(Anne’s Narrative1 Resumed)
I don’t suppose that as long as I live I shall forget my first sight of TableMountain. I got up frightfully early and went out on deck. I went right upto the boat deck, which I believe is a heinous3 offence, but I decided4 to daresomething in the cause of solitude5. We were just steaming into Table Bay.
There were fleecy white clouds hovering6 above Table Mountain, and nest-ling on the slopes below, right down to the sea, was the sleeping town, gil-ded and bewitched by the morning sunlight.
It made me catch my breath and have that curious hungry pain insidethat seizes one sometimes when one comes across something that’s extrabeautiful. I’m not very good at expressing these things, but I knew wellenough that I had found, if only for a fleeting7 moment, the thing that I hadbeen looking for ever since I left Little Hampsley. Something new, some-thing hitherto undreamed of, something that satisfied my aching hungerfor romance.
Perfectly8 silently, or so it seemed to me, the Kilmorden glided9 nearer andnearer. It was still very like a dream. Like all dreamers, however, I couldnot let my dream alone. We poor humans are so anxious not to miss any-thing.
“This is South Africa,” I kept saying to myself industriously11. “SouthAfrica, South Africa. You are seeing the world. This is the world. You areseeing it. Think of it, Anne Beddingfeld, you pudding head. You’re seeingthe world.”
I had thought that I had the boat deck to myself, but now I observed an-other figure leaning over the rail, absorbed as I had been in the rapidlyapproaching city. Even before he turned his head I knew who it was. Thescene of last night seemed unreal and melodramatic in the peaceful morn-ing sunshine. What must he have thought of me? It made me hot to realizethe things that I had said. And I hadn’t meant them—or had I?
I turned my head resolutely12 away, and stared hard at Table Mountain. IfRayburn had come up here to be alone, I, at least, need not disturb him byadvertising my presence.
But to my intense surprise I heard a light footfall on the deck behind me,and then his voice, pleasant and normal:
“Miss Beddingfeld.”
“Yes?”
I turned.
“I want to apologize to you. I behaved like a perfect boor13 last night.”
“It—it was a peculiar14 night,” I said hastily.
It was not a very lucid15 remark, but it was absolutely the only thing Icould think of.
“Will you forgive me?”
I held out my hand without a word. He took it.
“There’s something else I want to say.” His gravity deepened. “Miss Bed-dingfeld, you may not know it, but you are mixed up in a rather danger-ous business.”
“I gather as much,” I said.
“No, you don’t. You can’t possibly know. I want to warn you. Leave thewhole thing alone. It can’t concern you really. Don’t let your curiosity leadyou to tamper16 with other people’s business. No, please don’t get angryagain. I’m not speaking of myself. You’ve no idea of what you might comeup against—these men will stop at nothing. They are absolutely ruthless.
Already you’re in danger—look at last night. They fancy you know some-thing. Your only chance is to persuade them that they’re mistaken. But becareful, always be on the lookout17 for danger, and, look here, if at anytimeyou should fall into their hands, don’t try and be clever—tell the wholetruth; it will be your only chance.”
“You make my flesh creep, Mr. Rayburn,” I said, with some truth. “Whydo you take the trouble to warn me?”
He did not answer for some minutes, then he said in a low voice:
“It may be the last thing I can do for you. Once on shore I shall be allright—but I may not get onshore.”
“What?” I cried.
“You see, I’m afraid you’re not the only person onboard who knows thatI am ‘The Man in the Brown Suit.’ ”
“If you think that I told—” I said hotly.
He reassured18 me with a smile.
“I don’t doubt you, Miss Beddingfeld. If I ever said I did, I lied. No, butthere’s one person onboard who’s known all along. He’s only to speak—and my number’s up. All the same, I’m taking a sporting chance that hewon’t speak.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s a man who likes playing a lone10 hand. And when the policehave got me I should be of no further use to him. Free, I might be! Well, anhour will show.”
He laughed rather mockingly, but I saw his face harden. If he hadgambled with Fate, he was a good gambler. He could lose and smile.
“In any case,” he said lightly, “I don’t suppose we shall meet again.”
“No,” I said slowly. “I suppose not.”
“So—good-bye.”
“Good-bye.”
He gripped my hand hard, just for a minute his curious light eyesseemed to burn into mine, then he turned abruptly19 and left me. I heardhis footsteps ringing along the deck. They echoed and reechoed. I felt thatI should hear them always. Footsteps—going out of my life.
I can admit frankly20 that I did not enjoy the next two hours. Not till Istood on the wharf21, having finished with most of the ridiculous formalitiesthat bureaucracies require, did I breathe freely once more. No arrest hadbeen made, and I realized that it was a heavenly day, and that I was ex-tremely hungry. I joined Suzanne. In any case, I was staying the night withher at the hotel. The boat did not go on to Port Elizabeth and Durban untilthe following morning. We got into a taxi and drove to the Mount Nelson.
It was all heavenly. The sun, the air, the flowers! When I thought ofLittle Hampsley in January, the mud knee-deep, and the sure-to-be-fallingrain, I hugged myself with delight. Suzanne was not nearly so enthusias-tic. She has travelled a great deal of course. Besides, she is not the typethat gets excited before breakfast. She snubbed me severely22 when I let outan enthusiastic yelp23 at the sight of a giant blue convolvulus.
By the way, I should like to make clear here and now that this story willnot be a story of South Africa. I guarantee no genuine local colour—youknow the sort of thing—half a dozen words in italics on every page. I ad-mire it very much, but I can’t do it. In South Sea Islands, of course, youmake an immediate24 reference to bêche-de-mer. I don’t know what bêche-de-mer is, I have never known, I probably never shall know. I’ve guessedonce or twice and guessed wrong. In South Africa I know you at once be-gin to talk about a stoep—I do know what a stoep is—it’s the thing round ahouse and you sit on it. In various other parts of the world you call it averanda, a piazza25, and a ha-ha. Then again, there are pawpaws. I had of-ten read of pawpaws. I discovered at once what they were, because I hadone plumped down in front of me for breakfast. I thought at first that itwas a melon gone bad. The Dutch waitress enlightened me, and persuadedme to use lemon juice and sugar and try again. I was very pleased to meeta pawpaw. I had always vaguely26 associated it with a hula-hula, which, Ibelieve, though I may be wrong, is a kind of straw skirt that Hawaiian girlsdance in. No, I think I am wrong—that is a lava-lava.
At any rate, all these things are very cheering after England. I can’t helpthinking that it would brighten our cold Island life if one could have abreakfast of bacon-bacon, and then go out clad in a jumper-jumper to paythe books.
Suzanne was a little tamer after breakfast. They had given me a roomnext to hers with a lovely view right out over Table Bay. I looked at theview whilst Suzanne hunted for some special facecream. When she hadfound it and started an immediate application, she became capable oflistening to me.
“Did you see Sir Eustace?” I asked. “He was marching out of the break-fast room as we went in. He’d had some bad fish or something and wasjust telling the headwaiter what he thought about it, and he bounced apeach on the floor to show how hard it was—only it wasn’t quite as hardas he thought and it squashed.”
Suzanne smiled.
“Sir Eustace doesn’t like getting up early any more than I do. But, Anne,did you see Mr. Pagett? I ran against him in the passage. He’s got a blackeye. What can he have been doing?”
“Only trying to push me overboard,” I replied nonchalantly.
It was a distinct score for me. Suzanne left her face half-anointed andpressed for details. I gave them to her.
“It all gets more and more mysterious,” she cried. “I thought I was goingto have the soft job sticking to Sir Eustace, and that you would have all thefun with the Rev27. Edward Chichester, but now I’m not so sure. I hope Pa-gett won’t push me off the train some dark night.”
“I think you’re still above suspicion, Suzanne. But, if the worst happensI’ll wire to Clarence.”
“That reminds me—give me a cable form. Let me see now, what shall Isay? ‘Implicated in the most thrilling mystery please send me a thousandpounds at once Suzanne.’ ”
I took the form from her, and pointed28 out that she could eliminate a“the,” an “a,” and possibly, if she didn’t care about being polite, a “please.”
Suzanne, however, appears to be perfectly reckless in money matters. In-stead of attending to my economical suggestions, she added three morewords: “enjoying myself hugely.”
Suzanne was engaged to lunch with friends of hers, who came to thehotel about eleven o’clock to fetch her. I was left to my own devices. Iwent down through the grounds of the hotel, crossed the tramlines andfollowed a cool shady avenue right down till I came to the main street. Istrolled about, seeing the sights, enjoying the sunlight and the black-facedsellers of flowers and fruits. I also discovered a place where they had themost delicious ice cream sodas29. Finally, I bought a sixpenny basket ofpeaches and retraced30 my steps to the hotel.
To my surprise and pleasure I found a note awaiting me. It was from thecurator of the Museum. He had read of my arrival on the Kilmorden, inwhich I was described as the daughter of the late Professor Beddingfeld.
He had known my father slightly and had had great admiration31 for him.
He went on to say that his wife would be delighted if I would come outand have tea with them that afternoon at their Villa32 at Muizenberg. Hegave me instructions for getting there.
It was pleasant to think that poor Papa was still remembered and highlythought of. I foresaw that I would have to be personally escorted roundthe Museum before I left Cape33 Town, but I risked that. To most people itwould have been a treat—but one can have too much of a good thing ifone is brought up on it, morning, noon, and night.
I put on my best hat (one of Suzanne’s castoffs) and my least crumpledwhite linen34 and started off after lunch. I caught a fast train to Muizenbergand got there in about half an hour. It was a nice trip. We wound slowlyround the base of Table Mountain, and some of the flowers were lovely.
My geography being weak, I had never fully2 realized that Cape Town is ona peninsula, consequently I was rather surprised on getting out of thetrain to find myself facing the sea once more. There was some perfectlyentrancing bathing going on. The people had short curved boards andcame floating in on the waves. It was far too early to go to tea. I made forthe bathing pavilion, and when they said would I have a surfboard, I said“Yes, please.” Surfing looks perfectly easy. It isn’t. I say no more. I got veryangry and fairly hurled35 my plank36 from me. Nevertheless, I determined37 toreturn on the first possible opportunity and have another go. I would notbe beaten. Quite by mistake I then got a good run on my board, and cameout delirious38 with happiness. Surfing is like that. You are either vigorouslycursing or else you are idiotically pleased with yourself.
I found the Villa Medgee after some difficulty. It was right up on the sideof the mountain, isolated39 from the other cottages and villas40. I rang the bell,and a smiling Kafir boy answered it.
“Mrs. Raffini?” I inquired.
He ushered41 me in, preceded me down the passage and flung open adoor. Just as I was about to pass in, I hesitated. I felt a sudden misgiving42. Istepped over the threshold and the door swung sharply behind me.
A man rose from his seat behind a table and came forward with out-stretched hand.
“So glad we have persuaded you to visit us, Miss Beddingfeld,” he said.
He was a tall man, obviously a Dutchman, with a flaming orange beard.
He did not look in the least like the curator of a museum. In fact, I realizedin a flash that I had made a fool of myself.
I was in the hands of the enemy.
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1
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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heinous
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| adj.可憎的，十恶不赦的 | |
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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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solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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7
fleeting
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| adj.短暂的，飞逝的 | |
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8
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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9
glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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10
lone
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| adj.孤寂的，单独的；唯一的 | |
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industriously
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resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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13
boor
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| n.举止粗野的人；乡下佬 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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lucid
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| adj.明白易懂的，清晰的，头脑清楚的 | |
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16
tamper
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| v.干预，玩弄，贿赂，窜改，削弱，损害 | |
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17
lookout
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| n.注意，前途，瞭望台 | |
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18
reassured
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| adj.使消除疑虑的；使放心的v.再保证，恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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wharf
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| n.码头，停泊处 | |
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severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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23
yelp
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| vi.狗吠 | |
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24
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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25
piazza
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| n.广场；走廊 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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rev
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| v.发动机旋转，加快速度 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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29
sodas
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| n.苏打( soda的名词复数 )；碱；苏打水；汽水 | |
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30
retraced
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| v.折回( retrace的过去式和过去分词 )；回忆；回顾；追溯 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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32
villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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33
cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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34
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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35
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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plank
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| n.板条，木板，政策要点，政纲条目 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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delirious
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| adj.不省人事的，神智昏迷的 | |
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isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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villas
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| 别墅，公馆( villa的名词复数 )； （城郊）住宅 | |
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ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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misgiving
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕 | |
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