WALLPAPER
IA month had passed and Gwenda had moved into Hillside. Giles’s aunt’s furniture had come out of store and wasarranged round the house. It was good quality old-fashioned stuff. One or two over-large wardrobes Gwenda had sold,but the rest fitted in nicely and was in harmony with the house. There were small gay papierm?ché tables in thedrawing room, inlaid with mother-of-pearl and painted with castles and roses. There was a prim1 little worktable with agathered sack underneath2 of pure silk, there was a rosewood bureau and a mahogany sofa table.
The so-called easy chairs Gwenda had relegated3 to various bedrooms and had bought two large squashy wells ofcomfort for herself and Giles to stand each side of the fireplace. The large chesterfield sofa was placed near thewindows. For curtains Gwenda had chosen old-fashioned chintz of pale eggshell blue with prim urns4 of roses andyellow birds on them. The room, she now considered, was exactly right.
She was hardly settled yet, since she had workmen in the house still. They should have been out by now, butGwenda rightly estimated that until she herself came into residence, they would not go.
The kitchen alterations5 were finished, the new bathrooms nearly so. For further decorating Gwenda was going towait a while. She wanted time to savour her new home and decide on the exact colour schemes she wanted for thebedrooms. The house was really in very good order and there was no need to do everything at once.
In the kitchen a Mrs. Cocker was now installed, a lady of condescending6 graciousness, inclined to repulseGwenda’s over-democratic friendliness7, but who, once Gwenda had been satisfactorily put in her place, was willing tounbend.
On this particular morning, Mrs. Cocker deposited a breakfast tray on Gwenda’s knees, as she sat up in bed.
“When there’s no gentleman in the house,” Mrs. Cocker affirmed, “a lady prefers her breakfast in bed.” AndGwenda had bowed to this supposedly English enactment8.
“Scrambled this morning,” Mrs. Cocker observed, referring to the eggs. “You said something about finnanhaddock, but you wouldn’t like it in the bedroom. It leaves a smell. I’m giving it to you for your supper, creamed ontoast.”
“Oh, thank you, Mrs. Cocker.”
Mrs. Cocker smiled graciously and prepared to withdraw.
Gwenda was not occupying the big double bedroom. That could wait until Giles returned. She had chosen insteadthe end room, the one with the rounded walls and the bow window. She felt thoroughly9 at home in it and happy.
Looking round her now, she exclaimed impulsively10: “I do like this room.”
Mrs. Cocker looked round indulgently.
“It is quaite a naice room, madam, though small. By the bars on the window I should say it had been the nursery atone11 time.”
“I never thought of that. Perhaps it has.”
“Ah, well,” said Mrs. Cocker, with implication in her voice, and withdrew.
“Once we have a gentleman in the house,” she seemed to be saying, “who knows? A nursery may be needed.”
Gwenda blushed. She looked round the room. A nursery? Yes, it would be a nice nursery. She began furnishing itin her mind. A big dolls’ house there against the wall. And low cupboards with toys in them. A fire burning cheerfullyin the grate and a tall guard round it with things airing on the rail. But not this hideous12 mustard wall. No, she wouldhave a gay wallpaper. Something bright and cheerful. Little bunches of poppies alternating with bunches ofcornflowers … Yes, that would be lovely. She’d try and find a wallpaper like that. She felt sure she had seen onesomewhere.
One didn’t need much furniture in the room. There were two built-in cupboards, but one of them, a corner one, waslocked and the key lost. Indeed the whole thing had been painted over, so that it could not have been opened for manyyears. She must get the men to open it up before they left. As it was, she hadn’t got room for all her clothes.
She felt more at home every day in Hillside. Hearing a throat being ponderously13 cleared and a short dry coughthrough the open window, she hurried over her breakfast. Foster, the temperamental jobbing gardener, who was notalways reliable in his promises, must be here today as he had said he would be.
Gwenda bathed, dressed, put on a tweed skirt and a sweater and hurried out into the garden. Foster was at workoutside the drawing room window. Gwenda’s first action had been to get a path made down through the rockery at thispoint. Foster had been recalcitrant14, pointing out that the forsythia would have to go and the weigela, and them therelilacs, but Gwenda had been adamant15, and he was now almost enthusiastic about his task.
He greeted her with a chuckle16.
“Looks like you’re going back to old times, miss.” (He persisted in calling Gwenda “miss.”)“Old times? How?”
Foster tapped with his spade.
“I come on the old steps—see, that’s where they went—just as you want ’em now. Then someone planted themover and covered them up.”
“It was very stupid of them,” said Gwenda. “You want a vista17 down to the lawn and the sea from the drawing roomwindow.”
Foster was somewhat hazy18 about a vista—but he gave a cautious and grudging19 assent20.
“I don’t say, mind you, that it won’t be an improvement … Gives you a view—and them shrubs21 made it dark in thedrawing room. Still they was growing a treat—never seen a healthier lot of forsythia. Lilacs isn’t much, but themwiglers costs money—and mind you—they’re too old to replant.”
“Oh, I know. But this is much, much nicer.”
“Well.” Foster scratched his head. “Maybe it is.”
“It’s right,” said Gwenda, nodding her head. She asked suddenly, “Who lived here before the Hengraves? Theyweren’t here very long, were they?”
“Matter of six years or so. Didn’t belong. Afore them? The Miss Elworthys. Very churchy folk. Low church.
Missions to the heathen. Once had a black clergyman staying here, they did. Four of ’em there was, and their brother—but he didn’t get much of a look-in with all those women. Before them—now let me see, it was Mrs. Findeyson—ah! she was the real gentry22, she was. She belonged. Was living here afore I was born.”
“Did she die here?” asked Gwenda.
“Died out in Egypt or some such place. But they brought her home. She’s buried up to churchyard. She planted thatmagnolia and those labiurnams. And those pittispores. Fond of shrubs, she was.”
Foster continued: “Weren’t none of those new houses built up along the hill then. Countrified, it was. No cinemathen. And none of them new shops. Or that there parade on the front!” His tone held the disapproval23 of the aged24 for allinnovations. “Changes,” he said with a snort. “Nothing but changes.”
“I suppose things are bound to change,” said Gwenda. “And after all there are lots of improvements nowadays,aren’t there?”
“So they say. I ain’t noticed them. Changes!” He gestured towards the macrocarpa hedge on the left through whichthe gleam of a building showed. “Used to be the cottage hospital, that used,” he said. “Nice place and handy. Thenthey goes and builds a great place near to a mile out of town. Twenty minutes’ walk if you want to get there on avisiting day—or threepence on the bus.” He gestured once more towards the hedge … “It’s a girls’ school now.
Moved in ten years ago. Changes all the time. People takes a house nowadays and lives in it ten or twelve years andthen off they goes. Restless. What’s the good of that? You can’t do any proper planting unless you can look wellahead.”
Gwenda looked affectionately at the magnolia.
“Like Mrs. Findeyson,” she said.
“Ah. She was the proper kind. Come here as a bride, she did. Brought up her children and married them, buried herhusband, had her grandchildren down in the summers, and took off in the end when she was nigh on eighty.”
Foster’s tone held warm approval.
Gwenda went back into the house smiling a little.
She interviewed the workmen, and then returned to the drawing room where she sat down at the desk and wrotesome letters. Amongst the correspondence that remained to be answered was a letter from some cousins of Giles wholived in London. Anytime she wanted to come to London they begged her to come and stay with them at their house inChelsea.
Raymond West was a well-known (rather than popular) novelist and his wife Joan, Gwenda knew, was a painter. Itwould be fun to go and stay with them, though probably they would think she was a most terrible Philistine25. NeitherGiles nor I are a bit highbrow, reflected Gwenda.
A sonorous26 gong boomed pontifically27 from the hall. Surrounded by a great deal of carved and tortured black wood,the gong had been one of Giles’s aunt’s prized possessions. Mrs. Cocker herself appeared to derive28 distinct pleasurefrom sounding it and always gave full measure. Gwenda put her hands to her ears and got up.
She walked quickly across the drawing room to the wall by the far window and then brought herself up short withan exclamation29 of annoyance30. It was the third time she’d done that. She always seemed to expect to be able to walkthrough solid wall into the dining room next door.
She went back across the room and out into the front hall and then round the angle of the drawing room wall and soalong to the dining room. It was a long way round, and it would be annoying in winter, for the front hall was draughtyand the only central heating was in the drawing room and dining room and two bedrooms upstairs.
I don’t see, thought Gwenda to herself as she sat down at the charming Sheration dining table which she had justbought at vast expense in lieu of Aunt Lavender’s massive square mahogany one, I don’t see why I shouldn’t have adoorway made through from the drawing room to the dining room. I’ll talk to Mr. Sims about it when he comes thisafternoon.
Mr. Sims was the builder and decorator, a persuasive31 middle-aged32 man with a husky voice and a little notebookwhich he always held at the ready, to jot33 down any expensive idea that might occur to his patrons.
Mr. Sims, when consulted, was keenly appreciative34.
“Simplest thing in the world, Mrs. Reed—and a great improvement, if I may say so.”
“Would it be very expensive?” Gwenda was by now a little doubtful of Mr. Sims’s assents35 and enthusiasms. Therehad been a little unpleasantness over various extras not included in Mr. Sims’s original estimate.
“A mere36 trifle,” said Mr. Sims, his husky voice indulgent and reassuring37. Gwenda looked more doubtful than ever.
It was Mr. Sims’s trifles that she had learnt to distrust. His straightforward38 estimates were studiously moderate.
“I’ll tell you what, Mrs. Reed,” said Mr. Sims coaxingly39, “I’ll get Taylor to have a look when he’s finished with thedressing room this afternoon, and then I can give you an exact idea. Depends what the wall’s like.”
Gwenda assented40. She wrote to Joan West thanking her for her invitation, but saying that she would not be leavingDillmouth at present since she wanted to keep an eye on the workmen. Then she went out for a walk along the frontand enjoyed the sea breeze. She came back into the drawing room, and Taylor, Mr. Sims’s leading workman,straightened up from the corner and greeted her with a grin.
“Won’t be no difficulty about this, Mrs. Reed,” he said. “Been a door here before, there has. Somebody as didn’twant it has just had it plastered over.”
Gwenda was agreeably surprised. How extraordinary, she thought, that I’ve always seemed to feel there was a doorthere. She remembered the confident way she had walked to it at lunchtime. And remembering it, quite suddenly, shefelt a tiny shiver of uneasiness. When you came to think of it, it was really rather odd … Why should she have felt sosure that there was a door there? There was no sign of it on the outside wall. How had she guessed—known—thatthere was a door just there? Of course it would be convenient to have a door through to the dining room, but why hadshe always gone so unerringly to that one particular spot? Anywhere on the dividing wall would have done equallywell, but she had always gone automatically, thinking of other things, to the one place where a door had actually been.
I hope, thought Gwenda uneasily, that I’m not clairvoyant41 or anything….
There had never been anything in the least psychic42 about her. She wasn’t that kind of person. Or was she? Thatpath outside from the terrace down through the shrubbery to the lawn. Had she in some way known it was there whenshe was so insistent43 on having it made in that particular place?
Perhaps I am a bit psychic, thought Gwenda uneasily. Or is it something to do with the house?
Why had she asked Mrs. Hengrave that day if the house was haunted?
It wasn’t haunted! It was a darling house! There couldn’t be anything wrong with the house. Why, Mrs. Hengravehad seemed quite surprised by the idea.
Or had there been a trace of reserve, of wariness44, in her manner?
Good Heavens, I’m beginning to imagine things, thought Gwenda.
She brought her mind back with an effort to her discussion with Taylor.
“There’s one other thing,” she added. “One of the cupboards in my room upstairs is stuck. I want to get it opened.”
The man came up with her and examined the door.
“It’s been painted over more than once,” he said. “I’ll get the men to get it open for you tomorrow if that will do.”
Gwenda acquiesced45 and Taylor went away.
That evening Gwenda felt jumpy and nervous. Sitting in the drawing room and trying to read, she was aware ofevery creak of the furniture. Once or twice she looked over her shoulder and shivered. She told herself repeatedly thatthere was nothing in the incident of the door and the path. They were just coincidences. In any case they were theresult of plain common sense.
Without admitting it to herself, she felt nervous of going up to bed. When she finally got up and turned off thelights and opened the door into the hall, she found herself dreading46 to go up the stairs. She almost ran up them in herhaste, hurried along the passage and opened the door of her room. Once inside she at once felt her fears calmed andappeased. She looked round the room affectionately. She felt safe in here, safe and happy. Yes, now she was here, shewas safe. (Safe from what, you idiot? she asked herself.) She looked at her pyjamas47 spread out on the bed and herbedroom slippers48 below them.
Really, Gwenda, you might be six years old! You ought to have bunny shoes, with rabbits on them.
She got into bed with a sense of relief and was soon asleep.
The next morning she had various matters to see to in the town. When she came back it was lunchtime.
“The men have got the cupboard open in your bedroom, madam,” said Mrs. Cocker as she brought in the delicatelyfried sole, the mashed49 potatoes and the creamed carrots.
“Oh good,” said Gwenda.
She was hungry and enjoyed her lunch. After having coffee in the drawing room, she went upstairs to her bedroom.
Crossing the room she pulled open the door of the corner cupboard.
Then she uttered a sudden frightened little cry and stood staring.
The inside of the cupboard revealed the original papering of the wall, which elsewhere had been done over in theyellowish wall paint. The room had once been gaily50 papered in a floral design, a design of little bunches of scarletpoppies alternating with bunches of blue cornflowers….
II
Gwenda stood there staring a long time, then she went shakily over to the bed and sat down on it.
Here she was in a house she had never been in before, in a country she had never visited—and only two days agoshe had lain in bed imagining a paper for this very room—and the paper she had imagined corresponded exactly withthe paper that had once hung on the walls.
Wild fragments of explanation whirled round in her head. Dunne, Experiment with Time—seeing forward insteadof back….
She could explain the garden path and the connecting door as coincidence—but there couldn’t be coincidenceabout this. You couldn’t conceivably imagine a wallpaper of such a distinctive51 design and then find one exactly as youhad imagined it … No, there was some explanation that eluded52 her and that—yes, frightened her. Every now and thenshe was seeing, not forward, but back—back to some former state of the house. Any moment she might see somethingmore—something she didn’t want to see … The house frightened her … But was it the house or herself? She didn’twant to be one of those people who saw things….
She drew a long breath, put on her hat and coat and slipped quickly out of the house. At the post office she sent thefollowing telegram:
West, 19 Addway Square Chelsea London. May I change my mind and come to you tomorrow Gwenda.
She sent it reply paid.
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1
prim
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| adj.拘泥形式的，一本正经的；n.循规蹈矩，整洁；adv.循规蹈矩地，整洁地 | |
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underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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relegated
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| v.使降级( relegate的过去式和过去分词 )；使降职；转移；把…归类 | |
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urns
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| n.壶( urn的名词复数 )；瓮；缸；骨灰瓮 | |
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alterations
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| n.改动( alteration的名词复数 )；更改；变化；改变 | |
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condescending
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| adj.谦逊的,故意屈尊的 | |
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friendliness
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| n.友谊，亲切，亲密 | |
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enactment
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| n.演出，担任…角色；制订，通过 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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impulsively
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| adv.冲动地 | |
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atone
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| v.赎罪，补偿 | |
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hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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ponderously
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recalcitrant
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| adj.倔强的 | |
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adamant
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| adj.坚硬的，固执的 | |
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chuckle
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| vi.／n.轻声笑，咯咯笑 | |
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vista
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| n.远景，深景，展望，回想 | |
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hazy
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| adj.有薄雾的，朦胧的；不肯定的，模糊的 | |
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grudging
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| adj.勉强的，吝啬的 | |
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assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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shrubs
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| 灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
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gentry
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| n.绅士阶级，上层阶级 | |
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disapproval
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| n.反对，不赞成 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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philistine
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| n.庸俗的人；adj.市侩的，庸俗的 | |
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sonorous
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| adj.响亮的，回响的；adv.圆润低沉地；感人地；n.感人，堂皇 | |
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pontifically
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| adj.教皇的；大祭司的；傲慢的；武断的 | |
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derive
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| v.取得；导出；引申；来自；源自；出自 | |
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exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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persuasive
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| adj.有说服力的，能说得使人相信的 | |
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middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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jot
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| n.少量；vi.草草记下；vt.匆匆写下 | |
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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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assents
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| 同意，赞同( assent的名词复数 ) | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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reassuring
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| a.使人消除恐惧和疑虑的，使人放心的 | |
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straightforward
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| adj.正直的，坦率的；易懂的，简单的 | |
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coaxingly
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| adv. 以巧言诱哄，以甘言哄骗 | |
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assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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clairvoyant
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| adj.有预见的；n.有预见的人 | |
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psychic
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| n.对超自然力敏感的人；adj.有超自然力的 | |
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insistent
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| adj.迫切的，坚持的 | |
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wariness
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| n. 注意,小心 | |
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acquiesced
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| v.默认，默许( acquiesce的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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dreading
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| v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的现在分词 ) | |
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pyjamas
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| n.（宽大的）睡衣裤 | |
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slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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mashed
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| a.捣烂的 | |
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gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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distinctive
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| adj.特别的，有特色的，与众不同的 | |
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eluded
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| v.（尤指机敏地）避开( elude的过去式和过去分词 )；逃避；躲避；使达不到 | |
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