Luke had thought out his plan of campaign with some care, and preparedto put it into action without more ado when he came down to breakfastthe following morning.
The gardening aunt was not in evidence, but Lord Whitfield was eatingkidneys and drinking coffee, and Bridget Conway had finished her mealand was standing1 at the window, looking out.
After good mornings had been exchanged and Luke had sat down with aplentifully heaped plate of eggs and bacon, he began:
“I must get to work,” he said. “Difficult thing is to induce people to talk.
You know what I mean—not people like you and—er—Bridget.” (He re-membered just in time not to say Miss Conway.) “You’d tell me anythingyou knew—but the trouble is you wouldn’t know the things I want to know—that is the local superstitions3. You’d hardly believe the amount of super-stition that still lingers in out-of-the-way parts of the world. Why, there’s avillage in Devonshire. The rector had to remove some old granite4 menhirsthat stood by the church because the people persisted in marching roundthem in some old ritual every time there was a death. Extraordinary howold heathen rites5 persists.”
“Dare say you’re right,” said Lord Whitfield. “Education, that’s whatpeople need. Did I tell you that I’d endowed a very fine library here? Usedto be the old manor6 house—was going for a song—now it’s one of thefinest libraries—”
Luke firmly quelled7 the tendency of the conversation to turn in the dir-ection of Lord Whitfield’s doings.
“Splendid,” he said heartily8. “Good work. You’ve evidently realized thebackground of old- world ignorance there is here. Of course, from mypoint of view, that’s just what I want. Old customs—old wives’ tales—hintsof the old rituals such as—”
Here followed almost verbatim a page of a work that Luke had read upfor the occasion.
“Deaths are the most hopeful line,” he ended. “Burial rites and customsalways survive longer than any others. Besides, for some reason or other,village people always like talking about deaths.”
“They enjoy funerals,” agreed Bridget from the window.
“I thought I’d make that my starting-point,” went on Luke. “If I can get alist of recent demises9 in the parish, track down the relatives and get intoconversation, I’ve no doubt I shall soon get a hint of what I’m after. Whomhad I better get the data from—the parson?”
“Mr. Wake would probably be very interested,” said Bridget. “He’s quitean old dear and a bit of an antiquary. He could give you a lot of stuff, I ex-pect.”
Luke had a momentary10 qualm during which he hoped that the clergy-man might not be so efficient an antiquary as to expose his own preten-sions.
Aloud he said heartily:
“Good. You’ve no idea, I suppose, of likely people who’ve died during thelast year.”
Bridget murmured:
“Let me see. Carter, of course. He was the landlord of the Seven Stars,that nasty little pub down by the river.”
“A drunken ruffian,” said Lord Whitfield. “One of these socialistic, abus-ive brutes11, a good riddance.”
“And Mrs. Rose, the laundress,” went on Bridget. “And little TommyPierce—he was a nasty little boy if you like. Oh, of course, and that girlAmy what’s-her-name.”
Her voice changed slightly as she uttered the last name.
“Amy?” said Luke.
“Amy Gibbs. She was housemaid here and then she went to Miss Waynf-lete. There was an inquest on her.”
“Why?”
“Fool of a girl mixed up some bottles in the dark,” said Lord Whitfield.
“She took what she thought was cough mixture and it was hat paint,” ex-plained Bridget.
Luke raised his eyebrows12.
“Somewhat of a tragedy.”
Bridget said:
“There was some idea of her having done it on purpose. Some row witha young man.”
She spoke13 slowly—almost reluctantly.
There was a pause. Luke felt instinctively14 the presence of some un-spoken feeling weighing down the atmosphere.
He thought:
“Amy Gibbs? Yes, that was one of the names old Miss Pinkerton men-tioned.”
She had also mentioned a small boy—Tommy someone—of whom shehad evidently held a low opinion (this, it seemed, was shared by Bridget!)And yes—he was almost sure—the name Carter had been spoken too.
Rising, he said lightly:
“Talking like this makes me feel rather ghoulish—as though I dabbledonly in graveyards15. Marriage customs are interesting too — but rathermore difficult to introduce into conversation unconcernedly.”
“I should imagine that was likely,” said Bridget with a faint twitch16 of thelips.
“Ill-wishing or overlooking, there’s another interesting subject,” went onLuke with a would-be show of enthusiasm. “You often get that in theseold-world places. Know of any gossip of that kind here?”
Lord Whitfield slowly shook his head. Bridget Conway said:
“We shouldn’t be likely to hear of things like that—”
Luke took it up almost before she finished speaking.
“No doubt about it, I’ve got to move in lower social spheres to get what Iwant. I’ll be off to the vicarage first and see what I can get there. After thatperhaps a visit to the—Seven Stars, did you say? And what about the smallboy of unpleasant habits? Did he leave any sorrowing relatives?”
“Mrs. Pierce keeps a tobacco and paper shop in High Street.”
“That,” said Luke, “is nothing less than providential. Well, I’ll be on myway.”
With a swift graceful17 movement Bridget moved from the window.
“I think,” she said, “I’ll come with you, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course not.”
He said it as heartily as possible, but he wondered if she had noticedthat, just for a moment, he had been taken aback.
It would have been easier for him to handle an elderly antiquarian cler-gyman without an alert discerning intelligence by his side.
“Oh well,” he thought to himself. “It’s up to me to do my stuff convin-cingly.”
Bridget said:
“Will you just wait, Luke, while I change my shoes?”
Luke—the Christian18 name uttered so easily gave him a queer warm feel-ing. And yet what else could she have called him? Since she had agreed toJimmy’s scheme of cousinship she could hardly call him Mr. Fitzwilliam.
He thought suddenly and uneasily, “What does she think of it all? In God’sname what does she think?”
Queer that that had not worried him beforehand. Jimmy’s cousin hadjust been a convenient abstraction—a lay figure. He had hardly visualizedher, just accepted his friend’s dictum that “Bridget would be all right.”
He had thought of her—if he had thought of her at all—as a little blondesecretary person—astute enough to have captured a rich man’s fancy.
Instead she had force, brains, a cool clear intelligence and he had noidea what she was thinking of him. He thought: She’s not an easy person todeceive.
“I’m ready now.”
She had joined him so silently that he had not heard her approach. Shewore no hat, and there was no net on her hair. As they stepped out fromthe house the wind, sweeping19 round the corner of the castellated mon-strosity, caught her long black hair and whipped it into a sudden frenzyround her face.
She said smiling:
“You need me to show you the way.”
“It’s very kind of you,” he answered punctiliously20.
And wondered if he had imagined a sudden swiftly passing ironic21 smile.
Looking back at the battlements behind him, he said irritably22:
“What an abomination! Couldn’t anyone stop him?”
Bridget answered: “An Englishman’s house is his castle—literally so inGordon’s case! He adores it.”
Conscious that the remark was in bad taste, yet unable to control histongue, he said:
“It’s your old home, isn’t it? Do you ‘adore’ to see it the way it is now?”
She looked at him then—a steady slightly amused look it was.
“I hate to destroy the dramatic picture you are building up,” she mur-mured. “But actually I left here when I was two and a half, so you see theold home motive23 doesn’t apply. I can’t even remember this place.”
“You’re right,” said Luke. “Forgive the lapse24 into film language.”
She laughed.
“Truth,” she said, “is seldom romantic.”
And there was a sudden bitter scorn in her voice that startled him. Heflushed a deep red under his tan, then realized suddenly that the bitter-ness had not been aimed at him. It was her own scorn and her own bitter-ness. Luke was wisely silent. But he wondered a good deal about BridgetConway….
Five minutes brought them to the church and to the vicarage that ad-joined it. They found the vicar in his study.
Alfred Wake was a small stooping old man with very mild blue eyes,and an absentminded but courteous25 air. He seemed pleased but a littlesurprised by the visit.
“Mr. Fitzwilliam is staying with us at Ashe Manor,” said Bridget, “and hewants to consult you about a book he is writing.”
Mr. Wake turned his mild inquiring eyes towards the younger man, andLuke plunged26 into explanations.
He was nervous—doubly so. Nervous in the first place because this manhad no doubt a far deeper knowledge of folklore28 and superstitious29 ritesand customs than one could acquire by merely hurriedly cramming30 froma haphazard31 collection of books. Secondly32 he was nervous because BridgetConway was standing by listening.
Luke was relieved to find that Mr. Wake’s special interest was Romanremains. He confessed gently that he knew very little of medieval folkloreand witchcraft33. He mentioned the existence of certain items in the historyof Wychwood, offered to take Luke to the particular ledge27 of hill where itwas said the Witches’ Sabbaths had been held, but expressed himself re-gretful that he could add no special information of his own.
Inwardly much relieved, Luke expressed himself as somewhat disap-pointed, and then plunged into inquiries34 as to deathbed superstitions.
Mr. Wake shook his head gently.
“I am afraid I should be the last person to know about those. My parish-ioners would be careful to keep anything unorthodox from my ears.”
“That’s so, of course.”
“But I’ve no doubt, all the same, there is a lot of superstition2 still rife35.
These village communities are very backward.”
Luke plunged boldly.
“I’ve been asking Miss Conway for a list of all the recent deaths shecould remember. I thought I might get at something that way. I supposeyou could supply me with a list, so that I could pick out the likelies.”
“Yes—yes—that could be managed. Giles, our sexton, a good fellow butsadly deaf, could help you there. Let me see now. There have been a goodmany—a good many—a treacherous36 spring and a hard winter behind it—and then a good many accidents—quite a cycle of bad luck there seems tohave been.”
“Sometimes,” said Luke, “a cycle of bad luck is attributed to the presenceof a particular person.”
“Yes, yes. The old story of Jonah. But I do not think there have been anystrangers here—nobody, that is to say, outstanding in any way, and I’vecertainly never heard any rumour37 of such feeling—but then again, as Isaid, perhaps I shouldn’t. Now let me see—quite recently we have had Dr.
Humbleby and poor Lavinia Pinkerton—a fine man, Dr. Humbleby—”
Bridget put in:
“Mr. Fitzwilliam knows friends of his.”
“Do you indeed? Very sad. His loss will be much felt. A man with manyfriends.”
“But surely a man with some enemies too,” said Luke. “I’m only going bywhat I’ve heard my friends say,” he went on hastily.
Mr. Wake sighed.
“A man who spoke his mind—and a man who wasn’t always very tact-ful, shall we say—” he shook his head. “It does get people’s backs up. Buthe was greatly beloved among the poorer classes.”
Luke said carelessly:
“You know I always feel that one of the most unpalatable facts to befaced in life, is the fact that every death that occurs means a gain tosomeone—I don’t mean only financially.”
The vicar nodded thoughtfully.
“I see your meaning, yes. We read in an obituary38 notice that a man is re-gretted by everybody, but that can only be true very rarely I fear. In Dr.
Humbleby’s case, there is no denying that his partner, Dr. Thomas, willfind his position very much improved by Dr. Humbleby’s death.”
“How is that?”
“Thomas, I believe, is a very capable fellow—certainly Humbleby al-ways said so, but he didn’t get on here very well. He was, I think, over-shadowed by Humbleby who was a man of very definite magnetism39.
Thomas appeared rather colourless in contrast. He didn’t impress his pa-tients at all. I think he worried over it, too, and that made him worse—more nervous and tongue-tied. As a matter of fact I’ve noticed an astonish-ing difference already. More aplomb—more personality. I think he feels anew confidence in himself. He and Humbleby didn’t always agree, I be-lieve. Thomas was all for newer methods of treatment and Humbleby pre-ferred to stick to the old ways. There were clashes between them morethan once—over that as well as over a matter nearer home—but there, Imustn’t gossip—”
Bridget said softly and clearly:
“But I think Mr. Fitzwilliam would like you to gossip!”
Luke shot her a quick disturbed look.
Mr. Wake shook his head doubtfully, and then went on, smiling a littlein deprecation.
“I am afraid one learns to take too much interest in one’s neighbours’ af-fairs. Rose Humbleby is a very pretty girl. One doesn’t wonder that Geof-frey Thomas lost his heart. And of course Humbleby’s point of view wasquite understandable too—the girl is young and buried away here shehadn’t much chance of seeing other men.”
“He objected?” said Luke.
“Very definitely. Said they were far too young. And of course youngpeople resent being told that! There was a very definite coldness betweenthe two men. But I must say that I’m sure Dr. Thomas was deeply dis-tressed at his partner’s unexpected death.”
“Septic?mia, Lord Whitfield told me.”
“Yes—just a little scratch that got infected. Doctors run grave risks in thecourse of their profession, Mr. Fitzwilliam.”
“They do indeed,” said Luke.
Mr. Wake gave a sudden start.
“But I have wandered a long way from what we were talking about,” hesaid. “A gossiping old man, I am afraid. We were speaking of the survivalof pagan death customs and of recent deaths. There was Lavinia Pinkerton—one of our more kindly40 Church helpers. Then there was that poor girl,Amy Gibbs—you might discover something in your line there, Mr. Fitzwil-liam—there was just a suspicion, you know, that it might have been sui-cide—and there are certain rather eerie41 rites in connection with that typeof death. There is an aunt—not, I fear, a very estimable woman, and notvery much attached to her niece—but a great talker.”
“Valuable,” said Luke.
“Then there was Tommy Pierce—he was in the choir42 at one time—abeautiful treble—quite angelic—but not a very angelic boy otherwise, I amafraid. We had to get rid of him in the end, he made the other boys behaveso badly. Poor lad, I’m afraid he was not very much liked anywhere. Hewas dismissed from the post office where we got him a job as telegraphboy. He was in Mr. Abbot’s office for a while, but there again he was dis-missed very soon—interfered with some confidential43 papers, I believe.
Then, of course, he was at Ashe Manor for a time, wasn’t he, Miss Conway,as garden boy, and Lord Whitfield had to discharge him for gross imper-tinence. I was so sorry for his mother—a very decent hardworking soul.
Miss Waynflete very kindly got him some odd window cleaning work.
Lord Whitfield objected at first, then suddenly he gave in—actually it wassad that he did so.”
“Why?”
“Because the boy was killed that way. He was cleaning the top windowsof the library (the old Hall, you know) and tried some silly fooling—dan-cing on the window ledge or something of that sort—lost his balance, orelse became dizzy, and fell. A nasty business! He never recovered con-sciousness and died a few hours after they got him to hospital.”
“Did anyone see him fall?” asked Luke with interest.
“No. He was on the garden side—not the front of the house. They estim-ate he lay there for about half an hour before anyone found him.”
“Who did find him?”
“Miss Pinkerton. You remember, the lady I mentioned just now who wasunfortunately killed in a street accident the other day. Poor soul, she wasterribly upset. A nasty experience! She had obtained permission to take acutting of some plants and found the boy there lying where he had fallen.”
“It must have been a very unpleasant shock,” said Luke thoughtfully.
“A greater shock,” he thought to himself, “than you know.”
“A young life cut short is a very sad thing,” said the old man, shaking hishead. “Tommy’s faults may have been mainly due to high spirits.”
“He was a disgusting bully,” said Bridget. “You know he was, Mr. Wake.
Always tormenting44 cats and stray puppies and pinching other little boys.”
“I know—I know.” Mr. Wake shook his head sadly. “But you know, mydear Miss Conway, sometimes cruelty is not so much innate45 as due to thefact that imagination is slow in ripening46. That is why if you conceive of agrown man with the mentality47 of a child you realize that the cunning andbrutality of a lunatic may be quite unrealized by the man himself. A lackof growth somewhere, that, I am convinced, is at the root of much of thecruelty and stupid brutality48 in the world today. One must put away child-ish things—”
He shook his head and spread out his hands.
Bridget said in a voice suddenly hoarse49:
“Yes, you’re right. I know what you mean. A man who is a child is themost frightening thing in the world….”
Luke looked at her with some curiosity. He was convinced that she wasthinking of some particular person, and although Lord Whitfield was insome respects exceedingly childish, he did not believe she was thinking ofhim. Lord Whitfield was slightly ridiculous, but he was certainly notfrightening.
Luke Fitzwilliam wondered very much whom the person Bridget wasthinking of might be.
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1
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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superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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superstitions
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| 迷信，迷信行为( superstition的名词复数 ) | |
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granite
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| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
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rites
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| 仪式，典礼( rite的名词复数 ) | |
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manor
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| n.庄园，领地 | |
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quelled
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| v.（用武力）制止，结束，镇压( quell的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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demises
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| v.遗赠（demise的第三人称单数形式） | |
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momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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brutes
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| 兽( brute的名词复数 )； 畜生； 残酷无情的人； 兽性 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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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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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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graveyards
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| 墓地( graveyard的名词复数 )； 垃圾场； 废物堆积处； 收容所 | |
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twitch
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| v.急拉，抽动，痉挛，抽搐；n.扯，阵痛，痉挛 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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punctiliously
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ironic
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| adj.讽刺的，有讽刺意味的，出乎意料的 | |
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irritably
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| ad.易生气地 | |
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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lapse
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| n.过失，流逝，失效，抛弃信仰，间隔；vi.堕落，停止，失效，流逝；vt.使失效 | |
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courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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ledge
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| n.壁架，架状突出物；岩架，岩礁 | |
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folklore
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| n.民间信仰，民间传说，民俗 | |
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superstitious
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| adj.迷信的 | |
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cramming
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| n.塞满，填鸭式的用功v.塞入( cram的现在分词 )；填塞；塞满；（为考试而）死记硬背功课 | |
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haphazard
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| adj.无计划的，随意的，杂乱无章的 | |
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secondly
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| adv.第二，其次 | |
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witchcraft
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| n.魔法，巫术 | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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rife
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| adj.(指坏事情)充斥的，流行的，普遍的 | |
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treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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rumour
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| n.谣言，谣传，传闻 | |
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obituary
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| n.讣告，死亡公告；adj.死亡的 | |
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magnetism
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| n.磁性，吸引力，磁学 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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41
eerie
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| adj.怪诞的；奇异的；可怕的；胆怯的 | |
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42
choir
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| n.唱诗班，唱诗班的席位，合唱团，舞蹈团；v.合唱 | |
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43
confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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44
tormenting
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| 使痛苦的，使苦恼的 | |
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45
innate
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| adj.天生的，固有的，天赋的 | |
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46
ripening
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| v.成熟，使熟( ripen的现在分词 )；熟化；熟成 | |
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47
mentality
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| n.心理，思想，脑力 | |
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48
brutality
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| n.野蛮的行为，残忍，野蛮 | |
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49
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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