I once heard it suggested that the typical Victorian saying was, “You must remember he is your un-cle ...”
—G. M. Young, Victorian Essays
“It is monstrous1. Monstrous. I cannot believe he has not lost his senses.”
“He has lost his sense of proportion. But that is not quite the same thing.”
“My dear Tina, Cupid has a notorious contempt for other people’s convenience.”
“You know very well that Cupid has nothing to do with it.”
“I am afraid he has everything to do with it. Old hearts are the most susceptible3.”
“It is my fault. I know he disapproves4 of me.”
“Come now, that is nonsense.”
“It is not nonsense. I know perfectly5 well that for him I am a draper’s daughter.”
“My dear child, contain yourself.”
“It is for you I am so angry.”
“Very well—then let me be angry on my own behalf.”
There was silence then, which allows me to say that the conversation above took place in Aunt Tranter’s rear parlor6. Charles stood at the window, his back to Ernestina, who had very recently cried, and who now sat twisting a lace handker-chief in a vindictive7 manner.
“I know how much you love Winsyatt.”
How Charles would have answered can only be conjec-tured, for the door opened at that moment and Aunt Tranter appeared, a pleased smile of welcome on her face.
“You are back so soon!” It was half past nine of the same day we saw Charles driving up to Winsyatt House.
Charles smiled thinly. “Our business was soon . . . finished.”
“Something terrible and disgraceful has happened.” Aunt Tranter looked with alarm at the tragic8 and outraged9 face of her niece, who went on: “Charles had been disinherited.”
“Disinherited!”
“Ernestina exaggerates. It is simply that my uncle has decided10 to marry. If he should be so fortunate as to have a son and heir ...”
“Fortunate . . . !” Ernestina slipped Charles a scalding little glance. Aunt Tranter looked in consternation11 from one face to the other.
“But... who is the lady?”
“Her name is Mrs. Tomkins, Mrs. Tranter. A widow.”
“And young enough to bear a dozen sons.”
Charles smiled. “Hardly that. But young enough to bear sons.”
“You know her?”
Ernestina answered before Charles could, “That is what is so disgraceful. Only two months ago his uncle made fun of the woman to Charles in a letter. And now he is groveling at her feet.”
“My dear Ernestina!”
“I will not be calm! It is too much. After all these years...” Charles took a deep breath, and turned to Aunt Tranter. “I understand she has excellent connections. Her husband was colonel in the Fortieth Hussars and left her handsomely provided for. There is no suspicion of fortune hunting.” Ernestina’s smoldering12 look up at him showed plainly that in her mind there was every suspicion. “I am told she is a very attractive woman.”
“No doubt she rides to hounds.”
He smiled bleakly13 at Ernestina, who was referring to a black mark she had earlier gained in the monstrous uncle’s book. “No doubt. But that is not yet a crime.”
Aunt Tranter plumped down on a chair and looked again from one young face to the other, searching, as ever in such situations, for some ray of hope.
“But is he not too old to have children?”
Charles managed a gentle smile for her innocence14. “He is sixty-seven, Mrs. Tranter. That is not too old.”
“Even though she is young enough to be his granddaugh-ter.”
“My dear Tina, all one has in such circumstances is one’s dignity. I must beg you for my sake not to be bitter. We must accept the event with as good a grace as possible.”
She looked up and saw how nervously15 stern he was; that she must play a different role. She ran to him, and catching16 his hand, raised it to her lips. He drew her to him and kissed the top of her head, but he was not deceived. A shrew and a mouse may look the same; but they are not the same; and though he could not find a word to describe Ernestina’s reception of his shocking and unwelcome news, it was not far removed from “unladylike.” He had leaped straight from the trap bringing him back from Exeter into Aunt Tranter’s house; and expected a gentle sympathy, not a sharp rage, however flatteringly it was intended to resemble his own feelings. Perhaps that was it—that she had not divined that a gentleman could never reveal the anger she ascribed to him. But there seemed to him something only too reminiscent of the draper’s daughter in her during those first minutes; of one who had been worsted in a business deal, and who lacked a traditional imperturbability17, that fine aristocratic refusal to allow the setbacks of life ever to ruffle18 one’s style.
He handed Ernestina back to the sofa from which she had sprung. An essential reason for his call, a decision he had come to on his long return, he now perceived must be left for discussion on the morrow. He sought for some way to demonstrate the correct attitude; and could find none better than that of lightly changing the subject.
“And what great happenings have taken place in Lyme today?”
As if reminded, Ernestina turned to her aunt. “Did you get news of her?” And then, before Aunt Tranter could answer, she looked up at Charles, “There has been an event. Mrs. Poulteney has dismissed Miss Woodruff.”
Charles felt his heart miss a beat. But any shock his face may have betrayed passed unnoticed in Aunt Tranter’s eager-ness to tell her news: for that is why she had been absent when Charles arrived. The dismissal had apparently19 taken place the previous evening; the sinner had been allowed one last night under the roof of Marlborough House. Very early that same morning a porter had come to collect her box— and had been instructed to take it to the White Lion. Here Charles quite literally20 blanched21, but Aunt Tranter allayed22 his fears in the very next sentence.
“That is the depot23 for the coaches, you know.” The Dor-chester to Exeter omnibuses did not descend24 the steep hill to Lyme, but had to be picked up at a crossroads some four miles inland on the main road to the west. “But Mrs. Hunni-cott spoke25 to the man. He is most positive that Miss
Woodruff was not there. The maid said she had left very early at dawn, and gave only the instructions as to her box.”
“And since?”
“Not a sign.”
“You saw the vicar?”
“No, but Miss Trimble assures me he went to Marlborough House this forenoon. He was told Mrs. Poulteney was un-well. He spoke to Mrs. Fairley. All she knew was that some disgraceful matter had come to Mrs. Poulteney’s knowledge, that she was deeply shocked and upset ...” The good Mrs. Tranter broke off, apparently almost as distressed26 at her ignorance as at Sarah’s disappearance27. She sought her niece’s and Charles’s eyes. “What can it be—what can it be?”
“She ought never to have been employed at Marlborough House. It was like offering a lamb to a wolf.” Ernestina looked at Charles for confirmation28 of her opinion. Feeling far less calm than he looked, he turned to Aunt Tranter.
“There is no danger of ...”
“That is what we all fear. The vicar has sent men to search along towards Charmouth. She walks there, on the cliffs.”
“And they have ...?”
“Found nothing.”
“Did you not say she once worked for—“
“They have sent there. No word of her.”
“Grogan—has he not been called to Marlborough House?” He skillfully made use of his introduction of the name, turning to Ernestina. “That evening when we took grog—he mentioned her. I know he is concerned for her situation.”
“Miss Trimble saw him talking with the vicar at seven o’clock. She said he looked most agitated29. Angry. That was her word.” Miss Trimble kept a ladies’ trinket shop at the bottom of Broad Street—and was therefore admirably placed to be the general information center of the town. Aunt Tranter’s gentle face achieved the impossible—and looked harshly severe. “I shall not call on Mrs. Poulteney, however ill she is.”
Ernestina covered her face in her hands. “Oh, what a cruel day it’s been!”
Charles stared down at the two ladies. “Perhaps I should call on Grogan.”
“Oh Charles—what can you do? There are men enough to search.”
That, of course, had not been in Charles’s mind. He guessed that Sarah’s dismissal was not unconnected with her wanderings in the Undercliff—and his horror, of course, was that she might have been seen there with him. He stood in an agony of indecision. It became imperative30 to discover how much was publicly known about the reason for her dismissal. He suddenly found the atmosphere of the little sitting room claustrophobic. He had to be alone. He had to consider what to do. For if Sarah was still living—but who could tell what wild decision she might have made in her night of despair, while he was quietly sleeping in his Exeter hotel?—but if she still breathed, he guessed where she was; and it oppressed him like a shroud31 that he was the only person in Lyme to know. And yet dared not reveal his knowledge.
A few minutes later he was striding down the hill to the White Lion. The air was mild, but the sky was overcast32. Idle fingers of wet air brushed his cheeks. There was thunder in the offing, as in his heart.
收听单词发音 |
1
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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juncture
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| n.时刻，关键时刻，紧要关头 | |
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susceptible
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| adj.过敏的，敏感的；易动感情的，易受感动的 | |
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disapproves
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| v.不赞成( disapprove的第三人称单数 ) | |
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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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parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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vindictive
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| adj.有报仇心的，怀恨的，惩罚的 | |
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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outraged
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| a.震惊的，义愤填膺的 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
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smoldering
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| v.用文火焖烧，熏烧，慢燃( smolder的现在分词 ) | |
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bleakly
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| 无望地，阴郁地，苍凉地 | |
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innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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imperturbability
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| n.冷静；沉着 | |
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ruffle
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| v.弄皱，弄乱；激怒，扰乱；n.褶裥饰边 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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blanched
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| v.使变白( blanch的过去式 )；使（植物）不见阳光而变白；酸洗（金属）使有光泽；用沸水烫（杏仁等）以便去皮 | |
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allayed
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| v.减轻，缓和( allay的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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depot
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| n.仓库，储藏处；公共汽车站；火车站 | |
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descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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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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distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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confirmation
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| n.证实，确认，批准 | |
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agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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imperative
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| n.命令，需要；规则；祈使语气；adj.强制的；紧急的 | |
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shroud
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| n.裹尸布，寿衣；罩，幕；vt.覆盖，隐藏 | |
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overcast
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| adj.阴天的，阴暗的，愁闷的；v.遮盖，（使）变暗，包边缝；n.覆盖，阴天 | |
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