The town house of Mr. Richard Devine was in Clarges Street. Not that the very modest mansion1 there situated2 was the only establishment of which Richard Devine was master. Mr. John Rex had expensive tastes. He neither shot nor hunted, so he had no capital invested in Scotch3 moors4 or Leicestershire hunting-boxes. But his stables were the wonder of London, he owned almost a racing5 village near Doncaster, kept a yacht at Cowes, and, in addition to a house in Paris, paid the rent of a villa6 at Brompton. He belonged to several clubs of the faster sort, and might have lived like a prince at any one of them had he been so minded; but a constant and haunting fear of discovery — which three years of unquestioned ease and unbridled riot had not dispelled7 — led him to prefer the privacy of his own house, where he could choose his own society. The house in Clarges Street was decorated in conformity8 with the tastes of its owner. The pictures were pictures of horses, the books were records of races, or novels purporting9 to describe sporting life. Mr. Francis Wade10, waiting, on the morning of the 20th April, for the coming of his nephew, sighed as he thought of the cultured quiet of North End House.
Mr. Richard appeared in his dressing-gown. Three years of good living and hard drinking had deprived his figure of its athletic11 beauty. He was past forty years of age, and the sudden cessation from severe bodily toil12 to which in his active life as a convict and squatter13 he had been accustomed, had increased Rex’s natural proneness14 to fat, and instead of being portly he had become gross. His cheeks were inflamed15 with the frequent application of hot and rebellious16 liquors to his blood. His hands were swollen17, and not so steady as of yore. His whiskers were streaked18 with unhealthy grey. His eyes, bright and black as ever, lurked19 in a thicket20 of crow’s feet. He had become prematurely21 bald — a sure sign of mental or bodily excess. He spoke22 with assumed heartiness24, in a boisterous25 tone of affected26 ease.
“Ha, ha! My dear uncle, sit down. Delighted to see you. Have you breakfasted?— of course you have. I was up rather late last night. Quite sure you won’t have anything. A glass of wine? No — then sit down and tell me all the news of Hampstead.”
“Thank you, Richard,” said the old gentleman, a little stiffly, “but I want some serious talk with you. What do you intend to do with the property? This indecision worries me. Either relieve me of my trust, or be guided by my advice.”
“Well, the fact is,” said Richard, with a very ugly look on his face, “the fact is — and you may as well know it at once — I am much pushed for money.”
“Pushed for money!” cried Mr. Wade, in horror. “Why, Purkiss said the property was worth twenty thousand a year.”
“So it might have been — five years ago — but my horse-racing, and betting, and other amusements, concerning which you need not too curiously27 inquire, have reduced its value considerably28.”
He spoke recklessly and roughly. It was evident that success had but developed his ruffianism. His “dandyism” was only comparative. The impulse of poverty and scheming which led him to affect the “gentleman” having been removed, the natural brutality29 of his nature showed itself quite freely. Mr. Francis Wade took a pinch of snuff with a sharp motion of distaste. “I do not want to hear of your debaucheries,” he said; “our name has been sufficiently30 disgraced in my hearing.”
“What is got over the devil’s back goes under his belly,” replied Mr. Richard, coarsely. “My old father got his money by dirtier ways than these in which I spend it. As villainous an old scoundrel and skinflint as ever poisoned a seaman32, I’ll go bail33.”
Mr. Francis rose. “You need not revile34 your father, Richard — he left you all.”
“Ay, but by pure accident. He didn’t mean it. If he hadn’t died in the nick of time, that unhung murderous villain31, Maurice Frere, would have come in for it. By the way,” he added, with a change of tone, “do you ever hear anything of Maurice?”
“I have not heard for some years,” said Mr. Wade. “He is something in the Convict Department at Sydney, I think.” “Is he?” said Mr. Richard, with a shiver. “Hope he’ll stop there. Well, but about business. The fact is, that — that I am thinking of selling everything.”
“Selling everything!”
“Yes. ’Pon my soul I am. The Hampstead place and all.”
“Sell North End House!” cried poor Mr. Wade, in bewilderment. “You’d sell it? Why, the carvings35 by Grinling Gibbons are the finest in England.”
“I can’t help that,” laughed Mr. Richard, ringing the bell. “I want cash, and cash I must have.— Breakfast, Smithers.— I’m going to travel.”
Francis Wade was breathless with astonishment36. Educated and reared as he had been, he would as soon have thought of proposing to sell St. Paul’s Cathedral as to sell the casket which held his treasures of art — his coins, his coffee-cups, his pictures, and his “proofs before letters”.
“Surely, Richard, you are not in earnest?” he gasped37.
“I am, indeed.”
“But — but who will buy it?”
“Plenty of people. I shall cut it up into building allotments. Besides, they are talking of a suburban38 line, with a terminus at St. John’s Wood, which will cut the garden in half. You are quite sure you’ve breakfasted? Then pardon me.”
“Richard, you are jesting with me! You will never let them do such a thing!”
“I’m thinking of a trip to America,” said Mr. Richard, cracking an egg. “I am sick of Europe. After all, what is the good of a man like me pretending to belong to ‘an old family’, with ‘a seat’ and all that humbug39? Money is the thing now, my dear uncle. Hard cash! That’s the ticket for soup, you may depend.”
“Then what do you propose doing, sir?”
“To buy my mother’s life interest as provided, realize upon the property, and travel,” said Mr. Richard, helping40 himself to potted grouse41.
“You amaze me, Richard. You confound me. Of course you can do as you please. But so sudden a determination. The old house — vases — coins — pictures — scattered42 — I really — Well, it is your property, of course — and — and — I wish you a very good morning!”
“I mean to do as I please,” soliloquized Rex, as he resumed his breakfast. “Let him sell his rubbish by auction43, and go and live abroad, in Germany or Jerusalem if he likes, the farther the better for me. I’ll sell the property and make myself scarce. A trip to America will benefit my health.”
A knock at the door made him start.
“Come in! Curse it, how nervous I’m getting. What’s that? Letters? Give them to me; and why the devil don’t you put the brandy on the table, Smithers?”
He drank some of the spirit greedily, and then began to open his correspondence.
“Cussed brute,” said Mr. Smithers, outside the door. “He couldn’t use wuss langwidge if he was a dook, dam ’im!— Yessir,” he added, suddenly, as a roar from his master recalled him.
“When did this come?” asked Mr. Richard, holding out a letter more than usually disfigured with stampings.
“Lars night, sir. It’s bin44 to ’Amstead, sir, and come down directed with the h’others.” The angry glare of the black eyes induced him to add, “I ’ope there’s nothink wrong, sir.”
“Nothing, you infernal ass23 and idiot,” burst out Mr. Richard, white with rage, “except that I should have had this instantly. Can’t you see it’s marked urgent? Can you read? Can you spell? There, that will do. No lies. Get out!”
Left to himself again, Mr. Richard walked hurriedly up and down the chamber45, wiped his forehead, drank a tumbler of brandy, and finally sat down and re-read the letter. It was short, but terribly to the purpose.
“The George Hotel, Plymouth,” 17th April, 1846.
“I have found you out, you see. Never mind how just at present. I know all about your proceedings47, and unless Mr. Richard Devine receives his “wife” with due propriety48, he’ll find himself in the custody49 of the police. Telegraph, dear, to Mrs. Richard Devine, at above address.
“Yours as ever, Jack, “Sarah.
“To Richard Devine, Esq., “North End House, “Hampstead.”
The blow was unexpected and severe. It was hard, in the very high tide and flush of assured success, to be thus plucked back into the old bondage50. Despite the affectionate tone of the letter, he knew the woman with whom he had to deal. For some furious minutes he sat motionless, gazing at the letter. He did not speak — men seldom do under such circumstances — but his thoughts ran in this fashion: “Here is this cursed woman again! Just as I was congratulating myself on my freedom. How did she discover me? Small use asking that. What shall I do? I can do nothing. It is absurd to run away, for I shall be caught. Besides, I’ve no money. My account at Mastermann’s is overdrawn51 two thousand pounds. If I bolt at all, I must bolt at once — within twenty-four hours. Rich as I am, I don’t suppose I could raise more than five thousand pounds in that time. These things take a day or two, say forty-eight hours. In forty-eight hours I could raise twenty thousand pounds, but forty-eight hours is too long. Curse the woman! I know her! How in the fiend’s name did she discover me? It’s a bad job. However, she’s not inclined to be gratuitiously disagreeable. How lucky I never married again! I had better make terms and trust to fortune. After all, she’s been a good friend to me.— Poor Sally!— I might have rotted on that infernal Eaglehawk Neck if it hadn’t been for her. She is not a bad sort. Handsome woman, too. I may make it up with her. I shall have to sell off and go away after all.— It might be worse.— I dare say the property’s worth three hundred thousand pounds. Not bad for a start in America. And I may get rid of her yet. Yes. I must give in.— Oh, curse her!—[ringing the bell]— Smithers!” [Smithers appears.] “A telegraph form and a cab! Stay. Pack me a dressing-bag. I shall be away for a day or so. [Sotto voce]— I’d better see her myself. —[ Aloud]— Bring me a Bradshaw! [Sotto voce]— Damn the woman.”
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mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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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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moors
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| v.停泊，系泊（船只）( moor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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dispelled
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| v.驱散，赶跑( dispel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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conformity
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| n.一致，遵从，顺从 | |
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purporting
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| v.声称是…，（装得）像是…的样子( purport的现在分词 ) | |
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wade
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| v.跋涉，涉水；n.跋涉 | |
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athletic
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| adj.擅长运动的，强健的；活跃的，体格健壮的 | |
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toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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squatter
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| n.擅自占地者 | |
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proneness
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| n.俯伏，倾向 | |
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inflamed
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| adj.发炎的，红肿的v.（使）变红，发怒，过热( inflame的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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rebellious
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| adj.造反的，反抗的，难控制的 | |
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swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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streaked
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| adj.有条斑纹的，不安的v.快速移动( streak的过去式和过去分词 )；使布满条纹 | |
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lurked
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| vi.潜伏，埋伏（lurk的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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thicket
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| n.灌木丛，树林 | |
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prematurely
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| adv.过早地，贸然地 | |
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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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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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heartiness
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| 诚实，热心 | |
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boisterous
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| adj.喧闹的，欢闹的 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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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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considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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brutality
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| n.野蛮的行为，残忍，野蛮 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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villain
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| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
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seaman
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| n.海员，水手，水兵 | |
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bail
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| v.舀（水），保释；n.保证金，保释，保释人 | |
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revile
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| v.辱骂，谩骂 | |
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carvings
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| n.雕刻( carving的名词复数 )；雕刻术；雕刻品；雕刻物 | |
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36
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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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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suburban
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| adj.城郊的，在郊区的 | |
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humbug
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| n.花招，谎话，欺骗 | |
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helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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grouse
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| n.松鸡；v.牢骚，诉苦 | |
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42
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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auction
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| n.拍卖；拍卖会；vt.拍卖 | |
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44
bin
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| n.箱柜；vt.放入箱内；[计算机] DOS文件名:二进制目标文件 | |
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45
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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46
jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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47
proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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48
propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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49
custody
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| n.监护，照看，羁押，拘留 | |
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bondage
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| n.奴役，束缚 | |
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51
overdrawn
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| 透支( overdraw的过去分词 )； (overdraw的过去分词) | |
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