom she had known in both positions.' And so on, and so on.
Mrs. Calverley did not require, or indeed expect, any reply to her series of wearisome questions, or comment on her dull string of complaints. She was quite satisfied with the interjectional 'Ah!' 'Well!' and 'Indeed!' which Martin threw in from time to time; and it was well that she required nothing more, for her companion would have been entirely10 unable to give her a rational answer, or, even had he been called upon to do so, to state what she was talking about. Martin Gurwood's thoughts were at Rose Cottage. Madame Du Tertre must have arrived there by that time; must have seen that poor pretty young creature. A strange woman Madame Du Tertre, and, to his mind, not too trustworthy; but she had expressed kindly11 feelings towards this girl, and when she saw her, that kindly feeling could not fail to be increased. That was a horrible notion--taking advantage of her weakness to give her a sleeping draught12. He did not like to think of that; and yet he was compelled to admit that he did not see how anything else could have been done. Pauline's possession of their secret was an unpleasant element in the story which he had to tell Statham; but had he not taken her into his confidence he felt that he should have bungled13 the business which he had undertaken, and that very likely by that time both Mrs. Calverley and the tenant14 of Rose Cottage would have become acquainted with the positions which they held towards each other. How long they could be kept in ignorance of those positions was a matter of doubt; but for the temporary respite15 they were indebted to Madame Du Tertre; and Martin thought he would put that very strongly to Humphrey Statham the next morning. His last thoughts before dropping off to sleep were given to Rose Cottage, and in his dreams he saw the pretty pale-faced, tearful girl with the dark-eyed, black-browed woman bending over her.
He expected a letter from Hendon by the early morning's post, but it was midday before it arrived. Martin sat in the dining-room by himself, anxiously expecting it; he heard the postman's knock resounding16 through the street, and when it reached the door, he felt an inclination17 to rush out and clear the letterbox himself. Only one letter was brought in to him by the footman, but he knew at a glance that it was the one he wanted. Martin waited until the servant had left the room before he broke the seal; then he seated himself in the big arm-chair, and read as follows:
'Hendon, Thursday, midnight.
'MY DEAR M. MARTIN,--You will, I know, be most anxious to learn how I have prospered18 in my undertaking19; and I would willingly have given you earlier information had it been possible. As, however, it is advisable to observe secrecy20, I shall not intrust a messenger with my letters, but shall send them by the post, and take them to the office myself. This may occasionally cause some slight delay, but it will be surest and safest in the end.
'By the place from which this letter is dated, you will see that I have carried out my intention. I am writing at a table by her bedside; and as I raise my eyes from the paper they fall upon her lying asleep close by me. Ah, M. Martin, I told you that I was a woman fertile in resources, and generally successful in what I attempt. That there was no vanity or boasting in this, my present position gives, I think, ample proof.
'But to tell you my story from its commencement. I took the letter which you handed me, and, fortified21 by the inward feeling that, though you said nothing, you had breathed a silent prayer for my success, I set out once more for the place where we had held our morning's conversation. On arriving at the gate, I perceived my little playfellow of the morning. Ah, I forgot to mention to you that while you were in the house, and just before you appeared at the dining-room window, I had made acquaintance with a very pretty child, whom I had found playing in the garden, and had ingratiated myself with her by returning the ball which she had thrown to my side of the hedge. It is part of the scheme of my life, M. Martin, to ingratiate myself with everybody; some day they may have an opportunity of making themselves useful to me.
'Behold22 an exact example of this in the present instance! The child saw me at once, and ran forward to announce my arrival to her mother. Had I in the morning been cross or ungracious, had I made a bad impression, that impression would have been communicated by the child, and my reception would at once have been compromised. As it was, the child cried out, "The dark lady has come again; here she is at the gate;" and went on to mention my having returned the ball, and spoken pleasantly to her. I heard this, for by that time I had walked up the garden, and was close by the door. There she stood in the porch, her bonnet23 and shawl on, her head bent24 eagerly forward, peering into the dusk. She was waiting for you, M. Martin, and so intent was she on your coming, that she seemed unable to think of anything else. My arrival did. not impress her at all; until I mentioned your name she scarcely looked at or listened to me.
'The name roused her at once. Where were you? she asked. You had promised to be there more than an hour ago to take her to London. Why did I speak of you? What brought me there?
'My morning's adventure with the child served me just then. I said--do not be angry, M. Martin, I was compelled to make some excuse--I said that I was the wife of your brother (I would have said your sister, but my French accent would have betrayed me); that I had been with you there in the morning, to be ready in case my services were needed; that while you entered the house I remained outside and talked with the child, as she had already heard; that I had come direct from you that evening, and that I was the bearer of a letter which would explain my errand.
'"A letter!" she cried. "Then he is not coming?"
'"The letter will show you, madame, that he cannot come, hut that he has sent me to take his place, and to act precisely25 as he would have done."
'She looked disappointed, but she took the letter, and walking into the little hall, where a light was burning, read it eagerly. Then she said, 'You know the contents, madame. Mr. Gurwood says that you, instead of him, will be my guide--let us start at once.'
'I suppose she saw something in my face, for she changed colour almost immediately, and said that she begged my pardon, that she was acting26 very inhospitably, and that I doubtless required some refreshment27 after my drive. Not refreshment, I told her, but rest. Five minutes would make very little difference to her. If she would allow me to sit down for that time, I should be ready to start at its expiration28. She didn't like the delay, poor child; I saw that plainly enough; but she was too kind, too well-bred to refuse, and she took me into the dining-room and rang for wine.
'I was glad to hear her give this order, partly because I stood in great need of refreshment myself, for I had had no chance of taking any in Walpole-street, but principally because ever since my arrival I had been wondering how I should find an opportunity of administering that little draught, upon the action of which my hopes for successfully carrying out our plans depended. You know my original idea was to give her this draught under the guise29 of a restorative; but when once I saw her, I allowed to myself that this plan would not do. Partly from the glimpse I had caught of her at the dining-room window, partly from your description, I had presupposed her to be a weak, irresolute30 creature, capable of being easily swayed, glad to accept any suggestion without deliberating whether it might be for her good or her harm; a pretty fool, in fact.
Mrs. Claxton--it is a nice-sounding name, and one may as well call her by it as by any other--is pretty and delicate, but by no means weak; and any person who would attempt to influence her must have an exceptionally strong will. I saw this at a glance, and recognised the fact, that being, as she is, quick-witted, her suspicions might be aroused, in which case there would be an end to our scheme. It was necessary, therefore, to try other tactics, and I was beating my brain for them, when the entrance of the servant with the wine and glasses gave me the requisite31 clue. The poor girl, with trembling hand, poured me out a glass of wine, and then left the room to fetch some biscuits, for which I had ventured to ask. I took the opportunity of her absence to pour some wine into the other glass, and to fill it up with the contents of the little bottle I had brought in my bag. The liquid was colourless and tasteless; and though I half smiled to myself as I emptied it into the wine-glass, the action reminding me as it did of the heroines of M. Eug?ne Sue's novels, or of the Porte St. Martin dramas, I knew well enough that its result, though sufficient for our purpose, would be harmless.
'Mrs. Claxton returned with the biscuits. "See," said I, pointing to the glass, "I have poured out some wine for you. You have passed a day of intense excitement, and have still a most trying ordeal32 to go through; you will need to have all your courage and all your wits about you. Drink this, it will give you strength." She smiled
feebly,--such a desolate33, dreary34 smile,--but made no objection; on the contrary, "She had had nothing all day," she said, "and thought that the wine might do her good." So she took the glass and quietly swallowed its contents.
'I suppose if you had been there,t M. Martin, you would have expected to see the girl drop down, her eyes closed, her senses gone? That is the way in the novels and the drama, but that is not the effect of the little tisane which I have more than once had occasion to prepare. That effect never varies. Mrs. Claxton watched me with apparent interest as I was eating my biscuit, and, though she said nothing, she seemed perfectly35 to understand me when I proposed to go. At that moment, seeing the nurse pass by the window, carrying the little child, who was being taken to bed, I beckoned36 to her. The woman opened the door, and I had just said to her, "Please tell my cabman we are coming out," when Mrs. Claxton sank backwards37 in her chair: I had been anticipating this; so bidding the nurse carry the child away, and send one of the other servants to me, I bent over the poor girl, and with the aid of the housemaid, who speedily arrived, went through the usual restorative processes which are employed with persons who are supposed to have swooned. While these, which I need scarcely say were of no effect, were being carried on, I learned from the servant that, owing to the news which had been brought to her by the clergyman that morning, her mistress had been in a dreadful low state all day, and that the wonder of the household was that she had kept up so long. This state of things exactly favouring my purpose, I soon disposed of the idea which had been started by the nurse, that Doctor Broadbent should be sent for; and when I had had the poor girl carried
up-stairs, my announcement that I should instal myself as nurse, and pass the night by her bedside, excited no great surprise.
'Lying there, with her long hair floating over the pillow, her features tranquil38 and composed, her breathing soft and regular, she is very beautiful! So beautiful that I can quite understand the dead man being in love with her. So beautiful that, were I writing to anyone but you, M. Martin, I should say I could almost forgive him for it. Meanwhile, it is satisfactory to us to think that the respite which we have gained by her inaction is purchased at the cost of no pain or ill suffered by her. Her sleep is as sound and as health-giving as though it had been natural, and there is no doubt that the rest will really be of service to her in serving as a preparation for the troubled time to come.
'So here ends my bulletin. What events to-morrow may have in store for us, of course I know not; but I think that the patient will sleep for at least another twenty-four hours, and I knew you would be desirous to hear as soon as possible of her state. If you have anything to say to me, you can send it safely by letter; but if I do not hear from you, I shall hold to the plan which we arranged together.
'Your friend,
'PALMYRE DU TERTRE.
Six a.m.
The emotions experienced by Martin Gurwood when he arrived at the conclusion of this lengthy40 epistle were so conflicting, that he thought it advisable to give as little personal consideration to the matter as possible, and to lose no time in submitting his story and the letter to Humphrey Statham, and obtaining that clear-headed friend's advice upon both.
On arriving at 'Change Alley41, and revealing himself to the gaze of Mr. Collins, Martin was surprised to find that confidential creature brighten up at his approach, and to hear him express pleasure at his arrival.
'Glad to see you, Mr. Gurwood,' he said. 'Perhaps now you have come, the governor will be a little easier in his mind. He has been in and out of the room half a dozen times in the day for the last three days, asking us all if we were quite sure that you had not been, and giving directions that you were to be sent in to him directly you arrived. I will go in and tell him at once.'
The chief-clerk passed into his principal's room, and returned immediately. 'You are to go in,' he said: and the next moment Humphrey Statham had Martin Gurwood by the hand.
'Here at last!' he cried. 'I have been expecting you from hour to hour--what on earth has detained you?'
'Nothing. I came as quickly as I could --directly I had anything to say; as I will prove to you in a minute. But what has made you so strangely anxious?'
'My dear fellow, I am anxious about anything in which I take an interest, and I have taken an interest in this matter. Now to the point. You have seen this lady?'
'I have.'
'And you have broken the truth to her; explained to her the fearful position in which she stands?'
'I have not.'
'Gurwood!' said Humphrey Statham, taking a pace backward, and looking steadily42 at his friend. 'Is this the way in which you have discharged your mission? Did you not undertake--'
'Wait and hear me before you condemn,' cried Martin, raising his hand in appeal. 'I am as weak as water--no one knows that better than myself--but I had made up my mind to go through with this duty, and I would have done so, had it not been for circumstances against which I could not struggle. Have you never heard me mention the name of Madame Du Tertre?'
'Madame Du Tertre?' repeated Humphrey, somewhat astonished at what he imagined to be his friend's sudden branching off from the subject. 'No, I have never heard the name.'
'She is a Frenchwoman, who, through some strange influence, I never knew exactly what, has been acting as my mother's companion for some little time, living in the house in Great Walpole-street, and being, in fact, half friend, half servant--you comprehend the position?'
Humphrey Statham bowed his head in acquiescence43.
'She is a woman of great strength of character--little as I know of the world I am able to see that--and has not merely obtained a vast influence over my mother, but, as I now believe, she has made herself thoroughly44 acquainted with most of our private affairs.'
'You don't mean to say that she knows--?'
'Wait and hear me. This woman, from something that occurred during Mrs. Calverley's lifetime, seems to have entertained some suspicion of the Claxton mystery. The morning after his death, when I happened to be alone in the room with her, she found some means of alluding45 to some partnership46 in the house at Mincing-lane, and of introducing the name of Claxton. I tried to pass the thing off as lightly as I could, but I was horribly confused, and I daresay I made a mess of it; at all events her suspicions were not abated47; for when I came out of Rose Cottage, after my first interview with that poor creature, I found this Frenchwoman waiting for me close by the gate.'
'She had followed you to Hendon, then,' cried Statham. 'What explanation did you give for your being there?'
'What explanation could I give? Even though I had designed to tell a lie, I could not have framed one calculated to have escaped her detection.'
'Do you mean to say, then, that this intriguing48 Frenchwoman, who is in Mrs. Calverley's confidence, knows all?'
'All!'
Humphrey Statham shrugged49 his shoulders, plunged50 his hands into his trousers-pockets, and sank back into his chair with the air of a man for whom life has no farther interest.
'You cannot realise my position,' cried Martin. 'It was with this very power that she possesses over Mrs. Calverley that she threatened me. And she has expressed her willingness to aid us in our plans, provided I do not interfere51 with her management of my mother.'
'If anything were to be said to her it would have been well to tell her all,' said Humphrey Statham; 'a half-confidence is always a mistake. So this charming creature knows all about the double mystery of Calverley and Claxton, and promises to render us assistance in our endeavours to do the best for all persons concerned! Well, it is a most confounded nuisance that she knows anything about it; but as it is, I don't know that she may not be made useful.'
'She has made herself useful already,' said Martin Gurwood. 'You ought not to have sent me on this errand, which I was utterly52 unfit to fulfil. I saw this poor girl, and, as kindly as I could, told her of the death of this man--her husband, as I called him--but when she pressed to be taken to him, imagining that he was only just dead, I was entirely nonplussed53, and knew not what to say. You had given me no instructions on that head, you know.'
'By Jove, no; that was an omission,' said Statham, rubbing his head. 'How did you manage?'
'After a struggle I told her that the body was lying at Mr. Calverley's house in Great Walpole-street, and that as she did not know Mrs. Calverley, it would be necessary to apprise54 that lady of her visit. So I left her, promising55 to return in the evening and take her with me. It was then I met Madame Du Tertre.'
'Well, what did she say?'
'She said that my plan was absurd, and that it was all-important that the actual state of things should be kept from Mrs. Claxton for some time longer.'
'She was right in both instances,' said Humphrey Statham, nodding. 'But how did she propose to do it? I confess I don't see my way.'
'How she has done it you will perceive by this letter, which I have just received.'
Humphrey Statham read the document through with great attention. Only twice he showed symptoms of astonishment--once by his uplifted eyebrows57, once by a low but prolonged whistle. When he had finished reading the letter, he still retained it in his hand.
'She is a clever woman, by Jove!' he said, 'and a thoroughly unscrupulous one; this letter shows that. I don't like this sleeping-draught business; that is a remarkably58 awkward feature in the case, though it seems to be going on all well, and it certainly is giving us the time we required. When this poor girl wakes, you and I must both of us be present to tell her plainly the truth; you in your clerical capacity, and I--well--in my worldly capacity, I suppose. "Very beautiful,"mother's part is due eh?' he said, referring to the letter. 'She is very beautiful. A soft, touching59 kind of beauty which appeals to me more than any other. And the child,' he continued, again glancing at the letter. 'You remarked that I took special interest in this matter, Gurwood! You would scarcely fancy now that that child is the link between me and the Claxton mystery!'
'The child!' cried Martin Gurwood. 'How is that?'
'I will tell you the story some day,' said Statham, looking moodily60 into the fire. 'Depend upon it, my friend, not every woman who is betrayed is so mercifully deceived as this poor creature has been!'
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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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eminently
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| adv.突出地；显著地；不寻常地 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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oasis
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| n.（沙漠中的）绿洲，宜人的地方 | |
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afflicted
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| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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industrious
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| adj.勤劳的，刻苦的，奋发的 | |
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testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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bungled
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| v.搞糟，完不成( bungle的过去式和过去分词 )；笨手笨脚地做；失败；完不成 | |
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tenant
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| n.承租人；房客；佃户；v.租借，租用 | |
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respite
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| n.休息，中止，暂缓 | |
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resounding
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| adj. 响亮的 | |
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inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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prospered
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| 成功，兴旺( prosper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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undertaking
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secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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fortified
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| adj. 加强的 | |
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behold
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bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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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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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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expiration
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| n.终结，期满，呼气，呼出物 | |
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guise
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| n.外表，伪装的姿态 | |
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irresolute
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| adj.无决断的，优柔寡断的，踌躇不定的 | |
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requisite
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ordeal
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| n.苦难经历，（尤指对品格、耐力的）严峻考验 | |
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desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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dreary
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perfectly
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beckoned
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backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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tranquil
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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lengthy
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| adj.漫长的，冗长的 | |
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alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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acquiescence
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| n.默许；顺从 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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alluding
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| 提及，暗指( allude的现在分词 ) | |
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partnership
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| n.合作关系，伙伴关系 | |
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abated
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| 减少( abate的过去式和过去分词 )； 减去； 降价； 撤消（诉讼） | |
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intriguing
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| adj.有趣的；迷人的v.搞阴谋诡计(intrigue的现在分词)；激起…的好奇心 | |
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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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51
interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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52
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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53
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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54
apprise
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| vt.通知，告知 | |
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55
promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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56
perused
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| v.读（某篇文字）( peruse的过去式和过去分词 )；（尤指）细阅；审阅；匆匆读或心不在焉地浏览（某篇文字） | |
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57
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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58
remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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59
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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60
moodily
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| adv.喜怒无常地；情绪多变地；心情不稳地；易生气地 | |
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