IM iss Marple awoke early because she always woke early. She was appreciative1 of her bed. Most comfortable.
She pattered across to the window and pulled the curtains, admitting a little pallid2 London daylight. As yet,however, she did not try to dispense3 with the electric light. A very nice bedroom they had given her, again quite in thetradition of Bertram’s. A rose-flowered wallpaper, a large well-polished mahogany chest of drawers—a dressing4 tableto correspond. Two upright chairs, one easy chair of a reasonable height from the ground. A connecting door led to abathroom which was modern but which had a tiled wallpaper of roses and so avoided any suggestion of over-frigidhygiene.
Miss Marple got back into bed, plumped her pillows up, glanced at her clock, half past seven, picked up the smalldevotional book that always accompanied her, and read as usual the page and a half allotted5 to the day. Then shepicked up her knitting and began to knit, slowly at first, since her fingers were stiff and rheumatic when she firstawoke, but very soon her pace grew faster, and her fingers lost their painful stiffness.
“Another day,” said Miss Marple to herself, greeting the fact with her usual gentle pleasure. Another day—andwho knew what it might bring forth6?
She relaxed, and abandoning her knitting, let thoughts pass in an idle stream through her head…Selina Hazy7…what a pretty cottage she had had in St. Mary Mead—and now someone had put on that ugly green roof…Muffins…very wasteful8 in butter…but very good…And fancy serving old-fashioned seed cake! She had never expected, not fora moment, that things would be as much like they used to be…because, after all, Time didn’t stand still…And to havemade it stand still in this way must really have cost a lot of money…Not a bit of plastic in the place!…It must paythem, she supposed. The out-of-date returns in due course as the picturesque…Look how people wanted old-fashionedroses now, and scorned hybrid9 teas!…None of this place seemed real at all…Well, why should it?…It was fifty—no,nearer sixty years since she had stayed here. And it didn’t seem real to her because she was now acclimatized in thispresent year of Our Lord—Really, the whole thing opened up a very interesting set of problems…The atmosphere andthe people…Miss Marple’s fingers pushed her knitting farther away from her.
“Pockets,” she said aloud…“Pockets, I suppose…And quite difficult to find….”
Would that account for that curious feeling of uneasiness she had had last night? That feeling that something waswrong….
All those elderly people—really very much like those she remembered when she had stayed here fifty years ago.
They had been natural then—but they weren’t very natural now. Elderly people nowadays weren’t like elderly peoplethen—they had that worried harried10 look of domestic anxieties with which they are too tired to cope, or they rushedaround to committees and tried to appear bustling11 and competent, or they dyed their hair gentian blue, or wore wigs,and their hands were not the hands she remembered, tapering12, delicate hands—they were harsh from washing up anddetergents….
And so—well, so these people didn’t look real. But the point was that they were real. Selina Hazy was real. Andthat rather handsome old military man in the corner was real—she had met him once, although she did not recall hisname—and the Bishop13 (dear Robbie!) was dead.
Miss Marple glanced at her little clock. It was eight thirty. Time for her breakfast.
She examined the instructions given by the hotel—splendid big print so that it wasn’t necessary to put one’sspectacles on.
Meals could be ordered through the telephone by asking for Room Service, or you could press the bell labelledChambermaid.
Miss Marple did the latter. Talking to Room Service always flustered14 her.
The result was excellent. In no time at all there was a tap on the door and a highly satisfactory chambermaidappeared. A real chambermaid looking unreal, wearing a striped lavender print dress and actually a cap, a freshlylaundered cap. A smiling, rosy15, positively16 countrified face. (Where did they find these people?)Miss Marple ordered her breakfast. Tea, poached eggs, fresh rolls. So adept17 was the chambermaid that she did noteven mention cereals or orange juice.
Five minutes later breakfast came. A comfortable tray with a big potbellied teapot, creamy-looking milk, a silverhot water jug18. Two beautifully poached eggs on toast, poached the proper way, not little round hard bullets shaped intin cups, a good-sized round of butter stamped with a thistle. Marmalade, honey and strawberry jam. Delicious-looking rolls, not the hard kind with papery interiors—they smelt20 of fresh bread (the most delicious smell in theworld!). There was also an apple, a pear and a banana.
Miss Marple inserted a knife gingerly but with confidence. She was not disappointed. Rich deep yellow yolk21 oozedout, thick and creamy. Proper eggs!
Everything’s piping hot. A real breakfast. She could have cooked it herself but she hadn’t had to! It was brought toher as if—no, not as though she were a queen—as though she were a middle-aged22 lady staying in a good but notunduly expensive hotel. In fact—back to 1909. Miss Marple expressed appreciation23 to the chambermaid who repliedsmiling,
“Oh, yes, Madam, the Chef is very particular about his breakfasts.”
Miss Marple studied her appraisingly24. Bertram’s Hotel could certainly produce marvels25. A real housemaid. Shepinched her left arm surreptitiously.
“Have you been here long?” she asked.
“Just over three years, Madam.”
“And before that?”
“I was in a hotel at Eastbourne. Very modern and up-to-date—but I prefer an old-fashioned place like this.”
Miss Marple took a sip26 of tea. She found herself humming in a vague way—words fitting themselves to a long-forgotten song.
“Oh where have you been all my life….”
The chambermaid was looking slightly startled.
“I was just remembering an old song,” twittered Miss Marple apologetically. “Very popular at one time.”
Again she sang softly. “Oh where have you been all my life….”
“Perhaps you know it?” she asked.
“Well—” The chambermaid looked rather apologetic.
“Too long ago for you,” said Miss Marple. “Ah well, one gets to remembering things—in a place like this.”
“Yes, Madam, a lot of the ladies who stay here feel like that, I think.”
“It’s partly why they come, I expect,” said Miss Marple.
The chambermaid went out. She was obviously used to old ladies who twittered and reminisced.
Miss Marple finished her breakfast, and got up in a pleasant leisurely27 fashion. She had a plan ready-made for adelightful morning of shopping. Not too much—to overtire herself. Oxford28 Street today, perhaps. And tomorrowKnightsbridge. She planned ahead happily.
It was about ten o’clock when she emerged from her room fully19 equipped: hat, gloves, umbrella—just in case,though it looked fine—handbag—her smartest shopping bag—The door next but one on the corridor opened sharply and someone looked out. It was Bess Sedgwick. Shewithdrew back into the room and closed the door sharply.
Miss Marple wondered as she went down the stairs. She preferred the stairs to the lift first thing in the morning. Itlimbered her up. Her steps grew slower and slower…she stopped.
II
As Colonel Luscombe strode along the passage from his room, a door at the top of the stairs opened sharply and LadySedgwick spoke29 to him.
“There you are at last! I’ve been on the look out for you—waiting to pounce30. Where can we go and talk? That is tosay without falling over some old pussy31 every second.”
“Well, really, Bess, I’m not quite sure—I think on the mezzanine floor there’s a sort of writing room.”
“You’d better come in here. Quick now, before the chambermaid gets peculiar32 ideas about us.”
Rather unwillingly33, Colonel Luscombe stepped across the threshold and had the door shut firmly behind him.
“I’d no idea you would be staying here, Bess, I hadn’t the faintest idea of it.”
“I don’t suppose you had.”
“I mean—I would never have brought Elvira here. I have got Elvira here, you know?”
“Yes, I saw her with you last night.”
“But I really didn’t know that you were here. It seemed such an unlikely place for you.”
“I don’t see why,” said Bess Sedgwick, coldy. “It’s far and away the most comfortable hotel in London. Whyshouldn’t I stay here?”
“You must understand that I hadn’t any idea of…I mean—”
She looked at him and laughed. She was dressed ready to go out in a well cut dark suit and a shirt of bright emeraldgreen. She looked gay and very much alive. Beside her, Colonel Luscombe looked rather old and faded.
“Darling Derek, don’t look so worried. I’m not accusing you of trying to stage a mother and daughter sentimentalmeeting. It’s just one of those things that happen; where people meet each other in unsuspected places. But you mustget Elvira out of here, Derek. You must get her out of it at once—today.”
“Oh, she’s going. I mean, I only brought her here just for a couple of nights. Do a show—that sort of thing. She’sgoing down to the Melfords’ tomorrow.”
“Poor girl, that’ll be boring for her.”
Luscombe looked at her with concern. “Do you think she will be very bored?”
Bess took pity on him.
“Probably not after duress34 in Italy. She might even think it wildly thrilling.”
Luscombe took his courage in both hands.
“Look here, Bess, I was startled to find you here, but don’t you think it—well, you know, it might be meant in away. I mean that it might be an opportunity—I don’t think you really know how—well, how the girl might feel.”
“What are you trying to say, Derek?”
“Well, you are her mother, you know.”
“I’m course I’m her mother. She’s my daughter. And what good has that fact ever been to either of us, or ever willbe?”
“You can’t be sure. I think—I think she feels it.”
“What gives you that idea?” said Bess Sedgwick sharply.
“Something she said yesterday. She asked where you were, what you were doing.”
Bess Sedgwick walked across the room to the window. She stood there a moment tapping on the pane35.
“You’re so nice, Derek,” she said. “You have such nice ideas. But they don’t work, my poor angel. That’s whatyou’ve got to say to yourself. They don’t work and they might be dangerous.”
“Oh come now, Bess. Dangerous?”
“Yes, yes, yes. Dangerous. I’m dangerous. I’ve always been dangerous.”
“When I think of some of the things you’ve done,” said Colonel Luscombe.
“That’s my own business,” said Bess Sedgwick. “Running into danger has become a kind of habit with me. No, Iwouldn’t say habit. More an addiction36. Like a drug. Like that nice little dollop of heroin37 addicts38 have to have every sooften to make life seem bright coloured and worth living. Well, that’s all right. That’s my funeral—or not—as the casemay be. I’ve never taken drugs—never needed them—Danger has been my drug. But people who live as I do can be asource of harm to others. Now don’t be an obstinate39 old fool, Derek. You keep that girl well away from me. I can doher no good. Only harm. If possible, don’t even let her know I was staying in the same hotel. Ring up the Melfordsand take her down there today. Make some excuse about a sudden emergency—”
Colonel Luscombe hesitated, pulling his moustaches.
“I think you’re making a mistake, Bess.” He sighed. “She asked where you were. I told her you were abroad.”
“Well, I shall be in another twelve hours, so that all fits very nicely.”
She came up to him, kissed him on the point of his chin, turned him smartly around as though they were about toplay Blind Man’s Buff, opened the door, gave him a gentle little propelling shove out of it. As the door shut behindhim, Colonel Luscombe noticed an old lady turning the corner from the stairs. She was muttering to herself as shelooked into her handbag. “Dear, dear me. I suppose I must have left it in my room. Oh dear.”
She passed Colonel Luscombe without paying much attention to him apparently40, but as he went on down the stairsMiss Marple paused by her room door and directed a piercing glance after him. Then she looked towards BessSedgwick’s door. “So that’s who she was waiting for,” said Miss Marple to herself. “I wonder why.”
III
Canon Pennyfather, fortified41 by breakfast, wandered across the lounge, remembered to leave his key at the desk,pushed his way through the swinging doors, and was neatly42 inserted into a taxi by the Irish commissionaire whoexisted for this purpose.
“Where to, sir?”
“Oh dear,” said Canon Pennyfather in sudden dismay. “Now let me see—where was I going?”
The traffic in Pond Street was held up for some minutes whilst Canon Pennyfather and the commissionaire debatedthis knotty43 point.
Finally Canon Pennyfather had a brainwave and the taxi was directed to go to the British Museum.
The commissionaire was left on the pavement with a broad grin on his face, and since no other exits seemed to betaking place, he strolled a little way along the fa?ade of the hotel whistling an old tune44 in a muted manner.
One of the windows on the ground floor of Bertram’s was flung up—but the commissionaire did not even turn hishead until a voice spoke unexpectedly through the open window.
“So this is where you’ve landed up, Micky. What on earth brought you to this place?”
He swung round, startled—and stared.
Lady Sedgwick thrust her head through the open window.
“Don’t you know me?” she demanded.
A sudden gleam of recognition came across the man’s face.
“Why, if it isn’t little Bessie now! Fancy that! After all these years. Little Bessie.”
“Nobody but you ever called me Bessie. It’s a revolting name. What have you been doing all these years?”
“This and that,” said Micky with some reserve. “I’ve not been in the news like you have. I’ve read of your doingsin the paper time and again.”
Bess Sedgwick laughed. “Anyway, I’ve worn better than you have,” she said. “You drink too much. You alwaysdid.”
“You’ve worn well because you’ve always been in the money.”
“Money wouldn’t have done you any good. You’d have drunk even more and gone to the dogs completely. Oh yes,you would! What brought you here? That’s what I want to know. How did you ever get taken on at this place?”
“I wanted a job. I had these—” his hand flicked45 over the row of medals.
“Yes, I see.” She was thoughtful. “All genuine too, aren’t they?”
“Sure they’re genuine. Why shouldn’t they be?”
“Oh I believe you. You always had courage. You’ve always been a good fighter. Yes, the army suited you. I’m sureof that.”
“The army’s all right in time of war, but it’s no good in peacetime.”
“So you took to this stuff. I hadn’t the least idea—” she stopped.
“You hadn’t the least idea what, Bessie?”
“Nothing. It’s queer seeing you again after all these years.”
“I haven’t forgotten,” said the man. “I’ve never forgotten you, little Bessie. Ah! A lovely girl you were! A lovelyslip of a girl.”
“A damn’ fool of a girl, that’s what I was,” said Lady Sedgwick.
“That’s true now. You hadn’t much sense. If you had, you wouldn’t have taken up with me. What hands you hadfor a horse. Do you remember that mare—what was her name now?—Molly O’Flynn. Ah, she was a wicked devil,that one was.”
“You were the only one that could ride her,” said Lady Sedgwick.
“She’d have had me off if she could! When she found she couldn’t, she gave in. Ah, she was a beauty, now. Buttalking of sitting a horse, there wasn’t one lady in those parts better than you. A lovely seat you had, lovely hands.
Never any fear in you, not for a minute! And it’s been the same ever since, so I judge. Aeroplanes, racing46 cars.”
Bess Sedgwick laughed.
“I must get on with my letters.”
She drew back from the window.
Micky leaned over the railing. “I’ve not forgotten Ballygowlan,” he said with meaning. “Sometimes I’ve thought ofwriting to you—”
Bess Sedgwick’s voice came out harshly.
“And what do you mean by that, Mick Gorman?”
“I was just saying as I haven’t forgotten—anything. I was just—reminding you like.”
Bess Sedgwick’s voice still held its harsh note.
“If you mean what I think you mean, I’ll give you a piece of advice. Any trouble from you, and I’d shoot you aseasily as I’d shoot a rat. I’ve shot men before—”
“In foreign parts, maybe—”
“Foreign parts or here—it’s all the same to me.”
“Ah, good Lord, now, and I believe you would do just that!” His voice held admiration47. “In Ballygowlan—”
“In Ballygowlan,” she cut in, “they paid you to keep your mouth shut and paid you well. You took the money.
You’ll get no more from me so don’t think it.”
“It would be a nice romantic story for the Sunday papers….”
“You heard what I said.”
“Ah,” he laughed, “I’m not serious, I was just joking. I’d never do anything to hurt my little Bessie. I’ll keep mymouth shut.”
“Mind you do,” said Lady Sedgwick.
She shut down the window. Staring down at the desk in front of her she looked at her unfinished letter on theblotting paper. She picked it up, looked at it, crumpled48 it into a ball and slung49 it into the wastepaper basket. Thenabruptly she got up from her seat and walked out of the room. She did not even cast a glance around her before shewent.
The smaller writing rooms at Bertram’s often had an appearance of being empty even when they were not. Twowell-appointed desks stood in the windows, there was a table on the right that held a few magazines, on the left weretwo very high-backed armchairs turned towards the fire. These were favourite spots in the afternoon for elderlymilitary or naval50 gentlemen to ensconce themselves and fall happily asleep until teatime. Anyone coming in to write aletter did not usually even notice them. The chairs were not so much in demand during the morning.
As it happened, however, they were on this particular morning both occupied. An old lady was in one and a younggirl in the other. The young girl rose to her feet. She stood a moment looking uncertainly towards the door throughwhich Lady Sedgwick had passed out, then she moved slowly towards it. Elvira Blake’s face was deadly pale.
It was another five minutes before the old lady moved. Then Miss Marple decided51 that the little rest which shealways took after dressing and coming downstairs had lasted quite long enough. It was time to go out and enjoy thepleasures of London. She might walk as far as Piccadilly, and take a No. 9 bus to High Street, Kensington, or shemight walk along to Bond Street and take a 25 bus to Marshall & Snelgrove’s, or she might take a 25 the other waywhich as far as she remembered would land her up at the Army & Navy Stores. Passing through the swing doors shewas still savouring these delights in her mind. The Irish commissionaire, back on duty, made up her mind for her.
“You’ll be wanting a taxi, Ma’am,” he said with firmness.
“I don’t think I do,” said Miss Marple. “I think there’s a 25 bus I could take quite near here—or a 2 from ParkLane.”
“You’ll not be wanting a bus,” said the commissionaire firmly. “It’s very dangerous springing on a bus whenyou’re getting on in life. The way they start and stop and go on again. Jerk you off your feet, they do. No heart at all,these fellows, nowadays. I’ll whistle you along a taxi and you’ll go to wherever you want to like a queen.”
Miss Marple considered and fell.
“Very well then,” she said, “perhaps I had better have a taxi.”
The commissionaire had no need even to whistle. He merely clicked his thumb and a taxi appeared like magic.
Miss Marple was helped into it with every possible care and decided on the spur of the moment to go to Robinson &Cleaver’s and look at their splendid offer of real linen52 sheets. She sat happily in her taxi feeling indeed as thecommissionaire had promised her, just like a queen. Her mind was filled with pleasurable anticipation53 of linen sheets,linen pillowcases and proper glass and kitchen cloths without pictures of bananas, figs54 or performing dogs and otherpictorial distractions55 to annoy you when you were washing up.
IV
Lady Sedgwick came up to the Reception desk.
“Mr. Humfries in his office?”
“Yes, Lady Sedgwick.” Miss Gorringe looked startled.
Lady Sedgwick passed behind the desk, tapped on the door and went in without waiting for any response.
Mr. Humfries looked up startled.
“What—”
“Who engaged the man Michael Gorman?”
Mr. Humfries spluttered a little.
“Parfitt left—he had a car accident a month ago. We had to replace him quickly. This man seemed all right.
References OK—ex-Army—quite good record—not very bright perhaps—but that’s all the better sometimes—youdon’t know anything against him, do you?”
“Enough not to want him here.”
“If you insist,” Humfries said slowly, “we’ll give him his notice—”
“No,” said Lady Sedgwick slowly. “No—it’s too late for that—Never mind.”
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appreciative
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| adj.有鉴赏力的，有眼力的；感激的 | |
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pallid
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| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
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dispense
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| vt.分配，分发；配(药)，发(药)；实施 | |
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dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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allotted
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| 分配，拨给，摊派( allot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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forth
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hazy
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wasteful
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hybrid
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| n.(动，植）杂种，混合物 | |
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harried
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| v.使苦恼( harry的过去式和过去分词 )；不断烦扰；一再袭击；侵扰 | |
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bustling
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tapering
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bishop
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flustered
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| adj.慌张的；激动不安的v.使慌乱，使不安( fluster的过去式和过去分词) | |
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rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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positively
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adept
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jug
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| n.(有柄，小口，可盛水等的)大壶，罐，盂 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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smelt
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yolk
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middle-aged
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appreciation
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appraisingly
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marvels
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| n.奇迹( marvel的名词复数 )；令人惊奇的事物（或事例）；不平凡的成果；成就v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的第三人称单数 ) | |
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sip
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leisurely
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Oxford
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spoke
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pounce
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pussy
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peculiar
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unwillingly
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duress
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pane
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addiction
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heroin
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addicts
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obstinate
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apparently
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fortified
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neatly
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knotty
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| adj.有结的，多节的，多瘤的，棘手的 | |
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tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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flicked
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| （尤指用手指或手快速地）轻击( flick的过去式和过去分词 )； （用…）轻挥； （快速地）按开关； 向…笑了一下（或瞥了一眼等） | |
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racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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47
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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48
crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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slung
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| 抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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50
naval
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| adj.海军的，军舰的，船的 | |
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51
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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52
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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53
anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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figs
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| figures 数字，图形，外形 | |
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distractions
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| n.使人分心的事[人]( distraction的名词复数 )；娱乐，消遣；心烦意乱；精神错乱 | |
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