“OH! FOND, OH! FAIR, THE DAYS THAT WERE”
IA t half past eight the next morning there was a smart tap on the door, and in answer to Miss Marple’s “Come in” thedoor was opened and an elderly woman entered, bearing a tray with a teapot, a cup and a milk jug1 and a small plate ofbread and butter.
“Early morning tea, ma’am,” she said cheerfully. “It’s a nice day, it is. I see you’ve got your curtains drawn3 backalready. You’ve slept well then?”
“Very well indeed,” said Miss Marple, laying aside a small devotional book which she had been reading.
“Well, it’s a lovely day, it is. They’ll have it nice for going to the Bonaventure Rocks. It’s just as well you’re notdoing it. It’s cruel hard on the legs, it is.”
“I’m really very happy to be here,” said Miss Marple. “So kind of Miss Bradbury-Scott and Mrs. Glynne to issuethis invitation.”
“Ah well, it’s nice for them too. It cheers them up to have a bit of company come to the house. Ah, it’s a sad placenowadays, so it is.”
She pulled the curtains at the window rather more fully2, pushed back a chair and deposited a can of hot water in thechina basin.
“There’s a bathroom on the next floor,” she said, “but we think it’s better always for someone elderly to have theirhot water here, so they don’t have to climb the stairs.”
“It’s very kind of you, I’m sure—you know this house well?”
“I was here as a girl—I was the housemaid then. Three servants they had—a cook, a housemaid—a parlourmaid—kitchen maid too at one time. That was in the old Colonel’s time. Horses he kept too, and a groom4. Ah, those were thedays. Sad it is when things happen the way they do. He lost his wife young, the Colonel did. His son was killed in thewar and his only daughter went away to live on the other side of the world. Married a New Zealander she did. Diedhaving a baby and the baby died too. He was a sad man living alone here, and he let the house go—it wasn’t kept upas it should have been. When he died he left the place to his niece Miss Clotilde and her two sisters, and she and MissAnthea came here to live—and later Miss Lavinia lost her husband and came to join them—” she sighed and shookher head. “They never did much to the house—couldn’t afford it—and they let the garden go as well—”
“It all seems a great pity,” said Miss Marple.
“And such nice ladies as they all are, too—Miss Anthea is the scatty one, but Miss Clotilde went to university andis very brainy—she talks three languages—and Mrs. Glynne, she’s a very nice lady indeed. I thought when she cameto join them as things might go better. But you never know, do you, what the future holds? I feel sometimes, as thoughthere was a doom5 on this house.”
Miss Marple looked enquiring6.
“First one thing and then another. The dreadful plane accident—in Spain it was—and everybody killed. Nastythings, aeroplanes—I’d never go in one of them. Miss Clotilde’s friends were both killed, they were husband and wife—the daughter was still at school, luckily, and escaped, but Miss Clotilde brought her here to live and did everythingfor her. Took her abroad for trips—to Italy and France, treated her like a daughter. She was such a happy girl—and avery sweet nature. You’d never dream that such an awful thing could happen.”
“An awful thing. What was it? Did it happen here?”
“No, not here, thank God. Though in a way you might say it did happen here. It was here that she met him. He wasin the neighbourhood—and the ladies knew his father, who was a very rich man, so he came here to visit—that wasthe beginning—”
“They fell in love?”
“Yes, she fell in love with him right away. He was an attractive-looking boy, with a nice way of talking andpassing the time of day. You’d never think—you’d never think for one moment—” she broke off.
“There was a love affair? And it went wrong? And the girl committed suicide?”
“Suicide?” The old woman stared at Miss Marple with startled eyes.
“Whoever now told you that? Murder it was, barefaced7 murder. Strangled and her head beaten to pulp8. MissClotilde had to go and identify her—she’s never been quite the same since. They found her body a good thirty milesfrom here—in the scrub of a disused quarry9. And it’s believed that it wasn’t the first murder he’d done. There hadbeen other girls. Six months she’d been missing. And the police searching far and wide. Oh! A wicked devil he was—a bad lot from the day he was born or so it seems. They say nowadays as there are those as can’t help what they do—not right in the head, and they can’t be held responsible. I don’t believe a word of it! Killers10 are killers. And theywon’t even hang them nowadays. I know as there’s often madness as runs in old families—there was the Derwentsover at Brassington—every second generation one or other of them died in the loony bin—and there was old Mrs.
Paulett; walked about the lanes in her diamond tiara saying she was Marie Antoinette until they shut her up. But therewasn’t anything really wrong with her—just silly like. But this boy. Yes, he was a devil right enough.”
“What did they do to him?”
“They’d abolished hanging by then—or else he was too young. I can’t remember it all now. They found him guilty.
It may have been Bostol or Broadsand—one of those places beginning with ‘B’ as they sent him to.”
“What was the name of the boy?”
“Michael—can’t remember his last name. It’s ten years ago that it happened—one forgets. Italian sort of name—like a picture. Someone who paints pictures—Raffle, that’s it—”
“Michael Rafiel?”
“That’s right! There was a rumour11 as went about that his father being so rich got him wangled out of prison. Anescape like the Bank Robbers. But I think as that was just talk—”
So it had not been suicide. It had been murder. “Love!” Elizabeth Temple had named as the cause of a girl’s death.
In a way she was right. A young girl had fallen in love with a killer—and for love of him had gone unsuspecting to anugly death.
Miss Marple gave a little shudder12. On her way along the village street yesterday she had passed a newspaperplacard:
EPSOM DOWNS MURDER, SECOND GIRL’S BODY DISCOVERED, YOUTH ASKED TO ASSIST POLICE.
So history repeated itself. An old pattern—an ugly pattern. Some lines of forgotten verse came haltingly into her brain:
Rose white youth, passionate13, pale,
A singing stream in a silent vale,
A fairy prince in a prosy tale,
Oh there’s nothing in life so finely frail14
As Rose White Youth.
Who was there to guard Youth from Pain and Death? Youth who could not, who had never been able to, guard itself.
Did they know too little? Or was it that they knew too much? And therefore thought they knew it all.
II
Miss Marple, coming down the stairs that morning, probably rather earlier than she had been expected, found noimmediate sign of her hostesses. She let herself out at the front door and wandered once round the garden. It was notbecause she’d really enjoyed this particular garden. It was some vague feeling that there was something here that sheought to notice, something that would give her some idea, or that had given her some idea only she had not—well,frankly, she had not been bright enough to realize just what the bright idea had been. Something she ought to take noteof, something that had a bearing.
She was not at the moment anxious to see any of the three sisters. She wanted to turn a few things over in her mind.
The new facts that had come to her through Janet’s early tea chat.
A side gate stood open and she went through it to the village street and along a line of small shops to where asteeple poked15 up announcing the site of the church and its churchyard. She pushed open the lych-gate and wanderedabout among the graves, some dating from quite a while back, some by the far wall later ones, and one or two beyondthe wall in what was obviously a new enclosure. There was nothing of great interest among the older tombs. Certainnames recurred16 as they do in villages. A good many Princes of village origin had been buried. Jasper Prince, deeplyregretted. Margery Prince, Edgar and Walter Prince, Melanie Prince, 4 years old. A family record. Hiram Broad—Ellen Jane Broad, Eliza Broad, 91 years.
She was turning away from the latter when she observed an elderly man moving in slow motion among the graves,tidying up as he walked. He gave her a salute17 and a “good morning.”
“Good morning,” said Miss Marple. “A very pleasant day.”
“It’ll turn to rain later,” said the old man.
He spoke18 with the utmost certainty.
“There seem to be a lot of Princes and Broads buried here,” said Miss Marple.
“Ah yes, there’ve always been Princes here. Used to own quite a bit of land once. There have been Broads a goodmany years, too.”
“I see a child is buried here. Very sad when one sees a child’s grave.”
“Ah, that’ll be little Melanie that was. Mellie, we called her. Yes, it was a sad death. Run over, she was. Ran outinto the street, went to get sweets at the sweet shop. Happens a lot nowadays with cars going through at the pace theydo.”
“It is sad to think,” said Miss Marple, “that there are so many deaths all the time. And one doesn’t really notice ituntil one looks at the inscriptions19 in the churchyard. Sickness, old age, children run over, sometimes even moredreadful things. Young girls killed. Crimes, I mean.”
“Ah, yes, there’s a lot of that about. Silly girls, I call most of ’em. And their mums haven’t got time to look afterthem properly nowadays—what with going out to work so much.”
Miss Marple rather agreed with his criticism, but had no wish to waste time in agreement on the trend of the day.
“Staying at The Old Manor20 House, aren’t you?” the old man asked. “Come here on the coach tour I saw. But it gottoo much for you, I suppose. Some of those that are gettin’ on can’t always take it.”
“I did find it a little exhausting,” confessed Miss Marple, “and a very kind friend of mine, a Mr. Rafiel, wrote tosome friends of his here and they invited me to stay for a couple of nights.”
The name, Rafiel, clearly meant nothing to the elderly gardener.
“Mrs. Glynne and her two sisters have been very kind,” said Miss Marple. “I suppose they’ve lived here a longtime?”
“Not so long as that. Twenty years maybe. Belonged to old Colonel Bradbury-Scott. The Old Manor House did.
Close on seventy he was when he died.”
“Did he have any children?”
“A son what was killed in the war. That’s why he left the place to his nieces. Nobody else to leave it to.”
He went back to his work amongst the graves.
Miss Marple went into the church. It had felt the hand of a Victorian restorer, and had bright Victorian glass in thewindows. One or two brasses21 and some tablets on the walls were all that was left of the past.
Miss Marple sat down in an uncomfortable pew and wondered about things.
Was she on the right track now? Things were connecting up—but the connections were far from clear.
A girl had been murdered—(actually several girls had been murdered)—suspected young men (or “youths” as theywere usually called nowadays) had been rounded up by the police, to “assist them in their enquiries.” A commonpattern, but this was all old history, dating back ten or twelve years. There was nothing to find out—now, no problemsto solve. A tragedy labelled Finis.
What could be done by her? What could Mr. Rafiel possibly want her to do?
Elizabeth Temple … She must get Elizabeth Temple to tell her more. Elizabeth had spoken of a girl who had beenengaged to be married to Michael Rafiel. But was that really so? That did not seem to be known to those in The OldManor House.
A more familiar version came into Miss Marple’s mind—the kind of story that had been reasonably frequent in herown village. Starting as always, “Boy meets girl.” Developing in the usual way—“And then the girl finds she is pregnant,” said Miss Marple to herself, “and she tells the boy and she wants him tomarry her. But he, perhaps, doesn’t want to marry her—he has never had any idea of marrying her. But things may bemade difficult for him in this case. His father, perhaps, won’t hear of such a thing. Her relations will insist that he‘does the right thing.’ And by now he is tired of the girl—he’s got another girl perhaps. And so he takes a quick brutalway out—strangles her, beats her head to a pulp to avoid identification. It fits with his record—a brutal22 sordid23 crime—but forgotten and done with.”
She looked round the church in which she was sitting. It looked so peaceful. The reality of Evil was hard to believein. A flair24 for Evil—that was what Mr. Rafiel had attributed to her. She rose and walked out of the church and stoodlooking round the churchyard again. Here, amongst the gravestones and their worn inscriptions, no sense of Evilmoved in her.
Was it Evil she had sensed yesterday at The Old Manor House? That deep depression of despair, that darkdesperate grief. Anthea Bradbury-Scott, her eyes gazing fearfully back over one shoulder, as though fearing somepresence that stood there—always stood there—behind her.
They knew something, those Three Sisters, but what was it that they knew?
Elizabeth Temple, she thought again. She pictured Elizabeth Temple with the rest of the coach party, stridingacross the downs at this moment, climbing up a steep path and gazing over the cliffs out to sea.
Tomorrow, when she rejoined the tour, she would get Elizabeth Temple to tell her more.
III
Miss Marple retraced25 her steps to The Old Manor House, walking rather slowly because she was by now tired. Shecould not really feel that her morning had been productive in any way. So far The Old Manor House had given her nodistinctive ideas of any kind, a tale of a past tragedy told by Janet, but there were always past tragedies treasured in thememories of domestic workers and which were remembered quite as clearly as all the happy events such asspectacular weddings, big entertainments and successful operations or accidents from which people had recovered in amiraculous manner.
As she drew near the gate she saw two female figures standing27 there. One of them detached itself and came to meether. It was Mrs. Glynne.
“Oh, there you are,” she said. “We wondered, you know. I thought you must have gone out for a walk somewhereand I did so hope you wouldn’t overtire yourself. If I had known you had come downstairs and gone out, I would havecome with you to show anything there is to show. Not that there is very much.”
“Oh, I just wandered around,” said Miss Marple. “The churchyard, you know, and the church. I’m always veryinterested in churches. Sometimes there are very curious epitaphs. Things like that. I make quite a collection of them. Isuppose the church here was restored in Victorian times?”
“Yes, they did put in some rather ugly pews, I think. You know, good quality wood, and strong and all that, but notvery artistic28.”
“I hope they didn’t take away anything of particular interest.”
“No, I don’t think so. It’s not really a very old church.”
“There did not seem to be many tablets or brasses or anything of that kind,” agreed Miss Marple.
“You are quite interested in ecclesiastical architecture?”
“Oh, I don’t make a study of it or anything like that, but of course in my own village, St. Mary Mead29, things dorather revolve30 round the church. I mean, they always have. In my young days, that was so. Nowadays of course it’srather different. Were you brought up in this neighbourhood?”
“Oh, not really. We lived not very far away, about thirty miles or so. At Little Herdsley. My father was a retiredserviceman—a Major in the Artillery31. We came over here occasionally to see my uncle—indeed to see my great-unclebefore him. No. I’ve not even been here very much of late years. My other two sisters moved in after my uncle’sdeath, but at that time I was still abroad with my husband. He only died about four or five years ago.”
“Oh, I see.”
“They were anxious I should come and join them here and really, it seemed the best thing to do. We had lived inIndia for some years. My husband was still stationed there at the time of his death. It is very difficult nowadays toknow where one would wish to—should I say, put one’s roots down.”
“Yes, indeed. I can quite see that. And you felt, of course, that you had roots here since your family had been herefor a long time.”
“Yes. Yes, one did feel that. Of course, I’d always kept up with my sisters, had been to visit them. But things arealways very different from what one thinks they will be. I have bought a small cottage near London, near HamptonCourt, where I spend a good deal of my time, and I do a little occasional work for one or two charities in London.”
“So your time is fully occupied. How wise of you.”
“I have felt of late that I should spend more time here, perhaps. I’ve been a little worried about my sisters.”
“Their health?” suggested Miss Marple. “One is rather worried nowadays, especially as there is not really anyonecompetent whom one can employ to look after people as they become rather feebler or have certain ailments32. So muchrheumatism and arthritis33 about. One is always so afraid of people falling down in the bath or an accident coming downstairs. Something of that kind.”
“Clotilde has always been very strong,” said Mrs. Glynne. “Tough, I should describe her. But I am rather worriedsometimes about Anthea. She is vague, you know, very vague indeed. And she wanders off sometimes—and doesn’tseem to know where she is.”
“Yes, it is sad when people worry. There is so much to worry one.”
“I don’t really think there is much to worry Anthea.”
“She worries about income tax, perhaps, money affairs,” suggested Miss Marple.
“No, no, not that so much but—oh, she worries so much about the garden. She remembers the garden as it used tobe, and she’s very anxious, you know, to—well, to spend money in putting things right again. Clotilde has had to tellher that really one can’t afford that nowadays. But she keeps talking of the hothouses, the peaches that used to bethere. The grapes—and all that.”
“And the Cherry Pie on the walls?” suggested Miss Marple, remembering a remark.
“Fancy your remembering that. Yes. Yes, it’s one of the things one does remember. Such a charming smell,heliotrope. And such a nice name for it, Cherry Pie. One always remembers that. And the grapevine. The little, small,early sweet grapes. Ah well, one must not remember the past too much.”
“And the flower borders too, I suppose,” said Miss Marple.
“Yes. Yes, Anthea would like to have a big well kept herbaceous border again. Really not feasible now. It is asmuch as one can do to get local people who will come and mow34 the lawns every fortnight. Every year one seems toemploy a different firm. And Anthea would like pampas grass planted again. And the Mrs. Simpkin pinks. White, youknow. All along the stone edge border. And a fig26 tree that grew just outside the greenhouse. She remembers all theseand talks about them.”
“It must be difficult for you.”
“Well, yes. Arguments, you see, hardly appeal in any way. Clotilde, of course, is very downright about things. Shejust refuses point-blank and says she doesn’t want to hear another word about it.”
“It is difficult,” said Miss Marple, “to know how to take things. Whether one should be firm. Rather authoritative35.
Perhaps, even, well, just a little—a little fierce, you know, or whether one should be sympathetic. Listen to things andperhaps hold out hopes which one knows are not justified36. Yes, it’s difficult.”
“But it’s easier for me because you see I go away again, and then come back now and then to stay. So it’s easy forme to pretend things may be easier soon and that something may be done. But really, the other day when I came homeand I found that Anthea had tried to engage a most expensive firm of landscape gardeners to renovate37 the garden, tobuild up the greenhouse again—which is quite absurd because even if you put vines in they would not bear for anothertwo or three years. Clotilde knew nothing about it and she was extremely angry when she discovered the estimate forthis work on Anthea’s desk. She was really quite unkind.”
“So many things are difficult,” said Miss Marple.
It was a useful phrase which she used often.
“I shall have to go rather early tomorrow morning. I think,” said Miss Marple. “I was making enquiries at theGolden Boar where I understand the coach party assembles tomorrow morning. They are making quite an early start.
Nine o’clock, I understand.”
“Oh dear. I hope you will not find it too fatiguing38.”
“Oh, I don’t think so. I gather we are going to a place called—now wait a minute, what was it called?—Stirling St.
Mary. Something like that. And it does not seem to be very far away. There’s an interesting church to see on the wayand a castle. In the afternoon there is a quite pleasant garden, not too many acres; but some special flowers. I feel surethat after this very nice rest that I have had here, I shall be quite all right. I understand now that I would have beenvery tired if I had had these days of climbing up cliffsides and all the rest of it.”
“Well, you must rest this afternoon, so as to be fresh for tomorrow,” said Mrs. Glynne, as they went into the house.
“Miss Marple has been to visit the church,” said Mrs. Glynne to Clotilde.
“I’m afraid there is not very much to see,” said Clotilde. “Victorian glass of a most hideous39 kind, I think myself.
No expense spared. I’m afraid my uncle was partly to blame. He was very pleased with those rather crude reds andblues.”
“Very crude. Very vulgar, I always think,” said Lavinia Glynne.
Miss Marple settled down after lunch to have a nap, and she did not join her hostesses until nearly dinnertime.
After dinner a good deal of chat went on until it was bedtime. Miss Marple set the tone in remembrances …Remembrances of her own youth, her early days, places she had visited, travels or tours she had made, occasionalpeople she had known.
She went to bed tired, with a sense of failure. She had learned nothing more, possibly because there was nothingmore to learn. A fishing expedition where the fish did not rise—possibly because there were no fish there. Or it couldbe that she did not know the right bait to use?
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
jug
|
|
| n.(有柄，小口，可盛水等的)大壶，罐，盂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
fully
|
|
| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
drawn
|
|
| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
groom
|
|
| vt.给（马、狗等）梳毛，照料，使...整洁 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
doom
|
|
| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
enquiring
|
|
| a.爱打听的，显得好奇的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
barefaced
|
|
| adj.厚颜无耻的，公然的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
pulp
|
|
| n.果肉，纸浆；v.化成纸浆，除去...果肉，制成纸浆 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
quarry
|
|
| n.采石场；v.采石；费力地找 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
killers
|
|
| 凶手( killer的名词复数 )； 消灭…者； 致命物； 极难的事 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
rumour
|
|
| n.谣言，谣传，传闻 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
shudder
|
|
| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
passionate
|
|
| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
frail
|
|
| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
poked
|
|
| v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
recurred
|
|
| 再发生，复发( recur的过去式和过去分词 )； 治愈 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
salute
|
|
| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
spoke
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
inscriptions
|
|
| （作者）题词( inscription的名词复数 )； 献词； 碑文； 证劵持有人的登记 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
manor
|
|
| n.庄园，领地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
brasses
|
|
| n.黄铜( brass的名词复数 )；铜管乐器；钱；黄铜饰品（尤指马挽具上的黄铜圆片） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
brutal
|
|
| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
sordid
|
|
| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
flair
|
|
| n.天赋，本领，才华；洞察力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
retraced
|
|
| v.折回( retrace的过去式和过去分词 )；回忆；回顾；追溯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
fig
|
|
| n.无花果(树) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
artistic
|
|
| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
mead
|
|
| n.蜂蜜酒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
revolve
|
|
| vi.(使)旋转；循环出现 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
artillery
|
|
| n.(军)火炮，大炮；炮兵(部队) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
ailments
|
|
| 疾病（尤指慢性病），不适( ailment的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
arthritis
|
|
| n.关节炎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
mow
|
|
| v.割（草、麦等），扫射，皱眉；n.草堆，谷物堆 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
authoritative
|
|
| adj.有权威的，可相信的；命令式的；官方的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
justified
|
|
| a.正当的，有理的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
renovate
|
|
| vt.更新，革新，刷新 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
fatiguing
|
|
| a.使人劳累的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
hideous
|
|
| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |