Lady Heritage looked over her shoulder with a frown, tapped with her foot, and then went on with her writing in a silence that uttered more reproof1 than words could have done.
Jane picked everything up as silently as possible. As she put the papers on the table, she laid The Times out flat, and, bending over it, read the message:
“You will receive a letter from me. Trust the bearer. Thursday.”
She put all the papers neatly2 in their places, and went to her writing-table with an intense longing3 to be alone, to be able to think what this might mean, and to wonder who—who would be the bearer of Henry’s letter. She hoped ardently4 that Lady Heritage would have business in the laboratories, and whilst these thoughts, and hopes, and wonderings filled her mind, she had to write neat and legible replies to the apparently5 inexhaustible number of persons who desired Lady Heritage to open bazaars6, speak at public meetings, subscribe7 to an indefinite number of charities, or contribute to the writer’s support.
When, at last, she was alone in her own room, she was tingling8 with excitement. At any moment some one, some unknown friend and ally, might present himself. It was exciting, but, she thought, rather risky9.
For instance, supposing Henry’s letter came, by any mischance, into the wrong hands—and letters were mislaid and stolen sometimes—what a perfectly10 dreadful chapter of misfortunes might ensue. She frowned, and decided12 that Henry had been rash.
It was with a pleasant feeling of superiority that she put on her hat and went out into the garden to pick tulips.
The weather had changed in the night, and it was hot and sunny, with the sudden dazzling heat of mid-April. In the walled garden the south border was full of violet-scented yellow tulips, each looking at this new hot sun with a jet-black eye. A sheet of forget-me-nots repeated the sheer blue of the sky.
Jane picked an armful of tulips and a sheaf of leopard’s bane. Strictly13 speaking, she should then have gone in to put the flowers in water for the adornment14 of the Yellow Drawing-Room. Instead, she made her way to the farthest corner of the garden and basked15.
Jane has never admitted that she went to sleep, but, if she was thinking with her eyes shut, her thoughts must have been of an extremely engrossing17 nature, for it is certain that she heard neither the opening nor the shutting of a door in the wall beside her. She did feel a shadow pass between herself and the sun, and opening her eyes quickly she saw standing18 beside her the very man from whom she had fled in terror yesterday.
The sunlight fell from upon him, showing the shabby clothes, the tall, stooping figure, the grizzled beard, and that disfiguring scar.
With a great start Jane attempted to rise, only to discover that a wheelbarrow may make a very comfortable chair, but that it is uncommonly19 difficult to get out of in a hurry. To her horror the man, George Patterson, took her firmly by the wrist and pulled her to her feet. She shrank intensely from his touch, received an impression of unusual strength, and then, to her overwhelming surprise, she heard him say in a low, well-bred voice, “I have a letter for you, Miss Smith.”
“All right, I won’t do it again. Look here, I want to say a few words to you, but we had better not be seen together. Here’s your letter. Stay where you are for five minutes, and then come down to the potting-shed. Don’t come in; stay by the door and tie your shoe-lace.”
He went off with his dragging step, and left Jane dumb. There was a folded note in her hand, and in her mind so intense a shock of surprise as to rob her very thoughts of expression.
After what seemed like a long paralysed month, she opened the note which bore no address, and read, pencilled in Henry’s clear and very ornamental21 hand, “The bearer is trustworthy.—H. L. M.”
When she had looked so long at Henry’s initials that they had blurred22 and cleared again, not once but many times, she walked mechanically down the path until she came to the shed. Beside it was a barrel full of rain-water. Into this she dipped Henry’s note, made sure that the words were totally illegible23, poked24 a hole in the border, and covered the sodden25 paper with earth. Then at the potting-shed door she knelt and became occupied with her shoe-lace.
“Henry saw me after he saw you,” said George Patterson’s voice. “He thought it might be a comfort to you to know there is a friend on the spot; but I’m afraid I gave you a fright yesterday.”
“You did,” said Jane, “but I don’t know why. I was a perfect fool, and I ran right into Mr. Ember’s arms.”
“Did you tell him what frightened you?” said Patterson quickly.
“No, I wasn’t quite such a fool as that. Please, who are you?”
“My name here is George Patterson. I’m a friend of Henry’s. If you want me, I’m here.”
“If I want you,” said Jane, “how am I to get at you?”
Mr. Patterson considered.
“There’s a wide sill inside your window.” (And how on earth do you know that? thought Jane.) “If you put a big jar of, say, those yellow tulips there, I’ll know you want to speak to me, and I’ll come here to this potting-shed as soon as I can. You know they keep us pretty busy with roll-calls and things of that sort. I only got back yesterday by the skin of my teeth—I had to bolt.”
“Did you—you didn’t pass me.”
“No, I didn’t pass you.” There was just a trace of amusement in Mr. Patterson’s voice.
“Hush!” she said very quick and low. “Some one is coming.”
Just where the path ended, not half a dozen yards away, the red-brick wall was pierced by a door. Two round, Scotch27 rose-bushes, all tiny green leaf and sharp brown prickle, grew like large pin-cushions on either side of the interrupted border. Bright pink nectarine buds shone against the brick like coral studs. The ash-coloured door, rough and sun-blistered, was opening slowly, and into the garden came Raymond Heritage, pushing the door with one hand and holding a basket of bulbs in the other. She was looking back over her shoulder, at something or someone beside her.
From inside the potting-shed came Patterson’s voice—just a breath:
“Who?”
“Lady Heritage.”
Jane was up as she spoke28 and moving away. She reached the door just as Raymond closed it and, turning, saw her.
“Oh, Miss Molloy—I was really looking for you. Is Garstin anywhere about?”
“I haven’t seen him,” murmured Jane, as if the absent gardener might be blooming unnoticed in one of the borders.
“He’s not in the potting-shed? I’ll just look in and see. I want to stand over him and see that he puts these black irises29 where I want them to go. They come from Palestine, and the last lot failed entirely30 because he was so obstinate31. I’ll get a trowel and mark the place I think.” She moved forward as she spoke, and Jane, horror-struck, stammered32:
“Let me look. It’s so dusty in there.”
She was back at the door of the shed, but Lady Heritage was beside her. “I want a trowel, too,” she said, and Jane felt herself gently pushed over the threshold.
They were both just inside the door. It seemed dark after the strong light outside. There was a row of windows along one side, and a broad deal shelf under them. There were piles and piles of pots and boxes. There were hanks of bass33 and rows of tools, There were watering-cans. There was a length of rubber hose. But there was no George Patterson.
Jane put her hand behind her, gripped the jamb of the door, and moved back a pace so that she could lean against it. The pots, the tools, the bass and the rubber hose danced before her bewildered eyes.
Lady Heritage put her basket of bulbs down on the wide shelf and said:
“Garstin ought to be here. He’s really very tiresome34. That’s the worst of old servants. When a gardener has been in a place for forty years as Garstin has, he owns it.”
“Shall I find him?” said Jane.
“No, not now. I really want to talk to you. I’ve just been speaking to Jeffrey Ember, and he tells me you had a fright yesterday. What frightened you?”
“Nothing—my own silliness.”
Jane felt as if she must scream. George Patterson had disappeared as if by a conjuring35 trick. Where had he gone to? Where was he? It was just like being in a dream.
Raymond Heritage seemed to tower before her in her white dress. Her uncovered head almost touched the low beam above the door.
“Jeffrey said you were blind with fright—that you ran right into him. He said you were as white as a sheet and shaking all over. I want to know what frightened you?”
“A stone—it fell into the sea——”
“What made it fall? A man? What man?”
Jane leaned against the door-post, her breath coming and going, her eyes held by those imperious eyes.
“A stone,” she said; “it fell—I ran away.”
“Miss Molloy,” said Lady Heritage, “you walked to the end of the headland, out of sight of the house. Whilst you were there something gave you a serious fright. Something—or somebody. This is all nonsense about a stone. Whom did you see on the headland, for you certainly saw somebody? No, don’t look away; I want you to look at me, please.”
“I don’t know why I was so frightened,” said Jane. “It just came over me.”
Lady Heritage looked at her very gravely.
“If you saw any stranger on the headland, it is your absolute duty to tell me. Where secrets of such value are in question it is necessary to watch every avenue and to neglect no suspicious circumstance. If you are trying to screen any one, you are acting37 very foolishly—very foolishly indeed. I warn you, and I ask you again. What frightened you?”
“I don’t know,” said Jane in a little whispering voice. “Why, why do you think there was any one?”
“I don’t think,” said Lady Heritage briefly38. “I know. Mr. Ember went up to the headland after he left you, and there were footmarks in the gravel36. Some man had undoubtedly39 been there, and you must have seen him. Mr. Ember made the entire round and saw no one, but some one had been there. Now will you tell me what you saw?”
“Oh!” said Jane. Rather to her own astonishment40 she began to cry. “Oh, that’s why I was frightened then! The stone fell so suddenly, and I didn’t know why—why——”
Lady Heritage stood looking at her for a moment.
“Oh, I’m not!” sobbed43 Jane. “Oh, I’ve never been called such a thing before! I know I’m not clever, but I don’t think you ought to call me a f—f—fool.”
Lady Heritage pressed her lips together, and walked past Jane and out into the sunshine. She stood there for a moment tapping with her foot. Then she called rather impatiently:
“Miss Molloy! Dry your eyes and come here.”
Jane came, squeezing a damp handkerchief into a ball.
“Bring your flowers in; I see you’ve left them over there to die in the sun. I’m driving into Withstead this afternoon and you can come with me. I have to see Mrs. Cottingham about some University extension lectures, and she telephoned just now to say would I bring you. She has a girl staying with her who thinks she must have been at school with you or one of your cousins. Her name is Daphne Todhunter.”
Jane stood perfectly still. Daphne Todhunter? Arnold Todhunter’s sister Daphne! Renata’s friend! But Daphne must know that Arnold was married? The question was—whom had Arnold married. Had his family welcomed (by letter) Jane Smith or Renata Molloy to its bosom44? If Renata Molloy, how in the world was a second Renata to be explained to Miss Daphne Todhunter?
“Miss Molloy, what’s the matter with you?” said Lady Heritage.
Jane could not think quickly enough. Supposing Lady Heritage went to Mrs. Cottingham’s without her; and supposing Daphne Todhunter were to say that her brother Arnold had married a girl called Renata Molloy?
It was too much to hope that Arnold had carried discretion45 to the point of telling his own family that he had married an unknown Jane Smith.
Jane suddenly threw up her chin and squared her shoulders. The colour came back into her cheeks.
“Nothing,” she said, with a little caught breath. “I’m sorry I was so silly, and for crying, and if I was rude to you. It’s most awfully46 kind of you to take me into Withstead.”
If there were any music to be faced, Jane was going to face it. At least the tune11 should not be called behind her back.
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1
reproof
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| n.斥责，责备 | |
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neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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3
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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ardently
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| adv.热心地，热烈地 | |
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5
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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6
bazaars
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| （东方国家的）市场( bazaar的名词复数 )； 义卖； 义卖市场； （出售花哨商品等的）小商品市场 | |
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7
subscribe
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| vi.(to)订阅，订购；同意；vt.捐助，赞助 | |
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8
tingling
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| v.有刺痛感( tingle的现在分词 ) | |
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risky
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| adj.有风险的，冒险的 | |
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10
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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11
tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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12
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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13
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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14
adornment
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| n.装饰；装饰品 | |
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15
basked
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| v.晒太阳，取暖( bask的过去式和过去分词 )；对…感到乐趣；因他人的功绩而出名；仰仗…的余泽 | |
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16
eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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17
engrossing
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| adj.使人全神贯注的，引人入胜的v.使全神贯注( engross的现在分词 ) | |
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18
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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uncommonly
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| adv. 稀罕(极，非常) | |
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20
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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21
ornamental
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| adj.装饰的；作装饰用的；n.装饰品；观赏植物 | |
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22
blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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23
illegible
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| adj.难以辨认的，字迹模糊的 | |
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24
poked
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| v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
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25
sodden
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| adj.浑身湿透的；v.使浸透；使呆头呆脑 | |
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26
undone
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| a.未做完的，未完成的 | |
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27
scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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28
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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29
irises
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| n.虹( iris的名词复数 )；虹膜；虹彩；鸢尾（花） | |
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30
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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31
obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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32
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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33
bass
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| n.男低音(歌手)；低音乐器；低音大提琴 | |
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34
tiresome
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| adj.令人疲劳的，令人厌倦的 | |
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35
conjuring
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| n.魔术 | |
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36
gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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37
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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38
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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39
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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40
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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41
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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42
arrant
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| adj.极端的；最大的 | |
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43
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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44
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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45
discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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46
awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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