Мертвая комната. Уровень 2 / The Dead Secret

Chapter VII

Andrew Treverton's misanthropy was genuine. He was an incorrigible hater of mankind. He was a phenomenon in the nursery, a butt at school, and a victim at college.

At school, Andrew became fond of one among his school-fellows. Nobody could discover the smallest reason for it, but it was nevertheless a notorious fact that Andrew's pocket-money was always at this boy's service. But when his purse grew light in his friend's hand, the hero of his simple admiration abandoned him to embarrassment, to ridicule, and to solitude, without a word of farewell.

Andrew left home to travel. The life he led, the company he kept, during his long residence abroad, did him permanent and fatal harm. When he at last returned to England, he believed in nothing. At this period of his life, his only chance for the future lay in the good results which his brother's influence over him produced. But the quarrel occasioned by Captain Treverton's marriage broke it off forever. From that time, for all social interests and purposes, Andrew was a lost man.

“My dearest friend forsook and cheated me,” he said. “My only brother has quarreled with me for the sake of an actress. What to expect of the rest of mankind after that? I have suffered twice for my belief in others – I will never suffer again. My business in this world is to eat, drink, sleep, and die! “

After his brother's marriage, Andrew lived in the neighborhood of Bayswater. He bought a cottage and he was living like a miser. He had got an old man-servant, named Shrowl, who was even a greater enemy to mankind than himself.

His contempt for his own wealth was quite as hearty as his contempt for the wealth of his neighbors. Andrew Treverton and Shrowl sustained life with the least possible dependence on the race of men who, as they conceived, cheated them infamously.

They ate like primitive men, and they lived in all other respects like primitive men also. They had pots, pans, and pipkins, two deal tables, two chairs, two old sofas, two short pipes, and two long cloaks. They had no carpets and bedsteads, no cabinets, book-cases, or ornamental knickknacks of any kind, no laundress. When either of the two wanted to eat and drink, he cut off his crust of bread, cooked his bit of meat, drew his drop of beer, without the slightest reference to the other. When either of the two needed a clean shirt, which was very seldom, he went and washed one for himself. And when either of the two wanted to go to sleep, he wrapped himself up in his cloak, lay down on one of the sofas, and took what repose he required, early in the evening or late in the morning, just as he pleased.

Sometimes they sat down opposite each other, and smoked for hours, generally without a word. Whenever they did speak, they quarreled.

On a certain morning, Mr. Treverton descended from the upper regions of the cottage to one of the rooms on the ground-floor. Like his elder brother, he was a tall, well-built man. But his bony, haggard, sallow face did not bear the slightest resemblance to the handsome, open, sunburnt face of the Captain. With unbrushed hair and unwashed face, with a tangled gray beard, and an old, patched, dirty flannel dressing-gown this descendant of a wealthy and ancient family looked as if his birthplace was the work-house.

It was breakfast-time. Mr. Treverton took a greasy knife out of the pocket of his dressing-gown, cut off a rasher of bacon, jerked the gridiron onto the fire, and began to cook his breakfast. The door opened, and Shrowl entered the room, with his pipe in his mouth.

Neither master nor servant exchanged a word or took the smallest notice of each other on first meeting. Mr. Treverton finished his cooking, took his bacon to the table, and began to eat his breakfast. Then he looked up at Shrowl, who was at that moment opening his knife and approaching the bacon with greedy eyes.

“What do you mean by that?” asked Mr. Treverton and pointed with indignant surprise at Shrowl's breast. “You ugly brute, you've got a clean shirt on!”

“Thank you, Sir,” said Shrowl. “This is a joyful occasion, it's my master's birthday. Many happy returns, Sir. Perhaps you think I forget that today is your birthday? How old are you today? It's a long time ago, Sir, since you were a plump little boy, with a frill round your neck, and marbles in your pocket, and kisses and presents from Pa and Ma and uncle and aunt, on your birthday. Don't you be afraid of me. I will put this shirt on your next birthday; or your funeral, Sir.”

“Don't waste a clean shirt on my funeral,” retorted Mr. Treverton. “I won't left you any money in my will, Shrowl. You'll be on your way to the work-house when I'm on my way to the grave.”

“Have you really made your will at last, Sir?” inquired Shrowl. “I humbly beg pardon, but I always thought you were afraid to do it.”

Mr. Treverton thumped his crust of bread on the table, and looked up angrily at Shrowl.

“You fool!” said he. “I don't make it, and I won't make it, on principle[16]. Rich men who leave money behind them are the farmers who raise the crop of human wickedness. When a man is bad, if you want to make him worse, leave him a legacy!”

Shrowl chuckled sarcastically.

“Whom will get my money?” cried Mr. Treverton. “My brother, who thinks me a brute now; who thinks me a fool then?! He will spend all my money among crazy people and actors? Or the child of that actress, whom I have never seen. Mr. Shrowl! I laugh when I know I'm not going to leave you a sixpence.”

Shrowl got a little irritated.

“What's the use of talking nonsense about your money?” he said. “You must leave it to somebody.”

“Yes, I will,” said Mr. Treverton. “I will leave it, as I have told you over and over again, to the first Somebody I can find who honestly despises money.”

“That means nobody,” grunted Shrowl.

“I know what to do!” retorted his master.

Before Shrowl uttered a word, there was a ring at the gate-bell of the cottage.

“Go out,” said Mr. Treverton, “and see what that is.”

Mr. Treverton filled and lit his pipe. Soon Shrowl returned, and reported a man visitor.

“I picked up his letter,” said Shrowl. “He poked it under the gate and went away. Here it is.”

As Mr. Treverton opened the envelope, two slips dropped out. One fell on the table before which he was sitting; the other fluttered to the floor. This last slip Shrowl picked up and looked over its contents.

Mr. Treverton began to read the letter. The letter was not long. He read it down to the signature, and went through it again from the beginning.

“Shrowl,” he said, very quietly, “my brother, the Captain, is drowned.”

“I know,” answered Shrowl.

“I wonder what he thought about me when he was dying?” said Mr. Treverton, abstractedly.

“He didn't waste a thought on you or anybody else,” remarked Shrowl.

“Damn that woman!” muttered Mr. Treverton.

He read the letter again:

“Sir,

As the old legal adviser and faithful friend of your family, I acquaint you with the sad news of your brother's death. This deplorable event occurred on board the ship of which he was captain, during a gale of wind. I enclose a detailed account of the shipwreck, extracted from The Times, by which you will see that your brother died nobly. I also send a slip from the local Cornish paper.

I must add that no will has been found, after the most rigorous search, among the papers of the late Captain Treverton. So Porthgenna, his only property, derived from the sale of his estate, will go in due course of law[17] to his daughter.

I am, Sir, your obedient servant,

Alexander Nixon.”

The newspaper-slip contained the paragraph from The Times. The other slip was from the Cornish paper.

“Why don't you read about what a great man your brother was, and what a good life he led?” asked Shrowl. “Why don't you read about what a wonderful handsome daughter he's left, and what a capital marriage she's made along with the man that's owner of your old family estate? The ill wind – that killed her father – brought her forty thousand pounds. Why don't you read about it? She and her husband have got a better house in Cornwall than you have got here. Aren't you glad of that?”

The only words Andrew said were these two -

“Go out! And hold your tongue henceforth and forever about my brother and my brother's daughter. Hold your tongue – leave me alone – go out!”

Shrowl slowly withdrew from the room.

Mr. Treverton pushed aside his chair, and walked up and down. He whispered a few words to himself and threw both the newspaper-slips into the fire.

Chapter VIII

Mr. and Mrs. Frankland started from London on the ninth of May, and stopped at the station of a small town in Somersetshire. A robust boy entered this world a month earlier, and preferred to make his first appearance in a small Somersetshire inn.

Young Mr. Orridge, the new doctor, felt a thrill of pleasurable agitation when he heard that the wife of a blind gentleman of great fortune required all his skill and attention. There were a dozen different reports about Mr. Frankland's blindness, and the cause of it.

So at eight o'clock in the evening the child was born, and Mr. Orridge performed his duties.

On the next day, and the next, and for a week after that, the accounts were favorable. But on the tenth day a catastrophe was reported. The nurse was suddenly ill.

Mr. Frankland telegraphed to a friend in London for a nurse, but the doctor was against that plan, except as a last resource. He wanted to find the right person here. But Mr. Orridge met with no success. He found plenty of volunteers, but they were all loud-voiced, clumsy-handed, heavy-footed countrywomen, kind and willing enough, but sadly awkward.

At two o'clock Mr. Orridge went to a country-house where he had a child-patient to see. “Perhaps I may remember somebody who may be the right person,” thought Mr. Orridge, as he got into his gig. “I have some hours at my disposal still, before the time comes for my evening visit at the inn.”

He thought about Mrs. Norbury. She was frank, good-humored, middle-aged woman. Her husband was a country squire. Mr. Orridge asked Mrs. Norbury to help him to find a good nurse, as she was an old resident in the West Winston neighborhood.

“You mean,” answered Mrs. Norbury, “have I heard about that poor unfortunate lady who had a child born at the inn? How is the lady? Who is she? Is the child well? Is she comfortable? Can I send her anything, or do anything for her?”

“You can do a great thing for her, and render a great assistance to me,” said Mr. Orridge, “if you tell me of any respectable woman in this neighborhood – a proper nurse for her.”

“You don't mean to say that the poor creature has not got a nurse!” exclaimed Mrs. Norbury.

“She has had the best nurse in West Winston,” replied Mr. Orridge. “But, most unfortunately, the woman was taken ill this morning, and went home.”

“Frankland, did you say her name was?” inquired Mrs. Norbury.

“Yes. She is, I understand, a daughter of that Captain Treverton who was lost with his ship a year ago in the West Indies. Perhaps you may remember the account of the disaster in the newspapers?”

“Of course I do! And I remember the Captain too. I was acquainted with him when he was a young man, at Portsmouth. But who is with Mrs. Frankland now?”

“Her maid; but she is a very young woman, and doesn't understand nursing duties. The landlady of the inn is ready to help when she can. I suppose we shall telegraph to London and get somebody by railway.”

“And that will take time, of course. And the new nurse may be a drunkard or a thief, or both,” said the Mrs. Norbury. “I am ready, I am sure, to take any trouble, or make any sacrifice, if I can be of use to Mrs. Frankland. Mr. Orridge, I think we will consult my housekeeper, Mrs. Jazeph. She is an odd woman, with an odd name; but she has lived with me in this house more than five years. She may know somebody in our neighborhood who can suit you, though I don't.”

With those words, Mrs. Norbury rang the bell. The housekeeper entered the room.

Mr. Orridge looked at her, with an interest and curiosity. She was woman of about fifty years of age. His medical eye detected that some of the intricate machinery of the nervous system went wrong with Mrs. Jazeph. He noted the painful working of the muscles of her face, and the hectic flush that flew into her cheeks when she entered the room and found a visitor there. He observed a strangely scared look in her eyes.

“This is Mr. Orridge, the medical gentleman who has lately settled at West Winston,” said Mrs. Norbury to the housekeeper. “He is in attendance on a lady[18] who stopped, on her journey westward, at our station, and who is now staying at the Tiger's Head Inn. You have heard something about it, have you not, Mrs. Jazeph?”

“Yes, ma'am,” said Mrs. Jazeph.

“Well,” continued Mrs. Norbury, “this poor lady needs a nurse for her child. Mr. Orridge can find nobody, and I can tell him of nobody. Can you help us, Mrs. Jazeph? Are there any women down in the village, or among Mr. Norbury's tenants, who understand nursing?”

Mrs. Jazeph reflected for a little while, and then said, very respectfully, but very briefly also, that she knew of no one whom she could recommend.

“Mr. Orridge told me just before you came in,” said Mrs. Norbury, “that she is the daughter of Captain Treverton, whose shipwreck – ”

Mrs. Jazeph looked at the doctor. She moved right hand so suddenly that it struck against a bronze statuette of a dog. The statuette fell to the ground.

“Oh!” exclaimed Mrs. Norbury. “The dog is not hurt – put it back again! Well, as I was saying, this lady is the daughter of Captain Treverton, whose dreadful shipwreck we all read about in the papers. I knew her father in my early days, and I am doubly anxious to be of service to her now. Think again. Is there anybody to nurse her? I am so anxious to help this poor lady through her difficulty, if I can.”

“I am very sorry,” said Mrs. Jazeph, “very sorry that I can think of no one who is fit; but – ”

She stopped.

“But what?” asked Mrs. Norbury.

“Ma'am,” answered Mrs. Jazeph, “I can nurse her if you allow.”

“What, nurse her yourself!” exclaimed Mrs. Norbury. “I see your kindness of heart and your readiness to make yourself useful. Of course I am not so selfish, under the circumstances, as to think twice of the inconvenience of losing my housekeeper. But have you ever had any practice in nursing?”

“Yes, ma'am,” answered Mrs. Jazeph. “Shortly after my marriage” (the flush disappeared, and her face turned pale again as she said those words), “I had some practice in nursing, and continued it at intervals until the time of my husband's death.”

“What do you say, Mr. Orridge?” asked Mrs. Norbury.

“I gratefully accept your kindness and your housekeeper's offer,” he said.

“Mr. Orridge accepts your offer with thanks,” said Mrs. Norbury.

A gleam of joyful surprise broke over the housekeeper's face.

“When will my attendance be required, Sir?” she asked.

“As soon as possible,” replied Mr. Orridge. “I suppose you have some preparations to make?” The doctor took his hat and bowed to Mrs. Norbury.

“Come to the Tiger's Head, and ask for me. I shall be there between seven and eight. Many thanks again, Mrs. Norbury.”

“My best wishes and compliments to your patient, doctor.”

“At the Tiger's Head, between seven and eight this evening,” reiterated Mr. Orridge, as the housekeeper opened the door for him.

“Between seven and eight, Sir,” repeated the soft, sweet voice.

Chapter IX

At seven o'clock Mr. Orridge put on his hat to go to the Tiger's Head. He opened his own door, when a messenger summoned him immediately to a case of sudden illness in the poor quarter of the town. So he delayed his attendance for a little while at the inn. The performance of his professional duty occupied some time. It was a quarter to eight before he left his house, for the second time, on his way to the Tiger's Head.

The new nurse was waiting for him. Mrs. Jazeph was sitting alone in the corner far from the window. He was rather surprised to see that she drew her veil down.

What feeling was she anxious to conceal?

“Please follow me,” said Mr. Orridge, “I will take you to Mrs. Frankland immediately.”

Mrs. Jazeph rose slowly.

“You seem tired,” Mr. Orridge said.

“No, Sir.”

There was some restraint in her voice as she made that answer; and still she never attempted to lift her veil.

The room which Mrs. Frankland occupied was situated at the back of the house. It had one window, the bed stood in the middle of the room.

“How do you find yourself[19] tonight, Mrs. Frankland?” asked Mr. Orridge. He undrew the curtains. “Do you think you will be any the worse for a little circulation of air?”

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.

1

Will she last out the night? – Переживёт ли она эту ночь?

2

an officer in the navy – флотский офицер

3

housekeeper's room – кастелянская

4

she is wanted – её зовут

5

All but one. – Со всеми, кроме одного.

6

I mind my own business. – Я занимаюсь своими делами.

7

let me out – выпустите меня

8

keep the promises – сдержать обещания

9

it is all done and over now! – теперь всему конец!

10

weather-beaten – обветренный

11

to catch cold – простужаться

12

You don't say so! – Не может быть!

13

attack of heart-burn – приступ изжоги

14

furnished apartments – меблированные комнаты

15

I can't help it! – Это невыносимо!

16

on principle – из принципа, по убеждению

17

in due course of law – согласно закону

18

he is in attendance on a lady – он лечит леди

19

How do you find yourself? – Как вы себя чувствуете?