LOVE
T he following morning they visited a small Queen Anne Manor1 House. The drive there had not been very long ortiring. It was a very charming-looking house and had an interesting history as well as a very beautiful and unusuallylaid out garden.
Richard Jameson, the architect, was full of admiration2 for the structural3 beauty of the house and being the kind ofyoung man who is fond of hearing his own voice, he slowed down in nearly every room that they went through,pointing out every special moulding of fireplace, and giving historical dates and references. Some of the group,appreciative at first, began to get slightly restive4, as the somewhat monotonous5 lecturing went on. Some of them beganto edge carefully away and fall behind the party. The local caretaker, who was in charge, was not himself too pleasedat having his occupation usurped6 by one of the sightseers. He made a few efforts to get matters back into his ownhands but Mr. Jameson was unyielding. The caretaker made a last try.
“In this room, ladies and gentlemen, the White Parlour, folks call it, is where they found a body. A young man itwas, stabbed with a dagger7, lying on the hearthrug. Way back in seventeen hundred and something it was. It was saidthat the Lady Moffat of that day had a lover. He came through a small side door and up a steep staircase to this roomthrough a loose panel there was to the left of the fireplace. Sir Richard Moffat, her husband, you see, was said to beacross the seas in the Low Countries. But he come home, and in he came unexpectedly and caught ’em theretogether.”
He paused proudly. He was pleased at the response from his audience, glad of a respite8 from the architecturaldetails which they had been having forced down their throats.
“Why, isn’t that just too romantic, Henry?” said Mrs. Butler in her resonant9 transatlantic tones. “Why, you know,there’s quite an atmosphere in this room. I feel it. I certainly can feel it.”
“Mamie is very sensitive to atmospheres,” said her husband proudly to those around him. “Why, once when wewere in an old house down in Louisiana….”
The narrative10 of Mamie’s special sensitivity got into its swing and Miss Marple and one or two others seized theiropportunity to edge gently out of the room and down the exquisitely11 moulded staircase to the ground floor.
“A friend of mine,” said Miss Marple to Miss Cooke and Miss Barrow who were next to her, “had a most nerve-racking experience only a few years ago. A dead body on their library floor one morning.”
“One of the family?” asked Miss Barrow. “An epileptic fit?”
“Oh no, it was a murder. A strange girl in evening dress. A blonde. But her hair was dyed. She was really abrunette; and—oh …” Miss Marple broke off, her eyes fixed12 on Miss Cooke’s yellow hair where it escaped from herheadscarf.
It had come to her suddenly. She knew why Miss Cooke’s face was familiar and she knew where she had seen herbefore. But when she had seen her then, Miss Cooke’s hair had been dark—almost black. And now it was brightyellow.
Mrs. Riseley-Porter, coming down the stairs, spoke13 decisively as she pushed past them and completed the staircaseand turned into the hall.
“I really cannot go up and down anymore of those stairs,” she declared, “and standing14 around in these rooms isvery tiring. I believe the gardens here, although not extensive, are quite celebrated15 in horticultural circles. I suggest wego there without loss of time. It looks as though it might cloud over before long. I think we shall get rain beforemorning is out.”
The authority with which Mrs. Riseley-Porter could enforce her remarks had its usual result. All those near at handor within hearing followed her obediently out through french doors in the dining room into the garden. The gardenshad indeed all that Mrs. Riseley-Porter had claimed for them. She herself took possession firmly of Colonel Walkerand set off briskly. Some of the others followed them, others took paths in the opposite direction.
Miss Marple herself made a determined16 beeline for a garden seat which appeared to be of comfortable proportionsas well as of artistic17 merit. She sank down on it with relief, and a sigh matching her own was emitted by MissElizabeth Temple as she followed Miss Marple and came to sit beside her on the seat.
“Going over houses is always tiring,” said Miss Temple. “The most tiring thing in the world. Especially if you haveto listen to an exhaustive lecture in each room.”
“Of course, all that we were told is very interesting,” said Miss Marple, rather doubtfully.
“Oh, do you think so?” said Miss Temple. Her head turned slightly and her eyes met those of Miss Marple.
Something passed between the two women, a kind of rapport—of understanding tinged18 with mirth.
“Don’t you?” asked Miss Marple.
“No,” said Miss Temple.
This time the understanding was definitely established between them. They sat there companionably in silence.
Presently Elizabeth Temple began to talk about gardens, and this garden in particular. “It was designed by Holman,”
she said, “somewhere about 1800 or 1798. He died young. A pity. He had great genius.”
“It is so sad when anyone dies young,” said Miss Marple.
“I wonder,” said Elizabeth Temple.
She said it in a curious, meditative19 way.
“But they miss so much,” said Miss Marple. “So many things.”
“Or escape so much,” said Miss Temple.
“Being as old as I am now,” said Miss Marple, “I suppose I can’t help feeling that early death means missingthings.”
“And I,” said Elizabeth Temple, “having spent nearly all my life amongst the young, look at life as a period in timecomplete in itself. What did T. S. Eliot say: The moment of the rose and the moment of the yew20 tree are of equalduration.”
Miss Marple said, “I see what you mean … A life of whatever length is a complete experience. But don’t you—”
she hesitated, “—ever feel that a life could be incomplete because it has been cut unduly21 short?”
“Yes, that is so.”
Miss Marple said, looking at the flowers near her, “How beautiful peonies are. That long border of them—so proudand yet so beautifully fragile.”
Elizabeth Temple turned her head towards her.
“Did you come on this trip to see the houses or to see gardens?” she asked.
“I suppose really to see the houses,” said Miss Marple. “I shall enjoy the gardens most, though, but the houses—they will be a new experience for me. Their variety and their history, and the beautiful old furniture and the pictures.”
She added: “A kind friend gave me this trip as a gift. I am very grateful. I have not seen very many big and famoushouses in my life.”
“A kind thought,” said Miss Temple.
“Do you often go on these sightseeing tours?” asked Miss Marple.
“No. This is not for me exactly a sightseeing tour.”
Miss Marple looked at her with interest. She half opened her lips to speak but refrained from putting a question.
Miss Temple smiled at her.
“You wonder why I am here, what my motive22 is, my reason. Well, why don’t you make a guess?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t like to do that,” said Miss Marple.
“Yes, do do so.” Elizabeth Temple was urgent. “It would interest me. Yes, really interest me. Make a guess.”
Miss Marple was silent for quite a few moments. Her eyes looked at Elizabeth Temple steadily23, ranging over herthoughtfully in her appraisement24. She said,
“This is not from what I know about you or what I have been told about you. I know that you are quite a famousperson and that your school is a very famous one. No. I am only making my guess from what you look like. I should—write you down as a pilgrim. You have the look of one who is on a pilgrimage.”
There was a silence and then Elizabeth said,
“That describes it very well. Yes. I am on a pilgrimage.”
Miss Marple said after a moment or two,
“The friend who sent me on this tour and paid all my expenses, is now dead. He was a Mr. Rafiel, a very rich man.
Did you by any chance know him?”
“Jason Rafiel? I know him by name, of course. I never knew him personally, or met him. He gave a largeendowment once to an educational project in which I was interested. I was very grateful. As you say, he was a verywealthy man. I saw the notice of his death in the papers a few weeks ago. So he was an old friend of yours?”
“No,” said Miss Marple. “I had met him just over a year ago abroad. In the West Indies. I never knew much abouthim. His life or his family or any personal friends that he had. He was a great financier but otherwise, or so peoplealways said, he was a man who was very reserved about himself. Did you know his family or anyone …?” MissMarple paused. “I often wondered, but one does not like to ask questions and seem inquisitive25.”
Elizabeth was silent for a minute—then she said:
“I knew a girl once … A girl who had been a pupil of mine at Fallowfield, my school. She was no actual relation toMr. Rafiel, but she was at one time engaged to marry Mr. Rafiel’s son.”
“But she didn’t marry him?” Miss Marple asked.
“No.”
“Why not?”
Miss Temple said,
“One might hope to say—like to say—because she had too much sense. He was not the type of a young man onewould want anyone one was fond of to marry. She was a very lovely girl and a very sweet girl. I don’t know why shedidn’t marry him. Nobody has ever told me.” She sighed and then said, “Anyway, she died….”
“Why did she die?” said Miss Marple.
Elizabeth Temple stared at the peonies for some minutes. When she spoke she uttered one word. It echoed like thetone of a deep bell—so much so that it was startling.
“Love!” she said.
Miss Marple queried26 the word sharply. “Love?”
“One of the most frightening words there is in the world,” said Elizabeth Temple.
Again her voice was bitter and tragic27.
“Love….”
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1
manor
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| n.庄园，领地 | |
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2
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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structural
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| adj.构造的，组织的，建筑（用）的 | |
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restive
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| adj.不安宁的，不安静的 | |
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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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usurped
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| 篡夺，霸占( usurp的过去式和过去分词 )； 盗用； 篡夺，篡权 | |
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7
dagger
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| n.匕首，短剑，剑号 | |
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8
respite
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| n.休息，中止，暂缓 | |
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9
resonant
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| adj.(声音)洪亮的，共鸣的 | |
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10
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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12
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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13
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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14
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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15
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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tinged
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| v.（使）发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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meditative
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| adj.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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yew
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| n.紫杉属树木 | |
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21
unduly
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| adv.过度地，不适当地 | |
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22
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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23
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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24
appraisement
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| n.评价，估价；估值 | |
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25
inquisitive
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| adj.求知欲强的，好奇的，好寻根究底的 | |
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queried
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| v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的过去式和过去分词 )；询问 | |
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27
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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