Prologue（1）
Prologue
I
In every club there is a club bore. The Coronation Club was no exception, and the fact that an airraid was in progress made no difference to normal procedure.
Major Porter, late Indian Army, rustled his newspaper and cleared his throat. Every one avoidedhis eye, but it was no use.
“I see they’ve got the announcement of Gordon Cloade’s death in the Times,” he said.
“Discreetly put, of course. On Oct. 5th, result of enemy action. No address given. As a matter offact it was just round the corner from my little place. One of those big houses on top of CampdenHill. I can tell you it shook me up a bit. I’m a Warden, you know. Cloade had only just got backfrom the States. He’d been over on that Government Purchase business. Got married while he wasover there. A young widow—young enough to be his daughter. Mrs. Underhay. As a matter of factI knew her first husband out in Nigeria.”
Major Porter paused. Nobody displayed any interest or asked him to continue. Newspapers wereheld up sedulously in front of faces, but it took more than that to discourage Major Porter. Healways had long histories to relate, mostly about people whom nobody knew.
“Interesting,” said Major Porter, firmly, his eyes fixed absently on a pair of extremely pointedpatent-leather shoes—a type of foot-wear of which he profoundly disapproved. “As I said, I’m aWarden. Funny business this blast. Never know what it’s going to do. Blew the basement in andripped off the roof. First floor practically wasn’t touched. Six people in the house. Three servants:
married couple and a housemaid, Gordon Cloade, his wife and the wife’s brother. They were alldown in the basement except the wife’s brother—ex-Commando fellow—he preferred his owncomfortable bedroom on the first floor—and by Jove, he escaped with a few bruises. The threeservants were all killed by blast—Gordon Cloade must have been worth well over a million.”
Again Major Porter paused. His eyes had travelled up from the patent-leather shoes—stripedtrousers — black coat — egg- shaped head and colossal moustaches. Foreign, of course! Thatexplained the shoes. “Really,” thought Major Porter, “what’s the club coming to? Can’t get awayfrom foreigners even here.” This separate train of thought ran alongside his narrative.
The fact that the foreigner in question appeared to be giving him full attention did not abateMajor Porter’s prejudice in the slightest.
“She can’t be more than about twenty-five,” he went on. “And a widow for the second time. Orat any rate—that’s what she thinks….”
He paused, hoping for curiosity—for comment. Not getting it, he nevertheless went doggedlyon:
“Matter of fact I’ve got my own ideas about that. Queer business. As I told you, I knew her firsthusband, Underhay. Nice fellow—district commissioner in Nigeria at one time. Absolutely deadkeen on his job—first-class chap. He married this girl in Cape Town. She was out there with sometouring company. Very down on her luck, and pretty and helpless and all that. Listened to poor oldUnderhay raving about his district and the great wide-open spaces—and breathed out, ‘Wasn’t itwonderful?’ and how she wanted ‘to get away from everything.’ Well, she married him and gotaway from it. He was very much in love, poor fellow—but the thing didn’t tick over from the first.
She hated the bush and was terrified of the natives and was bored to death. Her idea of life was togo round to the local and meet the theatrical crowd and talk shop. Solitude à deux in the junglewasn’t at all her cup of tea. Mind you, I never met her myself—I heard all this from poor oldUnderhay. It hit him pretty hard. He did the decent thing, sent her home and agreed to give her adivorce. It was just after that I met him. He was all on edge and in the mood when a man’s got totalk. He was a funny old-fashioned kind of chap in some ways—an R.C., and he didn’t care fordivorce. He said to me, ‘There are other ways of giving a woman her freedom.’ ‘Now, look here,old boy,’ I said, ‘don’t go doing anything foolish. No woman in the world is worth putting a bulletthrough your head.’
“He said that that wasn’t his idea at all. ‘But I’m a lonely man,’ he said. ‘Got no relations tobother about me. If a report of my death gets back that will make Rosaleen a widow, which iswhat she wants.’ ‘And what about you?’ I said. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘maybe a Mr. Enoch Arden willturn up somewhere a thousand miles or so away and start life anew.’ ‘Might be awkward for hersome day,’ I warned him. ‘Oh, no,’ he says, ‘I’d play the game. Robert Underhay would be deadall right.’
“Well, I didn’t think any more of it, but six months later I heard that Underhay had died of feverup in the bush somewhere. His natives were a trustworthy lot and they came back with a goodcircumstantial tale and a few last words scrawled in Underhay’s writing saying they’d done allthey could for him, and he was afraid he was pegging out, and praising up his headman. That manwas devoted to him and so were all the others. Whatever he told them to swear to, they wouldswear to. So there it is…Maybe Underhay’s buried up country in the midst of equatorial Africa butmaybe he isn’t—and if he isn’t Mrs. Gordon Cloade may get a shock one day. And serve her right,I say. I never met her, but I know the sound of a little gold digger! She broke up poor oldUnderhay all right. It’s an interesting story.”
Major Porter looked round rather wistfully for confirmation of this assertion. He met two boredand fishy stares, the half-averted gaze of young Mr. Mellon and the polite attention of M. HerculePoirot.
Then the newspaper rustled and a grey-haired man with a singularly impassive face rose quietlyfrom his armchair by the fire and went out.
Major Porter’s jaw dropped, and young Mr. Mellon gave a faint whistle.
“Now you’ve done it!” he remarked. “Know who that was?”
“God bless my soul,” said Major Porter in some agitation. “Of course. I don’t know himintimately but we are acquainted…Jeremy Cloade, isn’t it, Gordon Cloade’s brother? Upon myword, how extremely unfortunate! If I’d had any idea—”
“He’s a solicitor,” said young Mr. Mellon. “Bet he sues you for slander or defamation ofcharacter or something.”
For young Mr. Mellon enjoyed creating alarm and despondency in such places as it was notforbidden by the Defence of the Realm Act.
Major Porter continued to repeat in an agitated manner:
“Most unfortunate. Most unfortunate!”
“It will be all over Warmsley Heath by this evening,” said Mr. Mellon. “That’s where all theCloades hang out. They’ll sit up late discussing what action to take.”
But at that moment the All Clear sounded, and young Mr. Mellon stopped being malicious, andtenderly piloted his friend Hercule Poirot out into the street.
“Terrible atmosphere, these clubs,” he said. “The most crashing collection of old bores. Porter’seasily the worst, though. His description of the Indian rope trick takes three-quarters of an hour,and he knows everybody whose mother ever passed through Poona!”
This was in the autumn of 1944. It was in late spring, 1946, that Hercule Poirot received a visit.
序幕（1）
序幕
1每个俱乐部里都会有个招人烦的家伙。加冕俱乐部也不例外；就算外面的空袭进行得如火如荼，这里的正常运转也没有受到丝毫影响。
前印度军军官波特少校一边把报纸翻得沙沙作响，一边清了清嗓子。大家纷纷避开他的目光，但没什么用处。
“我看见他们在《泰晤士报》上宣布了戈登•克洛德的死讯，”他说，“当然啦，措辞还挺小心谨慎的。说是‘十月五日，死于敌军的行动’。也没给个地址。其实呢，那地方就在寒舍附近，坎普登山顶上那些大宅子当中的一所。我可以告诉你们，这事儿还真让我有点儿吃惊呢。你们也知道，我是个督察员。克洛德刚刚从美国回来。他去那边是为了政府的那桩采购交易。那段时间里他还结了婚，迎娶了安得海太太，一个年轻的寡妇——年轻得都够当他闺女了。事实上，我在尼日利亚的时候就认识她的第一任丈夫。”
波特少校停顿了一下。没有人表现出一丁点儿兴趣或者要求他继续往下讲。大家都刻意地把手里的报纸举起来挡住脸，不过这样还是不足以打消波特少校的兴致。他总是有很长很长的故事可讲，主角绝大多数都是些无名小卒。
“有意思。”波特少校不为所动地说道，他的目光有意无意间停在了一双鞋头极尖的黑色漆皮鞋上——这是一种他打心眼儿里就不喜欢的鞋。“我说过了，我是个督察员。这次轰炸有些说不清道不明。让人怎么都搞不懂它究竟是怎么炸的。把地下室炸了个一塌糊涂，房顶也给掀了，二楼却几乎毫发无损。房子里有六个人。三个是仆人：包括一对夫妇和一个女仆，戈登•克洛德，他太太还有他太太的哥哥。当时所有人都在地下室里，只有他太太的哥哥除外——他以前是个突击队队员——更喜欢待在二楼他自己那间舒服的卧室里。结果老天爷保佑，他躲过了一劫，只是身上添了几处擦伤。三个仆人全都在轰炸中送了命——戈登•克洛德的身家肯定得远超一百万了。”
波特少校又一次停了下来。他的眼神从那双黑漆皮鞋开始向上游移——条纹西裤，黑色外衣，蛋形的脑袋以及那一大把八字胡。甭问，外国来的！难怪会穿那样的鞋子。“真是的，”波特少校心想，“俱乐部还要搞成什么样儿啊？就连在这儿都躲不开外国佬们。”他一边讲，心里一边伴随着这股不相干的思绪。
那个颇为可疑的外国佬看上去似乎正在全神贯注地听他说话，然而这个事实却丝毫也没能减少波特少校心里的偏见。
“她最多也不会超过二十五岁吧，”他继续说道，“就已经第二次当寡妇了。或者不管怎么说——她自己是这么觉得的……”
他顿了一下，期待着有人会刨根问底——或者发表些议论。尽管没能得偿所愿，他却依然自顾自地往下说道：
“实际上呢，关于这件事我有些自己的想法。挺蹊跷。我跟你们说过，我认识她的第一任丈夫安得海。好人一个——一度在尼日利亚当上了地区行政长官。对自己的工作绝对是喜欢得不得了——是个一等一的小伙子。他在开普敦娶了这姑娘。她当时正跟某个巡演剧团一起在那儿。倒霉透顶，人长得又漂亮，一副无依无靠的样子，大概就是这样吧。她听着可怜的老安得海大肆吹嘘他的辖区和非比寻常的开阔空间——然后叹上一口气，说上一句‘这难道不令人惊叹吗’？以及她有多想‘要摆脱眼前的一切’。好啦，她嫁给了他，也摆脱了那一切。可怜的家伙，他倒是爱得情深意浓——可这桩婚事从一开始就不是那么四平八稳。她不喜欢灌木丛，害怕当地的土著，厌烦得要死。她对于过日子的想法就是去当地的酒吧转转，结识那帮演戏的人，真是三句话不离本行啊。至于说两个人隐居在丛林之中，那可一点儿都不对她的胃口。听好喽，我是压根儿没见过她——所有这些都是我从可怜的老安得海嘴里听来的。这一来对他的打击非常大。他处理得已经相当不错了，把她送回了家，并且同意跟她离婚。我认识他也就是在那之后。他那会儿极其紧张烦躁，正处在那种必须跟人说话的情绪里。从某些方面来说，他是个挺有意思的老派人——一个罗马天主教徒，他不愿意离婚。他跟我说，‘要给一个女人以自由，还有其他的方法。’‘嘿，老伙计，’我说，‘别去干任何蠢事儿啊。这世界上可没有哪个女人值得你用脑袋瓜子去吃枪子儿。’”
“他说那根本就不是他的想法。‘但我可是孤家寡人一个，’他说，‘没有任何亲戚会惦记我。要是我的死讯传回来，罗萨琳就会变成寡妇，而那正是她求之不得的。’‘那你呢？’我说。‘呃，’他说，‘或许在千里之外的某个地方会冒出个伊诺克•雅顿先生 [1] ，生活又重新开始了。’‘没准儿哪天会让她陷于尴尬。’我告诫他说。‘哦，不会的，’他说，‘我会光明正大地按规矩办。罗伯特•安得海会死得其所。’”
“嗯，对这些话我没再多想，然而六个月之后，我听说安得海在某个地方的丛林里生病发烧而死。他管辖的那帮当地人还挺值得信赖，他们详细讲述了事情的经过，带回了用安得海的笔迹潦草写就的几句话，上面说他们已经为他竭尽所能，而他则恐怕是大限将至，然后还盛赞了他那位队长。此人对他忠心耿耿，其他所有人也都是。无论他让他们对着什么起誓，他们都会照做。所以说就是这样啊……也许安得海被埋在了赤道非洲中间的某个地方，但也有可能并没有——而如果没有的话，那戈登•克洛德太太没准儿哪天就要大吃一惊了。要我说，那也是她活该。我从来没见过她，但我知道用美色骗钱的小拜金女是个什么样子！她可是把可怜的老安得海害惨了。这是个挺有意思的故事。”
波特少校有些渴望地环顾了一下四周，盼着能够有人对这一论断给予确认。他碰上了两束既无聊又呆滞的目光，其中一个是年轻的梅隆先生带着几分闪躲的凝视，另一个则是赫尔克里•波洛先生那出于礼节性的关注。
接着传来一阵报纸的沙沙响声，一名坐在火炉边扶手椅里的灰发男子静静地站起身来走了出去，脸上的表情异常冷漠。
波特少校惊得目瞪口呆，年轻的梅隆先生则轻轻地吹了声口哨。
“看看你干的好事儿吧！”他议论道，“知道那是谁吗？”
“我的天哪，”波特少校有点儿焦虑不安地说道，“当然知道啦。我跟他虽然不是很熟，但我们认识……杰里米•克洛德，不是吗，戈登•克洛德的弟弟？说实在的，真是要多倒霉有多倒霉！我要是知道——”
“他是个律师，”年轻的梅隆先生说，“我敢打赌，他会告你个诽谤中伤或者损毁名誉什么的。”
年轻的梅隆先生就喜欢在这种场所制造恐慌和沮丧，反正《领土防御法》 [2] 对此并不禁止。
波特少校还在心烦意乱地反复唠叨着：
“倒霉透顶。真是倒霉到家了！”
“等到今天晚上，沃姆斯雷希斯就会传遍了，”梅隆先生说，“那儿可是整个克洛德家族居住的地方。他们会连夜商讨将要采取什么措施。”
但就在此时，空袭警报解除了，年轻的梅隆先生也不再说什么恶毒的话，而是亲切地领着他的朋友赫尔克里•波洛走出门来到街上。
“这些俱乐部啊，气氛真够差劲的，”他说，“招人烦的老家伙们全都凑到了一起。不过波特还是轻而易举就能独占鳌头。他讲个印度的绳索魔术都能讲上四十五分钟，而甭管任何人，只要他们的老妈曾经去过浦那 [3] ，他就全都认识！”
这是一九四四年秋天的事情。到了一九四六年的暮春时节，赫尔克里•波洛接待了一位访客。
Prologue（2）
II
Hercule Poirot was sitting at his neat writing desk on a pleasant May morning when hismanservant George approached him and murmured deferentially:
“There is a lady, sir, asking to see you.”
“What kind of a lady?” Poirot asked cautiously.
He always enjoyed the meticulous accuracy of George’s descriptions.
“She would be aged between forty and fifty, I should say, sir. Untidy and somewhat artistic inappearance. Good walking shoes, brogues. A tweed coat and skirt—but a lace blouse. Somequestionable Egyptian beads and a blue chiffon scarf.”
Poirot shuddered slightly.
“I do not think,” he said, “that I wish to see her.”
“Shall I tell her, sir, that you are indisposed?”
Poirot looked at him thoughtfully.
“You have already, I gather, told her that I am engaged on important business and cannot bedisturbed?”
George coughed again.
“She said, sir, that she had come up from the country specially, and did not mind how long shewaited.”
Poirot sighed.
“One should never struggle against the inevitable,” he said. “If a middle-aged lady wearingsham Egyptian beads has made up her mind to see the famous Hercule Poirot, and has come upfrom the country to do so, nothing will deflect her. She will sit there in the hall till she gets herway. Show her in, George.”
George retreated, returning presently to announce formally:
“Mrs. Cloade.”
The figure in the worn tweeds and the floating scarf came in with a beaming face. She advancedto Poirot with an outstretched hand, all her bead necklaces swinging and clinking.
“M. Poirot,” she said, “I have come to you under spirit guidance.”
Poirot blinked slightly.
“Indeed, Madame. Perhaps you will take a seat and tell me—”
He got no further.
“Both ways, M. Poirot. With the automatic writing and with the ouija board. It was the nightbefore last. Madame Elvary (a wonderful woman she is) and I were using the board. We got thesame initials repeatedly. H.P. H.P. H.P. Of course I did not get the true significance at once. Ittakes, you know, a little time. One cannot, on this earthly plane, see clearly. I racked my brainsthinking of someone with those initials. I knew it must connect up with the last séance—really amost poignant one, but it was some time before I got it. And then I bought a copy of Picture Post(Spirit guidance again, you see, because usually I buy the New Statesman) and there you were—apicture of you, and described, and on account of what you had done. It is wonderful, don’t youthink, M. Poirot, how everything has a purpose? Clearly, you are the person appointed by theGuides to elucidate this matter.”
Poirot surveyed her thoughtfully. Strangely enough the thing that really caught his attention wasthat she had remarkably shrewd light-blue eyes. They gave point, as it were, to her ramblingmethod of approach.
“And what, Mrs.—Cloade—is that right?” He frowned. “I seem to have heard the name sometime ago—”
She nodded vehemently.
“My poor brother-in-law—Gordon. Immensely rich and often mentioned in the press. He waskilled in the Blitz over a year ago—a great blow to all of us. My husband is his younger brother.
He is a doctor. Dr. Lionel Cloade…Of course,” she added, lowering her voice, “he has no idea thatI am consulting you. He would not approve. Doctors, I find, have a very materialistic outlook. Thespiritual seems to be strangely hidden from them. They pin their faith on Science—but what I sayis…what is Science—what can it do?”
There seemed, to Hercule Poirot, to be no answer to the question other than a meticulous andpainstaking description embracing Pasteur, Lister, Humphry Davy’s safety lamp — theconvenience of electricity in the home and several hundred other kindred items. But that,naturally, was not the answer Mrs. Lionel Cloade wanted. In actual fact her question, like so manyquestions, was not really a question at all. It was a mere rhetorical gesture.
Hercule Poirot contented himself with inquiring in a practical manner:
“In what way do you believe I can help you, Mrs. Cloade?”
“Do you believe in the reality of the spirit world, M. Poirot?”
“I am a good Catholic,” said Poirot cautiously.
Mrs. Cloade waved aside the Catholic faith with a smile of pity.
“Blind! The Church is blind—prejudiced, foolish—not welcoming the reality and beauty of theworld that lies behind this one.”
“At twelve o’clock,” said Hercule Poirot, “I have an important appointment.”
It was a well-timed remark. Mrs. Cloade leaned forward.
“I must come to the point at once. Would it be possible for you, M. Poirot, to find a missingperson?”
Poirot’s eyebrows rose.
“It might be possible—yes,” he replied cautiously. “But the police, my dear Mrs. Cloade, coulddo so a great deal more easily than I could. They have all the necessary machinery.”
Mrs. Cloade waved away the police as she had waved away the Catholic Church.
“No, M. Poirot—it is to you I have been guided—by those beyond the veil. Now listen. Mybrother Gordon married some weeks before his death, a young widow—a Mrs. Underhay. Her firsthusband (poor child, such a grief to her) was reported dead in Africa. A mysterious country—Africa.”
“A mysterious continent,” Poirot corrected her. “Possibly. What part—”
She swept on.
“Central Africa. The home of voodoo, of the zombie—”
“The zombie is in the West Indies.”
Mrs. Cloade swept on:
“—of black magic—of strange and secret practices—a country where a man could disappearand never be heard of again.”
“Possibly, possibly,” said Poirot. “But the same is true of Piccadilly Circus.”
Mrs. Cloade waved away Piccadilly Circus.
“Twice lately, M. Poirot, a communication has come through from a spirit who gives his nameas Robert. The message was the same each time. Not dead…We were puzzled, we knew noRobert. Asking for further guidance we got this. ‘R.U. R.U. R.U.—then Tell R. Tell R.’ ‘TellRobert?’ we asked. ‘No, from Robert. R.U.’ ‘What does the U. stand for?’ Then, M. Poirot, themost significant answer came. ‘Little Boy Blue. Little Boy Blue. Ha ha ha!’ You see?”
“No,” said Poirot, “I do not.”
She looked at him pityingly.
“The nursery rhyme Little Boy Blue. ‘Under the Haycock fast asleep’—Underhay—you see?”
Poirot nodded. He forbore to ask why, if the name Robert could be spelt out, the nameUnderhay could not have been treated the same way, and why it had been necessary to resort to akind of cheap Secret service spy jargon.
“And my sister-in-law’s name is Rosaleen,” finished Mrs. Cloade triumphantly. “You see?
Confusing all these Rs. But the meaning is quite plain. ‘Tell Rosaleen that Robert Underhay is notdead.’”
“Aha, and did you tell her?”
Mrs. Cloade looked slightly taken aback.
“Er—well—no. You see, I mean—well, people are so sceptical. Rosaleen, I am sure, would beso. And then, poor child, it might upset her—wondering, you know, where he was—and what hewas doing.”
“Besides projecting his voice through the ether? Quite so. A curious method, surely, ofannouncing his safety?”
“Ah, M. Poirot, you are not an initiate. And how do we know what the circumstances are? PoorCaptain Underhay (or is it Major Underhay) may be a prisoner somewhere in the dark interior ofAfrica. But if he could be found, M. Poirot. If he could be restored to his dear young Rosaleen.
Think of her happiness! Oh, M. Poirot, I have been sent to you—surely, surely you will not refusethe behest of the spiritual world.”
Poirot looked at her reflectively.
“My fees,” he said softly, “are very expensive. I may say enormously expensive! And the taskyou suggest would not be easy.”
“Oh dear—but surely—it is most unfortunate. I and my husband are very badly off—very badlyoff indeed. Actually my own plight is worse than my dear husband knows. I bought some shares—under spirit guidance—and so far they have proved very disappointing—in fact, quite alarming.
They have gone right down and are now, I gather, practically unsaleable.”
She looked at him with dismayed blue eyes.
“I have not dared to tell my husband. I simply tell you in order to explain how I am situated. Butsurely, dear M. Poirot, to reunite a young husband and wife—it is such a noble mission—”
“Nobility, chère Madame, will not pay steamer and railway and air travel fares. Nor will itcover the cost of long telegrams and cables, and the interrogations of witnesses.”
“But if he is found—if Captain Underhay is found alive and well—then—well, I think I maysafely say that, once that was accomplished, there—there would be no difficulty about—er—reimbursing you.”
“Ah, he is rich, then, this Captain Underhay?”
“No. Well, no…But I can assure you—I can give you my word—that—that the money situationwill not present difficulties.”
Slowly Poirot shook his head.
“I am sorry, Madame. The answer is No.”
He had a little difficulty in getting her to accept that answer.
When she had finally gone away, he stood lost in thought, frowning to himself. He rememberednow why the name of Cloade was familiar to him. The conversation at the club the day of the airraid came back to him. The booming boring voice of Major Porter, going on and on, telling a storyto which nobody wanted to listen.
He remembered the rustle of a newspaper and Major Porter’s suddenly dropped jaw andexpression of consternation.
But what worried him was trying to make up his mind about the eager middle-aged lady whohad just left him. The glib spiritualistic patter, the vagueness, the floating scarves, the chains andamulets jingling round her neck—and finally, slightly at variance with all this, that sudden shrewdglint in a pair of pale-blue eyes.
“Just why exactly did she come to me?” he said to himself. “And what, I wonder, has beengoing on in”—he looked down at the card on his desk—“Warmsley Vale?”
序幕（2）
2那是个舒适宜人的五月清晨，赫尔克里•波洛正坐在他整洁的写字台前，男仆乔治走到他身边，毕恭毕敬地低声说道：
“先生，有位女士要求见您。”
“什么样的女士啊？”波洛谨慎地问道。
他一向喜欢听乔治所做的描述，一丝不苟，明察秋毫。
“要我说的话，先生，她年纪在四十岁到五十岁之间。外表看起来不修边幅，有点儿艺术家的劲儿。脚上的步行鞋很不错，粗革厚底。穿着一件花呢大衣和裙子——却配了一件带花边的衬衫。戴着些不怎么像真货的埃及珠链以及一条蓝色的雪纺绸围巾。”
波洛的身子微微一颤。
“我觉得，”他说，“我并不想见她。”
“那要我告诉她您身体不舒服吗，先生？”
波洛若有所思地看着他。
“我猜，你已经告诉她我正有要事在忙，不能被打扰了吧？”
乔治又咳嗽了一声。
“先生，她说她是专程从乡下赶来见您的，她不在意等多久。”
波洛叹了口气。
“是祸躲不过啊，”他说，“如果一位戴着假埃及珠链的中年女士拿定了主意要见到大名鼎鼎的赫尔克里•波洛，并且已经从乡下来到这里的话，那就没法打消她这个念头了。她会一直坐在门厅里，直到遂了她的心愿为止。带她进来吧，乔治。”
乔治退了出去，没一会儿工夫便又返回来，很正式地通报道：
“这位是克洛德太太。”
一个身着破旧花呢外衣和飘曳围巾的人影走了进来，脸上挂着盈盈笑意。她伸出一只手朝着波洛走上前去，脖子上所有的珠链都在摇来晃去，叮叮作响。
“波洛先生，”她说，“我是在神灵的指引之下到这儿来见您的。”
波洛轻轻眨了眨眼。
“真的呀，夫人。或许您愿意坐下来告诉我——”
他没能再继续说下去。
“我是从两方面得到指引的，波洛先生。自动手写还有占卜板。就在前天晚上。艾尔瓦瑞夫人（她是个妙不可言的女人）和我用的正是占卜板。我们一而再再而三地得到同样的姓名首字母：H.P.，H.P.，H.P.。当然，我并没能立即领会它所代表的含义。您知道，这件事得费点儿时间。以凡夫俗子的眼光来看，那是没法参透的。我绞尽脑汁地想，谁的姓名首字母是这样的呢。我知道这肯定跟上一次降神会有连带关系——那次还真是恰到好处，切中要害呢，不过我也是过了一段时间才明白过来。然后我买了一份《图片邮报》（您看，又是靠神灵的指引啊，因为我通常都是买《新政治家》的），接着我就看见了您——一张您的照片，以及对您事迹的介绍。所有的事情都这么自有深意，您不觉得简直太令人惊奇了吗，波洛先生？一目了然，您就是神灵派来解决这件事情的人啊。”
波洛仔细地审视着她。说来奇怪，真正吸引他注意的是她拥有一双非常机警敏锐的浅蓝色眼睛。在某种程度上可以说，也正是这双眼睛给她那杂乱无章的开场白平添了几分力量。
“那么是什么事情呢，克——洛德太太——我没叫错吧？”他皱了皱眉头，“我以前似乎听过这个名字——”
她用力地点点头。
“是我那可怜的大伯——戈登。他极其富有，报纸上也经常提到他。一年多以前，他在那次空袭中遇难——这对我们所有人来说都是个巨大的打击。我丈夫是他的弟弟。他是个医生。莱昂内尔•克洛德医生……当然，”她压低声音紧跟着说道，“他一点儿都不知道我来找您征求意见。要不然他不会同意的。我发现，医生们所持的观点都特别唯物。对神灵什么的他们似乎都视若无睹。他们把信仰全都寄托在科学上——不过要让我说的话……科学究竟算什么玩意儿，它又能干什么呢？”
在赫尔克里•波洛看来，要回答这个问题，除了不厌其烦地给她讲讲巴斯德 [4] 、李斯特[5] 、汉弗莱•戴维 [6] 发明的安全灯——以及电力和另外上百种类似的东西给千家万户带来的便利之外别无他法。但这些当然不是莱昂内尔•克洛德太太想要的答案。她的问题其实就跟许许多多问题一样，压根儿也算不上是问题，仅仅是一种炫耀自己的表达方式罢了。
赫尔克里•波洛很满意自己询问时所采取的那种务实态度：
“克洛德太太，那您觉得我能给您帮上什么忙呢？”
“您相信神灵世界是真实存在的吗，波洛先生？”
“我是个虔诚的天主教徒。”波洛很慎重地说道。
克洛德太太带着怜悯微微一笑，对波洛的天主教信仰表现出不屑一顾。
“愚昧啊！教会就是瞎了眼——带着偏见，愚蠢——不愿意欣然接受这个世界背后所存在的现实和美好。”
“十二点钟，”赫尔克里•波洛说，“我还有个重要的约会。”
这话说得正是时候。克洛德太太身子往前一倾。
“我必须马上言归正传。波洛先生，您有没有可能把一个下落不明的人找出来呢？”
波洛的眉毛挑了起来。
“有这种可能——是的，”他回答得小心翼翼，“但是我亲爱的克洛德太太，警方做这种事情会比我容易得多。需要的手段他们应有尽有。”
克洛德太太挥了挥手，就像她拒绝天主教教会那样也拒绝了警方。
“不，波洛先生，我接收到的指引是让我来找您，它来自人死后的未知世界。您听我说。我的大伯戈登在去世之前几周娶了个年轻的寡妇，一位姓安得海的太太。她的第一任丈夫（可怜的孩子，对她来说是多么不幸啊）据说死在了非洲。一个神秘莫测的国家——非洲。”
“或许应该说是，”波洛纠正她道，“一块神秘莫测的大陆。是在非洲什么地方——”
她还在滔滔不绝。
“中非。就是那个诞生了伏都教，还魂尸——”
“还魂尸是西印度群岛的东西。”
克洛德太太依然口若悬河：
“妖术邪术——以及奇怪而隐秘的习俗之地——是个人可能会消失，并且从此之后就再也杳无音信的国家。”
“或许吧，有可能，”波洛说，“不过在皮卡迪利广场也同样如此。”
克洛德太太手一挥，把皮卡迪利广场也同样打入了冷宫。
“最近已经有两次了，波洛先生，一个自称是罗伯特的魂灵传来了信息。每次的消息都是一样的。没有死……我们就纳闷儿了，我们认识的人里面没有罗伯特啊。请求再给些指点的时候我们就得到了这个。‘R.U.，R.U.，R.U.——然后是告诉R.，告诉R.’‘告诉罗伯特吗？’我们问。‘不，消息来自罗伯特。R.U.’‘那这个U.又代表什么呢？’紧接着，波洛先生，至关重要的答案出现了。‘小男孩布鲁，小男孩布鲁。哈哈哈！’您明白了吗？”
“不，”波洛说，“我没明白。”
她满怀同情地看着他。
“就是那首童谣《小男孩布鲁》啊。‘在干草堆下睡得正香’——安得海 [7] ——您懂了吗？”
波洛点点头。他忍住才没问出口，既然罗伯特这个名字能够完整地拼出来，那么对安得海为什么就不能如法炮制呢？又有什么必要非得采取这样一种低劣的像特务机关才会使用的晦涩难懂的隐语呢？
“而我大嫂的名字叫罗萨琳，”克洛德太太得意扬扬地准备收尾，“您明白了吧？所有这一大堆R把人给搞糊涂了。但其实意思一目了然。‘告诉罗萨琳，罗伯特•安得海没有死。’”
“啊哈，那您告诉她了吗？”
克洛德太太看上去似乎有点儿吃惊。
“呃……嗯……没告诉。要知道，呃，我是说，人都是很多疑的。我确信罗萨琳也是这样。而且那么做的话，可怜的孩子啊，这会让她烦恼不安——您知道，她会纳闷他人在哪儿——还有他在干些什么。”
“况且他的消息还是从九霄云外传来的？的确如此。若是要宣布自己安然无恙，这还真是个挺诡异的方法吧？”
“啊，波洛先生，您对这类事情还真是所知寥寥啊。我们又怎么知道现在的情形是什么样子的呢？可怜的安得海上尉（要么就是安得海少校）也许在非洲腹地的某个阴暗角落里沦为了阶下囚。但假如他能够被人找到，波洛先生，假如能把他带回到他年轻可爱的罗萨琳身边的话，想想她得有多高兴吧。哦，波洛先生，我是被送到您这里来的——您想必一定不会拒绝来自神灵世界的请求。”
波洛沉思地看着她。
“我的收费，”他柔声说道，“可是非常高的。也可以说是昂贵至极！而您提出的这件任务可不简单啊。”
“天哪——但这可——可真是太不幸了。我和我丈夫生活非常拮据——真的是穷困潦倒。我自己的境况实际上比我亲爱的丈夫所知道的还要糟糕。我买过些股票——在神灵的指引之下——而迄今为止它们都让人极其失望——说实话，简直让人忧心忡忡。它们一直在跌，而据我所知，现在实际上连抛都抛不出去了。”
她看着他，一双蓝色的眼睛显得有些沮丧。
“我还没敢告诉我丈夫呢。我告诉您这些只是想解释一下我眼下的处境。但是亲爱的波洛先生，让一对年轻的夫妇重新团聚真的是——是一项很高尚的使命啊……”
“高尚，亲爱的夫人，是没法用来支付轮船、火车和飞机费用的。也同样涵盖不了拍发长电报和讯问目击证人所需要的花销。”
“可如果他被找到了——如果安得海上尉还能生还的话，呃……那么……嗯，我想我可以很有把握地说，这件事只要一完成，那些……把那些费用偿付给您就不会有……呃，任何困难。”
“啊，这么说来，他很有钱吧，这个安得海上尉？”
“不。嗯，不是的……但是我可以向您保证——我可以跟您担保——这个——在钱这方面不会有任何问题。”
波洛缓缓地摇了摇头。
“我很抱歉，夫人。我的答复是不行。”
他发现要让她接受这个答复有一点难度。
当她最终离开以后，他眉头紧蹙，站在那里陷入沉思。他现在回想起来为什么克洛德这个名字让他觉得耳熟。空袭那天在俱乐部里的谈话重又回荡在他的脑海之中。波特少校那隆隆作响的令人乏味的声音，滔滔不绝地讲述着一个没人想听的故事。
他回忆起了那阵报纸的沙沙声，以及波特少校脸上那突然之间惊慌失措、目瞪口呆的神情。
但困扰他的事情却是刚刚从他面前离去的这位急切的中年女士，他试图在心里勾勒出对她的看法。说起降神会时的伶牙俐齿，言谈话语间的闪烁其词，飘摇不定的围巾，绕在脖子上叮当作响的项链——还有，就是和所有这些显得格格不入的那双淡蓝色眼睛中疾速闪过的一丝狡黠。
“她来找我究竟是因为什么呢？”他心中暗想，“而且我也想知道，那地方到底发生了什么事情，那个叫——”他低头看了看书桌上的名片，“沃姆斯雷谷的地方？”
Prologue（3）
III
It was exactly five days later that he saw a small paragraph in an evening paper—it referred to thedeath of a man called Enoch Arden—at Warmsley Vale, a small old-world village about threemiles from the popular Warmsley Heath Golf Course.
Hercule Poirot said to himself again:
“I wonder what has been going on in Warmsley Vale….”
序幕（3）
3整整五天之后，他在一份晚报上看见了一小段报道，里面提到一个名叫伊诺克•雅顿的男人死了，地点就在沃姆斯雷谷，一个距离人气颇高的沃姆斯雷希斯高尔夫球场大约三英里之遥的古老小村落。
赫尔克里•波洛又一次暗自思忖：
“真不知道沃姆斯雷谷出了什么事情……”
BOOK I One（1）
BOOK I
One
IWarmsley Heath consists of a golf course, two hotels, some very expensive modern villas givingon to the golf course, a row of what were, before the war, luxury shops, and a railway station.
Emerging from the railway station, a main road roars its way to London on your left—to yourright a small path across a field is signpostedFootpath to Warmsley Vale.
Warmsley Vale, tucked away amongst wooded hills, is as unlike Warmsley Heath as well canbe. It is in essence a microscopic old-fashioned market town now degenerated into a village. It hasa main street of Georgian houses, several pubs, a few unfashionable shops and a general air ofbeing a hundred and fifty instead of twenty-eight miles from London.
Its occupants one and all unite in despising the mushroom growth of Warmsley Heath.
On the outskirts are some charming houses with pleasant old-world gardens. It was to one ofthese houses, the White House, that Lynn Marchmont returned in the early spring of 1946 whenshe was demobbed from the Wrens.
On her third morning she looked out of her bedroom window, across the untidy lawn to theelms in the meadow beyond, and sniffed the air happily. It was a gentle grey morning with a smellof soft wet earth. The kind of smell that she had been missing for the past two years and a half.
Wonderful to be home again, wonderful to be here in her own little bedroom which she hadthought of so often and so nostalgically whilst she had been overseas. Wonderful to be out ofuniform, to be able to get into a tweed skirt and a jumper—even if the moths had been rather tooindustrious during the war years!
It was good to be out of the Wrens and a free woman again, although she had really enjoyed heroverseas service very much. The work had been reasonably interesting, there had been parties,plenty of fun, but there had also been the irksomeness of routine and the feeling of being herdedtogether with her companions which had sometimes made her feel desperately anxious to escape.
It was then, during the long scorching summer out East, that she had thought so longingly ofWarmsley Vale and the shabby cool pleasant house, and of dear Mums.
Lynn both loved her mother and was irritated by her. Far away from home, she had loved herstill and had forgotten the irritation, or remembered it only with an additional homesick pang.
Darling Mums, so completely maddening! What she would not have given to have heard Mumsenunciate one cliché in her sweet complaining voice. Oh, to be at home again and never, never tohave to leave home again!
And now here she was, out of the service, free, and back at the White House. She had been backthree days. And already a curious dissatisfied restlessness was creeping over her. It was all thesame—almost too much all the same—the house and Mums and Rowley and the farm and thefamily. The thing that was different and that ought not to be different was herself….
“Darling…” Mrs. Marchmont’s thin cry came up the stairs. “Shall I bring my girl a nice tray inbed?”
Lynn called out sharply:
“Of course not. I’m coming down.”
“And why,” she thought, “has Mums got to say ‘my girl.’ It’s so silly!”
She ran downstairs and entered the dining room. It was not a very good breakfast. Already Lynnwas realizing the undue proportion of time and interest taken by the search for food. Except for arather unreliable woman who came four mornings a week, Mrs. Marchmont was alone in thehouse, struggling with cooking and cleaning. She had been nearly forty when Lynn was born andher health was not good. Also Lynn realized with some dismay how their financial position hadchanged. The small but adequate fixed income which had kept them going comfortably before thewar was now almost halved by taxation. Rates, expenses, wages had all gone up.
“Oh! brave new world,” thought Lynn grimly. Her eyes rested lightly on the columns of thedaily paper.
“Ex-W.A.A.F. seeks post where initiative and drive will be appreciated.”
“Former W.R.E.N. seeks post where organizing ability and authority areneeded.”
Enterprise, initiative, command, those were the commodities offered. But what was wanted?
People who could cook and clean, or write decent shorthand. Plodding people who knew a routineand could give good service.
Well, it didn’t affect her. Her way ahead lay clear. Marriage to her cousin Rowley Cloade. Theyhad got engaged seven years ago, just before the outbreak of war. Almost as long as she couldremember, she had meant to marry Rowley. His choice of a farming life had been acquiesced inreadily by her. A good life—not exciting perhaps, and with plenty of hard work, but they bothloved the open air and the care of animals.
Not that their prospects were quite what they had been—Uncle Gordon had always promised….
Mrs. Marchmont’s voice broke in plaintively apposite:
“It’s been the most dreadful blow to us all, Lynn darling, as I wrote you. Gordon had only beenin England two days. We hadn’t even seen him. If only he hadn’t stayed in London. If he’d comestraight down here.”
第一部 第一章（1）
第一部
第一章
1沃姆斯雷希斯由一个高尔夫球场，两家旅馆，几栋面向高尔夫球场的极其昂贵的现代别墅，一排在战前曾经很奢华的店铺以及一座火车站组成。
从火车站走出来，左手边是一条喧闹的通往伦敦的主路，右手边则是一条穿越田野的小径，路标牌上写着：
通往沃姆斯雷谷的步道
沃姆斯雷谷隐藏在林木葱郁的山间，跟沃姆斯雷希斯有着天壤之别。它其实就是个很小的旧式集镇，如今已经衰败退化成了一个小村庄。村里有一条高街，两边是乔治王时代风格的房子，有一些小酒馆和几家土里土气的商店，整体上的感觉就像是距离伦敦有一百五十英里远而非区区的二十八英里。
这里的居民对于沃姆斯雷希斯如雨后春笋般的飞速发展无一例外抱着一种嗤之以鼻的态度。
在村子的周边有一些带有赏心悦目的旧式花园的漂亮房子。一九四六年初春，林恩•玛奇蒙特从皇家海军女子服务队退伍以后就回到了其中一座人称白屋的房子里。
回家后的第三天清晨，她从卧室的窗口向外望去，目光越过参差凌乱的草坪，落在远处草地边的榆树上，然后高兴地用力吸了一口气。这是个温和的灰色清晨，空气中弥漫着一股潮湿泥土的淡香。在过去的两年半中，这种气味正是她一直怀念着的。
重归故里的感觉真是太棒了，待在这间她在海外期间日思夜想的小小卧室中的感觉真是太棒了。能够脱掉制服，穿上花呢裙和套头衫的感觉真是太棒了——哪怕那些蛀虫在打仗的这几年里一直都孜孜不倦、勤勉有加也无所谓！
尽管她真的非常喜欢在海外服役的那段日子，但离开皇家海军女子服务队，重新成为一个自由自在的女人还是很好。那份工作相当有意思，还有各种联欢活动，妙趣横生，却也有令人生厌的例行公事和那种与同伴们一起被圈养着的感觉，有时候这种感觉使她不顾一切地想要逃离。
也就是在那段时间，那个在亚洲度过的漫长的炎炎夏日里，她无比思念起沃姆斯雷谷和这栋破旧寒酸却又凉爽舒适的房子来，还有她亲爱的妈妈。
林恩对她的母亲爱怒参半。远离家乡的时候，她更加爱她，那些令人气恼的事情都已经被抛到了一边，就算想起来，也只会让她越发思乡心切。亲爱的妈妈呀，简直能把人气疯！要是能不听妈妈用她那亲切悦耳又牢骚满腹的声音字正腔圆地说那些陈词滥调就好了。噢，又回到了家里，而且永远、永远都不必再离开了。
现在她就在这里，结束了服役，自由自在，再一次回到了白屋里。她已经回来三天了，而一种莫名其妙的不满和烦躁不安正逐渐爬上她的心头。一切如故——几乎可以说是一成不变——房子，妈妈，罗利，农场，还有家人。唯一不同却又不应该不同的就是她自己……
“亲爱的……”玛奇蒙特太太纤细的叫喊声从楼下传来，“需要我给我闺女端一盘精美的早餐到床上去吃吗？”
林恩急忙大声喊道：
“当然不用啦。我这就下去。”
“为什么呢，”她心想，“妈妈非要说一句‘我闺女’。这也太傻了！”
她跑下楼去，来到餐厅里。这不是一顿特别丰盛的早餐。林恩已经意识到弄口饭吃会牵扯她们太多的时间和精力。除了一个不太可靠的女人每周来四个上午帮忙之外，玛奇蒙特太太都是一个人在家里跟做饭和打扫卫生的事情较劲。林恩出生的时候她已经年近四十，而且身体也不好。林恩还带着几分沮丧意识到她们的财务状况已经发生了改变。战前那笔虽然不多但尚能确保她们衣食无忧的固定收入，如今因为纳税几乎被砍掉了一半。而物价、开销、仆人的薪酬却齐刷刷地往上涨。
“噢！这个美好的新世界啊。”林恩想想都觉得可怕。她的眼神不经意间停在了日报的求职栏上。
空军妇女辅助队前队员愿求一重视进取心和主观能动性之职位。
皇家海军女子服务队前队员愿求一需组织能力及权威之职位。
事业心，进取精神，指挥控制能力，这些都是求职人自己提出的认为有价值的东西。
可人家需要什么呢？人家需要的是会做饭，会打扫屋子，或者能正经八百速记的人，需要那些做事熟练又服务周到的勤勉工作的人。
好吧，这些对她都不会有什么影响。摆在她面前的路一清二楚，那就是嫁给她的表兄罗利•克洛德。他们在七年前，恰好在战争爆发之前已经订了婚。差不多打从她能记事儿起，她就想要嫁给罗利。他所选择的务农生活她也已经欣然默许。那种生活挺不错的——或许不够激动人心，还要整日操劳，不过他们俩都喜爱露天的环境，都喜欢照顾牲畜。
如今他们的前途与曾经的憧憬——戈登舅舅以前一直允诺的——可不一样了……玛奇蒙特太太哀怨的声音恰如其分地打断了她的思绪：
“林恩亲爱的，就像我给你的信里写的那样，这件事对我们大家来说都是个极其可怕的打击。戈登回英国才不过两天。我们甚至都还没见着他呢。他要是没待在伦敦，直接来这儿多好啊。”
BOOK I One（2）
II
“Yes, if only….”
Far away, Lynn had been shocked and grieved by the news of her uncle’s death, but the truesignificance of it was only now beginning to come home to her.
For as long as she could remember, her life, all their lives, had been dominated by GordonCloade. The rich, childless man had taken all his relatives completely under his wing.
Even Rowley…Rowley and his friend Johnnie Vavasour had started in partnership on the farm.
Their capital was small, but they had been full of hope and energy. And Gordon Cloade hadapproved.
To her he had said more.
“You can’t get anywhere in farming without capital. But the first thing to find out is whetherthese boys have really got the will and the energy to make a go of it. If I set them up now, Iwouldn’t know that—maybe for years. If they’ve got the right stuff in them, if I’m satisfied thattheir side of it is all right, well then, Lynn, you needn’t worry. I’ll finance them on the properscale. So don’t think badly of your prospects, my girl. You’re just the wife Rowley needs. Butkeep what I’ve told you under your hat.”
Well, she had done that, but Rowley himself had sensed his uncle’s benevolent interest. It wasup to him to prove to the old boy that Rowley and Johnnie were a good investment for money.
Yes, they had all depended on Gordon Cloade. Not that any of the family had been spongers oridlers. Jeremy Cloade was senior partner in a firm of solicitors, Lionel Cloade was in practice as adoctor.
But behind the workaday life was the comforting assurance of money in the background. Therewas never any need to stint or to save. The future was assured. Gordon Cloade, a childlesswidower, would see to that. He had told them all, more than once, that that was so.
His widowed sister, Adela Marchmont, had stayed on at the White House when she might,perhaps, have moved into a smaller, more labour-saving house. Lynn went to first-class schools. Ifthe war had not come, she would have been able to take any kind of expensive training she hadpleased. Cheques from Uncle Gordon flowed in with comfortable regularity to provide littleluxuries.
Everything had been so settled, so secure. And then had come Gordon Cloade’s whollyunexpected marriage.
“Of course, darling,” Adela went on, “we were all flabbergasted. If there was one thing thatseemed quite certain, it was that Gordon would never marry again. It wasn’t, you see, as though hehadn’t got plenty of family ties.”
Yes, thought Lynn, plenty of family. Sometimes, possibly, rather too much family?
“He was so kind always,” went on Mrs. Marchmont. “Though perhaps just a weeny bittyrannical on occasions. He never liked the habit of dining off a polished table. Always insisted onmy sticking to the old-fashioned tablecloths. In fact, he sent me the most beautiful Venetian laceones when he was in Italy.”
“It certainly paid to fall in with his wishes,” said Lynn dryly. She added with some curiosity,“How did he meet this—second wife? You never told me in your letters.”
“Oh, my dear, on some boat or plane or other. Coming from South America to New York, Ibelieve. After all those years! And after all those secretaries and typists and housekeepers andeverything.”
Lynn smiled. Ever since she could remember, Gordon Cloade’s secretaries, housekeepers, andoffice staff had been subjected to the closest scrutiny and suspicion.
She asked curiously, “She’s good-looking, I suppose?”
“Well, dear,” said Adela, “I think myself she has rather a silly face.”
“You’re not a man, Mums!”
“Of course,” Mrs. Marchmont went on, “the poor girl was blitzed and had shock from blast andwas really frightfully ill and all that, and it’s my opinion she’s never really quite recovered. She’sa mass of nerves, if you know what I mean. And really, sometimes, she looks quite half-witted. Idon’t feel she could ever have made much of a companion for poor Gordon.
Lynn smiled. She doubted whether Gordon Cloade had chosen to marry a woman years youngerthan himself for her intellectual companionship.
“And then, dear,” Mrs. Marchmont lowered her voice, “I hate to say it, but of course she’s not alady!”
“What an expression, Mums! What does that matter nowadays?”
“It still matters in the country, dear,” said Adela placidly. “I simply mean that she isn’t exactlyone of us!”
“Poor little devil!”
“Really, Lynn, I don’t know what you mean. We have all been most careful to be kind andpolite and to welcome her amongst us for Gordon’s sake.”
“She’s at Furrowbank, then?” Lynn asked curiously.
“Yes, naturally. Where else was there for her to go when she came out of the nursing home?
The doctors said she must be out of London. She’s at Furrowbank with her brother.”
“What’s he like?” Lynn asked.
“A dreadful young man!” Mrs. Marchmont paused, and then added with a good deal ofintensity: “Rude.”
A momentary flicker of sympathy crossed Lynn’s mind. She thought: “I bet I’d be rude in hisplace!”
She asked: “What’s his name?”
“Hunter. David Hunter. Irish, I believe. Of course they are not people one has ever heard of.
She was a widow—a Mrs. Underhay. One doesn’t wish to be uncharitable, but one can’t helpasking oneself—what kind of a widow would be likely to be travelling about from South Americain wartime? One can’t help feeling, you know, that she was just looking for a rich husband.”
“In which case, she didn’t look in vain,” remarked Lynn.
Mrs. Marchmont sighed.
“It seems so extraordinary. Gordon was such a shrewd man always. And it wasn’t, I mean, thatwomen hadn’t tried. That last secretary but one, for instance. Really quite blatant. She was veryefficient, I believe, but he had to get rid of her.”
Lynn said vaguely: “I suppose there’s always a Waterloo.”
“Sixty-two,” said Mrs. Marchmont. “A very dangerous age. And a war, I imagine, is unsettling.
But I can’t tell you what a shock it was when we got his letter from New York.”
“What did it say exactly?”
“He wrote to Frances — I really can’t think why. Perhaps he imagined that owing to herupbringing she might be more sympathetic. He said that we’d probably be surprised to hear that hewas married. It had all been rather sudden, but he was sure we should all soon grow very fond ofRosaleen (such a very theatrical name, don’t you think, dear? I mean definitely rather bogus). Shehad had a very sad life, he said, and had gone through a lot although she was so young. Really itwas wonderful the plucky way she had stood up to life.”
“Quite a well-known gambit,” murmured Lynn.
“Oh, I know. I do agree. One has heard it so many times. But one would really think thatGordon with all his experience—still, there it is. She has the most enormous eyes—dark blue andwhat they call put in with a smutty finger.”
“Attractive?”
“Oh, yes, she is certainly very pretty. It’s not the kind of prettiness I admire.”
“It never is,” said Lynn with a wry smile.
“No, dear. Really, men—but well, there’s no accounting for men! Even the most well-balancedof them do the most incredibly foolish things! Gordon’s letter went on to say that we mustn’t thinkfor a moment that this would mean any loosening of old ties. He still considered us all his specialresponsibility.”
“But he didn’t,” said Lynn, “make a will after his marriage?”
Mrs. Marchmont shook her head.
“The last will he made was in 1940. I don’t know any details, but he gave us to understand atthe time that we were all taken care of by it if anything should happen to him. That will, of course,was revoked by his marriage. I suppose he would have made a new will when he got home—butthere just wasn’t time. He was killed practically the day after he landed in this country.”
“And so she—Rosaleen—gets everything?”
“Yes. The old will was invalidated by his marriage.”
Lynn was silent. She was not more mercenary than most, but she would not have been human ifshe had not resented the new state of affairs. It was not, she felt, at all what Gordon Cloade himselfwould have envisaged. The bulk of his fortune he might have left to his young wife, but certainprovisions he would certainly have made for the family he had encouraged to depend upon him.
Again and again he had urged them not to save, not to make provision for the future. She hadheard him say to Jeremy, “You’ll be a rich man when I die.” To her mother he had often said,“Don’t worry, Adela. I’ll always look after Lynn—you know that, and I’d hate you to leave thishouse—it’s your home. Send all the bills for repairs to me.” Rowley he had encouraged to take upfarming. Antony, Jeremy’s son, he had insisted should go into the Guards and he had always madehim a handsome allowance. Lionel Cloade had been encouraged to follow up certain lines ofmedical research that were not immediately profitable and to let his practice run down.
Lynn’s thoughts were broken into. Dramatically, and with a trembling lip, Mrs. Marchmontproduced a sheaf of bills.
“And look at all these,” she wailed. “What am I to do? What on earth am I to do, Lynn? Thebank manager wrote me only this morning that I’m overdrawn. I don’t see how I can be. I’ve beenso careful. But it seems my investments just aren’t producing what they used to. Increased taxationhe says. And all these yellow things, War Damage Insurance or something—one has to pay themwhether one wants to or not.”
Lynn took the bills and glanced through them. There were no records of extravagance amongstthem. They were for slates replaced on the roof, the mending of fences, replacement of a worn-outkitchen boiler—a new main water pipe. They amounted to a considerable sum.
Mrs. Marchmont said piteously:
“I suppose I ought to move from here. But where could I go? There isn’t a small houseanywhere—there just isn’t such a thing. Oh, I don’t want to worry you with all this, Lynn. Not justas soon as you’ve come home. But I don’t know what to do. I really don’t.”
Lynn looked at her mother. She was over sixty. She had never been a very strong woman.
During the war she had taken in evacuees from London, had cooked and cleaned for them, hadworked with the W.V.S., made jam, helped with school meals. She had worked fourteen hours aday in contrast to a pleasant easy life before the war. She was now, as Lynn saw, very near abreakdown. Tired out and frightened of the future.
A slow quiet anger rose in Lynn. She said slowly:
“Couldn’t this Rosaleen—help?”
Mrs. Marchmont flushed.
“We’ve no right to anything—anything at all.”
Lynn demurred.
“I think you’ve a moral right. Uncle Gordon always helped.”
Mrs. Marchmont shook her head. She said:
“It wouldn’t be very nice, dear, to ask favours—not of someone one doesn’t like very much.
And anyway that brother of hers would never let her give away a penny!”
And she added, heroism giving place to pure female cattiness: “If he really is her brother, that isto say!”
第一部 第一章（2）
2“是啊，要是那样的话……”
远在异国他乡的时候，舅舅去世的消息就让林恩感到震惊和悲痛，不过这件事情的真正意义直到现在她才开始认识到。
就她的记忆所及，她的生活，他们所有人的生活，都在戈登•克洛德的掌控之中。这个无儿无女的有钱人把所有的亲戚都完全置于他的羽翼庇护之下。
就连罗利也是……罗利和他的朋友约翰尼•瓦瓦苏已经开始合伙经营农场。他们的资金很少，却满怀着希望，干劲儿十足。而戈登•克洛德也表示了赞许。
而对她，他说得更多。
“要经营农场的话没有资金你是寸步难行的。但首先要搞清楚的是这两个小伙子是不是真的有决心和能力把这件事干成。假如我现在就出钱帮助他们，那我要想知道这个——没准儿就需要花上很多年时间。如果他们正好是这块料，如果他们干得没什么问题，能够让我满意的话，那么林恩，你就不需要担心了。我会适当资助他们的。所以不要觉得你的前途黯淡无光啊，我的小姑娘。罗利正好需要你这样的妻子。不过我跟你说的话你可得保密哟。”
好吧，她确实保守住了这个秘密，可是罗利自己已经感觉到他伯父善意的关注。该轮到他来向老爷子证明罗利和约翰尼是很好的资助对象了。
没错，他们大家全都仰仗着戈登•克洛德。这倒并不是说家里的哪个成员是寄生虫或者游手好闲。杰里米•克洛德就是一家律师公司的高级合伙人，而莱昂内尔•克洛德则是个执业医生。
不过，在日常工作和平凡日子的背后是有钱作为坚实后盾的，这种后盾让人觉得颇为安逸。从来都不需要节俭，也从来都不用攒钱。未来的一切都有保障。戈登•克洛德，一个没有子嗣的鳏夫，会负责到底。他告诉过大家，而且还不止一次，那是板上钉钉的事。
他寡居的妹妹阿德拉•玛奇蒙特也许本来是要搬进一所小一些、打理起来更省事的房子，但她还是留在了白屋里。林恩上的都是一流的学校。要不是因为战争爆发，她本有机会接受任何她愿意接受的昂贵培训。戈登舅舅的支票还会有规律地源源不断寄来，使她们能够舒舒服服地添置一些小小的奢侈品。
所有事情都是如此稳定不变，如此安全无忧。然后就是戈登•克洛德这桩彻头彻尾出人意料的婚姻了。
“当然了，亲爱的，”阿德拉继续说道，“我们全都大吃一惊。如果要说有什么事儿看起来确定无疑的话，那就是戈登不会再结婚了吧。你知道，他好像也不能算是没有很多家庭纽带和亲情关系的人啊。”
是啊，林恩心想，家里的亲属已经够多了。可能有时候都会觉得有点儿太多了吧？
“他一向是那么和蔼可亲，”玛奇蒙特太太接着说道，“虽说偶尔或许会有那么一点点专横霸道。他从来都不喜欢在擦得锃光瓦亮的桌子上吃饭，总是坚持让我铺上旧式的桌布。
事实上，他在意大利的时候还给我寄来过一块最最漂亮的威尼斯花边桌布呢。”
“去迎合他的心愿自然是有好处的喽。”林恩干巴巴地说。接着她又好奇地问道：“他是怎么认识他这个——第二任妻子的呀？您在信里可一直都没告诉我。”
“噢，亲爱的，好像是在哪条船上或者飞机上或者什么其他的地方吧。我记得是在从南美到纽约的途中。可他都一个人过了这么多年了呀！而且身边还有过那么多秘书啊、打字员啊、女管家啊，要什么样的就有什么样的。”
林恩的脸上露出了笑容。从她能记事以来，戈登•克洛德的秘书、女管家和办公室职员们就经受着最为严密的监视与怀疑。
她好奇地问道：“我猜，她挺漂亮的吧？”
“呃，亲爱的，”阿德拉说道，“我倒觉得她长了一副蠢相。”
“妈妈，您又不是男人！”
“当然，”玛奇蒙特太太继续道，“那个可怜的姑娘也赶上了空袭，被轰炸吓得够呛，真的被吓出了病，病得还不轻呢，在我看来，她其实一直就没怎么恢复过来。她神经兮兮得要命，不知道你懂不懂我的意思。而且说真的，她有时候看起来笨到家了。对于可怜的戈登来说，我从来都不觉得她能算得上是个很般配的伴侣。”
林恩微微一笑。戈登•克洛德是否会因为才智上的般配而选择娶一个比他年纪小很多的女人为妻，她对此表示怀疑。
“而且，亲爱的，”玛奇蒙特太太压低了声音，“我本来不愿意这么说的，不过很显然她可不是个淑女！”
“妈，瞧您说的！现如今不是淑女又能怎么样？”
“亲爱的，在咱们乡下这件事还是挺重要的，”阿德拉语调平平地说道，“我只是想说，她跟咱们确实不是一路人。”
“可怜的小家伙儿！”
“说真的，林恩，我不知道你这话什么意思。看在戈登的分上，我们大家都已经特别小心翼翼了，尽量对她表现得和蔼亲切、彬彬有礼，欢迎她成为我们中的一员。”
“那她人在弗罗班克吗？”林恩好奇地问。
“对啊，那是当然的了。她才从私人疗养院里出来，还能去什么别的地方呢？医生们说她必须离开伦敦。她如今在弗罗班克，跟她哥哥住在一起。”
“她哥哥是个什么样的人？”林恩问道。
“一个无可救药的年轻人！”玛奇蒙特太太停顿了一下，接着又着力强调地加了一句，“粗鲁无礼。”
一丝同情从林恩的内心一掠而过。她想：“我敢说，我要是处在他的境地，也会粗鲁无礼的。”
她问道：“他叫什么名字？”
“亨特。大卫•亨特。我想他是个爱尔兰人。当然了，他们可不是那种我曾经有所耳闻的人。她是个寡妇——安得海太太。我可不是想吹毛求疵啊，不过我总是忍不住问自己——什么样的寡妇才可能会在战争期间从南美跑出来旅行啊？你知道吗？别人会不由得认为她就是为了找一个有钱的老公。”
“要这么说的话，她还真没白费工夫。”林恩评论道。
玛奇蒙特太太叹了口气。
“这事儿看上去也太离奇了。戈登一向都是个那么精明、那么有眼光的人。而且也不是说……我的意思是也不是没有女人努力尝试过。就比如他的倒数第二任秘书吧，真的是够公开、够明目张胆的了。我相信她其实特别能干，不过他还是不得不把她给甩掉。”
林恩含糊其词地说道：“我认为谁都可能有惨遭滑铁卢的时候。”
“六十二岁，”玛奇蒙特太太说，“一个极其危险的年纪。我猜还得再加上一场让人心神不宁的战争。但我还是没法跟你形容当我们收到他从纽约寄来的信时有多震惊。”
“信上究竟写了些什么？”
“他的信是写给弗朗西斯的，我真想不明白为什么。或许他想象着以她所受到的教育可能更能跟他产生共鸣吧。他说当我们得知他结婚一事时也许会很吃惊。事情发生得确实相当突然，不过他很有把握我们大家很快就会非常喜欢罗萨琳（这么个戏剧化的名字，你不觉得吗，亲爱的？我是说绝对跟假名字似的）。他说她的人生特别悲惨，年纪轻轻的就已经历经沧桑。她能以这么有勇气的方式直面生活真是了不起呢。”
“了无新意的开场白。”林恩喃喃自语道。
“噢，我懂。我也同意。这种故事听的次数太多了。不过人家真的会琢磨，按说以戈登那么丰富的阅历——可事情终究还是发生了。她那双眼睛特别大——深蓝色的，用他们的话说就是‘特别深邃’。”
“挺招人的？”
“噢，是啊，她的确很漂亮。不过不是我喜欢的那种类型。”
“绝对不会是。”林恩带着一丝苦笑说道。
“没错，亲爱的。说真的，男人呢——唉，可话说回来，男人本来就都不靠谱儿！就算是最明智的男人也会干出最不可思议的蠢事来！戈登在信里还说让我们千万不要觉得这样一来就意味着以前的亲情纽带会变得松散。他依然会视我们大家为他的特别职责。”
“但是他并没有，”林恩说，“在婚后立下一份遗嘱？”
玛奇蒙特太太摇了摇头。
“他立下最近一份遗嘱的时间是在一九四〇年。具体细节我不清楚，不过那个时候他让我们明白，如果他遇到了什么不测，按照遗嘱的内容我们全都可以得到照顾。当然，那份遗嘱随着他的完婚自然也就作废了。我想他本来会在回家以后重新立一份新的——可就是没时间哪。事实上他头一天回到国内，第二天就死于非命了。”
“然后她——罗萨琳——就得到了一切？”
“是的。他一结婚旧遗嘱就作废了。”
林恩默不作声。她并不比大多数人更唯利是图，但如果她对事态的最新进展一点儿都没有不满的话也不合常理。她觉得这种局面完全不符合戈登•克洛德自己的设想。他的大部分财产或许会留给他年轻的妻子，不过对于他一直劝说要仰仗他的这一大家子人他也定然会未雨绸缪。他一而再再而三地主张让他们不用存钱，也不用为将来做准备。她听见过他对杰里米说：“我死之后你就是个有钱人了。”对她母亲他也经常会说：“别担心，阿德拉。
我会一直照顾林恩的——这点你知道，而且我也不愿意你搬出这栋房子——这是你的家。
把所有的维修账单都寄给我吧。”他鼓励罗利去经营农场。他坚持让杰里米的儿子安东尼加入护卫队，并且给他零用钱的时候一向都慷慨大方。而莱昂内尔•克洛德那些不会立竿见影带来收益却会让业务经营举步维艰的医学研究也同样得到了他的支持。
林恩的思绪被打断了。玛奇蒙特太太戏剧性地拿出了一沓子账单，嘴唇颤抖不已。
“再看看所有这些吧，”她悲叹道，“我该怎么办？我究竟该怎么办啊，林恩？银行分行的经理刚刚在今天早上写信给我，说我已经透支了。我真不知道我怎么就会透支。我一直都非常小心啊。不过似乎我的投资没能像以前那样得到满意的收益。他说税金也增加了。
还有所有这些黄单子，战争损失保险什么的——不管你愿不愿意，反正都得缴纳。”
林恩接过账单扫了一眼，里面并没有奢侈挥霍的记录。它们显示的只是屋顶上替换的石板瓦，栅栏的维修，厨房里破旧开水炉的更换——以及一条新的总水管。可它们加在一起也是一笔可观的数目呢。
玛奇蒙特太太哀怨地说道：
“我想我应该从这儿搬出去。可是我又能去哪儿呢？哪儿都找不到一所小房子——就是没有这样的房子啊。噢，林恩，我并不想拿这些事情来烦你。至少也别在你刚刚回到家里的时候就说这些。但我不知道该怎么办。我真的不知道。”
林恩望着她母亲。她已经年逾花甲，而且向来也不是个十分坚强的女人。在战争期间，她收留过一些从伦敦疏散出来的人，为他们打扫做饭，还和妇女志愿服务队一起工作过，做果酱，给学校帮厨。与战前轻松舒适的生活相比，她那会儿一天要工作十四个小时。现在在林恩看来，她已经几近崩溃。筋疲力尽的同时还对未来感到害怕。
一股无声无息的怒火缓缓从林恩的心里升腾而起。她慢条斯理地说道：
“这个罗萨琳就不能——帮个忙吗？”
玛奇蒙特太太的脸腾地红了。
“我们没权利要求她——一点儿权利都没有。”
林恩却表示了异议。
“我觉得从道义上来说您有权利。戈登舅舅一直都帮我们的。”
玛奇蒙特太太摇摇头，说道：
“亲爱的，求人施惠本来就不太好——尤其还是求一个咱们不太喜欢的人。而且不管怎么说，她那个哥哥是绝对不会让她掏一个子儿出来！”
随后她又接口道：“也就是说，假如他真是她哥哥的话！”那股英勇气概已然换成了女性纯粹的刁钻刻薄。
BOOK I Two
Two
Frances Cloade looked thoughtfully across the dinner table at her husband.
Frances was forty-eight. She was one of those lean greyhound women who look well in tweeds.
There was a rather arrogant ravaged beauty about her face which had no makeup except a littlecarelessly applied lipstick. Jeremy Cloade was a spare grey-haired man of sixty-three, with a dryexpressionless face.
It was, this evening, even more expressionless than usual.
His wife registered the fact with a swift flashing glance.
A fifteen-year-old girl shuffled round the table, handing the dishes. Her agonized gaze was fixedon Frances. If Frances frowned, she nearly dropped something, a look of approval set herbeaming.
It was noted enviously in Warmsley Vale that if any one had servants it would be FrancesCloade. She did not bribe them with extravagant wages, and she was exacting as to performance—but her warm approval of endeavour and her infectious energy and drive made of domestic servicesomething creative and personal. She had been so used to being waited on all her life that she tookit for granted without self-consciousness, and she had the same appreciation of a good cook or agood parlourmaid as she would have had for a good pianist.
Frances Cloade had been the only daughter of Lord Edward Trenton, who had trained his horsesin the neighbourhood of Warmsley Heath. Lord Edward’s final bankruptcy was realized by thosein the know to be a merciful escape from worse things. There had been rumours of horses that hadsignally failed to stay at unexpected moments, other rumours of inquiries by the Stewards of theJockey Club. But Lord Edward had escaped with his reputation only lightly tarnished and hadreached an arrangement with his creditors which permitted him to live exceedingly comfortably inthe South of France. And for these unexpected blessings he had to thank the shrewdness andspecial exertions of his solicitor, Jeremy Cloade. Cloade had done a good deal more than asolicitor usually does for a client, and had even advanced guarantees of his own. He had made itclear that he had a deep admiration for Frances Trenton, and in due course, when her father’saffairs had been satisfactorily wound up, Frances became Mrs. Jeremy Cloade.
What she had felt about it no one had ever known. All that could be said was that she had kepther side of the bargain admirably. She had been an efficient and loyal wife to Jeremy, a carefulmother to his son, had forwarded Jeremy’s interests in every way and had never once suggested byword or deed that the match was anything but a freewill impulse on her part.
In response the Cloade family had an enormous respect and admiration for Frances. They wereproud of her, they deferred to her judgment—but they never felt really quite intimate with her.
What Jeremy Cloade thought of his marriage nobody knew, because nobody ever did knowwhat Jeremy Cloade thought or felt. “A dry stick” was what people said about Jeremy. Hisreputation both as a man and a lawyer was very high. Cloade, Brunskill and Cloade never touchedany questionable legal business. They were not supposed to be brilliant but were considered verysound. The firm prospered and the Jeremy Cloades lived in a handsome Georgian house just offthe Market Place with a big old-fashioned walled garden behind it where the pear trees in springshowed a sea of white blossom.
It was to a room overlooking the garden at the back of the house that the husband and wife wentwhen they rose from the dinner table. Edna, the fifteen-year-old, brought in coffee, breathingexcitedly and adenoidally.
Frances poured a little coffee into the cup. It was strong and hot. She said to Edna, crisply andapprovingly:
“Excellent, Edna.”
Edna went crimson with pleasure and went out marvelling nevertheless at what some peopleliked. Coffee, in Edna’s opinion, ought to be a pale cream colour, ever so sweet, with lots of milk!
In the room overlooking the garden, the Cloades drank their coffee, black and without sugar.
They had talked in a desultory way during dinner, of acquaintances met, of Lynn’s return, of theprospects of farming in the near future, but now, alone together, they were silent.
Frances leaned back in her chair, watching her husband. He was quite oblivious of her regard.
His right hand stroked his upper lip. Although Jeremy Cloade did not know it himself the gesturewas a characteristic one and coincided with inner perturbation. Frances had not observed it veryoften. Once when Antony, their son, had been seriously ill as a child; once when waiting for a juryto consider their verdict; at the outbreak of war, waiting to hear the irrevocable words over thewireless; on the eve of Antony’s departure after embarkation leave.
Frances thought a little while before she spoke. Their married life had been happy, but neverintimate in so far as the spoken word went. She had respected Jeremy’s reserves and he hers. Evenwhen the telegram had come announcing Antony’s death on active service, they had neither ofthem broken down.
He had opened it, then he had looked up at her. She had said, “Is it—?”
He had bowed his head, then crossed and put the telegram into her outstretched hand.
They had stood there quite silently for a while. Then Jeremy had said: “I wish I could help you,my dear.” And she had answered, her voice steady, her tears unshed, conscious only of the terribleemptiness and aching: “It’s just as bad for you.” He had patted her shoulder: “Yes,” he said.
“Yes…” Then he had moved towards the door, walking a little awry, yet stiffly, suddenly an oldman…saying as he did so, “There’s nothing to be said—nothing to be said….”
She had been grateful to him, passionately grateful, for understanding so well, and had beentorn with pity for him, seeing him suddenly turn into an old man. With the loss of her boy,something had hardened in her—some ordinary common kindness had dried up. She was moreefficient, more energetic than ever — people became sometimes a little afraid of her ruthlesscommon sense….
Jeremy Cloade’s finger moved along his upper lip again—irresolutely, searching. And crisply,across the room, Frances spoke.
“Is anything the matter, Jeremy?”
He started. His coffee cup almost slipped from his hand. He recovered himself, put it firmlydown on the tray. Then he looked across at her.
“What do you mean, Frances?”
“I’m asking you if anything is the matter?”
“What should be the matter?”
“It would be foolish to guess. I would rather you told me.”
She spoke without emotion in a businesslike way.
He said unconvincingly:
“There is nothing the matter—”
She did not answer. She merely waited inquiringly. His denial, it seemed, she put aside asnegligible. He looked at her uncertainly.
And just for a moment the imperturbable mask of his grey face slipped, and she caught aglimpse of such turbulent agony that she almost exclaimed aloud. It was only for a moment butshe didn’t doubt what she had seen.
She said quietly and unemotionally:
“I think you had better tell me—”
He sighed—a deep unhappy sigh.
“You will have to know, of course,” he said, “sooner or later.”
And he added what was to her a very astonishing phrase.
“I’m afraid you’ve made a bad bargain, Frances.”
She went right past an implication she did not understand to attack hard facts.
“What is it,” she said; “money?”
She did not know why she put money first. There had been no special signs of financialstringency other than were natural to the times. They were short staffed at the office with morebusiness than they could cope with, but that was the same everywhere and in the last month theyhad got back some of their people released from the Army. It might just as easily have been illnessthat he was concealing — his colour had been bad lately, and he had been overworked andovertired. But nevertheless Frances’ instinct went towards money, and it seemed she was right.
Her husband nodded.
“I see.” She was silent a moment, thinking. She herself did not really care about money at all—but she knew that Jeremy was quite incapable of realizing that. Money meant to him a four-squareworld—stability—obligations—a definite place and status in life.
Money to her was a toy tossed into one’s lap to play with. She had been born and bred in anatmosphere of financial instability. There had been wonderful times when the horses had donewhat was expected of them. There had been difficult times when the tradesmen wouldn’t givecredit and Lord Edward had been forced to ignominious straits to avoid the bailiffs on the frontdoorstep. Once they had lived on dry bread for a week and sent all the servants away. They hadhad the bailiffs in the house for three weeks once when Frances was a child. She had found thebum in question very agreeable to play with and full of stories of his own little girl.
If one had no money one simply scrounged, or went abroad, or lived on one’s friends andrelations for a bit. Or somebody tided you over with a loan….
But looking across at her husband Frances realized that in the Cloade world you didn’t do thatkind of thing. You didn’t beg or borrow or live on other people. (And conversely you didn’texpect them to beg or borrow or live off you!)Frances felt terribly sorry for Jeremy and a little guilty about being so unperturbed herself. Shetook refuge in practicality.
“Shall we have to sell up everything? Is the firm going smash?”
Jeremy Cloade winced, and she realized she had been too matter-of-fact.
“My dear,” she said gently, “do tell me. I can’t go on guessing.”
Cloade said stiffly, “We went through rather a bad crisis two years ago. Young Williams, youremember, absconded. We had some difficulty getting straight again. Then there were certaincomplications arising out of the position in the Far East after Singapore—”
She interrupted him.
“Never mind the whys—they are so unimportant. You were in a jam. And you haven’t beenable to snap out of it?”
He said, “I relied on Gordon. Gordon would have put things straight.”
She gave a quick impatient sigh.
“Of course. I don’t want to blame the poor man—after all, it’s only human nature to lose yourhead about a pretty woman. And why on earth shouldn’t he marry again if he wanted to? But itwas unfortunate his being killed in that air raid before he’d settled anything or made a proper willor adjusted his affairs. The truth is that one never believes for a minute, no matter what dangeryou’re in, that you yourself are going to be killed. The bomb is always going to hit the otherperson!”
“Apart from his loss, and I was very fond of Gordon—and proud of him too,” said GordonCloade’s elder brother, “his death was a catastrophe for me. It came at a moment—”
He stopped.
“Shall we be bankrupt?” Frances asked with intelligent interest.
Jeremy Cloade looked at her almost despairingly. Though she did not realize it, he could havecoped much better with tears and alarm. This cool detached practical interest defeated him utterly.
He said harshly, “It’s a good deal worse than that….”
He watched her as she sat quite still, thinking over that. He said to himself, “In another minute Ishall have to tell her. She’ll know what I am…She’ll have to know. Perhaps she won’t believe it atfirst.”
Frances Cloade sighed and sat up straight in her big armchair.
“I see,” she said. “Embezzlement. Or if that isn’t the right word, that kind of thing…like youngWilliams.”
“Yes, but this time—you don’t understand—I’m responsible. I’ve used trust funds that werecommitted to my charge. So far, I’ve covered my tracks—”
“But now it’s all going to come out?”
“Unless I can get the necessary money—quickly.”
The shame he felt was the worst he had known in his life. How would she take it?
At the moment she was taking it very calmly. But then, he thought, Frances would never make ascene. Never reproach or upbraid.
Her hand to her cheek, she was frowning.
“It’s so stupid,” she said, “that I haven’t got any money of my own at all….”
He said stiffly, “There is your marriage settlement, but—”
She said absently, “But I suppose that’s gone too.”
He was silent. Then he said with difficulty, in his dry voice: “I’m sorry, Frances. More sorrythan I can say. You made a bad bargain.”
She looked up sharply.
“You said that before. What do you mean by that?”
Jeremy said stiffly:
“When you were good enough to marry me, you had the right to expect—well, integrity—and alife free from sordid anxieties.”
She was looking at him with complete astonishment.
“Really, Jeremy! What on earth do you think I married you for?”
He smiled slightly.
“You have always been a most loyal and devoted wife, my dear. But I can hardly flatter myselfthat you would have accepted me in—er—different circumstances.”
She stared at him and suddenly burst out laughing.
“You funny old stick! What a wonderful novelettish mind you must have behind that legalfa?ade! Do you really think that I married you as the price of saving Father from the wolves—orthe Stewards of the Jockey Club, et cetera?”
“You were very fond of your father, Frances.”
“I was devoted to Daddy! He was terribly attractive and the greatest fun to live with! But Ialways knew he was a bad hat. And if you think that I’d sell myself to the family solicitor in orderto save him from getting what was always coming to him, then you’ve never understood the firstthing about me. Never!”
She stared at him. Extraordinary, she thought, to have been married to someone for over twentyyears and not have known what was going on in their minds. But how could one know when itwas a mind so different from one’s own? A romantic mind, of course, well camouflaged, butessentially romantic. She thought: “All those old Stanley Weymans in his bedroom. I might haveknown from them! The poor idiotic darling!”
Aloud she said:
“I married you because I was in love with you, of course.”
“In love with me? But what could you see in me?”
“If you ask me that, Jeremy, I really don’t know. You were such a change, so different from allFather’s crowd. You never talked about horses for one thing. You’ve no idea how sick I was ofhorses—and what the odds were likely to be for the Newmarket Cup! You came to dinner onenight—do you remember?—and I sat next to you and asked you what bimetallism was, and youtold me—really told me! It took the whole of dinner—six courses—we were in funds at themoment and had a French chef!”
“It must have been extremely boring,” said Jeremy.
“It was fascinating! Nobody had ever treated me seriously before. And you were so polite andyet never seemed to look at me or think I was nice or good-looking or anything. It put me on mymettle. I swore I’d make you notice me.”
Jeremy Cloade said grimly…“I noticed you all right. I went home that evening and didn’t sleepa wink. You had a blue dress with cornflowers….”
There was silence for a moment or two, then Jeremy cleared his throat.
“Er—all that is a long time ago….”
She came quickly to the rescue of his embarrassment.
“And we’re now a middle-aged married couple in difficulties, looking for the best way out.”
“After what you’ve just told me, Frances, it makes it a thousand times worse that this—thisdisgrace—”
She interrupted him.
“Let us please get things clear. You are being apologetic because you’ve fallen foul of the law.
You may be prosecuted—go to prison.” (He winced.) “I don’t want that to happen. I’ll fight likeanything to stop it, but don’t credit me with moral indignation. We’re not a moral family,remember. Father, in spite of his attractiveness, was a bit of a crook. And there was Charles—mycousin. They hushed it up and he wasn’t prosecuted, and they hustled him off to the Colonies. Andthere was my cousin Gerald—he forged a cheque at Oxford. But he went to fight and got aposthumous V.C. for complete bravery and devotion to his men and superhuman endurance. WhatI’m trying to say is people are like that — not quite bad or quite good. I don’t suppose I’mparticularly straight myself — I have been because there hasn’t been any temptation to beotherwise. But what I have got is plenty of courage and” (she smiled at him) “I’m loyal!”
“My dear!” He got up and came over to her. He stopped and put his lips to her hair.
“And now,” said Lord Edward Trenton’s daughter, smiling up at him, “what are we going todo? Raise money somehow?”
Jeremy’s face stiffened.
“I don’t see how.”
“A mortgage on this house. Oh, I see,” she was quick, “that’s been done. I’m stupid. Of courseyou’ve done all the obvious things. It’s a question then of a touch? Who can we touch? I supposethere’s only one possibility. Gordon’s widow—the dark Rosaleen!”
Jeremy shook his head dubiously.
“It would have to be a large sum…And it can’t come out of capital. The money’s only in trustfor her for her life.”
“I hadn’t realized that. I thought she had it absolutely. What happens when she dies?”
“It comes to Gordon’s next of kin. That is to say it is divided between myself, Lionel, Adela,and Maurice’s son, Rowley.”
“It comes to us…” said Frances slowly.
Something seemed to pass through the room—a cold air—the shadow of a thought….
Frances said: “You didn’t tell me that…I thought she got it for keeps—that she could leave it toany one she liked?”
“No. By the statute relating to intestacy of 1925….”
It is doubtful whether Frances listened to his explanation. She said when his voice stopped:
“It hardly matters to us personally. We’ll be dead and buried, long before she’s middle-aged.
How old is she? Twenty-five—twenty-six? She’ll probably live to be seventy.”
Jeremy Cloade said doubtfully:
“We might ask her for a loan—putting it on family grounds? She may be a generous-mindedgirl—really we know so little of her—”
Frances said: “At any rate we have been reasonably nice to her—not catty like Adela. She mightrespond.”
Her husband said warningly:
“There must be no hint of—er—real urgency.”
Frances said impatiently: “Of course not! The trouble is that it’s not the girl herself we shallhave to deal with. She’s completely under the thumb of that brother of hers.”
“A very unattractive young man,” said Jeremy Cloade.
Frances’ sudden smile flashed out.
“Oh, no,” she said. “He’s attractive. Most attractive. Rather unscrupulous, too, I should imagine.
But then as far as that goes, I’m unscrupulous too!”
Her smile hardened. She looked up at her husband.
“We’re not going to be beaten, Jeremy,” she said. “There’s bound to be some way…if I have torob a bank!”
第一部 第二章
第二章
弗朗西斯•克洛德隔着餐桌若有所思地望着她丈夫。
弗朗西斯今年四十八岁。她是那种像灵缇犬一般身材精瘦，穿着粗花呢衣服看起来还挺好看的女人。她那张脸上除了草草涂上的一点点口红之外不施粉黛，透着一种傲慢的被岁月摧残过的美。杰里米•克洛德六十三岁，长着一头灰发，身材瘦削，一脸漠然，面无表情。
而今晚，这张脸显得比平时更加面无表情。
他的妻子只是迅速地扫了一眼就注意到了这一点。
一名十五岁的女孩拖着脚步在桌子周围走来走去地递着盘子。她诚惶诚恐的眼神停留在弗朗西斯脸上。弗朗西斯要是皱皱眉头，她就能吓得险些把手里的东西掉在地上，而一个赞许的目光又能让她笑意盎然。
在沃姆斯雷谷，如果要说有哪个人能拥有仆人，那就非弗朗西斯•克洛德莫属了，这一点大家都心知肚明，并且满怀羡慕。她并不靠高薪来笼络他们，而且对于他们的表现也要求得非常严苛——但她对待辛勤工作的热切赞扬，以及她富有感染力的充沛精力和干劲把家务劳动都变成了某种具有创造性和个性的事情。她这辈子已经习惯了被人伺候，并且视之为理所当然，对此她浑然不觉。她对一名好厨师或者一位好的客厅女仆的欣赏应该跟对一位优秀钢琴家的赞美是一模一样的。
弗朗西斯•克洛德是爱德华•特伦顿勋爵的独生女，勋爵曾经在沃姆斯雷希斯附近驯养过马匹。爱德华勋爵的最终破产在那些知情者看来倒是不幸中的万幸，这使他得以躲过了更糟糕的结果。有传言说那些马在遇到意想不到的情况时明显收不住脚，还有传言说赛马俱乐部的管理人调查过此事。不过爱德华勋爵还是逃过了这一劫，只是名誉受到了一点点损失，同时他和债主达成了协议，使他能够在法国南部过上非常舒适的日子。而对于这一意外之喜他必须得感谢他的律师杰里米•克洛德的精明强干。克洛德的行为远远超出了一名律师对他的当事人通常所做的事情，甚至亲自做了担保。他还让大家都明白他对弗朗西斯•特伦顿的由衷欣赏，于是，在她父亲这件事情令人满意地尘埃落定之后，弗朗西斯也就顺理成章地成为杰里米•克洛德太太。
没有人知道她本人对此作何感想。大家都能看到的是她在这笔交易中出色地扮演了自己的角色。对杰里米而言，她是个能干且忠贞的妻子，对他儿子来说，她又是个细心的母亲，她从各个方面去促进杰里米的收益，从来没有哪怕一言一行显露过这桩婚事并非她心甘情愿。
作为回应，克洛德家的人都对弗朗西斯极其敬重，钦佩有加。他们以她为荣，对她的意见言听计从——但他们始终觉得跟她亲近不起来。
杰里米•克洛德如何看待自己的这场婚姻谁也不知道，因为从来就没有人知道杰里米•克洛德心里的想法和感觉。人们在谈论起杰里米的时候都说他就像是“一根干巴巴的枯树枝”。无论是作为一个男人还是作为一名律师，他的声望都非常高。克洛德、布伦斯基尔和克洛德律师事务所从来不碰任何可能有问题的法律业务。人们并不认为他们有多么杰出优秀，但却觉得他们非常可靠。事务所的业务蒸蒸日上，而杰里米•克洛德一家人则住进了一栋漂亮的乔治亚风格的房子，这栋房子恰好位于市场附近，房子后面有一个旧式的带围墙的大花园，花园里的梨树每到春天便绽放成一片白色的花海。
夫妇二人起身离席之后去了一个能够俯瞰屋后花园的房间。那个十五岁的女孩埃德娜把咖啡端了进来，兴奋得气喘吁吁。
弗朗西斯往杯子里倒了一点咖啡。咖啡又浓又烫。她言简意赅地对埃德娜赞许道：
“很棒，埃德娜。”
埃德娜高兴得脸涨得通红，不过她走出去的时候心里还是会对有些人的爱好感到惊奇。在埃德娜看来，咖啡本应该是浅黄色的，非常非常甜，还要加上很多很多奶！
在能够俯瞰花园的房间里，克洛德夫妇各自喝着不加糖和牛奶的浓咖啡。吃晚饭的时候他们已经有一搭没一搭地聊过一些话题了，比如遇见的熟人啊，林恩的归来啊，以及不久的将来农场的前景啊之类的，然而此刻，当单独待在一起的时候，他们却一言不发了。
弗朗西斯靠在椅背上看着她的丈夫。他的右手轻抚着上嘴唇，完全没有留意到她的注视。这个姿势很有特征，往往代表着他内心的烦乱，尽管杰里米•克洛德本人并不知道这一点。弗朗西斯并不经常看到她丈夫摆出这个姿势。一次是在他们的儿子安东尼小时候得重病之时；一次是在等待陪审团作出裁定的时候；再有就是在战争爆发的时候，等着听从无线电广播里传来的板上钉钉的消息；还有一次就是在安东尼结束休假即将开赴前线的前夜。
弗朗西斯在开口说话之前先想了一下。他们的婚姻生活一直还是挺幸福的，但是从口头的言语上来看两个人却从来都算不上亲密。她向来尊重杰里米的含蓄克制，而他对她也是如此。即使是收到宣布安东尼在服现役期间阵亡的消息的电报时，他们两个人也都没有表现得悲痛欲绝。
当时他打开电报，随后抬起眼来看着她。她说：“是不是——？”
他低下了头，随后走过去把电报递到了她伸出来的手上。
他们在那里默默地站了片刻。然后杰里米说：“我希望我能帮到你，亲爱的。”而她回答的时候声音很平稳，也没有流一滴眼泪，仅仅是感受到了那种可怕的空虚和心痛：“你心里也一样不好受啊。”他轻轻拍拍她的肩膀：“是啊，”他说，“是啊……”接着他向门边走去，步履僵硬而略带蹒跚，刹那之间竟显得老态龙钟……一边走嘴里还一边念叨着，“没什么可说的——没什么可说的了……”
她发自肺腑地感激，感激他能够如此理解和体谅她，同时她又觉得他很可怜，看着他转瞬之间就老态毕现让她心如刀绞。失去儿子之后，她身上的某些东西变得坚硬起来——平日里待人接物的那种友善也逐渐消失殆尽。她变得比从前更加精明强干，更加精力十足——人们有时候甚至有点儿害怕她的不近人情……
杰里米•克洛德的手指又一次从上唇划过——踌躇不定地像是在搜寻着什么。房间对面的弗朗西斯干脆利落地开口道：
“出什么事儿了吗，杰里米？”
他吓了一跳，手里的咖啡杯险些掉了下去。他定了定神，将杯子稳稳地放在托盘上，随后抬眼向她这边看过来。
“你什么意思，弗朗西斯？”
“我在问你是不是出了什么事儿？”
“能有什么事儿啊？”
“猜来猜去的太傻了。我希望你亲口告诉我。”
她说话的时候有条不紊，不带一丝感情。
而他说的话却让人无法相信：
“什么事儿都没有——”
她并没有反驳，只是以一种探询的态度等待着。对于他的否认她似乎压根儿也没当回事儿。他有些拿不准地看着她。
而他灰色面庞上那副泰然自若的面具只是滑落了那么一瞬间，她就瞥见了一种汹涌激荡的巨大痛苦，使得她几乎要大叫出声。虽然只是眨眼间的事情，她却丝毫都不怀疑自己所看到的东西。
她不带感情色彩地轻声说道：
“我觉得你最好告诉我——”
他长叹了一声——透出深深的愁苦。
“当然，你总得知道的，”他说，“迟早的事儿。”
随后他又加上了一句让她觉得非常诧异的话。
“恐怕你是做了笔亏本儿的生意，弗朗西斯。”
她没明白这句话在暗示什么，于是索性直击要害。
“怎么回事，”她说，“钱？”
她不知道为什么一上来就提到了钱。他们的经济状况在眼下这个时期还算是正常的，并没有什么特别的迹象显示出手头拮据。他们办公室里的人员不够，业务又多得让他们应付不过来，但其实无论走到哪里，情况也都是一样，而上个月还有几个他们的员工从军队里复员回来了呢。另外也很容易想到会不会是他在隐瞒什么病情——他最近的气色不太好，一直都在超负荷工作，身体过于疲劳。然而尽管如此，弗朗西斯的直觉首先还是想到了钱，而且看起来她猜对了。
她丈夫点了点头。
“我明白了。”她沉默了片刻，思考着。她本人其实一点儿都不在乎钱——不过她也知道杰里米完全不会了解这一点。钱对他来说就意味着一个四平八稳的世界——意味着安定和持久——意味着义务和责任——意味着生活中一种明确的地位和身份。
对她而言，钱就是种被人随手扔在你腿上让你玩儿的玩具。她在经济状况阴晴不定的环境中出生和长大。她家养的马的表现能够达到预期的时候他们就可以过上好日子。而当商人们不给他们放贷，爱德华勋爵被迫陷入窘境，体面全无地躲避那些找上门来的执达员时生活又会变得步履维艰。有一次他们只靠吃干面包撑过了一个星期，并且把所有的仆人都打发走了。另有一次他们不得不让那些执达员在家里待了三个星期，而那时弗朗西斯还是个孩子呢。她当时发现有个执达员特别招人喜欢，能跟她玩到一起，而且满肚子都是他家小女儿的故事。
一个人若是没钱，那么无非是去四处讨要，或者远走海外，要么就是依赖朋友和亲戚的接济度日。再不然就是有人能借给你一笔钱帮你挺过难关……但望着她的丈夫，弗朗西斯心里明白，在克洛德这个家族里面，你不会去做这种事。
你不会去乞讨，不会去借钱，不会去以其他人为生。（反之，你也别指望他们去乞讨，去借钱或者以你为生！）
弗朗西斯为杰里米感到非常难过，同时又为自己能够如此镇定自若感到一丝内疚。于是她决定用现实来帮助自己避开这些思绪。
“我们是不得不变卖所有的东西吗？公司是要垮了吗？”
杰里米•克洛德的脸上抽搐了一下，显得有些畏缩，她意识到刚刚有点儿过于实事求是了。
“亲爱的，”她柔声说道，“告诉我吧，我猜不下去了。”
克洛德口气硬邦邦地说道：“两年前我们经历过一次很糟糕的危机。你还记得吧，年轻的威廉斯潜逃了。我们在重整旗鼓的过程中遇到了一些困难。接着继新加坡之后远东那边的局面又横生枝节——”
她打断了他的话。
“这些都不重要。那时候你陷入了困境。而你现在依然没能从困境中走出来吗？”
他说：“以前我都是靠戈登。戈登本来是可以把事情摆平的。”
她马上不耐烦地叹了口气。
“当然。我不想责备那个可怜人——归根结底，为了一个漂亮女人而失去理智只不过是人之常情罢了。如果愿意的话他凭什么就不能再结一次婚呢？然而他还什么事情都没解决完，没立下一份正经遗嘱，也没安顿好他自己的事务就在空袭中丧了命也真是够倒霉的。
事实是，无论身处何种险境，人压根儿就不相信送命的会是自己。炸弹通常都会落到别人脑袋上！”
“抛开他去世不说，我其实是非常喜欢戈登的——而且也以他为荣，”戈登•克洛德的弟弟说道，“他的死对我来说就像是晴天霹雳一样。在那一瞬间……”
他没再往下说。
“我们会破产吗？”弗朗西斯带着聪明的关切问道。
杰里米•克洛德几近绝望地看着她。然而她并没有意识到，他应付起泪眼婆娑和惊慌失措来可能会好得多。这种冷静超然又实实在在的兴趣彻底地把他击垮了。
他没好气儿地说道：“比那个可糟糕多了……”
他瞧着她一声不吭地坐在那儿，心里掂量着那句话。他心中暗想，“再有一会儿我就不得不告诉她了。她会知道我是个什么样的人……她非得知道不可。或许她都不会相信。”
弗朗西斯•克洛德叹了一声，在她的大扶手椅里坐直了身子。
“我明白了，”她说，“是挪用公款。或许就算我用词不当，也是那类的事情……就像年轻的威廉斯一样。”
“是的，只是这一次——你不明白——我得负责。我挪用了交给我负责管理的信托基金。到目前为止，我一直都掩盖得很好——”
“但是现在整件事情就要败露了？”
“除非我能弄到必需的钱——还得快。”
他感受到了一种这辈子前所未有过的羞愧。她又会怎样看待这件事呢？
此时此刻她表现得安之若素。但另一方面，他想，弗朗西斯从来都不会大吵大闹，也从来不会怨天尤人或者责骂训斥。
她皱着眉头，用一只手抚着脸颊。
“真是气人啊，”她说，“我自己是一点儿钱都没有……”
他语气生硬地说道：“还有一份你的婚前财产协议呢，但是——”
她心不在焉地说道：“但是我想那笔钱也已经没了。”
他沉默了，接着用干哑的声音费力地说道：“我很抱歉，弗朗西斯。我的歉意无以言表。你做了笔亏本儿的生意。”
她突然抬眼看着他。
“你刚才也说过这句话。你到底是什么意思？”
杰里米冷冷地说道：
“当你大发善心嫁给我的时候，你有权利去憧憬——呃，家庭的完整——以及一种远离肮脏、无忧无虑的生活。”
她惊讶万分地看着他。
“瞧你说的，杰里米！你到底觉得我嫁给你是为了什么呀？”
他浅浅地一笑。
“你一直都是个忠贞不渝的妻子，亲爱的。但我很难自我感觉良好地认为你会在迥然不同的情形下——呃——接纳我。”
她凝望着他，突然之间放声大笑起来。
“你这个可笑的老家伙！你那副一本正经的面孔背后得藏着一颗多么多愁善感的心啊！
你真的以为我嫁给你是作为你把我父亲从那群狼——或者说从那些赛马俱乐部的管理人之类的人手里救出来之后需要付出的代价吗？”
“你非常喜欢你父亲，弗朗西斯。”
“我是很喜欢老爸！他太有魅力了，跟他在一起生活乐趣无穷！但我一直都知道他是个坏蛋。而你如果认为我委身于我们的家庭律师是为了要把他从那些始终缠着他的麻烦当中解救出来的话，那就说明你对我从来都不曾了解过。从未有过！”
她目不转睛地盯着他。这太离奇了，她心中暗忖，嫁给一个人二十多年，却还不知道他心里在想些什么。可是如果你和他的想法有天差地别的话你又怎么才能知道呢？他有着一颗浪漫的心，当然，伪装得很好，但是骨子里还是浪漫的。她想：“他卧室里所有那些斯坦利•韦曼 [1] 的古老作品啊。我早该从这些里面看出来的。这个可怜的亲爱的笨蛋啊！”
她大声说道：
“我嫁给你当然是因为我爱上了你。”
“爱上了我？但你能从我身上看出什么来啊？”
“如果你问我这个，杰里米，我真的不知道。你是那么与众不同，和父亲身边的那一大堆人一点儿都不一样。首先就是你从来都不谈论那些比赛用的马。你都不知道我有多厌恶那些赛马——以及它们在纽马克特杯 [2] 比赛上能有几成胜算！有一天晚上你过来吃晚饭——你还记得吗？那次我坐在你旁边，问你什么是金银复本位制，而你就告诉我了——是真的告诉我了。那可花了一整顿饭的时间啊——六道菜——我们那会儿还挺有钱，雇了个法国大厨呢！”
“那肯定极其枯燥乏味。”杰里米说。
“简直让人神魂颠倒！以前可从来没有人这么认真地对待过我。而你那么彬彬有礼，然而似乎又绝不看我一眼，或者觉得我招人喜欢或者长得漂亮之类的。这一下就刺激到了我。我发誓要让你注意到我。”
杰里米•克洛德带着几分严厉说道：“我当然注意到你了。那天晚上我回到家以后一夜都没合眼。你穿了一条蓝色的连衣裙，上面有矢车菊的图案……”
两个人都沉默了片刻，随后杰里米清了清嗓子。
“呃——这些都是很久以前的事了……”
她马上给他的尴尬打了个圆场。
“而我们现在是一对遇到了难题的中年夫妇，正在寻求最佳的解决途径。”
“弗朗西斯，在你刚才告诉我那些话之后，我就觉得这件——这件不光彩的事儿简直让人无地自容——”
她打断了他。
“咱们还是把事情说清楚吧。你现在觉得歉疚，因为你做了犯法的事儿。你可能会被起诉——会去坐牢。”（他脸上的肌肉抽搐了一下。）“我不想让这样的事情发生。为了阻止它，我会拼尽全力，不过可千万别觉得我这是出于义愤。别忘了，我们家本来也不是什么有道德观念的家庭。我父亲，不管他怎么有吸引力，都多多少少是个恶棍。还有查尔斯——我的堂兄。他们帮他遮遮掩掩他才没被起诉，然后他们就紧赶慢赶地催着他到北美的殖民地去了。再有就是我的堂弟杰拉尔德——他在牛津的时候伪造过一张支票。但是他去参加了战斗，因为他的英勇无畏，为战友的无私奉献以及他超乎常人的忍耐力，死后还得到了一枚维多利亚十字勋章。我想说的是人都是这个样子——既没有那么坏也没有那么好。我并不觉得我自己就多么正直——我过去曾经是，因为那时候也没有什么诱惑让我变得不正直。不过我所拥有的是大把的勇气，而且，”（她冲他微微一笑）“我忠心耿耿！”
“亲爱的！”他站起身，朝她走过来。随后他停下脚步，用嘴唇贴住了她的秀发。
“那么现在，”爱德华•特伦顿勋爵的女儿对他微笑着抬起头说道，“我们要怎么办呢？无论用什么方法去筹点儿钱来？”
杰里米的表情僵住了。
“我不知道该怎么去筹。”
“用这栋房子作抵押。噢，我明白了，”她的反应很迅速，“已经抵押了。我真傻。你当然已经把所有明摆着的方法都试过了。那接下来就是借钱的问题喽？我们能找谁借呢？我认为也只有一条路了。找戈登的遗孀——那个让人看不透的罗萨琳！”
杰里米踌躇不定地摇了摇头。
“这肯定会是一大笔钱……而且不能从本金里面拿。那笔钱只是让人为她托管，供她生活所需而已。”
“这个我还真不知道。我还以为完全归她支配呢。那她要是死了会怎么样？”
“那就归戈登最近的亲属了。也就是说在我，莱昂内尔，阿德拉以及莫里斯的儿子罗利之间分配。”
“归我们……”弗朗西斯慢条斯理地说道。
有什么东西仿佛从房间中飘过——似乎是一股寒气——一个念头留下的阴影……弗朗西斯说：“你以前没跟我说过……我还以为全都归她呢——你没说过她喜欢留给谁就可以留给谁吧？”
“没说过。根据一九二五年关于无遗嘱死亡的法律规定……”
也不知道弗朗西斯究竟有没有在听他的解释。他话音刚落，她就说道：
“对我们自己来说，这个已经没什么用了。她还远不到中年我们就已经入土为安。她多大岁数？二十五——二十六？她没准儿能活到七十岁。”
杰里米•克洛德迟疑不决地说道：
“我们可以找她贷一笔款——看在是一家人的分儿上。她也许是个慷慨大方的姑娘呢——其实我们对她的了解真是太少了——”
弗朗西斯说：“不管怎么说，我们一直对她还是相当不错的——就不像阿德拉那样恶毒。她可能会有所回应。”
她丈夫用警告的口吻说道：
“那可绝对不能让她看出来——呃——咱们真的急等着用。”
弗朗西斯不耐烦地说道：“当然不会啦！麻烦在于我们不得不去打交道的人不是这个姑娘本人。她完完全全处于她那个哥哥的控制之下。”
“一个特别不招人待见的年轻人。”杰里米•克洛德说。
弗朗西斯的脸上突然绽放出一抹微笑。
“噢，错了，”她说，“他挺招人喜欢的。非常招人喜欢。我猜也有那么点儿无所顾忌不择手段。不过就眼下看来，我同样也挺无所顾忌不择手段的！”
她的笑容变得冷酷起来。她抬眼看着她的丈夫。
“我们不会一败涂地，杰里米，”她说，“一定会有办法的……哪怕我不得不去抢银行！”
[1]斯坦利•韦曼（Stanley John Weyman，1855—1928），英国历史演义小说家。
[2]纽马克特是英格兰东南部城镇，著名的赛马中心。
BOOK I Three
Three
“Money!” said Lynn.
Rowley Cloade nodded. He was a big square young man with a brick-red skin, thoughtful blueeyes and very fair hair. He had a slowness that seemed more purposeful than ingrained. He useddeliberation as others use quickness of repartee.
“Yes,” he said, “everything seems to boil down to money these days.”
“But I thought farmers had done so well during the war?”
“Oh, yes—but that doesn’t do you any permanent good. In a year we’ll be back where we were—with wages up, workers unwilling, everybody dissatisfied and nobody knowing where they are.
Unless, of course, you can farm in a really big way. Old Gordon knew. That was where he waspreparing to come in.”
“And now—” Lynn asked.
Rowley grinned.
“And now Mrs. Gordon goes to London and spends a couple of thousand on a nice mink coat.”
“It’s—it’s wicked!”
“Oh, no—” He paused and said: “I’d rather like to give you a mink coat, Lynn—”
“What’s she like, Rowley?” She wanted to get a contemporary judgment.
“You’ll see her tonight. At Uncle Lionel’s and Aunt Kathie’s party.”
“Yes, I know. But I want you to tell me. Mums says she’s half-witted?”
Rowley considered.
“Well—I shouldn’t say intellect was her strong point. But I think really she only seems half-witted because she’s being so frightfully careful.”
“Careful? Careful about what?”
“Oh, just careful. Mainly, I imagine, about her accent—she’s got quite a brogue, you know, orelse about the right fork, and any literary allusions that might be flying around.”
“Then she really is—quite—well, uneducated?”
Rowley grinned.
“Oh, she’s not a lady, if that’s what you mean. She’s got lovely eyes, and a very goodcomplexion—and I suppose old Gordon fell for that, with her extraordinary air of being quiteunsophisticated. I don’t think it’s put on—though of course you never know. She just standsaround looking dumb and letting David run her.”
“David?”
“That’s the brother. I should say there’s nothing much about sharp practice he doesn’t know!”
Rowley added: “He doesn’t like any of us much.”
“Why should he?” said Lynn sharply, and added as he looked at her, slightly surprised, “I meanyou don’t like him.”
“I certainly don’t. You won’t either. He’s not our sort.”
“You don’t know who I like, Rowley, or who I don’t! I’ve seen a lot of the world in the lastthree years. I—I think my outlook has broadened.”
“You’ve seen more of the world than I have, that’s true.”
He said it quietly—but Lynn looked up sharply.
There had been something—behind those even tones.
He returned her glance squarely, his face unemotional. It had never, Lynn remembered, beeneasy to know exactly what Rowley was thinking.
What a queer topsy-turvy world it was, thought Lynn. It used to be the man who went to thewars, the woman who stayed at home. But here the positions were reversed.
Of the two young men, Rowley and Johnnie, one had had perforce to stay on the farm. They hadtossed for it and Johnnie Vavasour had been the one to go. He had been killed almost at once—inNorway. All through the years of war Rowley had never been more than a mile or two from home.
And she, Lynn, had been to Egypt, to North Africa, to Sicily. She had been under fire more thanonce.
Here was Lynn Home-from-the-wars, and here was Rowley Stay-at-home.
She wondered, suddenly, if he minded….
She gave a nervous little half laugh. “Things seem sometimes a bit upside down, don’t they?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Rowley stared vacantly out over the countryside. “Depends.”
“Rowley,” she hesitated, “did you mind—I mean—Johnnie—”
His cold level gaze threw her back on herself.
“Let’s leave Johnnie out of it! The war’s over—and I’ve been lucky.”
“Lucky, you mean”—she paused doubtfully—“not to have had to—to go?”
“Wonderful luck, don’t you think so?” She didn’t know quite how to take that. His voice wassmooth with hard edges. He added with a smile, “But, of course, you service girls will find it hardto settle down at home.”
She said irritably, “Oh, don’t be stupid, Rowley.”
(But why be irritable? Why — unless, because his words touched a raw nerve of truthsomewhere.)
“Oh well,” said Rowley. “I suppose we might as well consider getting married. Unless you’vechanged your mind?”
“Of course I haven’t changed my mind. Why should I?”
He said vaguely:
“One never knows.”
“You mean you think I’m”—Lynn paused—“different?”
“Not particularly.”
“Perhaps you’ve changed your mind?”
“Oh, no, I’ve not changed. Very little change down on the farm, you know.”
“All right, then,” said Lynn—conscious, somehow, of anticlimax, “let’s get married. Wheneveryou like.”
“June or thereabouts?”
“Yes.”
They were silent. It was settled. In spite of herself, Lynn felt terribly depressed. Yet Rowleywas Rowley — just as he always had been. Affectionate, unemotional, painstakingly given tounderstatement.
They loved each other. They had always loved each other. They had never talked about theirlove very much—so why should they begin now?
They would get married in June and live at Long Willows (a nice name, she had alwaysthought) and she would never go away again. Go away, that is to say, in the sense that the wordsnow held for her. The excitement of gangplanks being pulled up, the racing of a ship’s screw, thethrill as an aeroplane became airborne and soared up and over the earth beneath. Watching astrange coastline take form and shape. The smell of hot dust, and paraffin, and garlic—the clatterand gabble of foreign tongues. Strange flowers, red poinsettias rising proudly from a dustygarden…Packing, unpacking—where next?
All that was over. The war was over. Lynn Marchmont had come home. Home is the sailor,home from the sea…But I’m not the same Lynn who went away, she thought.
She looked up and saw Rowley watching her….
第一部 第三章
第三章
“钱！”林恩说道。
罗利•克洛德点点头。他是个大块头的年轻人，肤色砖红，长着一双沉思的蓝眼睛和一头金发。他表现出来的慢条斯理似乎并非出自天生，倒更像是有意为之。别人妙语连珠巧舌如簧的时候他都是在深思熟虑。
“是啊，”他说，“这年头似乎所有事情归根结底都是钱的问题。”
“可我怎么觉得在战争期间农民们都还过得不赖呢？”
“噢，是不赖——不过那也不可能永远让你好下去啊。过上一年我们就又回到原来的老路上了——工钱要涨，工人还不愿意干活儿，所有人都不满意，没有人知道该怎么办。当然，除非你真的能够大规模地经营农场。老戈登懂这个。那恰好是他当时正准备要做的事情。”
“而现在呢——”林恩问道。
罗利咧着嘴笑了。
“而现在戈登太太会去伦敦，花上好几千英镑买一件漂亮的貂皮大衣。”
“这也——这也太不像话了！”
“噢，不——”他顿了顿，然后说道，“我倒宁可给你买一件貂皮大衣，林恩——”
“她是个什么样的人，罗利？”她想要听听同龄人的看法。
“你今天晚上就能见到她。在莱昂内尔叔叔和凯西婶婶家的派对上。”
“是，我知道。但我想让你亲口告诉我。妈妈说她挺笨的？”
罗利考虑了一下。
“嗯——我不能说她以才智见长。不过我觉得她其实只是看起来比较笨，因为她实在是太小心翼翼了。”
“小心翼翼？对什么事情小心翼翼？”
“哦，就是小心翼翼而已。我猜主要是对她的口音——你知道吗？她说话的时候一口土腔 [1] ——要不然就是对话该往哪边说，以及说话的时候时不时可能会冒出来的那些文学典故。”
“这么说来她还真的是——没怎么——呃，受过教育？”
罗利又咧嘴笑了。
“噢，她可不是什么名门闺秀，如果你是想说这个的话。她有一双可爱的眼睛，相貌极佳——我猜老戈登就是看上了她这点，还有就是她身上那股极其天真无邪、不谙世故的劲儿。我不觉得那是装出来的——不过当然啦，这种事儿谁也没法知道。反正她只是站在那儿一言不发，任凭大卫摆布。”
“大卫？”
“就是她哥哥。我敢说就没有什么见不得人的阴招是他玩不转的！”罗利意犹未尽地又说道：“咱们大家伙儿他哪个也不喜欢。”
“他凭什么要喜欢啊？”林恩脱口而出，在他有点儿惊讶地看着自己的时候她又接着说道，“我是说你也不喜欢他呀。”
“我当然不喜欢他。你也不会喜欢的。他跟咱们不是一路人。”
“你又不知道我喜欢谁或者不喜欢谁，罗利！过去这三年来，我见了不少世面。我——我觉得我的眼界已经开阔了。”
“你见过的世面已经比我多了，这是事实。”
他说这句话的时候很平静——然而林恩却猛地抬起头来。
在他波澜不惊的语调后面隐藏着什么东西。
他也定定地回望着她，脸上没有表情。林恩记得要想知道罗利心里究竟在想些什么从来都不是一件容易的事情。
这是个多么奇怪的颠三倒四的世界啊，林恩心想。以前都是男人去上战场，女人留在家里。可眼下他们的位置却掉了个个儿。
对于这两个小伙子罗利和约翰尼来说，必须有一个人待在农场里。他们靠掷硬币来做决定，该上前线的是约翰尼•瓦瓦苏。结果他几乎是立刻就丢了小命——那是发生在挪威的事情。而在整个战争期间，罗利的足迹就从未踏出过离家方圆一两英里的范围。
而她林恩呢，去过埃及、北非、西西里，不止一次地面对过枪林弹雨。
此刻，一个是从战场上归来的林恩，而另一个是待在家里的罗利。
她突然很想知道，他会不会很在意……
她露出了一个有些紧张的似笑非笑的表情。“有时候事情似乎有点儿乱七八糟的，不是吗？”
“噢，我也不知道。”罗利一脸茫然地望着外面的田野，“要看是什么事儿。”
“罗利，”她有些犹豫，“你是不是还挺在意的，我是说……约翰尼的事儿——”
他冰冷的目光直直地射向她，让她不由得有点畏缩。
“咱们别再说约翰尼了吧！战争已经结束了，而我很走运。”
“走运，你是指——”她迟疑地顿了顿，“不必非得……上战场？”
“运气太好了，你不觉得吗？”她完全不知道该怎么接这句话。他的语气很平静，话里却带着刺儿。他又微笑着接着说道：“不过当然啦，你们这些当过兵的女孩子会觉得很难在家里安定下来。”
她有些生气地说道：“噢，别犯傻了，罗利。”
（可是为什么要生气呢？为什么——除非是因为他的话触及了某些真相而戳到了她的痛处。）
“噢，好吧。”罗利说，“我想我们或许也该考虑考虑结婚的事情了。除非说你已经改了主意。”
“我当然没改主意。为什么要改？”
他有些含糊其词地说道：
“这谁也不知道。”
“你是说你觉得我变得——”林恩停顿了一下，“不一样了吗？”
“那倒也不至于。”
“或许是你改主意了呢？”
“噢，才没有呢，我可没改主意。你也知道，在农场这种地方是不会有什么变数的。”
“好吧，那，”林恩说道，不知为什么她总觉得有点儿扫兴，“咱们结婚吧。你想什么时候结都可以。”
“六月份前后？”
“好。”
他们两个人都沉默下来。婚事就这样决定了。林恩不由自主地觉得非常沮丧。然而罗利还是罗利——就像他一直以来那样。心里充满深情，表面看起来却又无动于衷，就算煞费苦心也要摆出一副轻描淡写的姿态。
他们彼此相爱。他们一直以来都爱着对方。关于两个人之间的爱情他们向来很少谈及——那么现在又何必要开口说这个呢？
他们会在六月份完婚，婚后住在长柳居（她一直都觉得这是个很好听的名字），然后她就再也不会离开了。离开，换句话说，这指的是这两个字如今对她来说所代表的意义。
跳板被收起来时的兴奋，轮船螺旋桨的高速旋转，一架飞机掠过大地翱翔于天际时的悸动。看着陌生的海岸线逐渐在眼前现出轮廓。灼热的尘土，还有石蜡以及大蒜的气味——急促不清又喋喋不休的外国话。奇异的花朵，灰蒙蒙的花园里傲然挺立的红色一品红……行李打包，行李拆包——下一站又在何方？
所有这些都已经过去了。战争结束了。林恩•玛奇蒙特回家了。就像远航的水手回到故乡……然而，我已经不再是当年那个离开家乡时的林恩了，她想。
她抬起头来，发现罗利正在注视着她……
[1]指爱尔兰口音的英语。
BOOK I Four
Four
Aunt Kathie’s parties were always much the same. They had a rather breathless amateurish qualityabout them characteristic of the hostess. Dr. Cloade had an air of holding irritability in check withdifficulty. He was invariably courteous to his guests—but they were conscious of his courtesybeing an effort.
In appearance Lionel Cloade was not unlike his brother Jeremy. He was spare and grey-haired—but he had not the lawyer’s imperturbability. His manner was brusque and impatient—and hisnervous irritability had affronted many of his patients and blinded them to his actual skill andkindliness. His real interests lay in research and his hobby was the use of medicinal herbsthroughout history. He had a precise intellect and found it hard to be patient with his wife’svagaries.
Though Lynn and Rowley always called Mrs. Jeremy Cloade “Frances,” Mrs. Lionel Cloadewas invariably “Aunt Kathie.” They were fond of her but found her rather ridiculous.
This “party,” arranged ostensibly to celebrate Lynn’s homecoming, was merely a family affair.
Aunt Kathie greeted her niece affectionately:
“So nice and brown you look, my dear. Egypt, I suppose. Did you read the book on the Pyramidprophecies I sent you? So interesting. Really explains everything, don’t you think?”
Lynn was saved from replying by the entrance of Mrs. Gordon Cloade and her brother David.
“This is my niece, Lynn Marchmont, Rosaleen.”
Lynn looked at Gordon Cloade’s widow with decorously veiled curiosity.
Yes, she was lovely, this girl who had married old Gordon Cloade for his money. And it wastrue what Rowley had said, that she had an air of innocence. Black hair, set in loose waves, Irishblue eyes put in with the smutty finger—half-parted lips.
The rest of her was predominantly expensive. Dress, jewels, manicured hands, fur cape. Quite agood figure, but she didn’t, really, know how to wear expensive clothes. Didn’t wear them asLynn Marchmont could have worn them, given half a chance! (But you never will have a chance,said a voice in her brain.)
“How do you do,” said Rosaleen Cloade.
She turned hesitatingly to the man behind her.
She said: “This—this is my brother.”
“How do you do,” said David Hunter.
He was a thin young man with dark hair and dark eyes. His face was unhappy and defiant andslightly insolent.
Lynn saw at once why all the Cloades disliked him so much. She had met men of that stampabroad. Men who were reckless and slightly dangerous. Men whom you couldn’t depend upon.
Men who made their own laws and flouted the universe. Men who were worth their weight in goldin a push—and who drove their C.O.s to distraction out of the firing line!
Lynn said conversationally to Rosaleen:
“And how do you like living at Furrowbank?”
“I think it’s a wonderful house,” said Rosaleen.
David Hunter gave a faint sneering laugh.
“Poor old Gordon did himself well,” he said. “No expense spared.”
It was literally the truth. When Gordon had decided to settle down in Warmsley Vale—or ratherhad decided to spend a small portion of his busy life there, he had chosen to build. He was toomuch of an individualist to care for a house that was impregnated with other people’s history.
He had employed a young modern architect and given him a free hand. Half Warmsley Valethought Furrowbank a dreadful house, disliking its white squareness, its built-in furnishing, itssliding doors, and glass tables and chairs. The only part of it they really admired wholeheartedlywere the bathrooms.
There had been awe in Rosaleen’s, “It’s a wonderful house.” David’s laugh made her flush.
“You’re the returned Wren, aren’t you?” said David to Lynn.
“Yes.”
His eyes swept over her appraisingly—and for some reason she flushed.
Aunt Katherine appeared again suddenly. She had a trick of seeming to materialize out of space.
Perhaps she had caught the trick of it from many of the spiritualistic séances she attended.
“Supper,” she said, rather breathlessly, and added, parentheticaly, “I think it’s better than callingit dinner. People don’t expect so much. Everything’s very difficult, isn’t it? Mary Lewis tells meshe slips the fishman ten shillings every other week. I think that’s immoral.”
Dr. Lionel Cloade was giving his irritable nervous laugh as he talked to Frances Cloade. “Oh,come, Frances,” he said. “You can’t expect me to believe you really think that—let’s go in.”
They went into the shabby and rather ugly dining room. Jeremy and Frances, Lionel andKatherine, Adela, Lynn and Rowley. A family party of Cloades — with two outsiders. ForRosaleen Cloade, though she bore the name, had not become a Cloade as Frances and Katherinehad done.
She was the stranger, ill at ease, nervous. And David—David was the outlaw. By necessity, butalso by choice. Lynn was thinking these things as she took her place at the table.
There were waves in the air of feeling—a strong electrical current of—what was it? Hate?
Could it really be hate?
Something at any rate—destructive.
Lynn thought suddenly, “But that’s what’s the matter everywhere. I’ve noticed it ever since Igot home. It’s the aftermath war has left. Ill will. Ill feeling. It’s everywhere. On railways andbuses and in shops and amongst workers and clerks and even agricultural labourers. And I supposeworse in mines and factories. Ill will. But here it’s more than that. Here it’s particular. It’s meant!”
And she thought, shocked: “Do we hate them so much? These strangers who have taken whatwe think is ours?”
And then—“No, not yet. We might—but not yet. No, it’s they who hate us.”
It seemed to her so overwhelming a discovery that she sat silent thinking about it and forgettingto talk to David Hunter who was sitting beside her.
Presently he said: “Thinking out something?”
His voice was quite pleasant, slightly amused, but she felt conscience stricken. He might thinkthat she was going out of her way to be ill-mannered.
She said, “I’m sorry. I was having thoughts about the state of the world.”
David said coolly, “How extremely unoriginal!”
“Yes, is is rather. We are all so earnest nowadays. And it doesn’t seem to do much good either.”
“It is usually more practical to wish to do harm. We’ve thought up one or two rather practicalgadgets in that line during the last few years — including that pièce de résistance, the AtomBomb.”
“That was what I was thinking about—oh, I don’t mean the Atom Bomb. I meant ill will.
Definite practical ill will.”
David said calmly:
“Ill will certainly—but I rather take issue to the word practical. They were more practical aboutit in the Middle Ages.”
“How do you mean?”
“Black magic generally. Ill wishing. Wax figures. Spells at the turn of the moon. Killing offyour neighbour’s cattle. Killing off your neighbour himself.”
“You don’t really believe there was such a thing as black magic?” asked Lynn incredulously.
“Perhaps not. But at any rate people did try hard. Nowadays, well —” He shrugged hisshoulders. “With all the ill will in the world you and your family can’t do much about Rosaleenand myself, can you?”
Lynn’s head went back with a jerk. Suddenly she was enjoying herself.
“It’s a little late in the day for that,” she said politely.
David Hunter laughed. He, too, sounded as though he were enjoying himself.
“Meaning we’ve got away with the booty? Yes, we’re sitting pretty all right.”
“And you get a kick out of it!”
“Out of having a lot of money? I’ll say we do.”
“I didn’t mean only the money. I meant out of us.”
“Out of having scored off you? Well, perhaps. You’d all have been pretty smug and complacentabout the old boy’s cash. Looked upon it as practically in your pockets already.”
Lynn said:
“You must remember that we’d been taught to think so for years. Taught not to save, not tothink of the future—encouraged to go ahead with all sorts of schemes and projects.”
(Rowley, she thought, Rowley and the farm.)
“Only one thing, in fact, that you hadn’t learnt,” said David pleasantly.
“What’s that?”
“That nothing’s safe.”
“Lynn,” cried Aunt Katherine, leaning forward from the head of the table, “one of Mrs. Lester’scontrols is a fourth-dynasty priest. He’s told us such wonderful things. You and I, Lynn, musthave a long talk. Egypt, I feel, must have affected you physically.”
Dr. Cloade said sharply:
“Lynn’s had better things to do than play about with all this superstitious tomfoolery.”
“You are so biased, Lionel,” said his wife.
Lynn smiled at her aunt — then sat silent with the refrain of the words David had spokenswimming in her brain.
“Nothing’s safe….”
There were people who lived in such a world—people to whom everything was dangerous.
David Hunter was such a person…It was not the world that Lynn had been brought up in—but itwas a world that held attractions for her nevertheless.
David said presently in the same low amused voice:
“Are we still on speaking terms?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Good. And do you still grudge Rosaleen and myself our ill-gotten access to wealth?”
“Yes,” said Lynn with spirit.
“Splendid. What are you going to do about it?”
“Buy some wax and practise black magic!”
He laughed.
“Oh, no, you won’t do that. You aren’t one of those who rely on old outmoded methods. Yourmethods will be modern and probably very efficient. But you won’t win.”
“What makes you think there is going to be a fight? Haven’t we all accepted the inevitable?”
“You all behave beautifully. It is very amusing.”
“Why,” said Lynn, in a low tone, “do you hate us?”
Something flickered in those dark unfathomable eyes.
“I couldn’t possibly make you understand.”
“I think you could,” said Lynn.
David was silent for a moment or two, then he asked in a light conversational tone:
“Why are you going to marry Rowley Cloade? He’s an oaf.”
She said sharply:
“You know nothing about it—or about him. You couldn’t begin to know!”
Without any air of changing the conversation David asked:
“What do you think of Rosaleen?”
“She’s very lovely.”
“What else?”
“She doesn’t seem to be enjoying herself.”
“Quite right,” said David, “Rosaleen’s rather stupid. She’s scared. She always has been ratherscared. She drifts into things and then doesn’t know what it’s all about. Shall I tell you aboutRosaleen?”
“If you like,” said Lynn politely.
“I do like. She started by being stagestruck and drifted on to the stage. She wasn’t any good, ofcourse. She got into a third-rate touring company that was going out to South Africa. She liked thesound of South Africa. The company got stranded in Cape Town. Then she drifted into marriagewith a Government official from Nigeria. She didn’t like Nigeria—and I don’t think she liked herhusband much. If he’d been a hearty sort of fellow who drank and beat her, it would have been allright. But he was rather an intellectual man who kept a large library in the wilds and who liked totalk metaphysics. So she drifted back to Cape Town again. The fellow behaved very well and gaveher an adequate allowance. He might have given her a divorce, but again he might not for he was aCatholic; but anyway he rather fortunately died of fever, and Rosaleen got a small pension. Thenthe war started and she drifted on to a boat for South America. She didn’t like South America verymuch, so she drifted on to another boat and there she met Gordon Cloade and told him all abouther sad life. So they got married in New York and lived happily for a fortnight, and a little later hewas killed by a bomb and she was left a large house, a lot of expensive jewellery, and an immenseincome.”
“It’s nice that the story has such a happy ending,” said Lynn.
“Yes,” said David Hunter. “Possessing no intellect at all, Rosaleen has always been a lucky girl—which is just as well. Gordon Cloade was a strong old man. He was sixty-two. He might easilyhave lived for twenty years. He might have lived even longer. That wouldn’t have been much funfor Rosaleen, would it? She was twenty-four when she married him. She’s only twenty-six now.”
“She looks even younger,” said Lynn.
David looked across the table. Rosaleen Cloade was crumbling her bread. She looked like anervous child.
“Yes,” he said thoughtfully. “She does. Complete absence of thought, I suppose.”
“Poor thing,” said Lynn suddenly.
David frowned.
“Why the pity?” he said sharply. “I’ll look after Rosaleen.”
“I expect you will.”
He scowled.
“Any one who tries to do down Rosaleen has got me to deal with! And I know a good manyways of making war—some of them not strictly orthodox.”
“Am I going to hear your life history now?” asked Lynn coldly.
“A very abridged edition.” He smiled. “When the war broke out I saw no reason why I shouldfight for England. I’m Irish. But like all the Irish, I like fighting. The Commandos had anirresistible fascination for me. I had some fun but unfortunately I got knocked out with a bad legwound. Then I went to Canada and did a job of training fellows there. I was at a loose end when Igot Rosaleen’s wire from New York saying she was getting married! She didn’t actually announcethat there would be pickings, but I’m quite sharp at reading between the lines. I flew there, tackedmyself on to the happy pair and came back with them to London. And now”—he smiled insolentlyat her—“Home is the sailor, home from the sea. That’s you! And the Hunter home from the Hill.
What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” said Lynn.
She got up with the others. As they went into the drawing-room, Rowley said to her: “Youseemed to be getting on quite well with David Hunter. What were you talking about?”
“Nothing particular,” said Lynn.
第一部 第四章
第四章
凯西婶婶家的派对总是千篇一律，带着一种让人有些喘不上气来的业余特质，这一点倒是跟女主人的特征十分契合。克洛德医生给人的感觉是他一直在克服重重困难压制着他的怒气。他对客人们表现出始终如一的礼貌谦恭——不过他们也知道他的这种礼貌谦恭是努力做出来的。
从外表上看起来，莱昂内尔•克洛德和他的哥哥杰里米没有什么差别。他也很瘦，一头灰发——但他没有律师所拥有的那分冷静与沉着。他的态度有些粗暴，缺乏耐心——而他那种紧张易怒的性格让他得罪了很多患者，使得他们无法领略到他的医术和仁心。他真正的兴趣在于研究领域，他喜欢的话题则是有史以来各种草药的使用。他有着严谨精确的思维能力，这也让他发现自己很难忍耐他太太的异想天开和反复无常。
尽管罗利和林恩通常都管杰里米•克洛德太太叫“弗朗西斯”，却始终管莱昂内尔•克洛德太太叫“凯西婶婶”“凯西舅妈”。他们很喜欢她，但又觉得她有点儿可笑。
这个“派对”表面上看来是为了庆祝林恩回家而安排的，其实也只不过是一次家庭聚会。
凯西舅妈无比亲切地招呼着她的外甥女：
“亲爱的，你看起来真漂亮，皮肤也成棕褐色的了。我猜是在埃及晒的吧。你看了我寄给你的那本关于金字塔的预言的书了吗？那本书太有意思了。真的是把万事万物都讲了个明白，你不觉得吗？”
戈登•克洛德太太和她哥哥大卫的到来给林恩解了围，让她不必对这个问题做出回应。
“罗萨琳，这是我的外甥女林恩•玛奇蒙特。”
林恩带着含蓄的好奇心不失礼仪地看着戈登•克洛德的遗孀。
是的，这个为了钱嫁给老戈登•克洛德的女孩确实很漂亮。而且罗利说得没错，她真的给人一种天真无邪的感觉。一头黑发带着蓬松的波浪，一双爱尔兰人的蓝眼睛那么深邃——再配上两片微启的朱唇。
她身上的其他部分则尽显奢华。礼服，珠宝，指甲修整过的双手，裘皮披肩。她的身材相当好，但她真的不懂得如何去穿戴昂贵的服饰。要是能有个机会，把她换成林恩•玛奇蒙特的话，绝对不会穿成她这个样子！（但你永远也不会有机会，一个声音在她的脑海里说道。）
“你好。”罗萨琳•克洛德说道。
她有些犹豫地转向身后的男子。
她说：“这位——这位是我哥哥。”
“你好。”大卫•亨特说道。
他是个瘦瘦的年轻人，长着黑色的头发和黑色的眼睛，一脸不高兴的样子，显得目中无人，傲慢无礼。
林恩立刻就明白为什么克洛德家的人全都不喜欢他了。她在国外见过这类人。他们行事草率鲁莽，不计后果，透着几分危险。他们不是那种你能够仰仗的人。他们我行我素，目空一切。他们既有本事在危急关头价值千金，也有能耐让前线的指挥官们无心恋战。
林恩就像拉家常似的对罗萨琳说道：
“住在弗罗班克你觉得怎么样啊？”
“我觉得那房子棒极了。”罗萨琳说。
大卫•亨特轻蔑地冷笑了一声。
“可怜的老戈登对他自己还挺好，”他说，“真是不惜血本呢。”
这句话丝毫没有夸张。当戈登决定要在沃姆斯雷谷安家落户——更准确地说是当他决定要在那儿度过他忙碌生活中的一小部分的时候，他选择去盖房子。他这个人相当个人主义，不喜欢被其他人的过往所浸染过的屋子。
他雇用了一位年轻的现代建筑师，并且放手让他去干。沃姆斯雷谷有一半的人认为弗罗班克是一栋糟糕透顶的房子，他们不喜欢它白色的方形外观，不喜欢它嵌入式的家具陈设，不喜欢它的滑动拉门，也不喜欢它的玻璃桌椅。那里面唯一让他们由衷赞叹的是浴室和卫生间。
罗萨琳说那句“那房子棒极了”的时候带着一丝敬佩，大卫的笑让她的脸一下子红了。
“你就是那个解甲归田的皇家海军女子服务队队员，对不对？”大卫对林恩说。
“是的。”
他以品评的目光扫了她一眼——不知道为什么，她脸红了。
凯瑟琳舅妈突然之间又出现了。她有这个本领，总能让人觉得她似乎一下子就凭空出现了似的。或许这个本领是她从参加过的那么多降神会里学来的吧。
“晚餐，”她说话的时候有些气喘吁吁，接着又顺带说明了一下，“我认为比叫晚宴要好。这样大家不会期望过高。任何事情都极其困难，不是吗？玛丽•路易斯告诉我说她每隔一周就会偷偷塞给捕鱼的人十个先令。我觉得这么做不道德。”
莱昂内尔•克洛德医生一边跟弗朗西斯•克洛德说着话，一边发出他那种烦躁而紧张的笑声。“噢，得了吧，弗朗西斯，”他说，“你可别指望我相信你真的会那么想——咱们进去吧。”
他们走进了那间破破烂烂还相当丑陋的餐厅。杰里米和弗朗西斯，莱昂内尔和凯瑟琳，阿德拉、林恩和罗利。这是个克洛德家的家庭聚会——再加上两个外人。对于罗萨琳•克洛德来说，尽管她也跟着姓了克洛德，但还没能像弗朗西斯和凯瑟琳她们那样真正成为克洛德家族的一员。
她是个陌生人，显得局促不安，提心吊胆。而大卫呢——大卫则是个法外之徒，既是出于不得已，但也是出于他自己的选择。林恩一边在桌边落座，一边在脑子里想着这些事情。
在整个聚会的氛围中能够让人感受到一阵阵的波动——就像一股强烈的电流一般——那是什么呢？是憎恨吗？真的会是憎恨吗？
但无论如何，那至少是某种——具有破坏性的东西。
林恩猛然想道：“但这正是无处不在的问题症结所在。从我一回家的时候就已经注意到了。这是战争所遗留下来的后果。敌意。反感。到处都是。在铁路上，在公交车上，在商店里，在工人、职员甚至是农业劳动者之间。而我猜在矿山和工厂里情况会更糟。敌意。
但在这里还不止于此。这里的敌意不同寻常。它是有意为之的！”
她为之一惊，心想：“我们真的就这么恨他们吗？恨这两个拿走了我们认为本应属于我们的东西的陌生人？”
然后呢——“不，还不好说。我们可能会——但也不好说。不对，其实是他们在恨我们。”
在她看来，这个发现简直有些势不可当，以至于她只能默默地坐在那里思索，都忘记了和坐在她身边的大卫•亨特说话。
此刻他正在对她说：“在琢磨什么事情？”
他的声音听上去很令人愉快，还带着几分顽皮，不过她却觉得有些内疚。他可能会觉得她是故意表现得如此没有礼貌。
她说：“不好意思。我刚才正想着世界格局呢。”
大卫从容不迫地说道：“这也太了无新意了！”
“是啊，是有那么点儿。现如今我们全都那么认真热切。而这样看起来似乎也没带来太多好处。”
“通常情况下，你还是盼着那样会带来坏处更实际一些。照那么说的话，在最近这几年里，我们还真的发明出一两样实用的小玩意儿呢——包括那个重头戏，原子弹。”
“我刚才在想的也是这个——噢，我不是说原子弹。我指的是恶意。明确并且实实在在的恶意。”
大卫平心静气地说道：
“恶意肯定是有——不过我不同意你形容它的时候用的那个实实在在。在中世纪的时候，他们的恶意才更实实在在呢。”
“你这话什么意思？”
“笼统地说就是巫术啊。诅咒、蜡人。在月相交替时分使用的咒语。把你邻居家的牛都杀光。甚至把你的邻居本人也杀掉。”
“你不会真的相信有巫术这种事情存在吧？”林恩表示怀疑地问道。
“或许不信吧。不过不管怎么说，人们真的是很努力。现如今，嗯——”他耸了耸肩，“就算你和你们全家人对罗萨琳和我恨得咬牙切齿，你们也没法拿我们怎么样，对吗？”
林恩的头猛地往后一甩。突然之间她觉得非常开心。
“现在恨你们也有点儿晚了。”她很客气地说道。
大卫•亨特哈哈大笑起来。听上去他也觉得很开心。
“就是说我们已经可以拿着我们的战利品全身而退了？没错，我们可以舒舒服服过日子了。”
“而且你们还从中获得了极大的乐趣！”
“因为得到一大笔钱吗？我得说我们还真是。”
“我说的不光是那笔钱。我说的是从我们身上。”
“因为让你们一败涂地？嗯，也许吧。对于老家伙的那笔钱，你们全都那么沾沾自喜自鸣得意，盲目乐观地把它看成是你们的囊中之物似的。”
林恩说：
“你可别忘了，这么多年来我们之所以这么想也都是他教的。教我们用不着攒钱，也不必考虑将来——鼓励我们放手去实施各种各样的计划和项目。”
（罗利，她想到了罗利和农场。）
“实际上，却没料到有一件事你们还没学会。”大卫愉快地说道。
“什么事？”
“没有什么是安全的。”
“林恩，”凯瑟琳舅妈从桌首那边探着身子喊道，“莱斯特太太的鬼魂 [1] 之一是个第四王朝的祭司。他告诉了我们那么奇妙的事情。林恩，咱们俩一定得好好聊聊。我感觉埃及肯定已经对你的身体产生了影响。”
克洛德医生厉声说道：
“林恩有的是正事儿可做，才不会跟这些无聊的迷信活动搅合在一起呢。”
“你的成见太深了，莱昂内尔。”他妻子说道。
林恩朝她舅妈微微一笑——然后默不作声地坐在那里，大卫刚才说的那句话的余音还在她的脑海里回荡着。
“没有什么是安全的……”
有些人就生活在这样一个世界里——对他们来说所有的事情都是危险的。大卫•亨特就是这么一个人……那并不是林恩所被抚养长大的世界——但对她来说，那是一个充满着吸引力的世界。
大卫此时又在用同样顽皮的声音低声说道：
“你还想跟我说话吗？”
“噢，想啊。”
“挺好。那你还对罗萨琳和我们俩得到这笔不义之财怀恨在心吗？”
“是啊。”林恩饶有兴致地说。
“好极了。那你打算怎么办？”
“买些蜡，再搞点儿巫术！”
他笑了。
“噢，不，你才不会那么干呢。你不是那种会依靠老掉牙的办法的人。你的办法肯定很时髦，或许还非常有效。不过你赢不了。”
“你凭什么觉得一定会干一仗呢？我们不是都已经接受不可避免的结果了吗？”
“你们全都表现得很好啊。太有趣了。”
“你们，”林恩压低了声音说道，“为什么恨我们？”
那双高深莫测的黑眼睛里有什么东西一闪而过。
“我没办法让你明白。”
“我觉得你可以。”林恩说。
大卫沉默了片刻，随后以一种轻松闲聊的口气问道：
“你为什么要嫁给罗利•克洛德呢？他是个笨蛋啊。”
她有些急不可耐地说道：
“你对这件事——或者对他一无所知。你根本不可能了解！”
大卫丝毫也没有要换个话题的意思，他又问道：
“那你觉得罗萨琳怎么样？”
“她非常漂亮。”
“别的呢？”
“她看起来似乎不是很快乐。”
“对极了，”大卫说，“罗萨琳有点儿傻了吧唧的。她害怕。她一直以来都是怕这怕那的。她会在不知不觉中卷入某些事情，而且还完全不明就里。要我给你讲讲罗萨琳的事儿吗？”
“如果你愿意的话。”林恩很客气地说道。
“我还真愿意。她最开始的时候一心想当个演员，然后不知怎么着就登上了舞台。当然，她演得不怎么样。她加入了一个三流的巡演剧团，而那个剧团正好去南非演出。她喜欢南非的音乐风格。剧团滞留在开普敦。接着不知怎么搞的她就嫁给了一个从尼日利亚来的政府官员。她不喜欢尼日利亚——而我觉得她也不怎么喜欢她丈夫。他要是那种爱喝酒又对她拳脚相加的精力充沛的家伙的话，倒也没什么问题了。可他偏偏是个很知性的人，在荒郊野外开了一个很大的图书馆，还特别喜欢谈论一些形而上学的东西。于是她就又回了开普敦。那家伙表现得非常不错，给了她足够多的钱。他本来可以跟她离婚，但也有可能不离，因为他是个天主教徒；不过不管怎么样，他算是有些幸运地死在了热病上，而罗萨琳得到了一小笔抚恤金。随后战争就爆发了，她漂泊到一艘去往南美的船上。她不太喜欢南美，所以她又登上了另一艘船，在那艘船上，她遇见了戈登•克洛德，并且把她自己悲惨的一生对他和盘托出。接着他们在纽约结了婚，一起幸福地生活了两个礼拜，之后不久他就被炸弹炸死了，留给了她一幢大房子，一大堆昂贵的珠宝首饰和一笔巨额的收入。”
“这故事能有这么个圆满结局还真不错。”林恩说。
“是啊，”大卫•亨特说，“虽说没什么头脑吧，但罗萨琳一直都是傻人有傻福——这就够啦。戈登•克洛德是个身强力壮的老头儿。他六十二岁，本来可以轻轻松松再活上个二十年，甚至有可能活得更久。那样对罗萨琳来说就没什么意思了，对吧？她嫁给他的时候二十四，而现在也不过才二十六。”
“她看上去比那还小。”林恩说。
大卫从桌子这边望过去。罗萨琳•克洛德正把手里的面包掰得碎碎的。她看起来就像个紧张的孩子。
“没错，”他若有所思地说，“确实是。我猜她完全没有什么思想。”
“可怜人。”林恩突然说道。
大卫皱起了眉头。
“有什么可怜的？”他带着几分尖刻说道，“我会照顾罗萨琳。”
“我料到你会的。”
他沉下脸来。
“谁要是想试试说罗萨琳的坏话就得先过我这一关！说起干仗的话我有的是方法——其中有些可没那么正统。”
“那我现在是不是要听听你的故事了呢？”林恩冷冷地问道。
“长话短说吧，”他微微一笑，“战争爆发那会儿我不明白自己为什么要为英国而战。我是个爱尔兰人。不过就像所有爱尔兰人那样，我也喜欢战斗。盟军敢死队对我来说有着难以抗拒的吸引力。我玩得挺开心，可很遗憾我还是得走人，因为我的腿受了重伤。随后我去了加拿大，在那边找了份训练小伙子们的差事。我接到罗萨琳从纽约发来的说她结婚了的电报时正无所事事呢！实际上她并没明说可能会有这笔不义之财，不过我对于她字里行间的言外之意非常敏锐。我坐飞机去了那儿，紧跟着那幸福的一对儿，和他们一起回了伦敦。而现在呢——”他厚颜无耻地冲她一笑，“就像远航的水手回到故乡。说的是你啊！犹如山间的猎人重返家园。怎么了？”
“没事儿。”林恩说。
她和其他人一道站起身来。他们走进客厅的时候，罗利对她说：“你似乎跟大卫•亨特相处得非常融洽啊。你们刚才都说什么了？”
“没什么特别的。”林恩说。
[1]原文为control，指的是招魂术中支配灵媒的鬼魂。
BOOK I Five
Five
“David, when are we going back to London? When are we going to America?”
Across the breakfast table, David Hunter gave Rosaleen a quick surprised glance.
“There’s no hurry, is there? What’s wrong with this place?”
He gave a swift appreciative glance round the room where they were breakfasting. Furrowbankwas built on the side of a hill and from the windows one had an unbroken panorama of sleepyEnglish countryside. On the slope of the lawn thousands of daffodils had been planted. They werenearly over now, but a sheet of golden bloom still remained.
Crumbling the toast on her plate, Rosaleen murmured:
“You said we’d go to America—soon. As soon as it could be managed.”
“Yes—but actually it isn’t managed so easily. There’s priority. Neither you nor I have anybusiness reasons to put forward. Things are always difficult after a war.”
He felt faintly irritated with himself as he spoke. The reasons he advanced, though genuineenough, had the sound of excuses. He wondered if they sounded that way to the girl who satopposite him. And why was she suddenly so keen to go to America?
Rosaleen murmured: “You said we’d only be here for a short time. You didn’t say we weregoing to live here.”
“What’s wrong with Warmsley Vale—and Furrowbank? Come now?”
“Nothing. It’s them—all of them!”
“The Cloades?”
“Yes.”
“That’s just what I get a kick out of,” said David. “I like seeing their smug faces eaten up withenvy and malice. Don’t grudge me my fun, Rosaleen.”
She said in a low troubled voice:
“I wish you didn’t feel like that. I don’t like it.”
“Have some spirit, girl. We’ve been pushed around enough, you and I. The Cloades have livedsoft—soft. Lived on big brother Gordon. Little fleas on a big flea. I hate their kind—I alwayshave.”
She said, shocked:
“I don’t like hating people. It’s wicked.”
“Don’t you think they hate you? Have they been kind to you—friendly?”
She said doubtfully:
“They haven’t been unkind. They haven’t done me any harm.”
“But they’d like to, babyface. They’d like to.” He laughed recklessly. “If they weren’t so carefulof their own skins, you’d be found with a knife in your back one fine morning.”
She shivered.
“Don’t say such dreadful things.”
“Well—perhaps not a knife. Strychnine in the soup.”
She stared at him, her mouth tremulous.
“You’re joking….”
He became serious again.
“Don’t worry, Rosaleen. I’ll look after you. They’ve got me to deal with.”
She said, stumbling over the words, “If it’s true what you say—about their hating us—hatingme—why don’t we go to London? We’d be safe there—away from them all.”
“The country’s good for you, my girl. You know it makes you ill being in London.”
“That was when the bombs were there—the bombs.” She shivered, closed her eyes. “I’ll neverforget—never….”
“Yes, you will.” He took her gently by the shoulders, shook her slightly. “Snap out of it,Rosaleen. You were badly shocked, but it’s over now. There are no more bombs. Don’t thinkabout it. Don’t remember. The doctor said country air and a country life for a long time to come.
That’s why I want to keep you away from London.”
“Is that really why? Is it, David? I thought—perhaps—”
“What did you think?”
Rosaleen said slowly:
“I thought perhaps it was because of her you wanted to be here….”
“Her?”
“You know the one I mean. The girl the other night. The one who was in the Wrens.”
His face was suddenly black and stern.
“Lynn? Lynn Marchmont.”
“She means something to you, David.”
“Lynn Marchmont? She’s Rowley’s girl. Good old stay-at-home Rowley. That bovine slow-witted good-looking ox.”
“I watched you talking to her the other night.”
“Oh, for Heaven’s sake, Rosaleen.”
“And you’ve seen her since, haven’t you?”
“I met her near the farm the other morning when I was out riding.”
“And you’ll meet her again.”
“Of course I’ll always be meeting her! This is a tiny place. You can’t go two steps withoutfalling over a Cloade. But if you think I’ve fallen for Lynn Marchmont, you’re wrong. She’s aproud stuck-up unpleasant girl without a civil tongue in her head. I wish old Rowley joy of her.
No, Rosaleen, my girl, she’s not my type.”
She said doubtfully, “Are you sure, David?”
“Of course I’m sure.”
She said half-timidly:
“I know you don’t like my laying out the cards…But they come true, they do indeed. There wasa girl bringing trouble and sorrow—a girl would come from over the sea. There was a darkstranger, too, coming into our lives, and bringing danger with him. There was the death card, and—”
“You and your dark strangers!” David laughed. “What a mass of superstition you are. Don’thave any dealings with a dark stranger, that’s my advice to you.”
He strolled out of the house laughing, but when he was away from the house, his face cloudedover and he frowned to himself, murmuring:
“Bad luck to you, Lynn. Coming home from abroad and upsetting the apple cart.”
For he realized that at this very moment he was deliberately making a course on which he mighthope to meet the girl he had just apostrophized so savagely.
Rosaleen watched him stroll away across the garden and out through the small gate that gave onto a public footpath across the fields. Then she went up to her bedroom and looked through theclothes in her wardrobe. She always enjoyed touching and feeling her new mink coat. To think sheshould own a coat like that—she could never quite get over the wonder of it. She was in herbedroom when the parlourmaid came up to tell her that Mrs. Marchmont had called.
Adela was sitting in the drawing room with her lips set tightly together and her heart beating attwice its usual speed. She had been steeling herself for several days to make an appeal to Rosaleenbut true to her nature had procrastinated. She had also been bewildered by finding that Lynn’sattitude had unaccountably changed and that she was now rigidly opposed to her mother seekingrelief from her anxieties by asking Gordon’s widow for a loan.
However another letter from the bank manager that morning had driven Mrs. Marchmont intopositive action. She could delay no longer. Lynn had gone out early, and Mrs. Marchmont hadcaught sight of David Hunter walking along the footpath—so the coast was clear. She particularlywanted to get Rosaleen alone, without David, rightly judging that Rosaleen alone would be a fareasier proposition.
Nevertheless she felt dreadfully nervous as she waited in the sunny drawing room, though shefelt slightly better when Rosaleen came in with what Mrs. Marchmont always thought of as her“half-witted look” more than usually marked.
“I wonder,” thought Adela to herself, “if the blast did it or if she was always like that?”
“Rosaleen stammered.
“Oh, g-g-ood morning. Is there anything? Do sit down.”
“Such a lovely morning,” said Mrs. Marchmont brightly. “All my early tulips are out. Areyours?”
The girl stared at her vacantly.
“I don’t know.”
What was one to do, thought Adela, with someone who didn’t talk gardening or dogs—thosestandbys of rural conversation?
Aloud she said, unable to help the tinge of acidity that crept into her tone:
“Of course you have so many gardeners—they attend to all that.”
“I believe we’re shorthanded. Old Mullard wants two more men, he says. But there seems aterrible shortage still of labour.”
The words came out with a kind of glib parrotlike delivery—rather like a child who repeatswhat it has heard a grown-up person say.
Yes, she was like a child. Was that, Adela wondered, her charm? Was that what had attractedthat hard-headed shrewd business man, Gordon Cloade, and blinded him to her stupidity and herlack of breeding? After all, it couldn’t only be looks. Plenty of good-looking women had angledunsuccessfully to attract him.
But childishness, to a man of sixty-two, might be an attraction. Was it, could it be, real—or wasit a pose—a pose that had paid and so had become second nature?
Rosaleen was saying, “David’s out, I’m afraid…” and the words recalled Mrs. Marchmont toherself. David might return. Now was her chance and she must not neglect it. The words stuck inher throat but she got them out.
“I wonder—if you would help me?”
“Help you?”
Rosaleen looked surprised, uncomprehending.
“I—things are very difficult—you see, Gordon’s death has made a great difference to us all.”
“You silly idiot,” she thought. “Must you go on gaping at me like that? You know what I mean!
You must know what I mean. After all, you’ve been poor yourself….”
She hated Rosaleen at that moment. Hated her because she, Adela Marchmont, was sitting herewhining for money. She thought, “I can’t do it—I can’t do it after all.”
In one brief instant all the long hours of thought and worry and vague planning flashed againacross her brain.
Sell the house—(But move where? There weren’t any small houses on the market—certainlynot any cheap houses). Take paying guests—(But you couldn’t get staff—and she simply couldn’t—she just couldn’t deal with all the cooking and housework involved. If Lynn helped—but Lynnwas going to marry Rowley). Live with Rowley and Lynn herself? (No, she’d never do that!) Geta job. What job? Who wanted an untrained elderly tired-out woman?
She heard her voice, belligerent because she despised herself.
“I mean money,” she said.
“Money?” said Rosaleen.
She sounded ingenuously surprised, as though money was the last thing she expected to bementioned.
Adela went on doggedly, tumbling the words out:
“I’m overdrawn at the bank, and I owe bills—repairs to the house—and the rates haven’t beenpaid yet. You see, everything’s halved—my income, I mean. I suppose it’s taxation. Gordon, yousee, used to help. With the house, I mean. He did all the repairs and the roof and painting andthings like that. And an allowance as well. He paid it into the bank every quarter. He always saidnot to worry and of course I never did. I mean, it was all right when he was alive, but now—”
She stopped. She was ashamed—but at the same time relieved. After all, the worst was over. Ifthe girl refused, she refused, and that was that.
Rosaleen was looking very uncomfortable.
“Oh, dear,” she said. “I didn’t know. I never thought…I—well, of course, I’ll ask David….”
Grimly gripping the sides of her chair, Adela said, desperately:
“Couldn’t you give me a cheque—now….”
“Yes—yes, I suppose I could.” Rosaleen, looking startled, got up, went to the desk. She huntedin various pigeonholes and finally produced a chequebook. “Shall I—how much?”
“Would—would five hundred pounds—” Adela broke off.
“Five hundred pounds,” Rosaleen wrote obediently.
A load slipped off Adela’s back. After all, it had been easy! She was dismayed as it occurred toher that it was less gratitude that she felt than a faint scorn for the easiness of her victory!
Rosaleen was surely strangely simple.
The girl rose from the writing desk and came across to her. She held out the cheque awkwardly.
The embarrassment seemed now entirely on her side.
“I hope this is all right. I’m really so sorry—”
Adela took the cheque. The unformed childish hand straggled across the pink paper. Mrs.
Marchmont. Five hundred pounds ?500. Rosaleen Cloade.
“It’s very good of you, Rosaleen. Thank you.”
“Oh please—I mean—I ought to have thought—”
“Very good of you, my dear.”
With the cheque in her handbag Adela Marchmont felt a different woman. The girl had reallybeen very sweet about it. It would be embarrassing to prolong the interview. She said goodbye anddeparted. She passed David in the drive, said “Good morning” pleasantly, and hurried on.
第一部 第五章
第五章
“大卫，我们什么时候回伦敦？我们什么时候回美国啊？”
大卫•亨特从早餐桌的另一边惊讶地扫了罗萨琳一眼。
“没什么可急的，是吧？这地方有什么不好吗？”
他用欣赏的目光迅速环顾了一下他们正在吃早饭的这个房间。弗罗班克依山而建，从窗户向外望去可以将英国乡间令人昏昏欲睡的风景尽收眼底。草场的斜坡上种着上千朵水仙花。此时它们花期将尽，却依然留下一大片金黄色的花海。
罗萨琳一边把盘子里的烤面包弄碎，一边小声嘀咕着：
“你说过咱们要去美国的——很快。一处理好就走。”
“对——可实际上处理起来没那么容易。办事情都得有个先后次序。无论是你还是我都拿不出什么公务上的理由啊。打完仗以后事情总是会比较难办。”
他说这番话的时候自己都觉得有些恼火。他提出来的这些理由尽管都如假包换，可听上去还是像在找借口。他不知道坐在他对面的这个姑娘听完之后会不会也有同感。而且她为什么突然一下子就那么渴望要去美国呢？
罗萨琳咕哝道：“是你说的，我们只要在这儿待一小段时间就可以。你可没说我们要住在这里。”
“沃姆斯雷谷有什么不好吗——还有弗罗班克？说说看？”
“没什么不好。我说的是他们——他们所有人！”
“克洛德一家子？”
“是啊。”
“那正是我的乐趣所在啊，”大卫说，“我喜欢看到他们那一张张自以为是的脸陷入深深的嫉妒和怨恨之中。别不愿意让我找乐子，罗萨琳。”
她带着不安低声说道：
“我不希望你有那种感觉。我不喜欢那样。”
“打起点儿精神来吧，小姑娘。你和我，我们已经被欺负得够可以的了。克洛德一家子一直都过得舒适安逸——舒适安逸啊。就靠着他们的大哥戈登。一只大跳蚤身上的小跳蚤们。我恨他们这号人——向来都恨。”
她吓了一跳，说道：
“我不喜欢恨别人。那样不好。”
“你不觉得他们恨你吗？他们对你好过吗——亲密友善，和睦相处？”
她模棱两可地说道：
“没有什么不友善的。他们也没伤害过我。”
“但他们想啊，小姑娘。他们想。”他不羁地放声大笑起来，“要不是他们对自己的身家性命也那么小心翼翼的话，没准儿哪个晴朗的早晨你就会被人发现后背上插着一把刀。”
她打了个哆嗦。
“别说这种可怕的事情。”
“好吧——或许不是把刀，是汤里给你放点儿士的宁。”
她目不转睛地看着他，嘴唇在颤抖。
“你在开玩笑吧……”
这下他又严肃起来。
“别担心，罗萨琳。我会照顾你的。他们得先过我这关。”
她磕磕巴巴地说道：“要是你说的都是真的——就是说他们恨咱们——恨我——那我们干吗不去伦敦呢？在那儿我们就安全了——离他们全都远远的。”
“乡下对你有好处，我的小姑娘。你也知道在伦敦待着你会别扭。”
“那是有炸弹轰炸的时候——那些炸弹。”她闭上了眼睛，浑身颤抖，“我永远都忘不了——永远……”
“不，你会忘记的。”他温柔地揽过她的肩膀，轻轻摇晃着她，“振作起来，罗萨琳。你那会儿是被吓坏了，可现在一切都过去了。再也没有什么炸弹了。别再想这个，把它忘掉吧。医生都说，要你多呼吸呼吸乡下的空气，多过过乡村的生活。这就是我不让你回伦敦的原因。”
“真的是这个原因吗？是吗，大卫？我还以为——或许——”
“你以为什么？”
罗萨琳缓缓说道：
“我还以为你或许是因为她才想要待在这儿……”
“她？”
“你知道我说的是谁。那天晚上那个女孩儿。就是在皇家海军女子服务队待过的那个。”
他的脸色突然黯淡下来，令人生畏。
“林恩吗？林恩•玛奇蒙特。”
“她对你来说还挺重要的，大卫。”
“林恩•玛奇蒙特？她是罗利的女朋友。宅在家里深居简出的老好人罗利。那头长得还不错但脑子迟钝的笨牛。”
“我那天晚上看见你跟她说话了。”
“噢，我的老天爷啊，罗萨琳。”
“而且在那以后你还见过她，对不对？”
“有一天早上我出去骑马的时候在农场附近遇见过她。”
“你还会再遇见她的。”
“我当然还会遇见她！这是个弹丸之地。你走两步恨不得就得被一个姓克洛德的人绊着。不过你要是以为我就此爱上了林恩•玛奇蒙特，那你就大错特错了。她是个骄傲自大、让人讨厌的女孩子，说话的时候一点儿礼貌都没有。我倒希望她能让老罗利乐不可支。
不，罗萨琳，我的小姑娘，她可不是我喜欢的那种人。”
她疑虑重重地说：“你确定吗，大卫？”
“当然确定。”
她不无胆怯地说道：
“我知道你不喜欢我把那些纸牌都摆出来。可是它们应验啦，它们真的都应验啦。有个会带来麻烦和悲伤的女孩儿——一个将会来自海外的姑娘。还有个神秘的陌生人，也会进入我们的生活，他同时会带来危险。还有那张死神牌，还有——”
“你，还有你那些神秘的陌生人啊！”大卫放声大笑，“你可真是够迷信的。别跟神秘的陌生人打任何交道，这是我给你的忠告。”
他大笑着信步走出屋子，不过远离屋子以后，他的脸色便又阴沉下来，皱着眉头低声自语道：
“林恩，你这该死的家伙。偏要从国外回来坏我们的好事。”
他这么说是因为意识到，此时此刻他正刻意地走上了一条路，他可能希望会在这条路上遇见他刚刚才用极其粗鲁的语言念叨过的女孩。
罗萨琳看着他溜溜达达地走过花园，从通往一条公共的田间小径的那扇小门走了出去。然后她上楼回到卧室，翻看起她衣橱里的衣服来。她一向很享受触摸她那件新貂皮大衣的感觉。想着她竟然也能拥有这样一件大衣——她心里的那分惊奇就总也抑制不住。当客厅女仆上来告诉她玛奇蒙特太太登门拜访的时候她还在卧室里。
阿德拉双唇紧闭地坐在客厅里，心跳比平时要快上一倍。她已经让自己暗下了好几天决心来向罗萨琳求助，不过就她的本性来讲，她其实是在拖延。同时还令她感到迷惑不解的是，她发现林恩的态度不可理喻地发生了转变，现在的她坚决反对母亲为解燃眉之急去找戈登的遗孀借钱。
然而，那天早上银行经理的又一封来信迫使玛奇蒙特太太要采取积极行动了。她不能再耽搁。林恩一早就出去了，而玛奇蒙特太太看见大卫•亨特沿着小径走去——这么一来障碍就都排除了。她尤其想等到没有大卫在身边，罗萨琳独处的时候，而准确地判断出罗萨琳是一个人则是件简单得多的事情。
尽管坐在阳光明媚的客厅里等候的这段时间让她紧张得要命，但当罗萨琳带着那张比平日更甚的玛奇蒙特太太所认为的“笨到家”的脸走进来的时候，她还是感觉稍微好了一些。
“我真搞不懂，”阿德拉暗自思忖道，“这究竟是那场轰炸闹的还是说她一直就这样？”
罗萨琳结结巴巴地说道：
“噢，早……早……早上好。有事儿吗？请坐吧。”
“今天早上天气真不错啊，”玛奇蒙特太太欢快地说道，“我所有的早花郁金香都已经开花了。你的呢？”
那姑娘一脸茫然地看着她。
“我也不知道啊。”
阿德拉心想，跟一个既不谈论园艺也不谈论狗——这些乡下人聊天最喜欢的话题的人在一起，你还能干什么呢？
她大声地说，语气中混杂着一种抑制不住的酸溜溜的味道：
“当然啦，你有那么多的花匠呢——他们自会打理所有这些事情。”
“我相信我们人手也不够。老穆拉德说还得再添两个人。不过劳动力似乎依然非常短缺。”
这几句话说出来给人一种鹦鹉学舌不假思索的感觉——就像是一个孩子在重复着从大人嘴里听来的话一样。
没错，她的确跟个孩子似的。阿德拉想知道，这是否就是她的魅力所在呢？难道就是这点吸引住了那个务实又精明的商人戈登•克洛德，使他对于她的愚蠢和缺乏教养视而不见吗？毕竟不可能只是出于美貌。因为有太多长得漂亮的女人想要博取他的欢心却都无功而返啊。
不过孩子气对于一个六十二岁的男人而言，可能真的具有吸引力。那么它是真实的，或者说可能是真实的吗——还是说这是一种装腔作势——一种有利可图的装腔作势并且已经变成了她的第二天性呢？
罗萨琳正在说话，“大卫出去了，恐怕……”而这句话让玛奇蒙特太太一下子回过神来。大卫可能要回来了。此刻就是她的机会，她一定不能放过。那句话本来如鲠在喉，但她还是把它说了出来。
“我不知道——你能不能帮我个忙？”
“帮您忙？”
罗萨琳看上去有些惊讶，不明所以。
“我——日子太艰难了，你也知道，戈登的死给我们所有人都带来了翻天覆地的变化。”
“你个蠢货白痴，”她心想，“你就非得那样瞪着眼睛看我吗？你知道我是什么意思！你肯定知道我是什么意思。再怎么说，你自己也穷过……”
那一刻，她恨死了罗萨琳。恨她是因为她自己，阿德拉•玛奇蒙特，正坐在这里向人哀告着要钱。她想：“我不能干这种事——我归根结底还是不能干这种事。”
在这个短暂的瞬间，所有那些长久以来的思绪、担忧以及模糊不清的规划又再度在她的脑海中闪现。
卖掉房子——（可又能搬去哪儿住呢？在售的没有什么小房子——当然也没有什么便宜的房子）。招些房客——（可又找不来帮手——而她就是没法——她实在没法应付得来所有那些做饭做菜和家务劳动之类的事情。要是林恩能帮忙——可是林恩就要嫁给罗利了）。她自己搬去跟罗利和林恩一起住？（不，她绝对不会！）找份工作——找什么工作？谁会想要一个没受过任何培训、油尽灯枯的老女人呢？
她听见自己的声音，因为鄙视自己反而显得有些争强好斗。
“我说的是钱。”她说。
“钱？”罗萨琳说。
她的声音听起来惊讶得毫无城府，仿佛提起钱是让她最意想不到的事情。
阿德拉还在固执地坚持着，把心里的话一股脑儿倒了出来：
“我的银行账户透支了，而且我还欠着账单——房子的维修——税钱也还没缴。你知道，所有的一切都减半了——我是说我的收入。我猜是因为征税的缘故。戈登，你也知道，过去一直帮我们。我指的是房子的事儿。全部的维修、屋顶、粉刷以及其他的事情他都包了。还给我们一些生活费。他每个季度都把这些钱存到银行里。他一直都说用不着担心，当然了，我也就从来都没担心过。我是想说，在他活着的时候一切都很好，可是现在——”
她停了下来。她觉得很丢人，但同时也感到了一种解脱。毕竟最糟糕的已经过去。如果这个姑娘要拒绝的话，那就拒绝好了，也不过如此嘛。
罗萨琳看上去极其坐立不安。
“噢，天哪，”她说，“我都不知道。我从来没想过……我——呃，当然，我会问问大卫……”
阿德拉死死抓着椅子两边，孤注一掷地说道：
“你就不能给我一张支票吗？——就现在……”
“是啊——对，我想我可以。”罗萨琳似乎吓了一跳，她站起身来，朝书桌走去。她在各种文件格子里翻找了半天，最终找出了一本支票簿。“我该给——要多少？”
“能……能有五百英镑就——”阿德拉突然住口。
“五百英镑。”罗萨琳顺从地写道。
阿德拉有种如释重负的感觉。说到底，也就是这么容易啊！这让她觉得有些沮丧，对于轻易到手的胜利，她心中生出的那丝不屑竟然多于感激之情！罗萨琳还真是天真得令人不可思议啊。
那姑娘从写字台前起身向她走来。她笨手笨脚地递过那张支票。现在看上去觉得尴尬的人已经彻底变成了她。
“我希望这样就没问题了。我真的觉得特别抱歉——”
阿德拉接过支票。只见粉红色的纸上散落着孩子气的幼稚笔迹。玛奇蒙特太太。五百英镑?500。罗萨琳•克洛德。
“你真是太好了，罗萨琳。谢谢你。”
“噢，请别——我是说——我本来应该想到的——”
“你太好了，亲爱的。”
有这张支票在手提包里，玛奇蒙特太太感觉就像换了个人似的。这姑娘在这件事上的表现真是太让人高兴了。再待下去只怕夜长梦多，于是她起身告辞。在外面的车道上她与大卫擦肩而过，她愉快地说了声“早上好”，随即便匆匆离去。
BOOK I Six
Six
“What was the Marchmont woman doing here?” demanded David as soon as he got in.
“Oh, David. She wanted money dreadfully badly. I’d never thought—”
“And you gave it her, I suppose.”
He looked at her in half-humorous despair.
“You’re not to be trusted alone, Rosaleen.”
“Oh, David, I couldn’t refuse. After all—”
“After all—what? How much?”
In a small voice Rosaleen murmured, “Five hundred pounds.”
To her relief David laughed.
“A mere fleabite!”
“Oh, David, it’s a lot of money.”
“Not to us nowadays, Rosaleen. You never really seem to grasp that you’re a very rich woman.
All the same if she asked five hundred she’d have gone away perfectly satisfied with two-fifty.
You must learn the language of borrowing!”
She murmured, “I’m sorry, David.”
“My dear girl! After all, it’s your money.”
“It isn’t. Not really.”
“Now don’t begin that all over again. Gordon Cloade died before he had time to make a will.
That’s what’s called the luck of the game. We win, you and I. The others—lose.”
“It doesn’t seem—right.”
“Come now, my lovely sister Rosaleen, aren’t you enjoying all this? A big house, servants—jewellery? Isn’t it a dream come true? Isn’t it? Glory be to God, sometimes I think I’ll wake upand find it is a dream.”
She laughed with him, and watching her narrowly, he was satisfied. He knew how to deal withhis Rosaleen. It was inconvenient, he thought, that she should have a conscience, but there it was.
“It’s quite true, David, it is like a dream—or like something on the pictures. I do enjoy it all. Ido really.”
“But what we have we hold,” he warned her. “No more gifts to the Cloades, Rosaleen. Everyone of them has got far more money than either you or I ever had.”
“Yes, I suppose that’s true.”
“Where was Lynn this morning?” he asked.
“I think she’d gone to Long Willows.”
To Long Willows—to see Rowley—the oaf—the clodhopper! His good humour vanished. Seton marrying the fellow, was she?
Moodily he strolled out of the house, up through massed azaleas and out through the small gateon the top of the hill. From there the footpath dipped down the hill and past Rowley’s farm.
As David stood there, he saw Lynn Marchmont coming up from the farm. He hesitated for aminute, then set his jaw pugnaciously and strolled down the hill to meet her. They met by a stilejust halfway up the hill.
“Good morning,” said David. “When’s the wedding?”
“You’ve asked that before,” she retorted. “You know well enough. It’s in June.”
“You’re going through with it?”
“I don’t know what you mean, David.”
“Oh, yes, you do.” He gave a contemptuous laugh. “Rowley. What’s Rowley?”
“A better man than you—touch him if you dare,” she said lightly.
“I’ve no doubt he’s a better man than me—but I do dare. I’d dare anything for you, Lynn.”
She was silent for a moment or two. She said at last:
“What you don’t understand is that I love Rowley.”
“I wonder.”
She said vehemently:
“I do, I tell you. I do.”
David looked at her searchingly.
“We all see pictures of ourselves—of ourselves as we want to be. You see yourself in love withRowley, settling down with Rowley, living here contented with Rowley, never wanting to getaway. But that’s not the real you, is it, Lynn?”
“Oh, what is the real me? What’s the real you, if it comes to that? What do you want?”
“I’d have said I wanted safety, peace after storm, ease after troubled seas. But I don’t know.
Sometimes I suspect, Lynn, that both you and I want—trouble.” He added moodily, “I wish you’dnever turned up here. I was remarkably happy until you came.”
“Aren’t you happy now?”
He looked at her. She felt excitement rising in her. Her breath became faster. Never had she feltso strongly David’s queer moody attraction. He shot out a hand, grasped her shoulder, swung herround….
Then as suddenly she felt his grasp slacken. He was staring over her shoulder up the hill. Shetwisted her head to see what it was that had caught his attention.
A woman was just going through the small gate above Furrowbank. David said sharply: “Who’sthat?”
Lynn said:
“It looks like Frances.”
“Frances?” He frowned. “What does Frances want? My dear Lynn! Only those who wantsomething drop in to see Rosaleen. Your mother has already dropped in this morning.”
“Mother?” Lynn drew back. She frowned. “What did she want?”
“Don’t you know? Money!”
“Money?” Lynn stiffened.
“She got it all right,” said David. He was smiling now the cool cruel smile that fitted his face sowell.
They had been near a moment or two ago, now they were miles apart, divided by a sharpantagonism.
Lynn cried out, “Oh, no, no, no!”
He mimicked her.
“Yes, yes, yes!”
“I don’t believe it! How much?”
“Five hundred pounds.”
She drew her breath in sharply.
David said musingly:
“I wonder how much Frances is going to ask for? Really it’s hardly safe to leave Rosaleen alonefor five minutes! The poor girl doesn’t know how to say No.”
“Have there been—who else?”
David smiled mockingly.
“Aunt Kathie had incurred certain debts—oh, nothing much, a mere two hundred and fiftycovered them — but she was afraid it might get to the doctor’s ears! Since they had beenoccasioned by payments to mediums, he might not have been sympathetic. She didn’t know, ofcourse,” added David, “that the doctor himself had applied for a loan.”
Lynn said in a low voice, “What you must think of us—what you must think of us!” Then,taking him by surprise, she turned and ran helter-skelter down the hill to the farm.
He frowned as he watched her go. She had gone to Rowley, flown there as a homing pigeonflies, and the fact disturbed him more than he cared to acknowledge.
He looked up the hill again and frowned.
“No, Frances,” he said under his breath. “I think not. You’ve chosen a bad day,” and he strodepurposefully up the hill.
He went through the gate and down through the azaleas—crossed the lawn, and came quietly inthrough the window of the drawing room just as Frances Cloade was saying:
“—I wish I could make it all clearer. But you see, Rosaleen, it really is frightfully difficult toexplain—”
A voice from behind her said:
“Is it?”
Frances Cloade turned sharply. Unlike Adela Marchmont she had not deliberately tried to findRosaleen alone. The sum needed was sufficiently large to make it unlikely that Rosaleen wouldhand it over without consulting her brother. Actually, Frances would far rather have discussed thematter with David and Rosaleen together, than have David feel that she had tried to get money outof Rosaleen during his absence from the house.
She had not heard him come through the window, absorbed as she was in the presentation of aplausible case. The interruption startled her, and she realized also that David Hunter was, for somereason, in a particularly ugly mood.
“Oh, David,” she said easily, “I’m glad you’ve come. I’ve just been telling Rosaleen. Gordon’sdeath has left Jeremy in no end of a hole, and I’m wondering if she could possibly come to therescue. It’s like this—”
Her tongue flowed on swiftly—the large sum involved—Gordon’s backing—promised verbally—Government restrictions—mortgages—
A certain admiration stirred in the darkness of David’s mind. What a damned good liar thewoman was! Plausible, the whole story. But not the truth. No, he’d take his oath on that. Not thetruth! What, he wondered, was the truth? Jeremy been getting himself into Queer Street? It mustbe something pretty desperate, if he was allowing Frances to come and try this stunt. She was aproud woman, too—
He said, “Ten thousand?”
Rosaleen murmured in an awed voice:
“That’s a lot of money.”
Frances said swiftly:
“Oh, I know it is. I wouldn’t come to you if it wasn’t such a difficult sum to raise. But Jeremywould never have gone into the deal if it hadn’t been for Gordon’s backing. It’s so dreadfullyunfortunate that Gordon should have died so suddenly—”
“Leaving you all out in the cold?” David’s voice was unpleasant. “After a sheltered life underhis wing.”
There was a faint flash in Frances’ eyes as she said:
“You put things so picturesquely!”
“Rosaleen can’t touch the capital, you know. Only the income. And she pays about nineteen andsix in the pound income tax.”
“Oh, I know. Taxation’s dreadful these days. But it could be managed, couldn’t it? We’d repay—”
He interrupted:
“It could be managed. But it won’t be!”
Frances turned swiftly to Rosaleen.
“Rosaleen, you’re such a generous—”
David’s voice cut across her speech.
“What do you Cloades think Rosaleen is—a milch cow? All of you at her—hinting, asking,begging. And behind her back? Sneering at her, patronizing her, hating her, wishing her dead—”
“That’s not true,” Frances cried.
“Isn’t it? I tell you I’m sick of you all! She’s sick of you all. You’ll get no money out of us, soyou can stop coming and whining for it? Understand?”
His face was black with fury.
Frances stood up. Her face was wooden and expressionless. She drew on a washleather gloveabsently, yet with attention, as though it was a significant action.
“You make your meaning quite plain, David,” she said.
Rosaleen murmured:
“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry….”
Frances paid no attention to her. Rosaleen might not have been in the room. She took a steptowards the window and paused, facing David.
“You have said that I resent Rosaleen. That is not true. I have not resented Rosaleen—but I doresent—you!”
“What do you mean?”
He scowled at her.
“Women must live. Rosaleen married a very rich man, years older than herself. Why not? Butyou! You must live on your sister, live on the fat of the land, live softly—on her.”
“I stand between her and harpies.”
They stood looking at each other. He was aware of her anger and the thought flashed across himthat Frances Cloade was a dangerous enemy, one who could be both unscrupulous and reckless.
When she opened her mouth to speak, he even felt a moment’s apprehension. But what she saidwas singularly noncommittal.
“I shall remember what you have said, David.”
Passing him, she went out of the window.
He wondered why he felt so strongly that the words had been a threat.
Rosaleen was crying.
“Oh, David, David—you oughtn’t to have been saying those things to her. She’s the one ofthem that’s been the nicest to me.”
He said furiously: “Shut up, you little fool. Do you want them to trample all over you and bleedyou of every penny?”
“But the money—if—if it isn’t rightfully mine—”
She quailed before his glance.
“I—I didn’t mean that, David.”
“I should hope not.”
Conscience, he thought, was the devil!
He hadn’t reckoned with the item of Rosaleen’s conscience. It was going to make thingsawkward in the future.
The future? He frowned as he looked at her and let his thoughts race ahead. Rosaleen’s future…His own…He’d always known what he wanted…he knew now…But Rosaleen? What future wasthere for Rosaleen?
As his face darkened—she cried out—suddenly shivering:
“Oh! Someone’s walking over my grave.”
He said, looking at her curiously:
“So you realize it may come to that?”
“What do you mean, David?”
“I mean that five—six—seven people have every intention to hurry you into your grave beforeyou’re due there!”
“You don’t mean—murder—” Her voice was horrified. “You think these people would domurder—not nice people like the Cloades.”
“I’m not sure that it isn’t just nice people like the Cloades who do do murder. But they won’tsucceed in murdering you while I’m here to look after you. They’d have to get me out of the wayfirst. But if they did get me out of the way—well—look out for yourself!”
“David—don’t say such awful things.”
“Listen,” he gripped her arm. “If ever I’m not here, look after yourself, Rosaleen. Life isn’t safe,remember—it’s dangerous, damned dangerous. And I’ve an idea it’s specially dangerous for you.”
第一部 第六章
第六章
“那个姓玛奇蒙特的女人来这儿干吗？”大卫一进门就开口问道。
“噢，大卫。她急需要用钱。我从来没想过——”
“那我猜你给她了。”
他看着她，眼神中半是幽默半是失望。
“你一个人待着的时候还真是让人信不过啊，罗萨琳。”
“噢，大卫，我没办法拒绝。毕竟——”
“毕竟——毕竟什么？给了多少啊？”
罗萨琳小声嘀咕道：“五百英镑。”
大卫笑了，这让她松了一口气。
“就这么点儿啊！”
“噢，大卫，那是挺大一笔钱呢。”
“如今对咱们来说不算什么，罗萨琳。你似乎是真的一直都没明白，你已经是个很有钱的女人了。话虽这么说，但假如她找你要五百块钱，你就算只给她两百五她也会心满意足地走人。你必须得懂借钱人说话的意思！”
她喃喃道：“对不起，大卫。”
“我亲爱的姑娘啊！说到底，这可是你的钱。”
“不是。其实真不算是。”
“可别又从头再说一遍啦。戈登•克洛德还没来得及立遗嘱就死了。这就是所谓手气吧。你和我，咱们赢了。其他人呢——输了呗。”
“这样似乎——不太合适吧。”
“得了吧，我可爱的罗萨琳妹妹啊，难道你不享受这一切吗？有大房子，有仆人——还有珠宝首饰？难道这不算是美梦成真吗？这还不算是？赞美上帝吧，有时候我都以为一觉醒来，我会发觉这些其实就是一场梦而已。”
她也跟着他一起笑了，他仔细地端详着她，心里觉得很满意。他知道怎么跟他的罗萨琳打交道。她竟然会有负疚感，他心想，这可就不太方便了，不过这也是明摆着的事。
“你说得太对了，大卫，这就像是一场梦一样——或者说就像是电影里的某个情节。我真的很享受这一切。真的是。”
“不过我们得保住所拥有的东西，”他警告她道，“别再给克洛德家的人送礼了，罗萨琳。他们家里的哪个人都比曾经的你我有钱得多。”
“对啊，我觉得也是。”
“林恩今天早上去哪儿了？”他问道。
“我想她是去长柳居了。”
去长柳居——去看罗利——那个白痴——那个乡巴佬！他的好脾气顿时就消失了。她是准备嫁给那家伙了，是吧？
他闷闷不乐地踱出屋去，信步穿过大片的杜鹃花丛往山上走，直到山顶的那扇小门。
小路在穿过那扇小门之后便蜿蜒下山，经过罗利的农场。
大卫站在那里的时候，看见林恩•玛奇蒙特正从农场向山上走来。他犹豫了一小会儿，随即脸上摆出一副好斗的神情，漫步下山去迎她。他们恰好在半山腰的一个台阶上相遇。
“早上好，”大卫说，“婚礼什么时候办啊？”
“这个你以前问过了，”她回敬道，“你清楚着呢。在六月份。”
“你就准备一条道儿走到底啦？”
“我不明白你这话什么意思，大卫。”
“噢，不，你明白。”他轻蔑地一笑，“罗利。罗利算个什么东西？”
“一个比你强的人——你敢碰他一下试试。”她满不在乎地说道。
“我毫不怀疑他是个比我强的人——但我还真敢碰他。为了你我敢做任何事情，林恩。”
她沉默了片刻，最终开口说道：
“你没明白的是我爱罗利。”
“我表示怀疑。”
她情绪激劲地说道：
“我爱他，我告诉你。我爱他。”
大卫目光锐利地打量着她。
“我们都会在脑海里想象出自己的形象——按照自己想要成为的样子。你想象着你自己和罗利相爱，和罗利在这里定居，和罗利一起过着心满意足的生活，再也不想离开。但这不是真正的你，对吗，林恩？”
“噢，那真正的我是什么样子？如果话要这么说的话，那真正的你又是什么样子呢？你想要的又是什么呢？”
“我可能会说我想要的是安全，想要狂风暴雨之后的宁静，想要惊涛骇浪之后的悠闲。
不过我也不知道。有的时候我怀疑，林恩，咱们两个人想要的都是——麻烦。”他接着又郁郁寡欢地说道，“我真希望你从来都没在这里出现过。直到你回来之前，我一直都非常开心。”
“难道你现在不开心吗？”
他看着她。她觉得有一股兴奋之情正从心底升腾而起，呼吸也随之变得急促起来。她以前从未如此强烈地感受到大卫那种古怪的喜怒无常所具有的吸引力。他伸出一只手来抓住她的肩膀，猛地把她转了过来……
接着，她感觉到就像他抓住她的时候一样，他的手又突然松开了。他的目光越过她，凝望着她身后的山上。她扭过头去，想看看究竟是什么吸引了他的注意力。
一个女人正穿过弗罗班克上方的那道小门。大卫急切地问道：“那是谁？”
林恩说：
“看起来像是弗朗西斯。”
“弗朗西斯？”他眉头紧皱，“弗朗西斯又想要什么啊？我亲爱的林恩！只有那些想要点儿什么的人才会去顺道拜访罗萨琳。你母亲今天早上已经来拜访过了。”
“我母亲？”林恩往后缩了一下，也皱起了眉头，“她想要什么？”
“你难道不知道？要钱啊！”
“钱？”林恩全身都僵硬了。
“她拿到了。”大卫说，脸上带着冷酷而残忍的微笑，此刻这副/种笑容挂在他脸上真是再合适不过了。
就在刚才，他们彼此还近在咫尺，现在却因为这突如其来的敌意变得远隔千里。
林恩大叫道：“哦，不会的，不会的，不会的！”
他则模仿她的口气说：
“会的，会的，会的！”
“我不相信！多少钱？”
“五百英镑。”
她猛然间倒吸一口凉气。
大卫若有所思地说道：
“也不知道弗朗西斯打算要多少？留罗萨琳一个人在家真是哪怕五分钟都不安全啊！那可怜的姑娘都不知道怎么说不。”
“还有没有——其他人？”
大卫嘲弄般地一笑。
“凯西舅妈欠了些债——哦，也没多少，只要两百五十英镑就够用了——不过她很担心这件事会传到医生耳朵里去！因为那些债务是要用来支付给灵媒的，他可能不会心生同情。当然了，她并不知道，”大卫接着说道，“医生自己也来找我们借过钱。”
林恩嘴里低声说着：“你得把我们想成什么人——你得把我们想成什么人啊！”随即令他大吃一惊的是，她转过身，脚步慌乱地跑下山，直奔农场而去。
目送着她跑开，他皱起了眉头。她这是去找罗利了，就像是一只要飞回家的信鸽，哪怕他不愿意承认，这个事实还是搅得他心烦意乱。
他又抬头看看山上，眉头紧锁。
“不，弗朗西斯，”他压低嗓音说道，“我觉得你拿不着钱。你选错了日子。”随后他便果决地迈开大步向山上走去。
他先走过小门，随后又经过杜鹃花丛下坡——穿过草坪，悄无声息地从客厅的落地窗走了进去，正巧听到弗朗西斯•克洛德在说话：
“我希望我能把事情说得更明白一些。不过你瞧，罗萨琳，这实在是太难解释了——”
一个声音从她身后响起：
“是吗？”
弗朗西斯•克洛德倏地转过身去。跟阿德拉•玛奇蒙特不一样，她并没有存心去找一个罗萨琳独自一人在家的时候前来拜访。她需要的这笔钱数目很大，罗萨琳不太可能不跟她哥哥商量就把钱给她。实际上，弗朗西斯宁可把事情拿出来跟大卫和罗萨琳一起讨论，也不愿意让大卫觉得她想趁他不在家的时候从罗萨琳那里拿钱。
她正一心一意地想着怎么把事情讲述得合情合理，因此并没有听见他从落地窗走进来。这一打断吓了她一跳，同时她也意识到不知什么原因，大卫•亨特的心情特别糟糕。
“噢，大卫啊，”她从容不迫地说道，“真高兴你回来了。我这儿正跟罗萨琳说呢。戈登这一死可算是把杰里米推到无底洞里去了，我就想知道她有没有可能帮帮我们。是这么回事儿——”
她的话语滔滔不绝——谈起了需要的那一大笔钱……戈登的支持和资助……口头上的承诺……政府的限制条例……抵押贷款……
在大卫心底的阴暗之处不由得升起一股钦佩之情。这个女人说起瞎话来还真他妈是一把好手啊！整个故事讲得是有鼻子有眼。不过那并不是事实。对，他可以为此起誓。那不是事实！他也想知道事实究竟是怎样的，杰里米让自己陷入了经济上的困境吗？如果他都允许弗朗西斯来尝试这一手的话，那必定是走投无路了。她可是个有自尊心的女人呢——他说：“一万？”
罗萨琳带着些敬畏低声说道：
“那可是好大一笔钱啊。”
弗朗西斯立刻说道：
“噢，我知道是一大笔。要不是这笔钱这么难筹齐的话我也不会来找你们了。可如果没有当初戈登的支持，杰里米绝对不会掺和这桩买卖。戈登死得这么突然，实在是桩太不幸的事儿——”
“让你们全都暴露在了天寒地冻之中吗？”大卫的声音听起来令人不快，“在结束有他的羽翼庇护的生活之后。”
弗朗西斯开口说话的时候眼睛里闪过一道微光：
“你形容得真够栩栩如生的！”
“你要知道，罗萨琳是不能动那笔本金的，能支配的只有那部分收益。而且她还得缴纳差不多一千九百零六英镑的所得税。”
“噢，我知道。现如今的税额真是高得吓人。不过这笔钱还是能想办法拿出来的，不是吗？我们会偿还——”
他插嘴道：
“这笔钱确实能想办法拿出来。但我们不愿意拿！”
弗朗西斯马上又转向罗萨琳。
“罗萨琳，你是个那么慷慨大方的——”
大卫的声音打断了她的话头。
“你们克洛德家的人以为罗萨琳是什么——摇钱树吗？你们所有人当着她的面的时候都会——向她暗示，向她询问，向她乞求。而在背地里呢？嘲笑她，瞧不起她，憎恨她，盼着她死——”
“没有的事儿。”弗朗西斯叫道。
“没有吗？我告诉你，我厌烦你们所有人！她也厌烦你们所有人。你们从我们身上一个子儿都拿不到，所以你们都别再来诉苦要钱了。听明白了吗？”
他气得脸色铁青。
弗朗西斯站起身来，神色木然，面无表情。她心不在焉地戴上一副软皮手套，却又像是特别留意似的，仿佛这个动作举足轻重。
“你的意思已经说得很清楚了，大卫。”她说。
罗萨琳小声嘟囔道：
“对不起。我真的很抱歉……”
弗朗西斯对她视而不见，就好像罗萨琳压根儿没在这个房间里一样。她向窗边走了一步，随后站住脚，面对着大卫。
“你刚才说我憎恨罗萨琳。没有这回事。我并不恨罗萨琳——但是我恨——你！”
“你什么意思？”
他对她怒目而视。
“女人得活下去。罗萨琳嫁了一个非常有钱的男人，比她自己大很多。这有什么不可以的呢？可是你呢！你必须得仗着你妹妹才能生活，过着养尊处优的日子，吃着软饭——全得靠她！”
“我是在替她抵挡那些贪心的人。”
他们站在那儿相互对视着。他觉察到了她的愤怒，一个念头从他的脑海中一闪而过，他觉得弗朗西斯•克洛德可以既肆无忌惮又不计后果，是个危险的敌人。
当她再度开口说话的时候，有那么一瞬间他甚至感到了一丝恐惧。然而她说的话却出奇地不疼不痒。
“我会记住你说过的话，大卫。”
她自他身边经过，从落地窗中走了出去。
他也不知道为什么自己会觉得这句话是一种威胁，而且这种感觉还如此强烈。
罗萨琳哭了起来。
“噢，大卫啊，大卫——你不该对她说那些话的。她可是那些人里面对我最好的一个。”
他暴怒地说道：“闭嘴吧，你个小傻瓜。你就这么想要让他们把脚踩在你脸上，把你的每一分钱都榨干吗？”
“可那些钱——如果——如果本来就不该是我的——”
他瞥了她一眼，把她的话给吓了回去。
“我——我不是那个意思，大卫。”
“我希望不是。”
良知，他心想，真是要命的东西！
他以前没有预料到罗萨琳的良知问题。这一点将来会让事情变得棘手。
将来？他皱起眉头看着她，任由自己的思绪在前方飞奔。罗萨琳的将来……他自己的……他一直都知道自己想要什么……现在也知道……可罗萨琳呢？罗萨琳的将来又会是怎样的呢？
就在他的脸沉下来的时候，她突然大叫起来，浑身颤抖：
“噢！有人从我坟头上走过去了 [1] 。”
他好奇地看着她，说道：
“这么说你也意识到可能会是这种结果了？”
“你什么意思啊，大卫？”
“我是说有五个——六个——甚至七个人都一心惦记着要赶快送你进坟墓呢！”
“你不会是想说——谋杀吧……”她的声音听起来吓坏了，“你认为这些人会来杀人吗——像克洛德家那么好的人是不会杀人的。”
“我可没把握像克洛德他们家那样的好人不会真的来杀人。但只要有我在这儿照顾你，他们想杀你门儿都没有。他们必须得先把我干掉。不过他们要是真的把我干掉的话——嗯——你自己就得多加小心了！”
“大卫，别说这么让人害怕的话了。”
“听我说，”他一把抓住她的胳膊，“如果我不在这儿，罗萨琳，你要照顾好你自己。记住，生活可没有那么安全——它充满了危险，非常非常危险。而且我有种感觉，它对你来说尤其危险。”
[1]英语中的一种迷信说法，常被说话人用来解释突然发抖的原因。
BOOK I Seven（1）
Seven
I
“Rowley, can you let me have five hundred pounds?”
Rowley stared at Lynn. She stood there, out of breath from running, her face pale, her mouthset.
He sat soothingly and rather as he would speak to a horse:
“There, there, ease up, old girl. What’s all this about?”
“I want five hundred pounds.”
“I could do with it myself, for that matter.”
“But Rowley, this is serious. Can’t you lend me five hundred pounds?”
“I’m overdrawn as it is. That new tractor—”
“Yes, yes—” She pushed aside the farming details. “But you could raise money somehow—ifyou had to, couldn’t you?”
“What do you want it for, Lynn? Are you in some kind of a hole?”
“I want it for him—” She jerked her head backwards towards the big square house on the hill.
“Hunter? Why on earth—”
“It’s Mums. She’s been borrowing from him. She’s—she’s in a bit of a jam about money.”
“Yes, I expect she is.” Rowley sounded sympathetic. “Damned hard lines on her. I wish I couldhelp a bit—but I can’t.”
“I can’t stand her borrowing money from David!”
“Hold hard, old girl. It’s Rosaleen who actually has to fork out the cash. And after all, whynot?”
“Why not? You say, ‘Why not,’ Rowley?”
“I don’t see why Rosaleen shouldn’t come to the rescue once in a while. Old Gordon put us allin a spot by pegging out without a will. If the position is put clearly to Rosaleen she must seeherself that a spot of help all round is indicated.”
“You haven’t borrowed from her?”
“No—well—that’s different. I can’t very well go and ask a woman for money. Sort of thing youdon’t like doing.”
“Can’t you see that I don’t like being—being beholden to David Hunter?”
“But you’re not. It isn’t his money.”
“That’s just what it is, actually. Rosaleen’s completely under his thumb.”
“Oh, I dare say. But it isn’t his legally.”
“And you won’t, you can’t—lend me some money?”
“Now look here, Lynn—if you were in some real jam—blackmail or debts—I might be able tosell land or stock—but it would be a pretty desperate proceeding. I’m only just keeping my headabove water as it is. And what with not knowing what this damned Government is going to donext—hampered at every turn—snowed under with forms, up to midnight trying to fill them insometimes—it’s too much for one man.”
Lynn said bitterly:
“Oh, I know! If only Johnnie hadn’t been killed—”
He shouted out:
“Leave Johnnie out of it! Don’t talk about that!”
She stared at him, astonished. His face was red and congested. He seemed beside himself withrage.
Lynn turned away and went slowly back to the White House.
第一部 第七章（1）
第七章
1“罗利，你能给我五百英镑吗？”
罗利目不转睛地看着林恩。她站在那里，跑得上气不接下气，脸色苍白，嘴巴一动不动。
他很镇定地坐着，就好像他要对一匹马说话一样：
“好啦，好啦，慢慢说，大小姐。到底是怎么回事啊？”
“我想要五百英镑。”
“说实在的，我自己也想要呢。”
“但是罗利，这可是正经话啊。你就不能借我五百英镑吗？”
“事实上，我已经透支了。那台新拖拉机——”
“对，对——”她不想在这些农活的细枝末节上多费口舌，“但你还是能够想办法筹点儿钱的——如果你非筹不可的话，不是吗？”
“你想要这笔钱干什么，林恩？你是遇到什么麻烦了吗？”
“我想把这笔钱给他——”她的头冲着山上那栋方形的大房子一甩。
“亨特？到底为什么啊——”
“都怪妈。她找他借钱来着。她——她现在手头有点儿紧。”
“嗯，我猜也是，”罗利的口气听起来也满是同情，“她这该死的霉运。我倒希望我能帮上点儿忙，可惜我也没办法啊。”
“我受不了她管大卫借钱！”
“别急，大小姐。实际上不得不拿出这笔钱来的是罗萨琳吧。而且话说回来，这又有什么不可以的呢？”
“有什么不可以的？你还说‘有什么不可以的’，罗利？”
“我看不出凭什么罗萨琳就不能偶尔救个急。老戈登连个遗嘱都没留就走了，让我们大家全都陷入了困境。如果把这种状况跟罗萨琳明说，她肯定会明白她有必要帮衬大家伙儿一下。”
“你不会也从她那儿借过钱吧？”
“没有啊——呃——那可是两码事。我可不会跑去找一个女人要钱。这种事情我不愿意干。”
“难道你不明白我不想欠——欠大卫•亨特的人情吗？”
“可你没欠啊。那又不是他的钱。”
“实际上那就是。罗萨琳对他是彻底地言听计从。”
“噢，我想大概是吧。不过从法律上来说那不是他的钱。”
“而你就不想，就不能——借我点儿钱吗？”
“听我说，林恩，如果你真的遇到了什么麻烦——敲诈勒索或是债台高筑——我可能会去把土地或者股票卖掉——然而那是个相当铤而走险的做法。事实上我也只是勉强维持着不用借钱的日子而已。而且你还不知道这该死的政府下一步打算要干什么——事事处处给你设置障碍，表格多得都能把人活埋了，有时候为了填这些都得填到三更半夜——一个人真的有点儿吃不消。”
林恩悻悻地说道：
“噢，我知道！要是约翰尼没有阵亡——”
他突然大喊起来：
“别扯上约翰尼！别再谈论那件事了！”
她惊愕地瞪着他。他的脸涨得通红，似乎已经出离愤怒。
林恩转过身，缓缓地走回白屋去。
BOOK I Seven（2）
II
“Can’t you give it back, Mums?”
“Really, Lynn darling! I went straight to the bank with it. And then I paid Arthurs and Bodghamand Knebworth. Knebworth was getting quite abusive. Oh, my dear, the relief! I haven’t been ableto sleep for nights and nights. Really, Rosaleen was most understanding and nice about it.”
Lynn said bitterly:
“And I suppose you’ll go to her again and again now.”
“I hope it won’t be necessary, dear. I shall try to be very economical, you know that. But ofcourse everything is so expensive nowadays. And it gets worse and worse.”
“Yes, and we shall get worse and worse. Going on cadging.”
Adela flushed.
“I don’t think that’s a nice way of putting it, Lynn. As I explained to Rosaleen, we had alwaysdepended on Gordon.”
“We shouldn’t have. That’s what’s wrong, we shouldn’t have,” Lynn added, “He’s right todespise us.”
“Who despises us?”
“That odious David Hunter.”
“Really,” said Mrs. Marchmont with dignity, “I don’t see that it can matter in the least whatDavid Hunter thinks. Fortunately he wasn’t at Furrowbank this morning—otherwise I dare say hewould have influenced that girl. She’s completely under his thumb, of course.”
Lynn shifted from one foot to the other.
“What did you mean, Mums, when you said—that first morning I was home—‘If he is herbrother?’”
“Oh, that.” Mrs. Marchmont looked slightly embarrassed. “Well, there’s been a certain amountof gossip, you know.”
Lynn merely waited inquiringly. Mrs. Marchmont coughed.
“That type of young woman—the adventuress type (of course poor Gordon was completelytaken in)—they’ve usually got a—well, a young man of their own in the background. Suppose shesays to Gordon she’s got a brother—wires to him in Canada or wherever he was. This man turnsup. How is Gordon to know whether he’s her brother or not? Poor Gordon, absolutely infatuatedno doubt, and believing everything she said. And so her ‘brother’ comes with them to England—poor Gordon quite unsuspecting.”
Lynn said fiercely:
“I don’t believe it. I don’t believe it!”
Mrs. Marchmont raised her eyebrows.
“Really, my dear—”
“He’s not like that. And she—she isn’t either. She’s a fool perhaps, but she’s sweet—yes, she’sreally sweet. It’s just people’s foul minds. I don’t believe it, I tell you.”
Mrs. Marchmont said with dignity:
“There’s really no need to shout.”
第一部 第七章（2）
2“妈，您就不能把钱还回去吗？”
“哎呀，林恩宝贝！我拿着支票直接就奔银行了。然后我还清了阿瑟斯、博德甘和奈布沃斯的钱。奈布沃斯都快要骂街了。噢，亲爱的，无债一身轻啊！我都有多少个晚上睡不着觉了呀。说实话，在这件事情上罗萨琳真是太体贴太善解人意了。”
林恩怨愤地说道：
“那我猜您以后就该一次又一次地去找她了。”
“我希望用不着这样，亲爱的。你知道，我会尽量节衣缩食。不过当然啦，眼下什么东西都那么贵。而且情况还越来越糟糕。”
“是啊，而且我们也会变得越来越糟糕。继续去乞讨吧。”
阿德拉的脸红了。
“我认为你这么说不太好，林恩。就像我跟罗萨琳解释的那样，我们过去一直都仰仗着戈登。”
“我们就不该那样。错就错在这儿，我们本来就不该那样，”林恩接着说道，“他瞧不起咱们也是有道理的。”
“谁瞧不起咱们了？”
“那个可恨的大卫•亨特。”
“说真的，”玛奇蒙特太太不失尊严地说道，“我就不明白大卫•亨特怎么想有什么要紧的。幸好他今天早上不在弗罗班克——否则我敢说他肯定会对那个姑娘施加影响。当然了，她完全任他摆布。”
林恩把重心换到了另一只脚上。
“妈，您那句话是什么意思啊——就是在我刚回家的那天早上——您说‘假如他真是她哥哥的话’？”
“噢，那个呀。”玛奇蒙特太太看上去有点儿尴尬，“呃，你也知道，总是会有些流言蜚语。”
林恩只是好奇地等着她说下去。玛奇蒙特太太咳嗽了几声。
“那种年轻的女人啊——就是那种靠不正当手段谋取金钱和地位的女人（当然，可怜的戈登是彻底上当受骗了）——她们通常都会有那么一个……嗯，一个自己的年轻男人在幕后。假定她跟戈登说她有个哥哥吧，然后给身在加拿大或者甭管在哪儿的他发个电报。这个男人就出现啦。戈登又怎么能知道他究竟是不是她哥哥呢？可怜的戈登，完完全全为她神魂颠倒，这一点没有任何疑问，她说什么就信什么。于是她的‘哥哥’就跟着他们一起来到了英国——而可怜的戈登对此还毫无戒心。”
林恩愤怒地说道：
“我不信。我才不相信呢！”
玛奇蒙特太太扬了扬眉毛。
“说真的，亲爱的——”
“他不是那样的人。而她——她也不是。她或许是个笨蛋，可她人还挺好的——没错，她真的挺招人喜欢。那只不过是人们心里乌七八糟的想法罢了。我告诉您，我不相信。”
玛奇蒙特太太一脸严肃地说道：
“那也用不着大喊大叫啊。”