sk.misery-第25部分

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


eturned　to　his　calèche　without　so　much　as　a　response　to　Geoffrey's　question。　Geoffrey　went　back　inside；　already　forgetting　the　doctor's　odd　remark；　already　chalking　Shinny's　equally　odd　behavior　off　to　age；　weariless；　and　his　own　sort　of　grief。　His　thoughts　had　turned　to　Ian　again；　and　he　determined　that；　with　no　sleeping　powder　forthing；　he　would　simply　have　to　pour　whiskey　down　Ian's　throat　until　the　poor　fellow　passed　out。
　Forgetting　。　。　。　dismissing。
　Until　now。
　It's　not　a　bit　like　Miss　Evelyn…Hyde。　I　have　satisfied　myself　of　that。
　Of　what？
　Geoffrey　did　not　know；　but　he　intended　to　find　out；　no　matter　what　the　cost　to　his　sanity　might　be　…　and　he　recognized　that　the　cost　might　be　high。
　
　CHAPTER　4
　
　Mrs。　Ramage　was　still　up　when　Geoffrey　began　to　hammer　on　the　cottage　door；　although　it　was　already　two　hours　past　her　normal　bedtime。　Since　Misery　had　passed　away；　Mrs。　Ramage　found　herself　putting　her　bedtime　further　and　further　back。　If　she　could　got　put　an　end　to　her　restless　tossing　and　turning；　she　could　at　least　postpone　the　moment　at　which　she　began　it。
　Although　she　was　the　most　levelheaded　and　practical　of　women；　the　sudden　outburst　of　knocking　startled　a　little　scream　from　her；　and　she　scalded　herself　with　the　hot　milk　she　had　been　pouring　from　pot　to　cup。　Lately　she　seemed　always　on　edge；　always　on　the　verge　of　a　scream。　It　was　not　grief；　this　feeling；　although　she　was　nearly　overwhelmed　with　grief　…　this　was　a　strange；　thundery　feeling　that　she　couldn't　ever　remember　having　before。　It　sometimes　seemed　to　her　that　thoughts　better　left　unrecognized　were　circling　around　her；　just　beyond　the　grasp　of　her　weary；　bitterly　sad　mind。
　〃Who　knocks　at　ten？〃　she　cried　at　the　door。　〃Whoever　it　is；　I　thank　ye　not　for　the　burn　I've　given　m'self！〃
　〃It's　Geoffrey；　Mrs。　Ramage！　Geoffrey　Alliburton！　Open　the　door；　for　God's　sake！〃　Mrs。　Ramage's　mouth　dropped　open　and　she　was　halfway　to　the　door　before　she　remembered　she　was　in　her　nightgown　and　cap。　She　had　never　heard　Geoffrey　sound　so；　and　would　not　have　believed　it　if　someone　had　told　her　of　it。　If　there　was　a　man　in　all　England　with　a　heart　stouter　than　that　of　her　beloved　My　Lord；　then　it　was　Geoffrey　…　yet　his　voice　trembled　like　the　voice　of　a　woman　on　the　verge　of　hysterics。
　〃A　minute；　Mr。　Geoffrey！　I'm　half…unclad！〃
　〃Devil　take　it！〃　Geoffrey　cried。　〃I　don't　care　if　you're　starkers；　Mrs。　Ramage！　Open　this　door！　Open　it　in　the　name　of　Jesus！〃　She　stood　only　a　second；　then　went　to　the　door；　unbarred　it；　and　threw　it　open。　Geoffrey's　look　did　more　than　stun　her；　and　again　she　heard　the　dim　thunder　of　black　thoughts　somewhere　back　in　her　head。
　Geoffrey　stood　on　the　threshold　of　the　housekeeper's　cottage　in　an　odd　slanting　posture；　as　if　his　spine　had　been　warped　out　of　shape　by　long　years　carrying　a　peddler's　sack。　His　right　hand　was　pressed　between　his　left　arm　and　left　side。　His　hair　was　in　a　tangle。　His　dark…brown　eyes　burned　out　of　his　white　face。　His　dress　was　remarkable　for　one　as　careful　…　dandified；　some　would　have　said　…　about　his　clothing　as　Geoffrey　Alliburton　usually　was。　He　wore　an　old　smoking　jacket　with　the　belt　askew；　an　open…throated　white　shirt；　and　a　pair　of　rough　serge　pants　that　would　have　looked　more　at　home　upon　the　legs　of　a　itinerant　gardener　than　upon　those　of　the　richest　man　in　Little　Dunthorpe。　On　his　feet　were　a　pair　of　threadbare　slippers。
　Mrs。　Ramage；　hardly　dressed　for　a　court　ball　herself　in　her　long　white　nightgown　and　muskrat's…nightcap　with　the　untied　curling　ribbons　hanging　around　her　face　like　the　fringe　on　a　lampshade；　stared　at　him　with　mounting　concern。　He　had　re…injured　the　ribs　he　had　broken　riding　after　the　doctor　three　nights　ago；　that　was　obvious；　but　it　wasn't　just　pain　that　made　his　eyes　blaze　from　his　whitened　face　like　that。　It　was　terror；　barely　held　in　check。
　Mr。　Geoffrey！　What　…　〃
　〃No　questions〃　he　said　hoarsely。　〃Not　yet　…　not　until　you　answer　one　question　of　my　own。〃
　〃What　question？〃　She　was　badly　frightened　now；　her　left　hand　clenched　into　a　tight　fist　just　above　her　munificent　bosom。
　〃Does　the　name　Miss　Evelyn…Hyde　mean　anything　to　you？〃　And　suddenly　she　knew　the　reason　for　that　terrible　thundery　feeling　that　had　been　inside　her　ever　since　Saturday　Night。　Some　part　of　her　mind　must　already　have　had　this　gruesome　thought　and　suppressed　it；　for　she　needed　no　explanation　at　all。　Only　the　name　of　the　unfortunate　Miss　Charlotte　Evelyn…Hyde；　late　of　Storping…on…Firkill；　the　village　just　to　the　west　of　Little　Dunthorpe；　was　sufficient　to　bring　a　scream　tearing　from　her。
　〃Oh；　my　saints！　Oh；　my　dear　Jesus！　Has　she　been　buried　alive？　Has　she　been　buried　alive？　Has　my　darling　Misery　been　buried　alive？〃　And　now；　before　Geoffrey　could　even　begin　to　answer；　it　was　tough　old　Mrs。　Ramage's　turn　to　do　something　she　had　never　done　before　that　night　and　would　never　do　again：　she　fainted　dead　away。
　
　CHAPTER　5
　
　Geoffrey　had　no　time　to　look　for　smelling　salts。　He　doubted　if　such　a　tough　old　soldier　as　Mrs。　Ramage　kept　them　around　anyway。　But　beneath　her　sink　he　found　a　rag　which　smelled　faintly　of　ammonia。　He　did　not　just　pass　this　beneath　her　nose　but　pressed　it　briefly　against　her　lower　face。　The　possibility　Colter　had　raised；　however　faint；　was　too　hideous　to　merit　much　in　the　way　of　consideration。
　She　jerked；　cried　out；　and　opened　her　eyes。　For　a　moment　she　looked　at　him　with　dazed；　unprehending　bewilderment。　Then　she　sat　up。
　〃No；〃　she　said。　〃No；　Mr。　Geoffrey；　say　ye　don't　mean　it；　say　it　isn't　true　…　〃
　〃I　don't　know　if　it　is　true　or　not；〃　he　said。　〃But　we　must　satisfy　ourselves　immediately。　Immediately；　Mrs。　Ramage。　I　can't　do　all　the　digging　myself；　if　there's　digging　that　must　be　done　。　。　。　〃　She　was　staring　at　him　with　horrified　eyes；　her　hands　pressed　so　tightly　over　her　mouth　that　the　nails　were　white。　〃Can　you　help　me；　if　help　is　needed？　There's　really　no　one　else。〃
　〃My　Lord；〃　she　said　numbly。　〃My　Lord　Mr。　Ian　…　〃
　〃　…　must　know　nothing　of　this　until　we　know　more！〃　He　said。　〃If　God　is　good；　he　need　never　know　at　all。〃　He　would　not　voice　to　her　the　unspoken　hope　at　the　back　of　his　mind；　a　hope　which　seemed　to　him　almost　as　monstrous　as　his　fears。　If　God　was　very　good；　he　would　find　out　about　this　night's　work　。　。　。　when　his　wife　and　only　1ove　was　restored　to　him；　her　return　from　the　dead　almost　as　miraculous　as　that　of　Lazarus。　IN　〃Oh；　this　is　terrible　。　。　。　terrible！〃　she　said　in　a　faint；　fluttery　voice。　Holding　onto　the　table；　she　managed　to　pull　herself　to　her　feet。　She　stood；　swaying；　little　straggles　of　hair　hanging　around　her　face　among　the　muskrat…tails　of　her　cap。
　〃Are　you　well　enough？〃　he　asked；　more　kindly。　〃If　not；　then　I　must　try　to　carry　on　as　best　I　can　by　myself。〃　She　drew　a　deep；　shuddering　breath　and　let　it　out。　The　side…to…side　sway　stopped。　She　turned　and　walked　toward　the　pantry。　〃There's　a　pair　of　spades　in　the　shed　out　back；〃　she　said。　〃A　pick　as　well；　I　think。　Throw　them　in　your　trap。　There's　half　a　bottle　of　gin　out　here　in　the　pantry。　Been　here　untouched　since　Bill　died　five　years　ago；　on　Lammas…night。　I'll　have　a　bit　and　then　join　you；　Mr。　Geoffrey。〃
　〃You're　a　brave　woman；　Mrs。　Ramage。　Be　quick。〃
　〃Aye；　never　fear　me；〃　she　said；　and　grasped　the　bottle　of　gin　with　a　hand　that　trembled　only　slightly。　There　was　no　dust　on　the　bottle　…　not　even　the　pa0try　was　safe　from　the　relentless　dust…clout　of　Mrs。　Ramage　…　but　the　label　reading　CLOUGH　&　POOR　BOOZIERS　was　yellow。　〃Be　quick　yourself。〃　She　had　always　hated　spirits　and　her　stomach　wanted　to　sick　the　gin；　with　its　nasty　junipery　smell　and　oily　taste；　back　up。　She　made　it　stay　down。　Tonight　she　would　need　it。
　
　CHAPTER　6
　
　Under　clouds　that　still　raced　east　to　west；　blacker　shapes　against　a　black　sky；　and　a　moon　that　was　now　settling　toward　the　horizon；　the　pony…trap　sped　toward　the　churchyard。　It　was　now　Mrs。　Ramage　who　drove；　cracking　the　whip　over　the　bewildered　Mary；　who　would　have　told　them；　if　horses　could　talk；　that　this　was　all　wrong　…　she　was　supposed　to　be　dozing　in　her　warm　stall　e　this　time　of　night。　The　spades　and　the　pick　chattered　coldly　one　against　the　other；　and　Mrs。　Ramage　thought　they　would　have　given　anyone　who　had　seen　them　a　proper　fright　…　they　must　look　like　a　pair　of　Mr。　Dickens's　resurrection　men　。　。　。　or　perhaps　one　resurrection　man　sitting　in　a　pony…trap　driven　by　a　ghost。　For　she　was　all　in　white　…　had　not　even　paused　long　enough　to　gather　up　her　robe。　Her　nightgown　fluttered　around　her　stout；　vein…puffed　ankles；　and　the　tails　of　her　cap　streamed　wildly　out　behind　her。
　Here　was　the　church。　She　turned　Mary　up　the　lane　which　ran　beside　it；　shivering　at　the　ghostly　sound　of　the　wind　playing　along　the　eaves。　She　had　a　moment　to　wonder　why　such　a　holy　place　as　a　church　should　seem　so　frightening　after　dark；　and　then　realized　it　was　not　the　church　。　。　。　it　was　the　errand。
　Her　first　thought　upon　ing　out　of　her　faint　was　that　My　Lord　must　help　them　…　hadn't　he　been　there　in　all　things；　through　thick　and　thin；　never　wavering？　A　moment　later　she　had　realized　how　mad　the　idea　was。　This　was　not　a　matter　of　My　Lord's　courage；　but　of　his　very　sanity。
　She　hadn't　needed　Mr。　Geoffrey　to　tell　her　so；　the　memory　of　Miss　Evelyn…Hyde　had　done　that。
　She　realized　that　neither　Mr。　Geoffrey　nor　My　Lord　had　been　in　Little　Dunthorpe　when　it　had　happened。　This　had　been　almost　half　a　year　ago；　in　the　spring。　Misery　had　entered　the　rosy　summer　of　her　pregnancy；　morning　sickness　behind　her；　the　final　rising　of　her　belly　and　its　attendant　disfort　still　ahead；　and　she　had　cheerfully　sent　the　two　men　off　for　a　week　of　grouse…shooting　and　card…playing　and　footballing　and　heaven　alone　knew　what　other　masculine　foolishness　at　Oak　Hall　in　Doncaster。　My　Lord　had　been　a　bit　doubtful；　but　Misery　assured　him　she　would　be　fine；　and　nearly　pushed　him　out　the　door。　That　Misery　would　be　fine　Mrs。　Ramage　had　no　doubt。　But　whenever　My　Lord　and　Mr。　Geoffrey　left　for　Doncaster；　she　wondered　if　one　of　them　…　or　perhaps　both　…　might　not　return　on　the　back　of　a　cart；　toes　up。
　Oak　Hall　was　the　inheritance　of　Albert　Fossington；　a　schoolmate　of　Geoffrey's　and　Ian's。　Mrs。　Ramage　quite　rightly　believed　that　Bertie　Fossington　was　mad。　Some　three　years　ago　he　had　eaten　his　favorite　polo　pony　af