M rs. Van Rydock moved a little back from the mirror and sighed.
“Well, that’ll have to do,” she murmured.
“Think it’s all right, Jane?”
Miss Marple eyed the Lanvanelli creation appraisingly1.
“It seems to me a very beautiful gown,” she said.
“The gown’s all right,” said Mrs. Van Rydock and sighed.
“Take it off, Stephanie,” she said.
The elderly maid with the grey hair and the small pinched mouth, eased the gown carefully up over Mrs. VanRydock’s up-stretched arms.
Mrs. Van Rydock stood in front of the glass in her peach satin slip. She was exquisitely2 corseted. Her still shapelylegs were encased in fine nylon stockings. Her face, beneath a layer of cosmetics3 and constantly toned up by massage4,appeared almost girlish at a slight distance. Her hair was less grey than tending to hydrangea blue and was perfectlyset. It was practically impossible when looking at Mrs. Van Rydock, to imagine what she would be like in a naturalstate. Everything that money could do had been done for her—reinforced by diet, massage, and constant exercises.
Ruth Van Rydock looked humorously at her friend.
“Do you think most people would guess, Jane, that you and I are practically the same age?”
Miss Marple responded loyally.
“Not for a moment, I’m sure,” she said reassuringly5. “I’m afraid, you know, that I look every minute of my age!”
Miss Marple was white-haired, with a soft pink-and-white wrinkled face and innocent china blue eyes. She lookeda very sweet old lady. Nobody would have called Mrs. Van Rydock a sweet old lady.
“I guess you do, Jane,” said Mrs. Van Rydock. She grinned suddenly, “And so do I. Only not in the same way.
‘Wonderful how that old hag keeps her figure.’ That’s what they say of me. But they know I’m an old hag all right!
And, my God, do I feel like one!”
She dropped heavily onto the satin, quilted chair.
“That’s all right, Stephanie,” she said. “You can go.”
Stephanie gathered up the dress and went out.
“Good old Stephanie,” said Ruth Van Rydock. “She’s been with me for over thirty years now. She’s the onlywoman who knows what I really look like! Jane, I want to talk to you.”
Miss Marple leant forward a little. Her face took on a receptive expression. She looked, somehow, an incongruousfigure in the ornate bedroom of the expensive hotel suite6. She was dressed in rather dowdy7 black, carried a largeshopping bag, and looked every inch a lady.
“I’m worried, Jane. About Carrie Louise.”
“Carrie Louise?” Miss Marple repeated the name musingly8. The sound of it took her a long way back.
The pensionnat in Florence. Herself, the pink and white English girl from a Cathedral close. The two Martin girls,Americans, exciting to the English girl because of their quaint9 ways of speech and their forthright10 manner and vitality12.
Ruth, tall, eager, on top of the world, Carrie Louise, small, dainty, wistful.
“When did you see her last, Jane?”
“Oh! not for many many years. It must be twenty-five at least. Of course, we still send cards at Christmas.”
Such an odd thing, friendship! She, young Jane Marple, and the two Americans. Their ways diverging13 almost atonce, and yet the old affection persisting; occasional letters, remembrances at Christmas. Strange that Ruth whosehome—or rather homes—had been in America should be the sister whom she had seen the more often of the two. No,perhaps not strange. Like most Americans of her class, Ruth had been cosmopolitan14. Every year or two she had comeover to Europe, rushing from London to Paris, on to the Riviera, and back again, and always keen to snatch a fewmoments wherever she was, with her old friends. There had been many meetings like this one. In Claridge’s, or theSavoy, or the Berkeley, or the Dorchester. A recherché meal, affectionate reminiscences, and a hurried andaffectionate good-bye. Ruth had never had time to visit St. Mary Mead15. Miss Marple had not, indeed, ever expected it.
Everyone’s life has a tempo16. Ruth’s was presto17 whereas Miss Marple’s was content to be adagio18.
So it was American Ruth whom she had seen most of, whereas Carrie Louise who lived in England, she had notnow seen for over twenty years. Odd, but quite natural, because when one lives in the same country there is no need toarrange meetings with old friends. One assumes that, sooner or later, one will see them without contrivance. Only, ifyou move in different spheres, that does not happen. The paths of Jane Marple and Carrie Louise did not cross. It wasas simple as that.
“Why are you worried about Carrie Louise, Ruth?” asked Miss Marple.
“In a way that’s what worries me most! I just don’t know.”
“She’s not ill?”
“She’s very delicate—always has been. I wouldn’t say she’d been any worse than usual—considering that she’sgetting on just as we all are.”
“Unhappy?”
“Oh no.”
No, it wouldn’t be that, thought Miss Marple. It would be difficult to imagine Carrie Louise unhappy—and yetthere were times in her life when she must have been. Only—the picture did not come clearly. Bewildered—yes—incredulous—yes—but violent grief—no.
Mrs. Van Rydock’s words came appositely.
“Carrie Louise,” she said, “has always lived right out of this world. She doesn’t know what it’s like. Maybe it’sthat that worries me.”
“Her circumstances,” began Miss Marple, then stopped, shaking her head. “No,” she said.
“No, it’s she herself,” said Ruth Van Rydock. “Carrie Louise was always the one of us who had ideals. Of course,it was the fashion when we were young to have ideals—we all had them, it was the proper thing for young girls. Youwere going to nurse lepers, Jane, and I was going to be a nun19. One gets over all that nonsense. Marriage, I suppose onemight say, knocks it out of one. Still, take it by and large, I haven’t done badly out of marriage.”
Miss Marple thought that Ruth was expressing it mildly. Ruth had been married three times, each time to anextremely wealthy man, and the resultant divorces had increased her bank balance without in the least souring herdisposition.
“Of course,” said Mrs. Van Rydock, “I’ve always been tough. Things don’t get me down. I’ve not expected toomuch of life and certainly not expected too much of men—and I’ve done very well out of it—and no hard feelings.
Tommy and I are still excellent friends, and Julius often asks me my opinion about the market.” Her face darkened. “Ibelieve that’s what worries me about Carrie Louise—she’s always had a tendency, you know, to marry cranks.”
“Cranks?”
“People with ideals. Carrie Louise was always a pushover for ideals. There she was, as pretty as they make them,just seventeen and listening with her eyes as big as saucers to old Gulbrandsen holding forth11 about his plans for thehuman race. Over fifty, and she married him, a widower20 with a family of grown-up children—all because of hisphilanthropic ideas. She used to sit listening to him spellbound. Just like Desdemona and Othello. Only fortunatelythere was no Iago about to mess things up — and anyway Gulbrandsen wasn’t coloured. He was a Swede or aNorwegian or something.”
Miss Marple nodded thoughtfully. The name of Gulbrandsen had an international significance. A man who withshrewd business acumen21 and perfect honesty had built up a fortune so colossal22 that really philanthropy had been theonly solution to the disposal of it. The name still held significance. The Gulbrandsen Trust, the Gulbrandsen ResearchFellowships, the Gulbrandsen Administrative23 Almshouses, and best known of all the vast educational College for thesons of working men.
“She didn’t marry him for his money, you know,” said Ruth, “I should have if I’d married him at all. But not CarrieLouise. I don’t know what would have happened if he hadn’t died when she was thirty-two. Thirty-two’s a very niceage for a widow. She’s got experience, but she’s still adaptable24.”
The spinster listening to her, nodded gently whilst her mind reviewed, tentatively, widows she had known in thevillage of St. Mary Mead.
“I was really happiest about Carrie Louise when she was married to Johnnie Restarick. Of course, he married herfor her money—or if not exactly that, at any rate he wouldn’t have married her if she hadn’t had any. Johnnie was aselfish pleasure-loving lazy hound, but that’s so much safer than a crank. All Johnnie wanted was to live soft. Hewanted Carrie Louise to go to the best dressmakers and have yachts and cars and enjoy herself with him. That kind ofman is so very safe. Give him comfort and luxury and he’ll purr like a cat and be absolutely charming to you. I nevertook that scene designing and theatrical25 stuff of his very seriously. But Carrie Louise was thrilled by it—saw it all asArt with a capital A and really forced him back into those surroundings and then that dreadful Yugoslavian woman gothold of him and just swept him off with her. He didn’t really want to go. If Carrie Louise had waited and beensensible, he would have come back to her.”
“Did she care very much?” asked Miss Marple.
“That’s the funny thing. I don’t really believe she did. She was absolutely sweet about it all—but then she wouldbe. She is sweet. Quite anxious to divorce him so that he and that creature could get married. And offering to givethose two boys of his by his first marriage a home with her because it would be more settled for them. So there poorJohnnie was—he had to marry the woman and she led him an awful six months and then drove him over a precipice26 ina car in a fit of rage. They said it was an accident, but I think it was just temper!”
Mrs. Van Rydock paused, took up a mirror and gazed at her face searchingly. She picked up her eyebrow27 tweezersand pulled out a hair.
“And what does Carrie Louise do next but marry this man Lewis Serrocold. Another crank! Another man withideals! Oh I don’t say he isn’t devoted28 to her—I think he is—but he’s bitten by that same bug29 of wanting to improveeverybody’s lives for them. And really, you know, nobody can do that but yourself.”
“I wonder,” said Miss Marple.
“Only, of course, there’s a fashion in these things, just like there is in clothes. (My dear, have you seen whatChristian Dior is trying to make us wear in the way of skirts?) Where was I? Oh yes, fashion. Well, there’s a fashion inphilanthropy too. It used to be education in Gulbrandsen’s day. But that’s out of date now. The State has stepped in.
Everyone expects education as a matter of right—and doesn’t think much of it when they get it! Juvenile30 delinquency—that’s what is the rage nowadays. All these young criminals and potential criminals. Everyone’s mad about them.
You should see Lewis Serrocold’s eyes sparkle behind those thick glasses of his. Crazy with enthusiasm! One of thosemen of enormous willpower who like living on a banana and a piece of toast and put all their energies into a cause.
And Carrie Louise eats it up—just as she always did. But I don’t like it, Jane. They’ve had meetings of the trusteesand the whole place has been turned over to this new idea. It’s a training establishment now for these juvenilecriminals, complete with psychiatrists31 and psychologists and all the rest of it. There Lewis and Carrie Louise are,living there, surrounded by these boys—who aren’t perhaps quite normal. And the place stiff with occupationaltherapists and teachers and enthusiasts32, half of them quite mad. Cranks, all the lot of them, and my little Carrie Louisein the middle of it all!”
She paused—and stared helplessly at Miss Marple.
Miss Marple said in a faintly puzzled voice:
“But you haven’t told me yet, Ruth, what you are really afraid of.”
“I tell you, I don’t know! And that’s what worries me. I’ve just been down there—for a flying visit. And I felt allalong that there was something wrong. In the atmosphere—in the house—I know I’m not mistaken. I’m sensitive toatmosphere, always have been. Did I ever tell you how I urged Julius to sell out of Amalgamated33 Cereals before thecrash came? And wasn’t I right? Yes, something is wrong down there. But I don’t know why or what—if it’s thesedreadful young jailbirds—or if it’s nearer home. I can’t say what it is. There’s Lewis just living for his ideas and notnoticing anything else, and Carrie Louise, bless her, never seeing or hearing or thinking anything except what’s alovely sight, or a lovely sound, or a lovely thought. It’s sweet but it isn’t practical. There is such a thing as evil—and Iwant you, Jane, to go down there right away and find out just exactly what’s the matter.”
“Me?” exclaimed Miss Marple. “Why me?”
“Because you’ve got a nose for that sort of thing. You always had. You’ve always been a sweet innocent lookingcreature, Jane, and all the time underneath34 nothing has ever surprised you, you always believe the worst.”
“The worst is so often true,” murmured Miss Marple.
“Why you have such a poor idea of human nature, I can’t think—living in that sweet peaceful village of yours, soold world and pure.”
“You have never lived in a village, Ruth. The things that go on in a pure peaceful village would probably surpriseyou.”
“Oh I daresay. My point is that they don’t surprise you. So you will go down to Stonygates and find out what’swrong, won’t you?”
“But, Ruth dear, that would be a most difficult thing to do.”
“No, it wouldn’t. I’ve thought it all out. If you won’t be absolutely mad at me, I’ve prepared the ground already.”
Mrs. Van Rydock paused, eyed Miss Marple rather uneasily, lighted a cigarette, and plunged35 rather nervously36 intoexplanation.
“You’ll admit, I’m sure, that things have been difficult in this country since the war, for people with small fixedincomes—for people like you, that is to say, Jane.”
“Oh yes, indeed. But for the kindness, the really great kindness of my nephew Raymond, I don’t know really whereI should be.”
“Never mind your nephew,” said Mrs. Van Rydock. “Carrie Louise knows nothing about your nephew—or if shedoes, she knows him as a writer and has no idea that he’s your nephew. The point, as I put it to Carrie Louise, is thatit’s just too bad about dear Jane. Really sometimes hardly enough to eat, and of course far too proud ever to appeal toold friends. One couldn’t, I said, suggest money—but a nice long rest in lovely surroundings, with an old friend andwith plenty of nourishing food, and no cares or worries—” Ruth Van Rydock paused and then added defiantly37, “Nowgo on—be mad at me if you want to be.”
Miss Marple opened her china blue eyes in gentle surprise.
“But why should I be mad at you, Ruth? A very ingenious and plausible38 approach. I’m sure Carrie Louiseresponded.”
“She’s writing to you. You’ll find the letter when you get back. Honestly, Jane, you don’t feel that I’ve taken anunpardonable liberty? You won’t mind—”
She hesitated and Miss Marple put her thoughts deftly39 into words.
“Going to Stonygates as an object of charity—more or less under false pretences40? Not in the least—if it isnecessary. You think it is necessary—and I am inclined to agree with you.”
Mrs. Van Rydock stared at her.
“But why? What have you heard?”
“I haven’t heard anything. It’s just your conviction. You’re not a fanciful woman, Ruth.”
“No, but I haven’t anything definite to go upon.”
“I remember,” said Miss Marple thoughtfully, “one Sunday morning at church—it was the second Sunday inAdvent—sitting behind Grace Lamble and feeling more and more worried about her. Quite sure, you know, thatsomething was wrong—badly wrong—and yet being quite unable to say why. A most disturbing feeling and very,very definite.”
“And was there something wrong?”
“Oh yes. Her father, the old admiral, had been very peculiar41 for some time, and the very next day he went for herwith the coal hammer, roaring out that she was Antichrist masquerading as his daughter. He nearly killed her. Theytook him away to the asylum42 and she eventually recovered after months in hospital—but it was a very near thing.”
“And you’d actually had a premonition that day in church?”
“I wouldn’t call it a premonition. It was founded on fact—these things usually are, though one doesn’t alwaysrecognise it at the time. She was wearing her Sunday hat the wrong way round. Very significant, really, because GraceLamble was a most precise woman, not at all vague or absentminded—and the circumstances under which she wouldnot notice which way her hat was put on to go to church were really extremely limited. Her father, you see, hadthrown a marble paperweight at her and it had shattered the looking glass. She had caught up her hat, put it on, andhurried out of the house. Anxious to keep up appearances and for the servants not to hear anything. She put downthese actions, you see, to ‘dear Papa’s Naval43 temper,’ she didn’t realise that his mind was definitely unhinged. Thoughshe ought to have realised it clearly enough. He was always complaining to her of being spied upon and of enemies—all the usual symptoms, in fact.”
Mrs. Van Rydock gazed respectfully at her friend.
“Maybe, Jane,” she said, “that St. Mary Mead of yours isn’t quite the idyllic44 retreat that I’ve always imagined it.”
“Human nature, dear, is very much the same everywhere. It is more difficult to observe it closely in a city, that isall.”
“And you’ll go to Stonygates?”
“I’ll go to Stonygates. A little unfair, perhaps, on my nephew Raymond. To let it be thought that he does not assistme, I mean. Still the dear boy is in Mexico for six months. And by that time it should all be over.”
“What should all be over?”
“Carrie Louise’s invitation will hardly be for an indefinite stay. Three weeks, perhaps—a month. That should beample.”
“For you to find out what is wrong?”
“For me to find out what is wrong.”
“My, Jane,” said Mrs. Van Rydock, “you’ve got a lot of confidence in yourself, haven’t you?”
Miss Marple looked faintly reproachful.
“You have confidence in me, Ruth. Or so you say … I can only assure you that I shall endeavour to justify45 yourconfidence.”
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appraisingly
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| adv.以品评或评价的眼光 | |
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exquisitely
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cosmetics
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massage
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reassuringly
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suite
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dowdy
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musingly
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quaint
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forthright
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forth
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vitality
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diverging
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cosmopolitan
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mead
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tempo
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presto
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adagio
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nun
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widower
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acumen
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colossal
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administrative
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adaptable
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theatrical
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precipice
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eyebrow
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devoted
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bug
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juvenile
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psychiatrists
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| n.精神病专家，精神病医生( psychiatrist的名词复数 ) | |
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enthusiasts
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amalgamated
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| v.（使）（金属）汞齐化( amalgamate的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）合并；联合；结合 | |
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underneath
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plunged
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nervously
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defiantly
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plausible
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deftly
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pretences
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peculiar
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asylum
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naval
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idyllic
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justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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