霍华德庄园 英文版 Howards End
爱德华.摩根.福斯特 Edward Morgan Forster
Chapter 42
When Charles left Ducie Street he had caught the first trainhome, but had no inkling of the newest development untillate at night. Then his father, who had dined alone, sentfor him, and in very grave tones inquired for Margaret.
"I don't know where she is, pater," said Charles."Dolly kept back dinner nearly an hour for her."
"Tell me when she comes in--."
Another hour passed. The servants went to bed, andCharles visited his father again, to receive furtherinstructions. Mrs. Wilcox had still not returned.
"I'll sit up for her as late as you like, but she canhardly be coming. Isn't she stopping with her sister at thehotel?"
"Perhaps," said Mr. Wilcox thoughtfully--"perhaps."
"Can I do anything for you, sir?"
"Not tonight, my boy."
Mr. Wilcox liked being called sir. He raised his eyesand gave his son more open a look of tenderness than heusually ventured. He saw Charles as little boy and strongman in one. Though his wife had proved unstable hischildren were left to him.
After midnight he tapped on Charles's door. "I can'tsleep," he said. "I had better have a talk with you and getit over."
He complained of the heat. Charles took him out intothe garden, and they paced up and down in theirdressing-gowns. Charles became very quiet as the storyunrolled; he had known all along that Margaret was as bad asher sister.
"She will feel differently in the morning," said Mr.Wilcox, who had of course said nothing about Mrs. Bast."But I cannot let this kind of thing continue withoutcomment. I am morally certain that she is with her sisterat Howards End. The house is mine--and, Charles, it will beyours--and when I say that no one is to live there, I meanthat no one is to live there. I won't have it." He lookedangrily at the moon. "To my mind this question is connectedwith something far greater, the rights of property itself."
"Undoubtedly," said Charles.
Mr. Wilcox linked his arm in his son's, but somehowliked him less as he told him more. "I don't want you toconclude that my wife and I had anything of the nature of aquarrel. She was only over-wrought, as who would not be? Ishall do what I can for Helen, but on the understanding thatthey clear out of the house at once. Do you see? That is asine qua non."
"Then at eight tomorrow I may go up in the car?"
"Eight or earlier. Say that you are acting as myrepresentative, and, of course, use no violence, Charles."
On the morrow, as Charles returned, leaving Leonard deadupon the gravel, it did not seem to him that he had usedviolence. Death was due to heart disease. His stepmotherherself had said so, and even Miss Avery had acknowledgedthat he only used the flat of the sword. On his way throughthe village he informed the police, who thanked him, andsaid there must be an inquest. He found his father in thegarden shading his eyes from the sun.
"It has been pretty horrible," said Charles gravely."They were there, and they had the man up there with them too."
"What--what man?"
"I told you last night. His name was Bast."
"My God, is it possible?" said Mr. Wilcox. "In yourmother's house! Charles, in your mother's house!"
"I know, pater. That was what I felt. As a matter offact, there is no need to trouble about the man. He was inthe last stages of heart disease, and just before I couldshow him what I thought of him he went off. The police areseeing about it at this moment."
Mr. Wilcox listened attentively.
"I got up there--oh, it couldn't have been more thanhalf-past seven. The Avery woman was lighting a fire forthem. They were still upstairs. I waited in thedrawing-room. We were all moderately civil and collected,though I had my suspicions. I gave them your message, andMrs. Wilcox said, 'Oh yes, I see; yes,' in that way of hers."
"Nothing else?"
"I promised to tell you, 'with her love,' that she wasgoing to Germany with her sister this evening. That was allwe had time for."
Mr. Wilcox seemed relieved.
"Because by then I suppose the man got tired of hiding,for suddenly Mrs. Wilcox screamed out his name. Irecognized it, and I went for him in the hall. Was I right,pater? I thought things were going a little too far."
"Right, my dear boy? I don't know. But you would havebeen no son of mine if you hadn't. Then did hejust--just--crumple up as you said?" He shrunk from thesimple word.
"He caught hold of the bookcase, which came down overhim. So I merely put the sword down and carried him intothe garden. We all thought he was shamming. However, he'sdead right enough. Awful business!"
"Sword?" cried his father, with anxiety in his voice."What sword? Whose sword?"
"A sword of theirs."
"What were you doing with it?"
"Well, didn't you see, pater, I had to snatch up thefirst thing handy I hadn't a riding-whip or stick. I caughthim once or twice over the shoulders with the flat of theirold German sword."
what I felt. As a matter offact, there .
"Then what?"
"But the real cause was heart disease? Of that you're sure?"
"That or a fit. However, we shall hear more than enoughat the inquest on such unsavoury topics."
They went into breakfast. Charles had a rackingheadache, consequent on motoring before food. He was alsoanxious about the future, reflecting that the police mustdetain Helen and Margaret for the inquest and ferret thewhole thing out. He saw himself obliged to leave Hilton.One could not afford to live near the scene of a scandal--itwas not fair on one's wife. His comfort was that thepater's eyes were opened at last. There would be a horriblesmash up, and probably a separation from Margaret; then theywould all start again, more as they had been in his mother'stime.
"I think I'll go round to the police-station," said hisfather when breakfast was over.
"What for?" cried Dolly, who had still not been "told."
"Very well, sir. Which car will you have?"
"I think I'll walk."
"It's a good half-mile," said Charles, stepping into thegarden. "The sun's very hot for April. Shan't I take youup, and then, perhaps, a little spin round by Tewin?"
"You go on as if I didn't know my own mind," said Mr.Wilcox fretfully. Charles hardened his mouth. "You youngfellows' one idea is to get into a motor. I tell you, Iwant to walk: I'm very fond of walking."
"Oh, all right; I'm about the house if you want me foranything. I thought of not going up to the office today, ifthat is your wish."
"It is, indeed, my boy," said Mr. Wilcox, and laid ahand on his sleeve.
Charles did not like it; he was uneasy about his father,who did not seem himself this morning. There was a petulanttouch about him--more like a woman. Could it be that he wasgrowing old? The Wilcoxes were not lacking in affection;they had it royally, but they did not know how to use it.It was the talent in the napkin, and, for a warm-heartedman, Charles had conveyed very little joy. As he watchedhis father shuffling up the road, he had a vague regret--awish that something had been different somewhere--a wish(though he did not express it thus) that he had been taughtto say "I" in his youth. He meant to make up for Margaret'sdefection, but knew that his father had been very happy withher until yesterday. How had she done it? By somedishonest trick, no doubt--but how?
Mr. Wilcox reappeared at eleven, looking very tired.There was to be an inquest on Leonard's' body tomorrow, andthe police required his son to attend.
"I expected that," said Charles. "I shall naturally bethe most important witness there."