“’Twas not toothache—a worse thing,” said the stranger, demurely1, who, with closed eyes, and her hand propping2 her head, seemed to have composed herself for a doze3 in the great chair.
“Wuss than toothache! That’s bad. Earache4 mayhap?” inquired Mrs. Tarnley with pathetic concern, though I don’t think it would have troubled her much if her guest had tumbled over the precipice5 of Carwell Valley and broken her neck among the stones in the brook6.
“Pain in my face—it is called tic,” said the lady, with closed eyes in a languid drawl.
“Tic? lawk! Well, I never heard o’ the like, unless it be the field-bug as sticks in the cattle—that’s a bad ailment7, I do suppose,” conjectured8 Mrs. Tarnley.
“You may have it yourself some day,” said this lady, who spoke9 quietly and deliberately10, but with fluency11, although her accent was foreign. “When we are growing a little old our bones and nerves they will not be young still. You have your rheumatism12, I have my tic—the pain in my cheek and mouth—a great deal worse, as you will find, whenever you taste of it, as it may happen. Your tea is good—after a journey tea is so refreshing13. I cannot live without my cup of tea, though it is not good for my tic. So, ha, ha, he-ha! There is the tea already in my cheek—oh! Well, you will be so good to give me my bag.”
Mildred looked about, and found a small baize bag with an umbrella and a bandbox.
“There’s a green bag I have here, ma’am.”
“A baize bag?”
“Yes, ’m.”
“Give it to me. Ha, yes, my bibe—my bibe—and my box.”
So this lady rummaged14 and extricated15 a pipe very like a meerschaum, and a small square box.
“Tibbacca!” exclaimed Mrs. Tarnley. The stranger interpreted the exclamation16, without interrupting her preparations.
“Dobacco? no, better thing—some opium17. You are afraid Mrs. Harry18 Fairfield, she would smell id. No—I do not wish to disturb her sleeb. I am quite private here, and do not wish to discover myself. Ya, ya, ya, hoo!”
It was another twinge.
“Sad thing, ma’am,” said Mildred. “Better now, perhaps?”
“Put a stool under my feed. Zere, zere, sat will do. Now you light that match and hold to the end of ze bibe, and I will zen be bedder.”
Accordingly Mildred Tarnley, strongly tempted19 to mutter a criticism, but possibly secretly in awe20 of the tall and “big-made” woman who issued these orders, proceeded to obey them.
“No great odds21 of a smell arter all,” said Mrs. Tarnley approvingly, after a little pause.
“And how long since Harry married?” inquired the smoker22 after another silence.
“I can’t know that nohow; but ’tis since Master Charles gave ’em the lend o’ the house.”
“Deeb people these Vairvields are,” laughed the big woman drowsily23.
“When will he come here?”
“Tomorrow or next day, I wouldn’t wonder; but he never stays long, and he comes and goes as secret-like as a man about a murder a’most.”
“Ha, I dare say. Old Vairvield would cut him over the big shoulders with his horsewhip, I think. And when will your master come?”
“Master comes very seldom. Oh! very. Just when he thinks to find Master Henry here, maybe once in a season.”
“And where does he live—at home or where?” asked the tall visitor.
“Well, I can’t say, I’m sure, if it baint at Wyvern. At Wyvern, I do suppose, mostly. But I daresay he travels a bit now and again. I don’t know I’m sure.”
“Because I wrote to him lo Wyvern to meet me here. Is he at Wyvern?”
“Well, faith, I can’t tell. I know no more than you, ma’am, where Master Charles is,” said Mildred, with energy, relieved in the midst of her rosary of lies to find herself free to utter one undoubted truth.
“You have been a long time in the family, Mrs. Tarnley?” drawled the visitor, listlessly.
“Since I was the height o’ that—before I can remember. I was born in Carwell gate-house here. My mother was here in old Squire24’s time, meanin’ the father o’ the present Harry Fairfield o’ Wyvern that is, and grandfather o’ the two young gentlemen, Master Charles and Master Harry. Why, bless you, my grandfather, that is my mother’s father, was in charge o’ the house and farm, and the woods, and the tenants25, and all; there wasn’t a tree felled, nor a cow sold, nor an acre o’ ground took up but jest as he said. They called him honest Tom Pennecuick; he was thought a great deal of, my grandfather was, and Carwell never turned in as good a penny to the Fairfields as in his time; not since, and not before—never, and never will, that’s sure.”
“And which do you like best. Squire Charles or Squire Harry?” inquired the languid lady.
“I likes Charles,” said Mrs. Tarnley, with decision.
And why so?”
Well, Harry’s a screw; ye see he’d as lief gie a joint26 o’ his thumb as a sixpence. He’ll take his turn out of every one good-humoured enough, and pay for trouble wi’ a joke and a laugh; a very pleasant gentleman for such as has nothing to do but exchange work for his banter27 and live without wages; all very fine. I never seed a shillin’ of hisn since he had one to spend.”
“Mr. Charles can be close-fisted too, when he likes it?” suggested the lady.
“No, no, no, he’s not that sort if he had it. Open-handed enough, and more the gentleman every way than Master Harry—more the gentleman,” answered Mildred.
“Yes, Harry Fairfield is a shrewd, hard man, I believe; he ought to have helped his brother a bit; he has saved a nice bit o’ money, I dare say,” said the visitor.
“If he hasn’t a good handful in his kist corner ’t’aint that he wastes what he gets.”
“I do suppose he’ll pay his brother a fair rent for the house?” said the visitor.
“Master Harry’ll pay for no more than he can help,” observed Mildred.
“It’s a comfortable house,” pursues the stranger; “’twas so when I was here.”
“Warm and roomy,” acquiesced28 Mrs. Tarnley—“chimbley, roof, and wall—staunch and stout29; ’twill stand a hundred year to come, wi’ a new shingle30 and a daub o’ mortar31 now and again. There’s a few jackdaws up in the chimbleys that ought to be drew out o’ that wi’ their sticks and dirt,” she reflected, respectfully.
“And do you mean to tell me he pays no rent for the Grange, and keeps his wife here?” demanded the lady, peremptorily32.
“I know nothing about their dealings,” answered Mrs. Tarnley, as tartly33.
“And ’t’aint clear to me I should care much neither; they’ll settle that, like other matters, without stoppin’ to ask Mildred what she thinks o’t; and I dare say Master Harry will be glad enough to take it for nothing, if Master Charles will be fool enough to let him.”
“Well, he shan’t do that, I’ll take care.” said the lady, maintaining her immovable pose, which, with a certain peculiarity34 in the tone of her voice, gave to her an indescribable and unpleasant langour.
“I never have two pounds to lay on top o’ one another. Jarity begins at home. I’ll not starve for Master Harry,” and she laughed softly and unpleasantly.
“His wife, you say, is a starved gurate’s daughter!”
“Parson Maybell—poor he was, down at Wyvern Vicarage—meat only twice or thrice a week, as I have heard say, and treated old Squire Harry bad, I hear, about his rent; and old Squire Fairfield was kind—to her anyhow, and took her up to the hall, and so when she grew up she took her opportunity and married Master Harry.”
“She was clever to catch such a shrewd chap—clever. Light again; I shall have three four other puff35 before I go to my bed—very clever. How did she take so well, and hold so fast, that wise fellow, Harry Fairfield?”
“Hoo! fancy, I do suppose, and liken’. She’s a pretty lass. All them Fairfields married for beauty mostly. Some o’ them got land and money, and the like, but a pretty face allays36 along with the fortune.”
The blind stranger, for blind she was, smiled downward, faintly and slily, while she was again preparing the pipe.
“When will Harry come again?” she asked.
“I never knows, he’s so wary37; do you want to talk to him, ma’am?” said Mildred.
“Yes, I do,” said she; “hold the match now, Mrs. Tarnley, please.”
So she did, and—puff, puff, puff—about a dozen times, went the smoke, and the smoker was satisfied.
“Well, I never knows the minute, but it mightn’t be for a fortnight,” said Mrs. Tarnley.
“And when Mr. Charles Fairfield come?” asked the visitor.
“If he’s got your letter hell be here quick enough. If it’s missed him he mayn’t set foot in it for three months’ time. That’s how it is wi’ him,” answered Mildred.
“What news of old Harry at Wyvern?” asked the stranger.
“No news in partic’lar,” answered Mildred, “only he’s well and hearty—but that’s no news; the Fairfields is a long-lived stock, as everyone knows; he’ll not lie in oak and wool for many a day yet, I’m thinkin’.”
Perhaps she had rightly guessed the object of the lady’s solicitude38, for a silence followed.
“There’s a saying in my country—‘God’s children die young,’” said the tall lady.
“And here about they do say, the Devil takes care of his own,” said Mildred Tarnley. “But see how my score o’ years be runnin’ up, I take it sinners’ lives be lengthened39 out a bit by the Judge of all, to gi’e us time to stay our thoughts a little, and repent40 our misdeeds, while yet we may.”
“You have made a little fire in my room, Mrs. Tarnley?” inquired the stranger, who had probably no liking41 for theology.
“Yes ’m; everything snug42.”
“Would you mind running up and looking? I detest43 a chill,” said this selfish person.
At that hour no doubt Mrs. Tarnley resented this tax on her rheumatics; but though she was not a woman to curb44 her resentments45 she made shift on this occasion; that did not prevent her, however, from giving the stranger a furious look, while she muttered inaudibly a few words.
“I’ll go with pleasure, ma’am, but I’m sure it’s all right,” she said aloud, very civilly, and paused, thinking perhaps that the lady would would let her off the long walk upstairs to the front of the house.
“Very good; I’ll wait here,” said the guest, unfeelingly.
“As you please ’m,” said Mildred, and with a parting look round the kitchen, she took the candle, and left the lady to the light of the fire.
The lady was almost reclining in her chair, as if she were dozing46; but in a few moments up she stood, and placing her hand by her ear, listened; then, with her hands advanced, she crept slowly, and as noiselessly as a cat, across the floor. She jostled a little against the table at Lilly Dogger’s door; then she stopped perfectly47 still, withdrew the table without a sound; the door swung a little open, and the gaunt figure in grey stood at it, listening. A very faint flicker48 from the fire lighted this dim woman, who seemed for the moment to have no more life in her than the tall, gray stone of the Druid’s hoe on Cressley Common.
Lilly Dogger was fast asleep; but broken were her slumbers49 destined50 to be that night. She felt a hand on her neck, and looking up, could not for a while see anything, so dark was the room.
She jumped up in a sitting posture51, with a short cry of fear, thinking that she was in the hands of a robber.
“Be quiet, fool,” said the tall woman, slipping her hand over the girl’s mouth. “I’m a lady, a friend of Mrs. Mildred Tarnley, and I’m come to stay in the house. Who is the lady that sleeps upstairs in the room that used to be Mr. Harry’s? You must answer true, or I’ll pull your ear very hard.”
“It is the mistress, please ’m,” answered the frightened girl.
“Married lady?”
“Yes ’m.”
“Who is her husband?”
With this question the big fingers of her visitor closed upon Lilly Dogger’s ear with a monitory pinch.
“The master, ma’am.”
“And what’s the master’s name, you dirdy liddle brevarigator?”
And with these words her ear was wrung52 sharply.
She would have cried, very likely, if she had been less frightened, but she only winced53, with her shoulders up to her ears, and answered in tremulous haste—
“Mr. Fairfield, sure.”
“There’s three Mr. Vairvields: there’s old Mr. Vairvield, there’s Mr. Charles Vairvield, and there’s Mr. Harry Vairvield—you shall speak plain.”
And at each name in her catalogue she twisted the child’s ear with a sharp separate wring54.
“Oh, law, ma’am. Please’m, I mean Mr. Charles Fairfield. I didn’t mean to tell you no story, indeed, my lady.”
“Ho, ho—yes—Charles, Charles—very goot. Now, you tell me how you know Mr. Harry from Mr. Charles?”
“Oh, law, ma’am! oh, law! oh, ma’am, dear! sure, you won’t pull it no more, good lady, pleas—my ear’s most broke,” gasped55 the girl, who felt the torture beginning again.
“You tell truth. How do you know Mr. Charles from Mr. Harry?”
“Mr. Charles has bigger eyes, ma’am, and Mr. Harry has lighter56 hair, and a red face, please’m, and Mr. Charles’s face is brown, and he talks very quiet-like, and Mr. Harry talks very loud, and he’s always travelling about a-horseback, and Mr. Charles is the eldest57 son, and the little child they’re lookin’ for is to be the Squire o’ Wyvern.”
The interrogator58 here gave her a hard pinch by the ear, perhaps without thinking of it, for she said nothing for a minute nearly, and the girl remained with her head buried between her shoulders, and her eyes wide open, staring straight up where she conjectured her examiner’s face might be.
“Is the man that talks loud—Mr. Harry—here often?” asked the voice at her bedside.
“But seldom, ma’am—too busy at fairs and races, I hear them say.”
“And Mr. Charles—is he often here?”
“Yes’m; master be always here, exceptin’ this time only; he’s gone about a week.”
“About a week, Mr. Charles?”
“Oh la, ma’am—yes, indeed, ma’am, dear, it’s just a week today since master went.”
Here was a silence.
“That will do. If I find you’ve been telling me lies I’ll take ye by the back of the neck and squeeze your face against the kitchen bars till it’s burnt through and through—do you see; and I give you this one chance, if you have been telling lies to say so, and I’ll forgive you.”
“Nothing but truth, indeed and indeed, ma’am.”
“Old Tarnley will beat you if she hears you have told me anything. So keep your own secret, and I’ll not tell of you.”
She saw the brawny59 outline of the woman faintly like a black shadow as she made her way through the door, into the kitchen, and she heard the door close, and the table shored cautiously back into its place, and then, with a beating heart, she lay still and awfully60 wide-awake in the dark.
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收听单词发音
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1
demurely
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| adv.装成端庄地，认真地 | |
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propping
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| 支撑 | |
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doze
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| v.打瞌睡；n.打盹，假寐 | |
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earache
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| n.耳朵痛 | |
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precipice
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| n.悬崖，危急的处境 | |
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brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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ailment
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| n.疾病，小病 | |
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conjectured
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| 推测，猜测，猜想( conjecture的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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9
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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10
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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fluency
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| n.流畅，雄辩，善辩 | |
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rheumatism
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| n.风湿病 | |
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refreshing
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| adj.使精神振作的，使人清爽的，使人喜欢的 | |
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14
rummaged
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| 翻找，搜寻( rummage的过去式和过去分词 )； 已经海关检查 | |
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15
extricated
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| v.使摆脱困难，脱身( extricate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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16
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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17
opium
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| n.鸦片；adj.鸦片的 | |
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harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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19
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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22
smoker
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| n.吸烟者，吸烟车厢，吸烟室 | |
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23
drowsily
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| adv.睡地，懒洋洋地，昏昏欲睡地 | |
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squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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tenants
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| n.房客( tenant的名词复数 )；佃户；占用者；占有者 | |
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joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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banter
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| n.嘲弄，戏谑；v.取笑，逗弄，开玩笑 | |
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acquiesced
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| v.默认，默许( acquiesce的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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30
shingle
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| n.木瓦板；小招牌(尤指医生或律师挂的营业招牌)；v.用木瓦板盖（屋顶）；把（女子头发）剪短 | |
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31
mortar
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| n.灰浆，灰泥；迫击炮；v.把…用灰浆涂接合 | |
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peremptorily
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| adv.紧急地，不容分说地，专横地 | |
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tartly
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| adv.辛辣地，刻薄地 | |
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peculiarity
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| n.独特性，特色；特殊的东西；怪癖 | |
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puff
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| n.一口(气)；一阵(风)；v.喷气，喘气 | |
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allays
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| v.减轻，缓和( allay的第三人称单数 ) | |
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wary
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| adj.谨慎的，机警的，小心的 | |
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solicitude
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| n.焦虑 | |
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lengthened
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| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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repent
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| v.悔悟，悔改，忏悔，后悔 | |
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41
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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42
snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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43
detest
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| vt.痛恨，憎恶 | |
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curb
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| n.场外证券市场，场外交易；vt.制止，抑制 | |
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resentments
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| （因受虐待而）愤恨，不满，怨恨( resentment的名词复数 ) | |
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46
dozing
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| v.打瞌睡,假寐 n.瞌睡 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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48
flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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49
slumbers
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| 睡眠，安眠( slumber的名词复数 ) | |
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destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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51
posture
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| n.姿势，姿态，心态，态度；v.作出某种姿势 | |
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52
wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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53
winced
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| 赶紧避开，畏缩( wince的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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54
wring
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| n.扭绞；v.拧，绞出，扭 | |
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55
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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56
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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57
eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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58
interrogator
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| n.讯问者；审问者；质问者；询问器 | |
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59
brawny
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| adj.强壮的 | |
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awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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