“Your room’s ready,” said Sophia.
She stood by my side looking out at the garden. It looked bleak1 and greynow with the half-denuded trees swaying in the wind.
Sophia echoed my thoughts as she said:
“How desolate2 it looks….”
As we watched, a figure, and then presently another came through theyew hedge from the rock garden. They both looked grey and unsubstantialin the fading light.
Brenda Leonides was the first. She was wrapped in a grey chinchillacoat and there was something catlike and stealthy in the way she moved.
She slipped through the twilight3 with a kind of eerie4 grace.
I saw her face as she passed the window. There was a half-smile on it,the curving, crooked5 smile I had noticed upstairs. A few minutes laterLaurence Brown, looking slender and shrunken, also slipped through thetwilight. I can only put it that way. They did not seem like two peoplewalking, two people who had been out for a stroll. There was somethingfurtive and unsubstantial about them like two ghosts.
I wondered if it was under Brenda’s or Laurence’s foot a twig6 hadsnapped.
By a natural association of ideas, I asked:
“Where’s Josephine?”
“Probably with Eustace up in the schoolroom.” She frowned. “I’m wor-ried about Eustace, Charles.”
“Why?”
“He’s so moody7 and odd. He’s been so different ever since that wretchedparalysis. I can’t make out what’s going on in his mind. Sometimes heseems to hate us all.”
“He’ll probably grow out of all that. It’s just a phase.”
“Yes, I suppose so. But I do get worried, Charles.”
“Why, dear heart?”
“Really, I suppose, because mother and father never worry. They’re notlike a mother and father.”
“That may be all for the best. More children suffer from interferencethan from noninterference.”
“That’s true. You know, I never thought about it until I came back fromabroad, but they really are a queer couple. Father living determinedly8 in aworld of obscure historical bypaths and mother having a lovely time cre-ating scenes. That tomfoolery this evening was all mother. There was noneed for it. She just wanted to play a family conclave9 scene. She getsbored, you know, down here and has to try and work up a drama.”
For the moment I had a fantastic vision of Sophia’s mother poisoningher elderly father-in-law in a lighthearted manner in order to observe amurder drama at firsthand with herself in the leading role.
An amusing thought! I dismissed it as such—but it left me a little un-easy.
“Mother,” said Sophia, “has to be looked after the whole time. You neverknow what she’s up to!”
“Forget your family, Sophia,” I said firmly.
“I shall be only too delighted to, but it’s a little difficult at the presentmoment. But I was happy out in Cairo when I had forgotten them all.”
I remembered how Sophia had never mentioned her home or herpeople.
“Is that why you never talked about them?” I asked. “Because youwanted to forget them?”
“I think so. We’ve always, all of us, lived too much in each other’s pock-ets. We’re—we’re all too fond of each other. We’re not like some familieswhere they all hate each other like poison. That must be pretty bad, butit’s almost worse to live all tangled10 up in conflicting affections.”
She added:
“I think that’s what I mean when I said we all lived together in a littlecrooked house. I didn’t mean that it was crooked in the dishonest sense. Ithink what I meant was that we hadn’t been able to grow up independent,standing by ourselves, upright. We’re all a bit twisted and twining.”
I saw Edith de Haviland’s heel grinding a weed into the path as Sophiaadded:
“Like bindweed….”
And then suddenly Magda was with us—flinging open the door—cryingout:
“Darlings, why don’t you have the lights on? It’s almost dark.”
And she pressed the switches and the lights sprang up on the walls andon the tables, and she and Sophia and I pulled the heavy rose curtains,and there we were in the flower-scented interior, and Magda flinging her-self on the sofa, cried:
“What an incredible scene it was, wasn’t it? How cross Eustace was! Hetold me he thought it was all positively11 indecent. How funny boys are!”
She sighed.
“Roger’s rather a pet. I love him when he rumples12 his hair and startsknocking things over. Wasn’t it sweet of Edith to offer her legacy13 to him?
She really meant it, you know, it wasn’t just a gesture. But it was terriblystupid—it might have made Philip think he ought to do it too! Of courseEdith would do anything for the family! There’s something very pathetic inthe love of a spinster for her sister’s children. Some day I shall play one ofthose devoted14 spinster aunts. Inquisitive15 and obstinate16 and devoted.”
“It must have been hard for her after her sister died,” I said, refusing tobe sidetracked into discussion of another of Magda’s roles. “I mean if shedisliked old Leonides so much.”
Magda interrupted me.
“Disliked him? Who told you that? Nonsense. She was in love with him.”
“Mother!” said Sophia.
“Now don’t try and contradict me, Sophia. Naturally at your age, youthink love is all two good-looking young people in the moonlight.”
“She told me,” I said, “that she had always disliked him.”
“Probably she did when she first came. She’d been angry with her sisterfor marrying him. I dare say there was always some antagonism—but shewas in love with him all right! Darling, I do know what I’m talking about!
Of course, with deceased wife’s sister and all that, he couldn’t have mar-ried her, and I dare say he never thought of it—and quite probably shedidn’t either. She was quite happy mothering the children, and havingfights with him. But she didn’t like it when he married Brenda. She didn’tlike it a bit!”
“No more did you and father,” said Sophia.
“No, of course we hated it! Naturally! But Edith hated it most. Darling,the way I’ve seen her look at Brenda!”
“Now, Mother,” said Sophia.
Magda threw her an affectionate and half-guilty glance, the glance of amischieveous, spoilt child.
She went on, with no apparent realization17 of any lack of continuity:
“I’ve decided18 Josephine really must go to school.”
“Josephine? To school?”
“Yes. To Switzerland. I’m going to see about it tomorrow. I really thinkwe might get her off at once. It’s so bad for her to be mixed up in a horridbusiness like this. She’s getting quite morbid19 about it. What she needs isother children of her own age. School life. I’ve always thought so.”
“Grandfather didn’t want her to go to school,” said Sophia slowly. “Hewas very much against it.”
“Darling old Sweetie Pie liked us all here under his eye. Very old peopleare often selfish in that way. A child ought to be amongst other children.
And Switzerland is so healthy—all the winter sports, and the air, and somuch, much better food than we get here!”
“It will be difficult to arrange for Switzerland now with all the currencyregulations, won’t it?” I asked.
“Nonsense, Charles. There’s some kind of educational racket—or you ex-change with a Swiss child—there are all sorts of ways. Rudolph Alstir’s inLausanne. I shall wire him tomorrow to arrange everything. We can gether off by the end of the week!”
Magda punched a cushion, smiled at us, went to the door, stood a mo-ment looking back at us in a quite enchanting20 fashion.
“It’s only the young who count,” she said. As she said it, it was a lovelyline. “They must always come first. And, darlings—think of the flowers—the blue gentians, the narcissus….”
“In October?” asked Sophia, but Magda had gone.
Sophia heaved an exasperated21 sigh.
“Really,” she said. “Mother is too trying! She gets these sudden ideas,and she sends thousands of telegrams and everything has to be arrangedat a moment’s notice. Why should Josephine be hustled22 off to Switzerlandall in a flurry?”
“There’s probably something in the idea of school. I think children ofher own age would be a good thing for Josephine.”
“Grandfather didn’t think so,” said Sophia obstinately23.
I felt slightly irritated.
“My dear Sophia, do you really think an old gentleman of over eighty isthe best judge of a child’s welfare?”
“He was about the best judge of anybody in this house,” said Sophia.
“Better than your Aunt Edith?”
“No, perhaps not. She did rather favour school. I admit Josephine’s gotinto rather difficult ways—she’s got a horrible habit of snooping. But Ireally think it’s just because she’s playing detectives.”
Was it only the concern for Josephine’s welfare which had occasionedMagda’s sudden decision? I wondered. Josephine was remarkably24 well-in-formed about all sorts of things that had happened prior to the murderand which had been certainly no business of hers. A healthy school lifewith plenty of games would probably do her a world of good. But I didrather wonder at the suddenness and urgency of Magda’s decision —Switzerland was a long way off.
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1
bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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2
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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eerie
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| adj.怪诞的；奇异的；可怕的；胆怯的 | |
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crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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twig
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| n.小树枝，嫩枝；v.理解 | |
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7
moody
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| adj.心情不稳的，易怒的，喜怒无常的 | |
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8
determinedly
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| adv.决意地；坚决地，坚定地 | |
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conclave
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| n.秘密会议，红衣主教团 | |
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tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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rumples
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| v.弄皱，使凌乱( rumple的第三人称单数 ) | |
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legacy
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| n.遗产，遗赠；先人(或过去)留下的东西 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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inquisitive
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| adj.求知欲强的，好奇的，好寻根究底的 | |
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obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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realization
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| n.实现；认识到，深刻了解 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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morbid
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| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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enchanting
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| a.讨人喜欢的 | |
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exasperated
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| adj.恼怒的 | |
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hustled
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| 催促（hustle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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obstinately
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| ad.固执地，顽固地 | |
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remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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