In the little shop in the High Street Luke had bought a tin of cigarettes andtoday’s copy of Good Cheer, the enterprising little weekly which providedLord Whitfield with a good portion of his substantial income. Turning tothe football competition, Luke, with a groan1, gave forth2 the informationthat he had just failed to win a hundred and twenty pounds. Mrs. Piercewas roused at once to sympathy and explained similar disappointmentson the part of her husband. Friendly relations thus established, Lukefound no difficulty in prolonging the conversation.
“A great interest in football Mr. Pierce takes,” said Mr. Pierce’s spouse3.
“Turns to it first of all in the news, he does. And as I say, many a disap-pointment he’s had, but there, everybody can’t win, that’s what I say, andwhat I say is you can’t go against luck.”
Luke concurred4 heartily5 in these sentiments, and proceeded to advanceby an easy transition to a further profound statement that troubles nevercome singly.
“Ah, no, indeed, sir, that I do know.” Mrs. Pierce sighed. “And when awoman has a husband and eight children—six living and buried two, thatis—well, she knows what trouble is, as you may say.”
“I suppose she does—oh, undoubtedly,” said Luke. “You’ve—er—buriedtwo, you say?”
“One no longer than a month ago,” said Mrs. Pierce with a kind of mel-ancholy enjoyment6.
“Dear me, very sad.”
“It wasn’t only sad, sir. It was a shock—that’s what it was, a shock! Icame all over queer, I did, when they broke it to me. Never having expec-ted anything of that kind to happen to Tommy, as you might say, for whena boy’s a trouble to you it doesn’t come natural to think of him being took.
Now my Emma Jane, a sweet little mite7 she was. ‘You’ll never rear her.’
That’s what they said. ‘She’s too good to live.’ And it was true, sir. The Lordknows His own.”
Luke acknowledged the sentiment and strove to return from the subjectof the saintly Emma Jane to that of the less saintly Tommy.
“Your boy died quite recently?” he said. “An accident?”
“An accident it was, sir. Cleaning the windows of the old Hall, which isnow the library, and he must have lost his balance and fell—from the topwindows, that was.”
Mrs. Pierce expatiated8 at some length on all the details of the accident.
“Wasn’t there some story,” said Luke carelessly, “of his having beenseen dancing on the windowsill?”
Mrs. Pierce said that boys would be boys—but no doubt it did give themajor a turn, him being a fussy9 gentleman.
“Major Horton?”
“Yes, sir, the gentleman with the bulldogs. After the accident happenedhe chanced to mention having seen our Tommy acting10 very rash-like—andof course it does show that if something sudden had startled him he wouldhave fallen easy enough. High spirits, sir, that was Tommy’s trouble. Asore trial he’s been to me in many ways,” she finished, “but there it was,just high spirits—nothing but high spirits—such as any lad might have.
There wasn’t no real harm in him, as you might say.”
“No, no—I’m sure there wasn’t, but sometimes, you know, Mrs. Pierce,people—sober middle-aged11 people—find it hard to remember they’ve everbeen young themselves.”
Mrs. Pierce sighed.
“Very true those words are, sir. I can’t help but hoping that some gentle-men I could name but won’t will have taken it to heart the way they werehard upon the lad—just on account of his high spirits.”
“Played a few tricks upon his employers, did he?” asked Luke with anindulgent smile.
Mrs. Pierce responded immediately.
“It was just his fun, sir, that was all. Tommy was always good at imita-tions. Make us hold our sides with laughing the way he’d mince12 about pre-tending to be that Mr. Ellsworthy at the curio shop—or old Mr. Hobbs, thechurchwarden—and he was imitating his lordship up at the manor13 andthe two under-gardeners laughing, when up came his lordship quiet-likeand gave Tommy the sack on the spot—and naturally that was only to beexpected, and quite right, and his lordship didn’t bear malice14 afterwards,and helped Tommy to get another job.”
“But other people weren’t so magnanimous, eh?” said Luke.
“That they were not, sir. Naming no names. And you’d never think itwith Mr. Abbot, so pleasant in his manner and always a kind word or ajoke.”
“Tommy got into trouble with him?”
Mrs. Pierce said:
“It’s not, I’m sure, that the boy meant any harm…And after all, if papersare private and not meant to be looked at, they shouldn’t be laid out on atable—that’s what I say.”
“Oh, quite,” said Luke. “Private papers in a lawyer’s office ought to bekept in the safe.”
“That’s right, sir. That’s what I think, and Mr. Pierce he agrees with me.
It’s not even as though Tommy had read much of it.”
“What was it—a will?” asked Luke.
He judged (probably rightly) that a question as to what the document inquestion had been might make Mrs. Pierce halt. But this direct questionbrought an instant response.
“Oh, no, sir, nothing of that kind. Nothing really important. Just aprivate letter it was—from a lady—and Tommy didn’t even see who thelady was. All such a fuss about nothing—that’s what I say.”
“Mr. Abbot must be the sort of man who takes offence very easily,” saidLuke.
“Well, it does seem so, doesn’t it, sir? Although, as I say, he’s always sucha pleasant gentleman to speak to—always a joke or a cheery word. But it’strue that I have heard he was a difficult man to get up against, and himand Dr. Humbleby was daggers15 drawn16, as the saying is, just before thepoor gentleman died. And not a pleasant thought for Mr. Abbot after-wards. For once there’s a death one doesn’t like to think there’s beenharsh words spoken and no chance of taking them back.”
Luke shook his head solemnly and murmured:
“Very true—very true.”
He went on:
“A bit of a coincidence—that. Hard words with Dr. Humbleby and Dr.
Humbleby died—harsh treatment of your Tommy—and the boy dies! Ishould think that a double experience like that would tend to make Mr.
Abbot careful of his tongue in future.”
“Harry Carter, too, down at the Seven Stars,” said Mrs. Pierce. “Verysharp words passed between them only a week before Carter went anddrowned himself—but one can’t blame Mr. Abbot for that. The abuse wasall on Carter’s side—went up to Mr. Abbot’s house, he did, being in liquorat the time, and shouting out the foulest17 language at the top of his voice.
Poor Mrs. Carter, she had a deal to put up with, and it must be ownedCarter’s death was a merciful release as far as she was concerned.”
“He left a daughter, too, didn’t he?”
“Ah,” said Mrs. Pierce. “I’m never one to gossip.”
This was unexpected but promising18. Luke pricked19 up his ears andwaited.
“I don’t say there was anything in it but talk. Lucy Carter’s a fine-lookingyoung woman in her way, and if it hadn’t been for the difference in sta-tion I dare say no notice would have been taken. But talk there has beenand you can’t deny it—especially after Carter went right up to his house,shouting and swearing.”
Luke gathered the implications of this somewhat confused speech.
“Mr. Abbot looks as though he’d appreciate a good-looking girl,” he said.
“It’s often the way with gentlemen,” said Mrs. Pierce. “They don’t meananything by it—just a word or two in passing, but the gentry’s the gentryand it gets noticed in consequence. It’s only to be expected in a quiet placelike this.”
“It’s a very charming place,” said Luke. “So unspoilt.”
“That’s what artists always say, but I think we’re a bit behind the timesmyself. Why, there’s been no building here to speak of. Over at Ashevale,for instance, they’ve got a lovely lot of new houses, some of them withgreen roofs and stained glass in the windows.”
Luke shuddered20 slightly.
“You’ve got a grand new institute here,” he said.
“They say it’s a very fine building,” said Mrs. Pierce, without great en-thusiasm. “Of course, his lordship’s done a lot for the place. He meanswell, we all know that.”
“But you don’t think his efforts are quite successful?” said Luke,amused.
“Well, of course, sir, he isn’t really gentry—not like Miss Waynflete, forinstance, and Miss Conway. Why, Lord Whitfield’s father kept a boot-shoponly a few doors from here. My mother remembers Gordon Ragg servingin the shop—remembers it as well as anything. Of course he’s his lordshipnow and he’s a rich man—but it’s never the same, is it, sir?”
“Evidently not,” said Luke.
“You’ll excuse me mentioning it, sir,” said Mrs. Pierce. “And of course Iknow you’re staying at the manor and writing a book. But you’re a cousinof Miss Bridget’s, I know, and that’s quite a different thing. Very pleasedwe shall be to have her back as mistress of Ashe Manor.”
“Rather,” said Luke. “I’m sure you will.”
He paid for his cigarettes and paper with sudden abruptness22.
He thought to himself:
“The personal element. One must keep that out of it! Hell, I’m here totrack down a criminal. What does it matter who that black-haired witchmarries or doesn’t marry? She doesn’t come into this….”
He walked slowly along the street. With an effort he thrust Bridget intothe back of his mind.
“Now then,” he said to himself. “Abbot. The case against Abbot. I’velinked him up with three of the victims. He had a row with Humbleby, arow with Carter and a row with Tommy Pierce—and all three died. Whatabout the girl Amy Gibbs? What was the private letter that infernal boysaw? Did he know who it was from? Or didn’t he? He mayn’t have said soto his mother. But suppose he did. Suppose Abbot thought it necessary toshut his mouth. It could be! That’s all one can say about it. It could be! Notgood enough!”
Luke quickened his pace, looking about him with sudden exasperation23.
“This damned village—it’s getting on my nerves. So smiling and peaceful— so innocent — and all the time this crazy streak24 of murder runningthrough it. Or am I the crazy one? Was Lavinia Pinkerton crazy? After all,the whole thing could be coincidence—yes, Humbleby’s death and all….”
He glanced back down the length of the High Street—and he was as-sailed by a strong feeling of unreality.
He said to himself:
“These things don’t happen….”
Then he lifted his eyes to the long frowning line of Ashe Ridge21—and atonce the unreality passed. Ashe Ridge was real—it knew strange things—witchcraft and cruelty and forgotten bloodlusts and evil rites….
He started. Two figures were walking along the side of the ridge. He re-cognized them easily—Bridget and Ellsworthy. The young man was gestic-ulating with those curious, unpleasant hands of his. His head was bent25 toBridget’s. They looked like two figures out of a dream. One felt that theirfeet made no sound as they sprang catlike from turf to turf. He saw herblack hair stream out behind her blown by the wind. Again that queer ma-gic of hers held him.
“Bewitched, that’s what I am, bewitched,” he said to himself.
He stood quite still—a queer numbed26 feeling spreading over him.
He thought to himself ruefully:
“Who’s to break the spell? There’s no one.”
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groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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spouse
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| n.配偶(指夫或妻) | |
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concurred
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| 同意（concur的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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7
mite
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| n.极小的东西；小铜币 | |
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expatiated
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| v.详述，细说( expatiate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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fussy
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| adj.为琐事担忧的，过分装饰的，爱挑剔的 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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mince
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| n.切碎物；v.切碎，矫揉做作地说 | |
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manor
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| n.庄园，领地 | |
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malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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daggers
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| 匕首，短剑( dagger的名词复数 ) | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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foulest
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| adj.恶劣的( foul的最高级 )；邪恶的；难闻的；下流的 | |
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promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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pricked
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| 刺，扎，戳( prick的过去式和过去分词 )； 刺伤； 刺痛； 使剧痛 | |
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shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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abruptness
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| n. 突然，唐突 | |
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exasperation
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| n.愤慨 | |
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streak
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| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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numbed
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| v.使麻木，使麻痹( numb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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