The way of the lady, born safe and invincibly10 assured, would not do here. She who had always been quietly and surely respected and authoritative11!
And if Casa Terragena was caught out at so directly an anti-Fascist exploit as this, what would be its worth to the Rylands family for the next few years?
Startling to think that the proper course before her, consistent with all the rest of her life, consistent with the lives of all the respectable people in the world, would be to go in and go to bed and just leave that frightened man in the hole to his fate, his probably highly disagreeable fate.
This thing was no mere12 adventure. It was a challenge, the supreme13 challenge of her life. She must risk herself, risk her home, risk failure and humiliating discovery. If she saved or did her utmost to save this man, she broke with limitations that had restricted and protected all her life thus far.
She clenched14 her hands together very tightly, for her fibre was nervous timid stuff. Then for an instant, one brief instant, her sense of her God who had been so near a quarter of an hour ago, returned to her. Wordlessly, in a breathing moment she prayed. She stepped across the boundary and transcended15 State and government.
“We must save that man,” she said.
No moral doubts about Mrs. McManus. “I’m thinking how. It’s no light matter, M’am.”
Mrs. Rylands stood up, with her heart beating fast and her head quite clear. She looked towards the house.
“I don’t think they will come back by this path. They believed us that there is no one this way. They will take the way by the lily pond to the bridge across the gorge16. They are sure to go west in order to block the escape to the French frontier. They will scatter17 up and down the rocks and spend the night there. I hope none of them catch cold. I think they have started already. I heard — something. Listen. Look up there; that’s a flashlight. Along the path above us. Bombaccio is showing them — or one of the men. Very well. Now ——”
She weighed her words. “There is only one place to put him where he will be safe from gardeners, servants, everyone. Except perhaps Frant. . . . Mr. Philip’s bedroom. Locked up — next to my little sitting-room18. We can turn the key on the service stairs.”
“We could do that.”
“It is all we can do.”
“But to get him there!”
“If he could walk in — in your hood19 and cloak. That cloak of yours with a hood. We can get the men out of the way. Listen. I am going to be very, very, very frightened. Hysterical20. You are afraid for me. Very well, you go in and get Bombaccio to bring brandy here. He’ll want brandy badly enough. Brandy and one glass; no tray. Take it off the tray and bring it yourself. And get your cloak and bring wraps for me. Oh! — and bring a pair of your shoes and stockings among the wraps. What? Yes — for him. I will be sitting here, terrified. ‘Take those men away!’ I shall repeat over and over. I shall be in terror at the idea of more people coming into the gardens from above. I shall be dreadfully shaken. You won’t answer for the consequences if I see another strange man. . . . Will Bombaccio believe that?”
“Men will believe anything of that sort,” said Mrs. McManus.
“Suppose he hangs about — sympathetically.”
“No man ever yet hung about an ailing21 woman if he had any chance or excuse of getting away from her.”
“Insist that he goes up to stop people at the gates and takes the men-servants with him. You cannot bear to think of his going alone and — unless I’m mistaken in him, he won’t bear to think of his going alone.”
“He shall take them.”
“Have as many lights as possible put out. Say they upset me. Tell the women not to be frightened on any account. Then they will be. It’s just one very, very desperate man, tell them. Tell them to keep together and keep to their own quarters. Then when it’s all clear he puts on your shoes and stockings and cloak and we just walk into the house and up to my room.”
“If you’d been in the Civil War in Ireland, you couldn’t have made a better plan,” said Mrs. McManus.
“There’s Frant? She’ll be sitting up for me. She’s the weak point.”
“That maid of yours can hold her tongue,” said Mrs. McManus, “I’ve got great confidence in her. I’ve heard Bombaccio trying to get things out of her. I’ll just drop her a hint not to be surprised at anything she sees and keep mum. Maybe she’ll have to be told about it. Later. But she’s English and keeps herself to herself. You can risk Miss Frant.”
“And Miss Fenimore?”
“She’ll be in bed perhaps. Or maybe botanising.” Mrs. McManus reflected. “We’ll have to take the chances of that Miss Fenimore.”
“The rest of it will work?”
“Please God.”
The two women peered at each other in the darkness.
It was alarming but exciting. They felt a great friendship for each other. “If you could look a bit dishevelled and sickish,” said Mrs. McManus. “Instead of looking all braced22 up like a little fighting cock.”
She reflected. “And when he’s in that room ——? But one thing at a time.”
She departed towards the house almost jauntily23. Mrs. Rylands, tingling24 not unpleasantly, returned to her seat. Seven years perhaps in a Fascist prison. But that would make a stir in England. The government of course was much too hand-in-glove with Mussolini to insist on her liberation. And yet Rylands stood for something in England. . . . Why think of such things?
There was a faint rustling25 and a painful grunting26.
“Have they gone?” came a voice out of the blackness behind her.
She answered in a loud whisper: “Not yet. Have patience. We are going to hide you in the house.”
Then she stood up and bent27 down towards the unseen refugee. “You prefer to speak English or French?” she asked and began to sketch28 out his part in her plan in French. But he insisted on English. “In America five years,” he said. He asked various questions. “I shall sleep in a bed,” he noted29 with marked satisfaction. “I have not slept in a bed for four nights. Possibly I may wash and shave? Yes?”
The plan worked. Presently came the brandy and Mrs. McManus. Much hurrying movement and quick whispers. He had to have his shoes and stockings put on him like a baby. But the brandy heartened him.
There were heart stopping moments. As Mrs. Rylands turned the corner of the landing with her cloaked and hooded30 refugee beside her and holding to her arm, Miss Fenimore came out of the little downstairs sitting-room with a book in her hand. “Going to bed?” said Miss Fenimore, yawning. “Good ni!”
“Good night, dear,” said Mrs. Rylands and pushed her companion on.
“Good night, Mrs. McManus,” cried Miss Fenimore.
“Put the sitting-room lights out, dear,” said Mrs. Rylands instantly, with great presence of mind. And then as Signor Vinciguerra stumbled up the next flight of steps she whispered: “The door to the left and we are safe!”
Frant was in the ante-room immersed in a book and didn’t even look up as they passed across it.
Mrs. McManus too had her disconcerting moment. Following discreetly31, she discovered Miss Fenimore, just too late, in the sitting-room entrance. “I never did!” cried Miss Fenimore. “Why! I said good night to you on the staircase just a moment ago?”
“There’s no harm in saying it again,” said Mrs. McManus.
“But you went upstairs?”
“And came down again.”
“It’s not half a minute.”
“I’m that quick,” said Mrs. McManus, and left her still wondering.
“It’s like second sight or having one of those doppelgangers,” said Miss Fenimore. “I just went into the sitting-room to switch off the light. I hardly did more than turn round. Hasn’t there been some sort of trouble in the garden?”
“I heard a noise. Shouting and running it was,” said Mrs. McManus. “We’ll have to ask Bombaccio to-morrow. Good night to you,” and she disappeared above the landing.
Alone with her God so to speak, Mrs. McManus made a hideous32 grimace33 at the invisible Miss Fenimore.
She found Mrs. Rylands in her husband’s room, having her hands kissed effusively34 by a weeping dishevelled middle-aged35 man with a four days’ beard. He had discarded the nurse’s cloak and her much too tight shoes, but he still wore her stockings pulled over the ends of his trousers so that up to the waist he looked like a brigand36 and above that, a tramp. “Brave and kind,” he sobbed37 over and over again. “I was at my ooltimate garsp.” Mrs. McManus became aware that Frant had followed from the ante-room attracted by the rich sounds of the kissing and praise. “Miss Frant,” said Mrs. McManus closing the door on her, “We’ll have to trouble you with a secret. Look at him there! A great political senator he was, and see what they have made of him! A friend of Mr. Rylands. He was being hunted to his death by them Black Shirts and we’ve got to hide him from them. None of the servants must know. They aren’t safe, not a single one of them. They may be Black Shirts themselves for all we know. We’ll have to hide him and get him out of this country somehow or Murder it will be.”
Frant’s thin face expressed understanding and solicitude38. She was a white-faced, wisp-haired woman with much potential excitement in her small bright blue eyes. “Have you locked the valet’s door beyond the bathroom?” she asked pallidly39 aglow40. “I’ll see nobody comes in from the passage.”
One might have imagined that the rescue of fugitives was a part of her normal duties.
Mrs. McManus skilfully41 but tactfully disengaged Mrs. Rylands’ hands from the gratitude42 of Signer Vinciguerra. “The great thing here is Silence,” she whispered, shaking him kindly43 but impressively. “There’s Fascists maybe in the rooms above and Fascists maybe downstairs and they’re almost certain to be listening outside the window. If you’ll just sit down in that chair and collect yourself quietly I’ll give you some biscuits and a trifle more brandy.”
Signor Vinciguerra was wax in her hands.
Mrs. Rylands, disembarrassed, was free to make a general survey of the situation. She put two towels in the bathroom and found Philip’s shaving things and a sponge. From the wardrobe she got a dressing-gown and in the chest of drawers were pyjamas44. The man seemed to be famished45. Miss Frant could get some sandwiches without remark. Or bovril. Bovril would be better. Unless Signor Vinciguerra made too much noise or talked too loudly in his sleep he could with reasonable luck be safe here for some days. Philip’s room opened into the little sitting-room that gave on the balcony and into which her own bedroom opened on the other side. No one was likely to go into it. Signor Vinciguerra could lock himself in and answer only to an agreed-on tap. She could profess46 to be ill until definite action was called for and Miss Frant could make up a bed for Mrs. McManus on the couch in the ante-room, barring all intrusion of the maids. Food could be brought up; not much but sufficient to keep the good man going. And so having provided for the temporary security of Signor Vinciguerra the next problem was how to get rid of him.
He was left to his toilet in Philip’s apartment. Miss Frant, after a whispered consultation47 with Mrs. McManus in the ante-chamber, went downstairs to order and wait for a large cup of bovril and toast and learn how things in general were going on. Mrs. Rylands drifted to the balcony and discovered the old moon creeping up the sky above the eastward48 promontory49, picking out the palm fronds50 and patterning the darkness of the garden.
Extraordinary! It was long past her customary bedtime and everything was most improper51 for a woman in her condition, and yet instead of feeling distressed52, fatigued53 and dismayed, she was elated. It was, to be frank with herself, a great lark54. It would be something to tell Philip. It was still extremely dangerous and it might become at any time horrible and tragic55, but it no longer appeared a monstrous56 and unnatural57 experience. She believed that on the whole she was likely to succeed in this adventure. Things so far had gone amazingly well. If one kept one’s head they might still go well. The frontier was not half an hour’s walk away. Being outside the law, fighting the established system of things, was after all nothing so very overwhelming.
Problem: to get him away.
That was going to be an anxious business.
There in sight were the lights of Mentone, France, freedom and security. The real Civilisation58. And against that a dark headland, the edge of captive Italy. Where to-night the Fascists would be watching. Where always perhaps there were watchers, now that Italy was a prison.
Such a very middle-aged man he was!
In romances and plays a fugitive6 was at least able to run. Most fugitives in fiction were high-grade amateur runners. One thought of a young handsome white face, with a streak59 of hair across it and perhaps blood, a white shirt torn open — a tenor60 part. If only this were so now, one might give him a rest, smuggle61 him down to the beach to-morrow night and set him off to swim across that dark crescent of water, to sanctuary62. What could it be altogether? Four miles? Five miles? Or put him in the bathing boat. But that might be difficult. At times there were searchlights. Odd there were none just now! Perhaps that put swimming or a boat out of court even for heroes. A really good swimmer might dive as the light swept by. Or one could have packed him off up the gorge to clamber into the hills and escape by precipitous leaping and climbing. But for that a Douglas Fairbanks would be needed. Her mind struggled against an overbearing gravitation towards the prosaic63 conclusion, that the most suitable role for Signor Vinciguerra would be that of a monthly nurse, into which he had fallen already. In that guise64 she could see herself taking him across the frontier with the utmost ease in the well-known and trusted Terragena car, and she could imagine no other way that was not preposterously65 impracticable.
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1
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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3
fascist
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| adj.法西斯主义的；法西斯党的；n.法西斯主义者，法西斯分子 | |
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fascists
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| n.法西斯主义的支持者( fascist的名词复数 ) | |
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refreshments
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| n.点心,便餐;(会议后的)简单茶点招 待 | |
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6
fugitive
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| adj.逃亡的，易逝的；n.逃犯，逃亡者 | |
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fugitives
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| n.亡命者，逃命者( fugitive的名词复数 ) | |
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absurdity
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| n.荒谬，愚蠢；谬论 | |
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minions
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| n.奴颜婢膝的仆从( minion的名词复数 )；走狗；宠儿；受人崇拜者 | |
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invincibly
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| adv.难战胜地，无敌地 | |
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authoritative
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| adj.有权威的，可相信的；命令式的；官方的 | |
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12
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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14
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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transcended
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| 超出或超越（经验、信念、描写能力等）的范围( transcend的过去式和过去分词 )； 优于或胜过… | |
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16
gorge
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| n.咽喉，胃，暴食，山峡；v.塞饱，狼吞虎咽地吃 | |
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scatter
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| vt.撒，驱散，散开；散布/播；vi.分散，消散 | |
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18
sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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hood
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| n.头巾，兜帽，覆盖；v.罩上，以头巾覆盖 | |
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20
hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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ailing
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| v.生病 | |
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braced
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| adj.拉牢的v.支住( brace的过去式和过去分词 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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23
jauntily
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| adv.心满意足地；洋洋得意地；高兴地；活泼地 | |
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tingling
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| v.有刺痛感( tingle的现在分词 ) | |
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rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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grunting
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| 咕哝的，呼噜的 | |
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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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28
sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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hooded
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| adj.戴头巾的；有罩盖的；颈部因肋骨运动而膨胀的 | |
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31
discreetly
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| ad.(言行)审慎地，慎重地 | |
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hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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grimace
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| v.做鬼脸，面部歪扭 | |
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effusively
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| adv.变溢地，热情洋溢地 | |
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middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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brigand
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| n.土匪，强盗 | |
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sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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solicitude
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| n.焦虑 | |
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pallidly
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| adv.无光泽地，苍白无血色地 | |
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aglow
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| adj.发亮的；发红的；adv.发亮地 | |
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41
skilfully
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| adv. (美skillfully)熟练地 | |
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42
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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43
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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44
pyjamas
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| n.（宽大的）睡衣裤 | |
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45
famished
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| adj.饥饿的 | |
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46
profess
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| v.声称，冒称，以...为业，正式接受入教，表明信仰 | |
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47
consultation
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| n.咨询；商量；商议；会议 | |
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48
eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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49
promontory
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| n.海角；岬 | |
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50
fronds
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| n.蕨类或棕榈类植物的叶子( frond的名词复数 ) | |
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51
improper
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| adj.不适当的，不合适的，不正确的，不合礼仪的 | |
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52
distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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53
fatigued
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| adj. 疲乏的 | |
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54
lark
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| n.云雀，百灵鸟；n.嬉戏，玩笑；vi.嬉戏 | |
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55
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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56
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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57
unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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58
civilisation
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| n.文明，文化，开化，教化 | |
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59
streak
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| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
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60
tenor
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| n.男高音（歌手），次中音（乐器），要旨，大意 | |
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61
smuggle
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| vt.私运；vi.走私 | |
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62
sanctuary
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| n.圣所，圣堂，寺庙；禁猎区，保护区 | |
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63
prosaic
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| adj.单调的，无趣的 | |
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64
guise
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| n.外表，伪装的姿态 | |
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65
preposterously
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| adv.反常地；荒谬地；荒谬可笑地；不合理地 | |
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