A good many years ago the late Stephen Phillips, the poet and dramatist, got himself into a very queer piece of trouble. He had just left his house somewhere on the south coast, I think at Littlehampton or near it, and rumours1 had got abroad that he had done so because the place was haunted. The rumours penetrated2 to Fleet Street, and some paper sent down a reporter to interview the poet. Stephen Phillips told the newspaper man his experiences in his late residence, and they were, indeed, most remarkable3. I have forgotten the detail, and cannot recall the manner of the noises or voices or apparitions4 that had vexed5 the late tenant6; but there was no doubt that the house was haunted, and haunted very badly. A sensational7 “story” appeared in the paper and then the landlord of the house sued everybody concerned for heavy damages. It had not occurred to Phillips or the newspaper that you could libel a house; but the owner of it pointed8 out that to call a house haunted made it unlettable, and that in consequence of the statements in the interview the place once occupied by the poet had been empty on his hands for the last eighteen months. How the matter ended has escaped my memory, but I believe somebody, the poet or the paper, had to pay, and I should think it was the paper. However, I am taking the affair as a warning, and so I declare that all names and places in the following history are fictitious9. There is no such Inn of Court or Chancery as Curzon’s Inn; there is no such square as Coney Court, though South Square, Gray’s Inn, once bore that name. And therefore: no action will lie.
But assuming for the moment that names and places are as true as the tale, it may be said that Curzon’s Inn lies somewhere between Fleet Street and Holborn. It is approached by a maze10 of crooked11 courts and paved alleys12, guarded by iron posts, and it consists of a small hall — note the very odd and elaborate “sham Gothic” work about the principal doorway13, date 1755 — a huge and ancient and flourishing mulberry tree in a railed enclosure, a quadrangle called Assay14 Square, and another which is Coney Court. In Coney Court there are nine entrances in the buildings, which were rebuilt in 1670. All is of a dim red of ancient brickwork; the entrances are enriched with Corinthian pilasters, in the manner of the older doorways15 in King’s Bench Walk in the Temple; and the carved wooden penthouses over these doorways have been attributed to Grinling Gibbons; somewhat doubtfully, as I am told, and on a misreading of an allusion16 in a contemporary diary. But, at all events, there are nine doors in Coney Court, and no more than nine, and hence the perplexity of Mr. Hemmings, the Steward17, when he received a cheque for £20, with a note to this effect:
Dear Sir —
Please receive the enclosed cheque for Twenty Pounds (£20 0 0), being the quarter’s rent due to you for my chambers18 at 7B Coney Court, Curzon’s Inn.
I remain, Yours faithfully,
Michael Carver.
That was all. There was no address. There was no date. The postmark bore the letter N. The letter was delivered by the first post of November 11, 1913, and by immemorial custom, of unknown origin, rents in Curzon’s Inn are payable19 not on the English, but on the Scottish Quarter days. Now, November 11 is Martinmas, and so far everything was in order, But there is no such entrance in Coney Court as 7B, and there was no such name as Michael Carver on the books of the Inn. Mr. Hemmings was bothered, and nobody seemed to have heard of Mr. Carver. The porter, who had been employed at the Inn for upwards20 of forty years, was quite positive that no such name had been on the doorposts during the time of his service. Of course, the Steward made all possible enquiries. He went round to the various tenants21 at 6, 7, and 8, but could get no information whatever. As is usual in the old Inns, the tenants were miscellaneous. The main substratum — also as usual — was legal. There was a publisher in a very small and young way of business, who thought that poetry could be made to pay. There were the offices of a few shy and queer companies and syndicates, with names such as “Trexel Development Company, Ltd.,” “J.H.V.N. Syndicate,” “Sargasso Salvage22: G. Nash, Secretary,” and so forth23, and so forth. Then the private residents; some of these were initials on the doorposts, “A.D.S.”, “F.X.S.”, one “Mr. and Mrs. Eugene Sheldon”, and names that were little more than names to the inhabitants of the Inn, since the owners of them were never seen during the day, but crept out at night, after the gates were shut, and prowled from Assay Square to Coney Court and back again, stealthily, silently, not looking at one another, never speaking a word. Among all these folk the Steward made his quest, but not one of them had heard of such a person as Michael Carver, and one or two had occupied their chambers for thirty years. The next day, “St. Martin’s Morrow,” being the day appointed for the quarterly meeting of the Society, the “Pension”. as they called it, the puzzled Hemmings laid the matter before the President and the Ancients, with the result that they decided24 that there was nothing to be done. And from that date onward25, quarter after quarter came the cheque for twenty pounds, with the formal note accompanying it. No date, no address, and the postmark still bearing the N. of the northern district, The matter was regularly laid before the Society: the Society as regularly decided that there was nothing to be done.
This went on till the Martinmas of November, 1918. The usual cheque was received; but the formal letter varied26. It ran thus:
Dear Sir —
Please receive the enclosed cheque for Twenty Pounds (£20 0 0), being the quarter’s rent due to you for my Chambers at 7B Coney Court, Curzon’s Inn.
There is a bad patch of damp on the ceiling of my sitting room; arising, I should think, from a defective27 tile.
I shall be obliged if you will have this seen to at once.
I remain, Yours faithfully,
Michael Carver.
The Steward was stupefied. There was no such number in Coney Court, or the Inn, as 7B; how, then, could there be a leak in the roof! How could the Society see to a roof which did not exist? Next day, Mr. Hemmings laid the letter before the Pension in silence: there was nothing to say. The President read it attentively28; the ten Ancients read it attentively. Then one of them, who happened to be a solicitor29, suggested that enquiries should be made at Mr. Carver’s bank. “Sometimes you can bluff30 a bank,” he said hopefully. But Mr. Carver banked at Tellson’s, and the ancient should have known better. Hemmings received the curtest of letters from the House, informing him that Messrs. Tellson were not in the habit of discussing their client’s affairs with outsiders; and so, for the time being, the matter dropped. Next quarter day the usual Carver cheque was received, and with it an extremely stiff letter, pointing out that no notice had been taken of the writer’s request, and that, in consequence the damp had spread all over the ceiling, and threatened to drip on the carpet. “I shall be obliged if you will remedy the defect immediately,” the letter ended. The President and the Ancients again considered the matter. One suggested that the whole thing was the work of a practical joker, and another uttered the word “Mad,” but these explanations were considered unsatisfactory, and the society, in the circumstances, resolved that there was nothing to be done.
The next quarter day brought no cheque. There was a letter, declaring that the tenant’s furniture was covered with mould, and that in wet weather he was obliged to put a bowl on the floor to catch the water. Mr. Carver said finally that he had determined31 to cease all payment of rent until the necessary repairs were seen to. And then something still queerer happened, and this is the point at which the history would have become libellous if there were such a place as Curzon’s Inn, or if there were such a court as Coney Court. The third pair chambers (right) of No. 7, Coney Court, had just been vacated by the tenants, solicitors32 or agents, and a widow lady and her daughter had moved in —“dingy, but so quiet”, as the lady told her friends. And now she found her chambers very far from quiet. Night after night, at twelve, one, two, or three o’clock, she and her daughter were awoke by thunderous piano music, always the same music, which rendered sleep out of the question. The widow complained to the Steward, and he came round, with the Inn carpenter, and said he couldn’t understand it at all.
“We never had any complaints from Jackson and Dowling,” he declared, and the lady pointed out that Jackson and Dowling left the Inn every night at six.
The Steward went over the set carefully. He noticed a sort of crazy flight of steps, leading out of one of the rooms.
“What’s that?” he asked the carpenter, and the man said it was a sort of lumber33 place, used by tenants for odds34 and ends.
They went up, and found themselves in a garret, lighted by one pane35 of glass in the roof. Here was a broken-down old piano with hardly a dozen notes sounding, a mouldy gladstone bag, two odd men’s socks, a pair of trousers, and some ragged36 copies of Bach’s Fugues, in paper wrappers. There was a leak in the roof, and all reeked37 with damp.
The rubbish was removed, the place was turned out and whitewashed38. There were no more disturbances39. But a year later, the widow lady, being at a concert with a friend, suddenly gasped40 and choked, and whispered to the friend:
“That is the awful music I told you about.”
The distinguished41 pianist had just sounded the opening notes of John Sebastian Bach’s Fugue in C Major.
Neither the Principal, the Ancients, nor the Steward heard any more of the tenant of 7B Coney Court.
1 rumours | |
n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 );风闻;谣言;谣传 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
2 penetrated | |
adj. 击穿的,鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
3 remarkable | |
adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
4 apparitions | |
n.特异景象( apparition的名词复数 );幽灵;鬼;(特异景象等的)出现 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
5 vexed | |
adj.争论不休的;(指问题等)棘手的;争论不休的问题;烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 );使苦恼;使生气;详细讨论 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
6 tenant | |
n.承租人;房客;佃户;v.租借,租用 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
7 sensational | |
adj.使人感动的,非常好的,轰动的,耸人听闻的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
8 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
9 fictitious | |
adj.虚构的,假设的;空头的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
10 maze | |
n.迷宫,八阵图,混乱,迷惑 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
11 crooked | |
adj.弯曲的;不诚实的,狡猾的,不正当的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
12 alleys | |
胡同,小巷( alley的名词复数 ); 小径 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
13 doorway | |
n.门口,(喻)入门;门路,途径 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
14 assay | |
n.试验,测定 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
15 doorways | |
n.门口,门道( doorway的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
16 allusion | |
n.暗示,间接提示 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
17 steward | |
n.乘务员,服务员;看管人;膳食管理员 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
18 chambers | |
n.房间( chamber的名词复数 );(议会的)议院;卧室;会议厅 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
19 payable | |
adj.可付的,应付的,有利益的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
20 upwards | |
adv.向上,在更高处...以上 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
21 tenants | |
n.房客( tenant的名词复数 );佃户;占用者;占有者 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
22 salvage | |
v.救助,营救,援救;n.救助,营救 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
23 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
24 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
25 onward | |
adj.向前的,前进的;adv.向前,前进,在先 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
26 varied | |
adj.多样的,多变化的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
27 defective | |
adj.有毛病的,有问题的,有瑕疵的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
28 attentively | |
adv.聚精会神地;周到地;谛;凝神 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
29 solicitor | |
n.初级律师,事务律师 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
30 bluff | |
v.虚张声势,用假象骗人;n.虚张声势,欺骗 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
31 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
32 solicitors | |
初级律师( solicitor的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
33 lumber | |
n.木材,木料;v.以破旧东西堆满;伐木;笨重移动 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
34 odds | |
n.让步,机率,可能性,比率;胜败优劣之别 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
35 pane | |
n.窗格玻璃,长方块 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
36 ragged | |
adj.衣衫褴褛的,粗糙的,刺耳的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
37 reeked | |
v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的过去式和过去分词 );散发臭气;发出难闻的气味 (of sth);明显带有(令人不快或生疑的跡象) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
38 whitewashed | |
粉饰,美化,掩饰( whitewash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
39 disturbances | |
n.骚乱( disturbance的名词复数 );打扰;困扰;障碍 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
40 gasped | |
v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 );喘息;倒抽气;很想要 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
41 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
欢迎访问英文小说网 |