He found his mother in her bedroom, attired6 in a skimpy flannel7 dressing-gown, and sitting before the fire with her slippered8 feet upon the fender. She looked round on his opening the door, and uttered a sound which was partly a snort of defiance9, and partly a groan10 of resignation.
'You wish to see me, mother, James tells me,' said Martin. 'I had no idea you would have been up, or I would have returned home sooner.'
'I wish to see somebody, Martin,' returned Mrs. Calverley querulously. 'I thought that my life could not have been more wretched and solitary11 than it was in Mr. Calverley's time, but even he used to come home occasionally, while now I sit by myself from morning till night. Persons who are engaged and paid to be my companions go away, and even my son gives himself up to his own devices, and does not come home until close upon midnight.'
'My dear mother,' said Martin, 'as I said before, if I had had any idea that you were sitting up, I would have returned sooner. Tell me now,' he said, pulling his chair close to hers, 'what do you want me to do?'
'Nothing,' replied Mrs. Calverley; 'I never want any one to do anything for me. But I wanted to talk to you, if you can spare a few minutes to such an unimportant person as myself, about the future.'
'She knows nothing about Hendon,' thought Martin to himself; 'or she would not have been able to have kept off from the subject for a minute.' And greatly relieved at this idea, he said pleasantly, 'You know, mother, that I should be only too glad to carry out any of your wishes.'
'And you will hate an opportunity of proving what you say, Martin. You know that by Mr. Calverley's will I am now absolute mistress of the business in Mincing-lane. On our marriage, Mr. Calverley, in what I considered then the most ungenerous manner, reserved to himself the power of disposing of that business as he thought best; but I suppose he afterwards came into a better frame of mind, for he has left it entirely12 to me. The business as it stands at present will, I learn from Mr. Jeffreys, bring me in a very large income. Now I am the
only care for them is that they may enable me to do more good to my fellow-creatures. Are you attending to me, Martin?' she said to her son, who was looking vacantly into the fire.
'Certainly, mother,' said Martin, starting.
'Perhaps you will favour me with your particular attention just now,' said Mrs. Calverley, with some asperity14, 'when I tell you that what I have got to say concerns yourself. If your character were different, you might think to yourself that, rich as I shall be, I might take the opportunity of making you independent, but such I know would not be your wish. You are one of those who rightly think that it is your mission to discharge your duty in the state of life to which you have been called, and I agree with you. There is to me no more beautiful sight than that of a minister engaged in the exercise of his vocation15; the only change I would propose to you would be one in the scene of your labours.'
'A change in the scene?' cried Martin.
'Exactly,' answered Mrs. Calverley. 'I should wish you to relinquish16 the vicarage of Lullington, and to establish yourself in London.'
'London?' cried Martin.
'Certainly,' said his mother; 'where there is money there is influence, and there would not, I imagine, be any difficulty in obtaining for you an incumbency17 in London; or if it came to that, there are always proprietary18 chapels19 to be purchased, and in them perhaps you would be more unfettered, and more able to conduct the services according to your own views.'
'But, my dear mother,' said Martin, 'I am by no means sure--'
'That you would be popular,' interrupted Mrs. Calverley. 'You need not fear about that. I fancy there are few better judges of preaching than myself, and I have always been satisfied with the sermons which I have heard you deliver. It would be a great pleasure to me to know that my son's merits were properly recognised. And I don't think,' she added with a slight toss of her head, 'that he would have any reason to be ashamed of his mother, or the style in which she lived. We may not be aristocrats20, and our lives may not be attended by the sloth21, luxury, and pomp which surround that portion of the community; but for solid wealth and the comfort which it brings, the home which has been raised by British industry need be surpassed by none.'
Mrs. Calverley paused; and Martin, for want of something better to say, said, 'Of course, mother, I quite agree with you.'
'My notion,' pursued his mother, 'is that you should live with me, and act as my right hand in all matters of business, and as a dispenser of my charity. My life has been one long martyrdom; it has pleased Heaven to afflict22 me with two unworthy husbands, men incapable23 of understanding those finer feelings which I possess, and which have been the sole means of lightening the burden laid upon me. I hope I may now be permitted in some degree to recompense myself for the solitude24 and submission25 in which I have lived, and to have a little sunshine at the close of a life which has been one long sacrifice for others. I hope that--Martin, Martin, what are you thinking of?'
What was he thinking of as he sat there with his chin resting on his hands, and his eyes fixed26 intently on the fire? What were those words ringing in his ears--solitude, submission, sacrifice? Ah, how hollow and empty they sounded, these querulous complaints, this Pharisaical self-laudation, when he thought of the manner in which, under the influence of his wife's temper, John Calverley's life had been warped27 and twisted until his weak nature had been betrayed into the commission of a fearful crime, the result of which was yet impending28 over the head of that poor trusting girl! What was he thinking of? Of the little right he had in the thought even then floating through
his mind, to condemn29 the dead man whose power of will had been so weak, whose temptation had been so strong! Who was he, to gauge30 and measure another man's sins, and to preach the doctrine31 of resistance, when-- What was he thinking of?' Mrs. Calverley's words repeated for the third time recalled him from his reverie.
'What was I thinking of? Why, of course of the proposition you have just made to me, mother,' he said aloud.
'It is one which scarcely seems to me to need much reflection,' said Mrs. Calverley coldly. 'In making it I have, as usual, not considered myself, but left the advantages wholly to you.'
'Of course, mother, I fully32 appreciate your kindness,' said Martin; 'and the mere33 fact of living with you, and being able to relieve the solitude under which you suffer, would, of course, have much weight with me. By the way, you were alluding34 just now to Madame Du Tertre's absence. I have never hitherto had an opportunity of asking you how she first became an inmate35 of this house.'
'Not through any invitation of mine,' said Mrs. Calverley; 'though I am bound to say that as soon as she came here she saw the melancholy36 life I led, and endeavoured to alleviate37 it to the best of her power. One of the few things I have to thank Mr. Calverley for is his introduction of Madame Du Tertre.'
'O,' said Martin, looking very much astonished; 'it was through Mr. Calverley that you made her acquaintance?'
'Certainly,' said his mother. 'I went down to Mincing-lane one day, and found Madame Du Tertre closeted with Mr. Calverley in his private room. I thought they would be confused at my entrance; but Mr. Calverley, quite at his ease, presented his companion to me as a French lady, a widow with a small fortune, which she had brought to him to invest. He stated, at the same time, that she was a stranger in London, and without friends, and suggested that, as he was compelled to be much away--compelled, indeed!' repeated Mrs. Calverley, with a sniff38 of defiance--'it might break the solitude of my life if this French lady, a cheerful person, playing the piano, and that sort of thing, came to live with me as my companion.'
'O, that was what Mr. Calverley proposed,' said Martin reflectively. 'And you agreed to it?'
'I agreed to it as a temporary measure,' said Mrs. Calverley; 'but it seemed to work well, and has continued ever since.'
'You had never seen Madame Du Tertre before? never heard Mr. Calverley mention her name?'
'Certainly not; neither the one nor the other. What on earth makes you ask these questions, Martin?'
But Martin had fallen back again into his chair. His eyes were once more riveted39 on the fire, and his ears were deaf to his mother's voice. What a curious woman his mother was! How weak, even in the grim obstinacy40 on which she prided herself! how liable to be deceived, in spite of all the suspicion which she exhibited! This Madame Du Tertre, then, had been introduced into the house by Mr. Calverley, and his mother had accepted her as her companion on the very slight evidence of the story which Mr. Calverley had told her, and which might have been concocted41 between him and the Frenchwoman a few minutes before her arrival.
What had been Madame Du Tertre's object in seeking for an introduction into this house? What could be her motive42 for allying herself with such a woman as Mrs. Calverley? Whatever motive it might have been, it was still in existence, for had she not made it a condition of assisting him with Alice that he would not interfere43 with her plans as regarded his mother? What could those plans be? Madame Du Tertre was not a mere wretched creature sponging upon any one who would befriend her, and earning with fulsome44 adulation her nightly shelter and her daily bread. She had money of her own, as he understood; not much, indeed, but sufficient to provide her with the necessaries of life; and she was the last woman in the world to give up her freedom, and to go in for mere vulgar mercenary scheming for a material home with such a person as Mrs. Calverley, to endure the position of companion in the grim house in Great Walpole-street. She must have something large at stake, must be actuated by some ulterior motive of vast importance. What can that motive be? Who is she? Where did she come from? When and how commenced her acquaintance with Mr. Calverley?
'What on earth makes you ask these questions, Martin?'
The harsh grating voice recalled him to himself, but even then he was at first a little dazed.
'These questions? What questions? O, I recollect45; about Madame Du Tertre. Merely curiosity, mother; I could not possibly have any other motive.'
'Well, now that I have satisfied your curiosity, and told you all I know--which was little enough, for Mr. Calverley was reticent46 towards me in that as in all other matters of his life--now that I have done my best to give you this information, perhaps you will be good enough to return to the subject which I started, and tell me what you think about my proposition.'
'You won't expect me to give you a definite answer at once, mother? Such a step as leaving one's parish, with all its old friends and associations, and wholly changing the sphere of one's duties, requires much consideration.'
'I should think when the advantages which are offered to you are properly weighed, you would not be very long in making up your mind. There are few young men circumstanced as you are--and you must be good enough to remember that you have nothing but your living to depend upon--who have such a chance offered to them. I have often noticed with great pain that you are devoid47 of any ambition in your profession, and are quite content to live among farmers and people of that kind. But that is not the sort of life I choose for my son. It is my wish that you should come up to town, as I have said before; that you should live here, and take up a proper position in society; that you should marry, and--'
'Yes, mother,' said Martin, with a faint smile, putting up his hand in protest; 'but surely, as I said before, these are matters which require a little consideration. By the way, supposing this plan of yours were carried out, what do you propose to do with Madame Du Tertre?'
'Madame Du Tertre again!' cried Mrs. Calverley. Bless my soul, Martin, how you do harp48 upon that woman! one would really think that you had fallen in love with her yourself. A nice daughter-in-law she'd' make; only if you're going to marry her I would rather you would keep in the country, if you please; she would quite shine at Lullington.'
Mrs. Calverley gave vent49 to a low sardonic50 chuckle51, the nearest approach she ever made to a laugh; but Martin Gurwood looked very grave.
'I do not understand the point of the joke,' he said; 'it is perhaps because I have been for some years accustomed only to the society of Lullington; but I confess I do not see anything particularly odd in my inquiring what was to become of one who is now a prominent member in your household, after you had carried out the change which you propose to make in it.'
Mrs. Calverley was always a little afraid of her son, and there was something in the tone of his voice as he made this remark which constrained52 her to be civil.
'I did not mean anything unpleasant,' she said, with less than her usual rigidity53 of manner; I only thought it odd that you could be in any doubt about the matter. Madame Du Tertre is here as my hired companion--when I say is here, I should say ought to be, for I hold her absence just now to be quite unjustifiable--and when it suits my convenience, and I have quite done with her, I shall pay and dismiss her, as such persons are usually paid and dismissed.'
'You will?'
'Most certainly! You cannot imagine for an instant that I had any idea of attaching Madame Du Tertre to the new manner of life which I propose for myself and for you?'
Martin's thoughts were beginning to wander again. 'No, no, of course not,' he said half vacantly.
'Of course not,' repeated Mrs. Calverley. 'I consented to receive Madame Du Tertre as my companion because I was shamefully54 deserted55 by Mr. Calverley, and left to pass all my time in moping solitude. I made a home, and a comfortable home, for him, and though, as I have said before, he could not appreciate the finer feelings of my nature, I would have been content to put them on one side. Now, I look forward to a very different state of things. You will be my companion; I shall have you instead of Mr. Calverley to deal with, and you will be able to understand my ways of life, and I shall be able to help you in your career. Under these circumstances Madame Du Tertre would merely be a clog56 upon both of us. I am by no means sure, Martin,' said Mrs. Calverley, growing very stiff and speaking with great fervour--'I am by no means sure that it is a right thing to have a Frenchwoman in the house, even though she is a Huguenot; I have experienced it already on several occasions, when I have found the greatest difficulty in convincing the neighbours that she belonged to the reformed Church. And with you as a clergyman permanently57 resident in the house, a suspicion of that kind would be extremely unpleasant. Moreover, there are many other reasons which I think would render Madame Du Tertre's farther sojourn58 here particularly undesirable59, and as she is merely one of the household, it will be of course easy enough for me to rid myself of her when I wish. You seem very sleepy, Martin,' said his mother, perceiving that he had relapsed into his former absent condition, 'and I think you had better go to bed now that I have given you an outline of my plan, and it is for you to think it over, and see how it will suit you. If you agree to it, as I have no reason to doubt you will, I shall give Madame Du Tertre notice to leave directly after her return.'
Then Martin rose from his seat, touched with his lips his mother's ear, which she turned round to him for the purpose, and retired to his own room.
Once there he put on his dressing-gown and slippers60, flung himself into an arm-chair, and resumed at his ease the chain of thought which had been so frequently interrupted. But now it contained a new element, which had been imported into it by his mother's last words. Immediately Madame Du Tertre returned to the house she would receive notice that her services would be speedily dispensed61 with. What would be the Frenchwoman's feelings at such an intimation? She had given
no sign of any intention to leave her present quarters in Great Walpole-street; but, on the contrary, seemed to consider herself completely settled there for some time to come, and was unquestionably desirous of retaining her power over Mrs. Calverley. That, Martin recollected62, she had not scrupled63 to acknowledge to him. On the other hand, inexperienced as Martin was in matters of the world, he had sufficient tact64 to perceive that his mother, for her own purposes, had always been particularly civil to Madame Du Tertre, and both by her speeches and her actions had led the Frenchwoman to believe that her presence in Great Walpole-street was indispensable to the well-being65 of the household. When, then, Madame Du Tertre on her return from Hendon is informed by Mrs. Calverley that different arrangements are about to be made, under which her companionship will be no longer required, when she receives that which, no matter how much politeness is imported into the manner of giving it, is in fact her dismissal, will she not, with that shrewdness and suspicion which are so eminently66 characteristic of her, at once define that this is not the act of Mrs. Calverley, who has always hitherto been so partial to her, but that this conduct on his mother's part is due to his influence? And provided that she attaches importance to the retention67 of her position in the Great Walpole-street household, as Martin undoubtedly68 believes she does, will she not instantly seek to revenge herself for what she imagines to be his interference, and has she not a subject for her vengeance69 immediately to her hand in poor helpless Alice?
Who was this woman? What were the motives70 prompting her to the game she was playing? And what would be its result?
The future seemed all dark and vague. The mist hung over it as it did over the sleeping city, a shivering glance at which Martin took from his bedroom window, and saw the first streaks71 of the wintry dawn struggling fitfully through the black clouds ere he retired to rest.
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1
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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concealing
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
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contingency
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| n.意外事件，可能性 | |
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dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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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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flannel
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| n.法兰绒；法兰绒衣服 | |
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slippered
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| 穿拖鞋的 | |
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defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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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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undue
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| adj.过分的；不适当的；未到期的 | |
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asperity
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| n.粗鲁，艰苦 | |
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vocation
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| n.职业，行业 | |
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relinquish
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| v.放弃，撤回，让与，放手 | |
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incumbency
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| n.职责，义务 | |
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proprietary
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| n.所有权，所有的；独占的；业主 | |
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chapels
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| n.小教堂， （医院、监狱等的）附属礼拜堂( chapel的名词复数 )；（在小教堂和附属礼拜堂举行的）礼拜仪式 | |
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aristocrats
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| n.贵族( aristocrat的名词复数 ) | |
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sloth
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| n.[动]树懒；懒惰，懒散 | |
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afflict
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| vt.使身体或精神受痛苦，折磨 | |
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incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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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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submission
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| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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warped
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| adj.反常的；乖戾的；（变）弯曲的；变形的v.弄弯，变歪( warp的过去式和过去分词 )；使（行为等）不合情理，使乖戾， | |
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impending
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| a.imminent, about to come or happen | |
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condemn
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| vt.谴责，指责；宣判(罪犯)，判刑 | |
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gauge
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| v.精确计量；估计；n.标准度量；计量器 | |
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doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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alluding
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| 提及，暗指( allude的现在分词 ) | |
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inmate
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| n.被收容者；(房屋等的)居住人；住院人 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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alleviate
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| v.减轻，缓和，缓解(痛苦等) | |
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sniff
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| vi.嗅…味道；抽鼻涕；对嗤之以鼻，蔑视 | |
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riveted
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| 铆接( rivet的过去式和过去分词 )； 把…固定住； 吸引； 引起某人的注意 | |
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obstinacy
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| n.顽固；（病痛等）难治 | |
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concocted
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| v.将（尤指通常不相配合的）成分混合成某物( concoct的过去式和过去分词 )；调制；编造；捏造 | |
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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fulsome
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| adj.可恶的，虚伪的，过分恭维的 | |
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recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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reticent
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| adj.沉默寡言的；言不如意的 | |
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devoid
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| adj.全无的，缺乏的 | |
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harp
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| n.竖琴；天琴座 | |
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vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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sardonic
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| adj.嘲笑的，冷笑的，讥讽的 | |
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chuckle
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| vi.／n.轻声笑，咯咯笑 | |
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constrained
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| adj.束缚的,节制的 | |
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rigidity
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| adj.钢性，坚硬 | |
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54
shamefully
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| 可耻地； 丢脸地； 不体面地； 羞耻地 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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clog
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| vt.塞满，阻塞；n.[常pl.]木屐 | |
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permanently
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| adv.永恒地，永久地，固定不变地 | |
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sojourn
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| v./n.旅居，寄居；逗留 | |
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undesirable
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| adj.不受欢迎的，不良的，不合意的，讨厌的；n.不受欢迎的人，不良分子 | |
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slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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dispensed
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| v.分配( dispense的过去式和过去分词 )；施与；配（药） | |
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recollected
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| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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scrupled
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| v.感到于心不安，有顾忌( scruple的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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tact
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| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
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well-being
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| n.安康，安乐，幸福 | |
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eminently
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| adv.突出地；显著地；不寻常地 | |
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retention
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| n.保留，保持，保持力，记忆力 | |
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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streaks
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| n.（与周围有所不同的）条纹( streak的名词复数 )；（通常指不好的）特征（倾向）；（不断经历成功或失败的）一段时期v.快速移动( streak的第三人称单数 )；使布满条纹 | |
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