No one glancing at it in passing at the closing of this particular day had reason to suspect that any unaccustomed event was taking place behind the cream-coloured front. The front door “brasses” had been polished, the window-boxes watered and no cries for aid issued from the rooms behind them. The house was indeed quiet both inside and out. Inside it was indeed even quieter than usual. The servants’ preparation for departure had been made gradually and undisturbedly. There had been exhaustive quiet discussion of the subject each night for weeks, even before Robert Gareth-Lawless’ illness. The smart young footman Edward who had means of gaining practical information had constituted himself a sort of private detective. He had in time learned all that was to be learned. This, it had made itself clear to him on investigation11, was not one of those cases when to wait for evolutionary12 family events might be the part of discretion13. There were no prospects14 ahead—none at all. Matters would only get worse and the whole thing would end in everybody not only losing their unpaid15 back wages but having to walk out into the street through the door of a disgraced household whose owners would be turned out into the street also when their belongings16 were sold over their heads. Better get out before everything went to pieces and there were unpleasantnesses. There would be unpleasantnesses because there was no denying that the trades-people had been played tricks with. Mrs. Gareth-Lawless was only one of a lot of pretty daughters whose father was a poor country doctor in Jersey17. He had had “a stroke” himself and his widow would have nothing to live on when he died. That was what Mrs. Lawless had to look to. As to Lord Lawdor Edward had learned from those who did know that he had never approved of his nephew and that he’d said he was a fool for marrying and had absolutely refused to have anything to do with him. He had six boys and a girl now and big estates weren’t what they had been, everyone knew. There was only one thing left for Cook and Edward and Emma and Louisa to do and that was to “get out” without any talk or argument.
“She’s not one that won’t find someone to look after her,” ended Edward. “Somebody or other will take her up because they’ll be sorry for her. But us lot aren’t widows and orphans18. No one’s going to be sorry for us or care a hang what we’ve been let in for. The longer we stay, the longer we won’t be paid.” He was not a particularly depraved or cynical19 young footman but he laughed a little at the end of his speech. “There’s the Marquis,” he added. “He’s been running in and out long enough to make a good bit of talk. Now’s his time to turn up.”
After she had taken her cup of tea without cream Feather had fallen asleep in reaction from her excited agitation20. It was in accord with the inevitable21 trend of her being that even before her eyes closed she had ceased to believe that the servants were really going to leave the house. It seemed too ridiculous a thing to happen. She was possessed22 of no logic23 which could lead her to a realization24 of the indubitable fact that there was no reason why servants who could neither be paid nor provided with food should remain in a place. The mild stimulation25 of the tea also gave rise to the happy thought that she would not give them any references if they “behaved badly”. It did not present itself to her that references from a house of cards which had ignominiously26 fallen to pieces and which henceforth would represent only shady failure, would be of no use. So she fell asleep.
When she awakened27 the lights were lighted in the streets and one directly across the way threw its reflection into her bedroom. It lit up the little table near which she had sat and the first thing she saw was the pile of small account books. The next was that the light which revealed them also fell brightly on the glass knob of the door which led into Robert’s room.
She turned her eyes away quickly with a nervous shudder28. She had a horror of the nearness of Rob’s room. If there had been another part of the house in which she could have slept she would have fled to it as soon as he was taken ill. But the house was too small to have “parts”. The tiny drawing-rooms piled themselves on top of the dining-room, the “master’s bedrooms” on top of the drawing-rooms, and the nurseries and attics29 where Robin30 and the servants slept one on the other at the top of the house. So she had been obliged to stay and endure everything. Rob’s cramped31 quarters had always been full of smart boots and the smell of cigars and men’s clothes. He had moved about a good deal and had whistled and laughed and sworn and grumbled32. They had neither of them had bad tempers so that they had not quarrelled with each other. They had talked through the open door when they were dressing33 and they had invented clever tricks which helped them to get out of money scrapes and they had gossiped and made fun of people. And now the door was locked and the room was a sort of horror. She could never think of it without seeing the stiff hard figure on the bed, the straight close line of the mouth and the white hard nose sharpened and narrowed as Rob’s had never been. Somehow she particularly could not bear the recollection of the sharp unnatural34 modeling of the hard, white nose. She could not bear it! She found herself recalling it the moment she saw the light on the door handle and she got up to move about and try to forget it.
It was then that she went to the window and looked down into the street, probably attracted by some slight noise though she was not exactly aware that she had heard anything.
She must have heard something however. Two four-wheeled cabs were standing35 at the front door and the cabman assisted by Edward were putting trunks on top of them. They were servants’ trunks and Cook was already inside the first cab which was filled with paper parcels and odds36 and ends. Even as her mistress watched Emma got in carrying a sedate37 band-box. She was the house-parlourmaid and a sedate person. The first cab drove away as soon as its door was closed and the cabman mounted to his seat. Louisa looking wholly unprofessional without her nurse’s cap and apron38 and wearing a tailor-made navy blue costume and a hat with a wing in it, entered the second cab followed by Edward intensely suggesting private life and possible connection with a Bank. The second cab followed the first and Feather having lost her breath looked after them as they turned the corner of the street.
When they were quite out of sight she turned back into the room. The colour had left her skin, and her eyes were so wide stretched and her face so drawn and pinched with abject39 terror that her prettiness itself had left her.
“They’ve gone—all of them!” she gasped40. She stopped a moment, her chest rising and falling. Then she added even more breathlessly, “There’s no one left in the house. It’s—empty!”
This was what was going on behind the cream-coloured front, the white windows and green flower-boxes of the slice of a house as motors and carriages passed it that evening on their way to dinner parties and theatres, and later as the policeman walked up and down slowly upon his beat.
Inside a dim light in the small hall showed a remote corner where on a peg41 above a decorative seat hung a man’s hat of the highest gloss42 and latest form; and on the next peg a smart evening overcoat. They had belonged to Robert Gareth-Lawless who was dead and needed such things no more. The same dim light showed the steep narrowness of the white-railed staircase mounting into gruesome little corners of shadows, while the miniature drawing-rooms illumined only from the street seemed to await an explanation of dimness and chairs unfilled, combined with unnatural silence.
It would have been the silence of the tomb but that it was now and then broken by something like a half smothered43 shriek44 followed by a sort of moaning which made their way through the ceiling from the room above.
Feather had at first run up and down the room like a frightened cat as she had done in the afternoon. Afterwards she had had something like hysterics, falling face downward upon the carpet and clutching her hair until it fell down. She was not a person to be judged—she was one of the unexplained incidents of existence. The hour has passed when the clearly moral can sum up the responsibilities of a creature born apparently45 without brain, or soul or courage. Those who aspire46 to such morals as are expressed by fairness—mere fairness—are much given to hesitation47. Courage had never been demanded of Feather so far. She had none whatever and now she only felt panic and resentment48. She had no time to be pathetic about Robert, being too much occupied with herself. Robert was dead—she was alive—here—in an empty house with no money and no servants. She suddenly and rather awfully49 realized that she did not know a single person whom it would not be frantic50 to expect anything from.
Nobody had money enough for themselves, however rich they were. The richer they were the more they needed. It was when this thought came to her that she clutched her hands in her hair. The pretty and smart women and agreeable more or less good looking men who had chattered51 and laughed and made love in her drawing-rooms were chattering52, laughing and making love in other houses at this very moment—or they were at the theatre applauding some fashionable actor-manager. At this very moment—while she lay on the carpet in the dark and every little room in the house had horror shut inside its closed doors—particularly Robert’s room which was so hideously53 close to her own, and where there seemed still to lie moveless on the bed, the stiff hard figure. It was when she recalled this that the unnatural silence of the drawing-rooms was intruded54 upon by the brief half-stifled hysteric shriek, and the moaning which made its way through the ceiling. She felt almost as if the door handle might turn and something stiff and cold try to come in.
So the hours went on behind the cream-coloured outer walls and the white windows and gay flower-boxes. And the street became more and more silent—so silent at last that when the policeman walked past on his beat his heavy regular footfall seemed loud and almost resounding55.
To even vaguely56 put to herself any question involving action would not have been within the scope of her mentality57. Even when she began to realize that she was beginning to feel faint for want of food she did not dare to contemplate58 going downstairs to look for something to eat. What did she know about downstairs? She had never there and had paid no attention whatever to Louisa’s complaints that the kitchen and Servants’ Hall were small and dark and inconvenient59 and that cockroaches60 ran about. She had cheerfully accepted the simple philosophy that London servants were used to these things and if they did their work it did not really matter. But to go out of one’s room in the horrible stillness and creep downstairs, having to turn up the gas as one went, and to face the basement steps and cockroaches scuttling61 away, would be even more impossible than to starve. She sat upon the floor, her hair tumbling about her shoulders and her thin black dress crushed.
“I’d give almost anything for a cup of coffee,” she protested feebly. “And there’s no use in ringing the bell!”
Her mother ought to have come whether her father was ill or not. He wasn’t dead. Robert was dead and her mother ought to have come so that whatever happened she would not be quite alone and something could be done for her. It was probably this tender thought of her mother which brought back the recollection of her wedding day and a certain wedding present she had received. It was a pretty silver travelling flask62 and she remembered that it must be in her dressing-bag now, and there was some cognac left in it. She got up and went to the place where the bag was kept. Cognac raised your spirits and made you go to sleep, and if she could sleep until morning the house would not be so frightening by daylight—and something might happen. The little flask was almost full. Neither she nor Robert had cared much about cognac. She poured some into a glass with water and drank it.
Because she was unaccustomed to stimulant63 it made her feel quite warm and in a few minutes she forgot that she had been hungry and realized that she was not so frightened. It was such a relief not to be terrified; it was as if a pain had stopped. She actually picked up one or two of the account books and glanced at the totals. If you couldn’t pay bills you couldn’t and nobody was put in prison for debt in these days. Besides she would not have been put in prison—Rob would—and Rob was dead. Something would happen—something.
As she began to arrange her hair for the night she remembered what Cook had said about Lord Coombe. She had cried until she did not look as lovely as usual, but after she had bathed her eyes with cold rose-water they began to seem only shadowy and faintly flushed. And her fine ash-gold hair was wonderful when it hung over each shoulder in wide, soft plaits. She might be a school-girl of fifteen. A delicate lacy night-gown was one of the most becoming things one wore. It was a pity one couldn’t wear them to parties. There was nothing the least indecent about them. Millicent Hardwicke had been photographed in one of hers and no one had suspected what it was. Yes; she would send a little note to Coombe. She knew Madame Hélène had only let her have her beautiful mourning because—. The things she had created were quite unique—thin, gauzy, black, floating or clinging. She had been quite happy the morning she gave Hélène her orders. Tomorrow when she had slept through the night and it was broad daylight again she would be able to think of things to say in her letter to Lord Coombe. She would have to be a little careful because he did not like things to bore him.—Death and widows might—a little—at first. She had heard him say once that he did not wish to regard himself in the light of a charitable institution. It wouldn’t do to frighten him away. Perhaps if he continued coming to the house and seemed very intimate the trades-people might be managed.
She felt much less helpless and when she was ready for bed she took a little more cognac. The flush had faded from her eye-lids and bloomed in delicious rose on her cheeks. As she crept between the cool sheets and nestled down on her pillow she had a delightful64 sense of increasing comfort—comfort. What a beautiful thing it was to go to sleep!
And then she was disturbed—started out of the divine doze65 stealing upon her—by a shrill66 prolonged wailing67 shriek!
It came from the Night Nursery and at the moment it seemed almost worse than anything which had occurred all through the day. It brought everything back so hideously. She had of course forgotten Robin again—and it was Robin! And Louisa had gone away with Edward. She had perhaps put the child to sleep discreetly69 before she went. And now she had wakened and was screaming. Feather had heard that she was a child with a temper but by fair means or foul70 Louisa had somehow managed to prevent her from being a nuisance.
The shrieks71 shocked her into sitting upright in bed. Their shrillness72 tearing through the utter soundlessness of the empty house brought back all her terrors and set her heart beating at a gallop73.
“I—I won’t!” she protested, fairly with chattering teeth. “I won’t! I won’t!”
She had never done anything for the child since its birth, she did not know how to do anything, she had not wanted to know. To reach her now she would be obliged to go out in the dark—the gas-jet she would have to light was actually close to the outer door of Robert’s bedroom—the room! If she did not die of panic while she was trying to light it she would have to make her way almost in the dark up the steep crooked74 little staircase which led to the nurseries. And the awful little creature’s screams would be going on all the time making the blackness and dead silence of the house below more filled with horror by contrast—more shut off and at the same time more likely to waken to some horror which was new.
“I-I couldn’t—even if I wanted to!” she quaked. “I daren’t! I daren’t! I wouldn’t do it—for a million pounds?” And she flung herself down again shuddering75 and burrowing76 her head under the coverings and pillows she dragged over her ears to shut out the sounds.
The screams had taken on a more determined77 note and a fiercer shrillness which the still house heard well and made the most of, but they were so far deadened for Feather that she began beneath her soft barrier to protest pantingly.
“I shouldn’t know what to do if I went. If no one goes near her she’ll cry herself to sleep. It’s—it’s only temper. Oh-h! what a horrible wail68! It—it sounds like a—a lost soul!”
But she did not stir from the bed. She burrowed78 deeper under the bed clothes and held the pillow closer to her ears.
It did sound like a lost soul at times. What panic possesses a baby who cries in the darkness alone no one will ever know and one may perhaps give thanks to whatever gods there be that the baby itself does not remember. What awful woe79 of sudden unprotectedness when life exists only through protection—what piteous panic in the midst of black unmercifulness, inarticulate sound howsoever wildly shrill can neither explain nor express.
Robin knew only Louisa, warmth, food, sleep and waking. Or if she knew more she was not yet aware that she did. She had reached the age when she generally slept through the night. She might not have disturbed her mother until daylight but Louisa had with forethought given her an infant sleeping potion. It had disagreed with and awakened her. She was uncomfortable and darkness enveloped80 her. A cry or so and Louisa would ordinarily have come to her sleepy, and rather out of temper, but knowing what to do. In this strange night the normal cry of warning and demand produced no result.
No one came. The discomfort81 continued—the blackness remained black. The cries became shrieks—but nothing followed; the shrieks developed into prolonged screams. No Louisa, no light, no milk. The blackness drew in closer and became a thing to be fought with wild little beating hands. Not a glimmer—not a rustle—not a sound! Then came the cries of the lost soul—alone—alone—in a black world of space in which there was not even another lost soul. And then the panics of which there have been no records and never will be, because if the panic stricken does not die in mysterious convulsions he or she grows away from the memory of a formless past—except that perhaps unexplained nightmares from which one wakens quaking, with cold sweat, may vaguely repeat the long hidden thing.
What the child Robin knew in the dark perhaps the silent house which echoed her might curiously82 have known. But the shrieks wore themselves out at last and sobs83 came—awful little sobs shuddering through the tiny breast and shaking the baby body. A baby’s sobs are unspeakable things—incredible things. Slower and slower Robin’s came—with small deep gasps84 and chokings between—and when an uninfantile druglike sleep came, the bitter, hopeless, beaten little sobs went on.
But Feather’s head was still burrowed under the soft protection of the pillow.
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收听单词发音
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1
speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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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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3
transpiring
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| （事实，秘密等）被人知道( transpire的现在分词 )； 泄露； 显露； 发生 | |
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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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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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decorative
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| adj.装饰的，可作装饰的 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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8
variegated
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| adj.斑驳的，杂色的 | |
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florist
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| n.花商；种花者 | |
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diminutiveness
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| n.微小；昵称，爱称 | |
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investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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evolutionary
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| adj.进化的；演化的，演变的；[生]进化论的 | |
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discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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15
unpaid
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| adj.未付款的，无报酬的 | |
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16
belongings
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| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
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jersey
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| n.运动衫 | |
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orphans
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| 孤儿( orphan的名词复数 ) | |
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19
cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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logic
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| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
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realization
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| n.实现；认识到，深刻了解 | |
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stimulation
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| n.刺激，激励，鼓舞 | |
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ignominiously
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| adv.耻辱地，屈辱地，丢脸地 | |
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27
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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attics
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| n. 阁楼 | |
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robin
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| n.知更鸟，红襟鸟 | |
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cramped
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| a.狭窄的 | |
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grumbled
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| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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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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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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sedate
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| adj.沉着的，镇静的，安静的 | |
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apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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abject
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| adj.极可怜的，卑屈的 | |
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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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peg
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| n.木栓，木钉；vt.用木钉钉，用短桩固定 | |
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42
gloss
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| n.光泽，光滑；虚饰；注释；vt.加光泽于；掩饰 | |
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43
smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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44
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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aspire
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| vi.(to，after)渴望，追求，有志于 | |
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47
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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50
frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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51
chattered
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| （人）喋喋不休( chatter的过去式 )； 唠叨； （牙齿）打战； （机器）震颤 | |
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52
chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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53
hideously
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| adv.可怕地，非常讨厌地 | |
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54
intruded
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| n.侵入的，推进的v.侵入，侵扰，打扰( intrude的过去式和过去分词 )；把…强加于 | |
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55
resounding
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| adj. 响亮的 | |
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56
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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57
mentality
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| n.心理，思想，脑力 | |
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58
contemplate
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| vt.盘算，计议；周密考虑；注视，凝视 | |
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59
inconvenient
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| adj.不方便的，令人感到麻烦的 | |
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60
cockroaches
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| n.蟑螂( cockroach的名词复数 ) | |
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61
scuttling
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| n.船底穿孔，打开通海阀（沉船用）v.使船沉没( scuttle的现在分词 )；快跑，急走 | |
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flask
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| n.瓶，火药筒，砂箱 | |
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stimulant
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| n.刺激物，兴奋剂 | |
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64
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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65
doze
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| v.打瞌睡；n.打盹，假寐 | |
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66
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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68
wail
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| vt./vi.大声哀号，恸哭；呼啸，尖啸 | |
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discreetly
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| ad.(言行)审慎地，慎重地 | |
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foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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71
shrieks
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| n.尖叫声( shriek的名词复数 )v.尖叫( shriek的第三人称单数 ) | |
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72
shrillness
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| 尖锐刺耳 | |
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73
gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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74
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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shuddering
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| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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76
burrowing
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| v.挖掘（洞穴），挖洞( burrow的现在分词 )；翻寻 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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burrowed
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| v.挖掘（洞穴），挖洞( burrow的过去式和过去分词 )；翻寻 | |
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79
woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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83
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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gasps
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| v.喘气( gasp的第三人称单数 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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