Bundle’s temperament2 was certainly not inherited from her father, whoseprevailing characteristic was a wholly amiable3 inertia4. As Bill Eversleighhad very justly remarked, the grass never did grow under Bundle’s feet.
On the morning following her dinner with Bill, Bundle woke full of en-ergy. She had three distinct plans which she meant to put into operationthat day, and she realized that she was going to be slightly hampered5 bythe limits of time and space.
Fortunately she did not suffer from the affliction of Gerry Wade6, RonnyDevereux and Jimmy Thesiger—that of not being able to get up in themorning. Sir Oswald Coote himself would have had no fault to find withher on the score of early rising. At half past eight Bundle had breakfastedand was on her way to Chimneys in the Hispano.
Her father seemed mildly pleased to see her.
“I never know when you’re going to turn up,” he said. “But this will saveme ringing up, which I hate. Colonel Melrose was here yesterday aboutthe inquest.”
Colonel Melrose was Chief Constable7 of the county, and an old friend ofLord Caterham.
“You mean the inquest of Ronny Devereux? When is it to be?”
“Tomorrow. Twelve o’clock. Melrose will call for you. Having found thebody, you’ll have to give evidence, but he said you needn’t be at allalarmed.”
“Why on earth should I be alarmed?”
“Well, you know,” said Lord Caterham apologetically, “Melrose is a bitold-fashioned.”
“Twelve o’clock,” said Bundle. “Good. I shall be here, if I’m still alive.”
“Have you any reason to anticipate not being alive?”
“One never knows,” said Bundle. “The strain of modern life — as thenewspapers say.”
“Which reminds me that George Lomax asked me to come over to theAbbey next week. I refused, of course.”
“Quite right,” said Bundle. “We don’t want you mixed up in any funnybusiness.”
“Is there going to be any funny business?” asked Lord Caterham with asudden awakening8 of interest.
“Well—warning letters and all that, you know,” said Bundle.
“Perhaps George is going to be assassinated,” said Lord Caterham hope-fully. “What do you think, Bundle—perhaps I’d better go after all.”
“You curb9 your bloodthirsty instincts and stay quietly at home,” saidBundle. “I’m going to talk to Mrs. Howell.”
Mrs. Howell was the housekeeper10, that dignified11, creaking lady whostruck terror to the heart of Lady Coote. She had no terror for Bundle,whom, indeed, she always called Miss Bundle, a relic12 of the days whenBundle had stayed at Chimneys, a long-legged, impish child, before herfather had succeeded to the title.
“Now, Howelly,” said Bundle, “let’s have a cup of rich cocoa together,and let me hear all the household news.”
She gleaned13 what she wanted without much difficulty, making mentalnotes as follows:
“Two new scullery maids—village girls—doesn’t seem much there. Newthird housemaid—head housemaid’s niece. That sounds all right. Howellyseems to have bullied14 poor Lady Coote a good deal. She would.”
“I never thought the day would come when I should see Chimneys in-habited by strangers, Miss Bundle.”
“Oh! one must go with the times,” said Bundle. “You’ll be lucky, Howelly,if you never see it converted into desirable flats with use of superb pleas-ure grounds.”
Mrs. Howells shivered all down her reactionary15 aristocratic spine16.
“I’ve never seen Sir Oswald Coote,” remarked Bundle.
“Sir Oswald is no doubt a very clever gentleman,” said Mrs. Howells dis-tantly.
Bundle gathered that Sir Oswald had not been liked by his staff.
“Of course, it was Mr. Bateman who saw to everything,” continued thehousekeeper. “A very efficient gentleman. A very efficient gentleman in-deed, and one who knew the way things ought to be done.”
Bundle led the talk on to the topic of Gerald Wade’s death. Mrs. Howellwas only too willing to talk about it, and was full of pitying ejaculationsabout the poor young gentleman, but Bundle gleaned nothing new.
Presently she took leave of Mrs. Howell and came downstairs again,where she promptly17 rang for Tredwell.
“Tredwell, when did Arthur leave?”
“It would be about a month ago now, my lady.”
“Why did he leave?”
“It was by his own wish, my lady. I believe he has gone to London. I wasnot dissatisfied with him in any way. I think you will find the new foot-man, John, very satisfactory. He seems to know his work and to be mostanxious to give satisfaction.”
“Where did he come from?”
“He had excellent references, my lady. He had lived last with LordMount Vernon.”
“I see,” said Bundle thoughtfully.
She was remembering that Lord Mount Vernon was at present on ashooting trip in East Africa.
“What’s his last name, Tredwell?”
“Bower18, my lady.”
Tredwell paused for a minute or two and then, seeing that Bundle hadfinished, he quietly left the room. Bundle remained lost in thought.
John had opened the door to her on her arrival that day, and she hadtaken particular notice of him without seeming to do so. Apparently19 hewas the perfect servant, well-trained, with an expressionless face. He had,perhaps, a more soldierly bearing than most footmen and there was some-thing a little odd about the shape of the back of his head.
But these details, as Bundle realized, were hardly relevant to the situ-ation. She sat frowning down at the blotting20 paper in front of her. She hada pencil in her hand and was idly tracing the name Bower over and overagain.
Suddenly an idea struck her and she stopped dead, staring at the word.
Then she summoned Tredwell once more.
“Tredwell, how is the name Bower spelt?”
“B-A-U-E-R, my lady.”
“That’s not an English name.”
“I believe he is of Swiss extraction, my lady.”
“Oh! That’s all, Tredwell, thank you.”
Swiss extraction? No. German! That martial21 carriage, that flat back tothe head. And he had come to Chimneys a fortnight before Gerry Wade’sdeath.
Bundle rose to her feet. She had done all she could here. Now to get onwith things! She went in search of her father.
“I’m off again,” she said. “I’ve got to go and see Aunt Marcia.”
“Got to see Marcia?” Lord Caterham’s voice was full of astonishment22.
“Poor child, how did you get let in for that?”
“Just for once,” said Bundle, “I happen to be going of my own free will.”
Lord Caterham looked at her in amazement23. That anyone could have agenuine desire to face his redoubtable24 sister-in-law was quite incompre-hensible to him. Marcia, Marchioness of Caterham, the widow of his latebrother Henry, was a very prominent personality. Lord Caterham admit-ted that she had made Henry an admirable wife and that but for her in allprobability he would never have held the office of Secretary of State forForeign Affairs. On the other hand, he had always looked upon Henry’searly death as a merciful release.
It seemed to him that Bundle was foolishly putting her head into thelion’s mouth.
“Oh! I say,” he said. “You know, I shouldn’t do that. You don’t knowwhat it may lead to.”
“I know what I hope it’s going to lead to,” said Bundle. “I’m all right,Father, don’t you worry about me.”
Lord Caterham sighed and settled himself more comfortably in hischair. He went back to his perusal25 of the Field. But in a minute or twoBundle suddenly put her head in again.
“Sorry,” she said. “But there’s one other thing I wanted to ask you. Whatis Sir Oswald Coote?”
“I told you—a steamroller.”
“I don’t mean your personal impression of him. How did he make hismoney—trouser buttons or brass26 beds or what?”
“Oh, I see. He’s steel. Steel and iron. He’s got the biggest steel works, orwhatever you call it, in England. He doesn’t, of course, run the show per-sonally now. It’s a company or companies. He got me in as a director ofsomething or other. Very good business for me—nothing to do except godown to the city once or twice a year to one of those hotel places—CannonStreet or Liverpool Street—and sit around a table where they have verynice new blotting paper. Then Coote or some clever Johnny makes aspeech simply bristling27 with figures, but fortunately you needn’t listen toit—and I can tell you, you often get a jolly good lunch out of it.”
Uninterested in Lord Caterham’s lunches, Bundle had departed againbefore he had finished speaking. On the way back to London, she tried topiece together things to her satisfaction.
As far as she could see, steel and infant welfare did not go together. Oneof the two, then, was just padding—presumably the latter. Mrs. Macattaand the Hungarian countess could be ruled out of court. They were cam-ouflage. No, the pivot28 of the whole thing seemed to be the unattractiveHerr Eberhard. He did not seem to be the type of man whom George Lo-max would normally invite. Bill had said vaguely29 that he invented. Thenthere was the Air Minister, and Sir Oswald Coote, who was steel. Somehowthat seemed to hang together.
Since it was useless speculating further, Bundle abandoned the attemptand concentrated on her forthcoming interview with Lady Caterham.
The lady lived in a large gloomy house in one of London’s higher-classsquares. Inside it smelt30 of sealing wax, bird seed and slightly decayedflowers. Lady Caterham was a large woman—large in every way. Her pro-portions were majestic31, rather than ample. She had a large beaked32 nose,wore goldrimmed pince-nez and her upper lip bore just the faintest suspi-cion of a moustache.
She was somewhat surprised to see her niece, but accorded her a frigidcheek, which Bundle duly kissed.
“This is quite an unexpected pleasure, Eileen,” she observed coldly.
“We’ve only just got back, Aunt Marcia.”
“I know. How is your father? Much as usual?”
Her tone conveyed disparagement33. She had a poor opinion of AlastairEdward Brent, ninth Marquis of Caterham. She would have called him,had she known the term, a “poor fish.”
“Father is very well. He’s down at Chimneys.”
“Indeed. You know, Eileen, I never approved of the letting of Chimneys.
The place is in many ways a historical monument. It should not becheapened.”
“It must have been wonderful in Uncle Henry’s days,” said Bundle witha slight sigh.
“Henry realized his responsibilities,” said Henry’s widow.
“Think of the people who stayed there,” went on Bundle ecstatically. “Allthe principal statesmen of Europe.”
Lady Caterham sighed.
“I can truly say that history has been made there more than once,” sheobserved. “If only your father—”
She shook her head sadly.
“Politics bore father,” said Bundle, “and yet they are about the most fas-cinating study there is, I should say. Especially if one knew about themfrom the inside.”
She made this extravagantly34 untruthful statement of her feelingswithout even a blush. Her aunt looked at her with some surprise.
“I am pleased to hear you say so,” she said. “I always imagined, Eileen,that you cared for nothing but this modern pursuit of pleasure.”
“I used to,” said Bundle.
“It is true that you are still very young,” said Lady Caterham thought-fully. “But with your advantages, and if you were to marry suitably, youmight be one of the leading political hostesses of the day.”
Bundle felt slightly alarmed. For a moment she feared that her auntmight produce a suitable husband straightaway.
“But I feel such a fool,” said Bundle. “I mean, I know so little.”
“That can easily be remedied,” said Lady Caterham briskly. “I have anyamount of literature I can lend you.”
“Thank you, Aunt Marcia,” said Bundle, and proceeded hastily to hersecond line of attack.
“I wondered if you knew Mrs. Macatta, Aunt Marcia?”
“Certainly I know her. A most estimable woman with a brilliant brain. Imay say that as a general rule I do not hold with women standing35 for Par-liament. They can make their influence felt in a more womanly fashion.”
She paused, doubtless to recall the womanly way in which she had forceda reluctant husband into the political arena36 and the marvellous successwhich had crowned his and her efforts. “But still, times change. And thework Mrs. Macatta is doing is of truly national importance, and of the ut-most value to all women. It is, I think I may say, true womanly work. Youmust certainly meet Mrs. Macatta.”
Bundle gave a rather dismal37 sigh.
“She’s going to be at a house party at George Lomax’s next week. Heasked father, who, of course, won’t go, but he never thought of asking me.
Thinks I’m too much of an idiot, I suppose.”
It occurred to Lady Caterham that her niece was really wonderfully im-proved. Had she, perhaps, had an unfortunate love affair? An unfortunatelove affair, in Lady Caterham’s opinion, was so often highly beneficial toyoung girls. It made them take life seriously.
“I don’t suppose George Lomax realizes for a moment that you have—shall we say, grown up? Eileen dear” she said, “I must have a few wordswith him.”
“He doesn’t like me,” said Bundle. “I know he won’t ask me.”
“Nonsense,” said Lady Caterham. “I shall make a point of it. I knewGeorge Lomax when he was so high.” She indicated a quite impossibleheight. “He will be only too pleased to do me a favour. And he will be sureto see for himself that it is vitally important that the present-day younggirls of our own class should take an intelligent interest in the welfare oftheir country.”
Bundle nearly said: “Hear, hear,” but checked herself.
“I will find you some literature now,” said Lady Caterham, rising.
She called in a piercing voice: “Miss Connor.”
A very neat secretary with a frightened expression came running. LadyCaterham gave her various directions. Presently Bundle was driving backto Brook38 Street with an armful of the driest-looking literature imaginable.
Her next proceeding39 was to ring up Jimmy Thesiger. His first wordswere full of triumph.
“I’ve managed it,” he said. “Had a lot of trouble with Bill, though. He’dgot it into his thick head that I should be a lamb among wolves. But I madehim see sense at last. I’ve got a lot of thingummybobs now and I’m study-ing them. You know, blue books and white papers. Deadly dull—but onemust do the thing properly. Have you ever heard of the Santa Fé boundarydispute?”
“Never,” said Bundle.
“Well, I’m taking special pains with that. It went on for years and wasvery complicated. I’m making it my subject. Nowadays one has to special-ize.”
“I’ve got a lot of the same sort of things,” said Bundle. “Aunt Marcia gavethem to me.”
“Aunt who?”
“Aunt Marica—Father’s sister-in-law. She’s very political. In fact, she’sgoing to get me invited to George’s party.”
“No? Oh, I say, that will be splendid.” There was a pause and thenJimmy said:
“I say, I don’t think we’d better tell Loraine that—eh?”
“Perhaps not.”
“You see, she mayn’t like being out of it. And she really must be kept outof it.”
“Yes.”
“I mean you can’t let a girl like that run into danger!”
Bundle reflected that Mr. Thesiger was slightly deficient40 in tact41. The pro-spect of her running into danger did not seem to give him any qualmswhatever.
“Have you gone away?” asked Jimmy.
“No, I was only thinking.”
“I see. I say, are you going to the inquest tomorrow?”
“Yes, are you?”
“Yes. By the way, it’s in the evening papers. But tucked away in a corner.
Funny—I should have thought they’d have made rather a splash about it.”
“Yes—so should I.”
“Well,” said Jimmy, “I must be getting on with my task. I’ve just got towhere Bolivia sent us a Note.”
“I suppose I must get on with my little lot,” said Bundle. “Are you goingto swot at it all the evening?”
“I think so. Are you?”
“Oh, probably. Good night.”
They were both liars42 of the most unblushing order. Jimmy Thesigerknew perfectly43 well that he was taking Loraine Wade out to dinner.
As for Bundle, no sooner had she rung off than she attired44 herself invarious nondescript garments belonging, as a matter of fact, to her maid.
And having donned them she sallied out on foot deliberating whether busor tube would be the best route by which to reach the Seven Dials Club.
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收听单词发音
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1
inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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inertia
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| adj.惰性，惯性，懒惰，迟钝 | |
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hampered
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| 妨碍，束缚，限制( hamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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wade
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| v.跋涉，涉水；n.跋涉 | |
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constable
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| n.(英国)警察，警官 | |
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awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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curb
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| n.场外证券市场，场外交易；vt.制止，抑制 | |
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housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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relic
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| n.神圣的遗物，遗迹，纪念物 | |
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13
gleaned
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| v.一点点地收集（资料、事实）( glean的过去式和过去分词 )；（收割后）拾穗 | |
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bullied
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| adj.被欺负了v.恐吓，威逼( bully的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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reactionary
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| n.反动者，反动主义者；adj.反动的，反动主义的，反对改革的 | |
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spine
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| n.脊柱，脊椎；(动植物的)刺；书脊 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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bower
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| n.凉亭，树荫下凉快之处；闺房；v.荫蔽 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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blotting
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| 吸墨水纸 | |
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martial
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| adj.战争的，军事的，尚武的，威武的 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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redoubtable
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| adj.可敬的；可怕的 | |
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perusal
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| n.细读，熟读；目测 | |
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brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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bristling
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| a.竖立的 | |
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pivot
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| v.在枢轴上转动；装枢轴，枢轴；adj.枢轴的 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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beaked
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| adj.有喙的，鸟嘴状的 | |
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disparagement
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| n.轻视，轻蔑 | |
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extravagantly
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| adv.挥霍无度地 | |
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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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arena
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| n.竞技场，运动场所；竞争场所，舞台 | |
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dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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deficient
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| adj.不足的，不充份的，有缺陷的 | |
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tact
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| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
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42
liars
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| 说谎者( liar的名词复数 ) | |
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43
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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attired
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| adj.穿着整齐的v.使穿上衣服，使穿上盛装( attire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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