老妇人的故事 英文版The Old Wives' Tale
阿诺德.本涅特 Arnold Bennett
III
Neither Mr. Povey nor Constance introduced the delicate subject toher again, and she was determined not to be the first to speak ofit. She considered that Mr. Povey had taken advantage of hisposition, and that he had also been infantile and impolite. Andsomehow she privately blamed Constance for his behaviour. So thematter hung, as it were, suspended in the ether between theopposing forces of pride and passion.
Shortly afterwards events occurred compared to which thevicissitudes of Mr. Povey's heart were of no more account than ashower of rain in April. And fate gave no warning of them; itrather indicated a complete absence of events. When the customaryadvice circular arrived from Birkinshaws, the name of 'our Mr.Gerald Scales' was replaced on it by another and an unfamiliarname. Mrs. Baines, seeing the circular by accident, experienced asense of relief, mingled with the professional disappointment of adiplomatist who has elaborately provided for contingencies whichhave failed to happen. She had sent Sophia away for nothing; andno doubt her maternal affection had exaggerated a molehill into amountain. Really, when she reflected on the past, she could notrecall a single fact that would justify her theory of anattachment secretly budding between Sophia and the young manScales! Not a single little fact! All she could bring forward wasthat Sophia had twice encountered Scales in the street.
She felt a curious interest in the fate of Scales, for whom in herown mind she had long prophesied evil, and when Birkinshaws'representative came she took care to be in the shop; her intentionwas to converse with him, and ascertain as much as wasascertainable, after Mr. Povey had transacted business. For thispurpose, at a suitable moment, she traversed the shop to Mr.Povey's side, and in so doing she had a fleeting view of KingStreet, and in King Street of a familiar vehicle. She stopped, andseemed to catch the distant sound of knocking. Abandoning thetraveller, she hurried towards the parlour, in the passage sheassuredly did hear knocking, angry and impatient knocking, theknocking of someone who thinks he has knocked too long.
"Of course Maggie is at the top of the house!" she mutteredsarcastically.
She unchained, unbolted, and unlocked the side-door.
"At last!" It was Aunt Harriet's voice, exacerbated. "What! You,sister? You're soon up. What a blessing!"
The two majestic and imposing creatures met on the mat, craningforward so that their lips might meet above their terrific bosoms.
"What's the matter?" Mrs. Baines asked, fearfully.
"Well, I do declare!" said Mrs. Maddack. "And I've drivenspecially over to ask you!"
"Where's Sophia?" demanded Mrs. Baines.
"You don't mean to say she's not come, sister?" Mrs. Maddack sankdown on to the sofa.
"Come?" Mrs. Baines repeated. "Of course she's not come! What doyou mean, sister?"
"The very moment she got Constance's letter yesterday, saying youwere ill in bed and she'd better come over to help in the shop,she started. I got Bratt's dog-cart for her."
Mrs. Baines in her turn also sank down on to the sofa.
"I've not been ill," she said. "And Constance hasn't written for aweek! Only yesterday I was telling her--"
"Sister--it can't be! Sophia had letters from Constance everymorning. At least she said they were from Constance. I told her tobe sure and write me how you were last night, and she promisedfaithfully she would. And it was because I got nothing by thismorning's post that I decided to come over myself, to see if itwas anything serious."
"Serious it is!" murmured Mrs. Baines.
"What--"
"Sophia's run off. That's the plain English of it!" said Mrs.Baines with frigid calm.
"Nay! That I'll never believe. I've looked after Sophia night andday as if she was my own, and--"
"If she hasn't run off, where is she?"
Mrs. Maddack opened the door with a tragic gesture.
"Bladen," she called in a loud voice to the driver of thewaggonette, who was standing on the pavement.
"Yes'm."
"It was Pember drove Miss Sophia yesterday, wasn't it?"
"Yes'm."
She hesitated. A clumsy question might enlighten a member of theclass which ought never to be enlightened about one's privateaffairs.
"He didn't come all the way here?"
"No'm. He happened to say last night when he got back as MissSophia had told him to set her down at Knype Station."
"I thought so!" said Mrs. Maddack, courageously.
"Yes'm."
"Sister!" she moaned, after carefully shutting the door.
They clung to each other.
more intensely than ever Sophia had.
The horror of what had occurred did not instantly take fullpossession of them, because the power of credence, ofimaginatively realizing a supreme event, whether of great grief orof great happiness, is ridiculously finite. But every minute thehorror grew more clear, more intense, more tragically dominantover them. There were many things that they could not say to eachother,--from pride, from shame, from the inadequacy of words.Neither could utter the name of Gerald Scales. And Aunt Harrietcould not stoop to defend herself from a possible charge ofneglect; nor could Mrs. Baines stoop to assure her sister that shewas incapable of preferring such a charge. And the sheer, immensecriminal folly of Sophia could not even be referred to: it wasunspeakable. So the interview proceeded, lamely, clumsily,inconsequently, leading to naught.
Sophia was gone. She was gone with Gerald Scales.
Mrs. Baines.Baines in her turn also sank down on to.
That beautiful child, that incalculable, untamable, impossiblecreature, had committed the final folly; without pretext orexcuse, and with what elaborate deceit! Yes, without excuse! Shehad not been treated harshly; she had had a degree of libertywhich would have astounded and shocked her grandmothers; she hadbeen petted, humoured, spoilt. And her answer was to disgrace thefamily by an act as irrevocable as it was utterly vicious. Ifamong her desires was the desire to humiliate those majesties, hermother and Aunt Harriet, she would have been content could shehave seen them on the sofa there, humbled, shamed, mortallywounded! Ah, the monstrous Chinese cruelty of youth!
What was to be done? Tell dear Constance? No, this was not, at themoment, an affair for the younger generation. It was too new andraw for the younger generation. Moreover, capable, proud, andexperienced as they were, they felt the need of a man's voice, anda man's hard, callous ideas. It was a case for Mr. Critchlow.Maggie was sent to fetch him, with a particular request that heshould come to the side-door. He came expectant, with thepleasurable anticipation of disaster, and he was not disappointed.He passed with the sisters the happiest hour that had fallen tohim for years. Quickly he arranged the alternatives for them.Would they tell the police, or would they take the risks ofwaiting? They shied away, but with fierce brutality he broughtthem again and again to the immediate point of decision. ... Well,they could not tell the police! They simply could not. Then theymust face another danger. ... He had no mercy for them. And whilehe was torturing them there arrived a telegram, despatched fromCharing Cross, "I am all right, Sophia." That proved, at any rate,that the child was not heartless, not merely careless.
Only yesterday, it seemed to Mrs. Baines, she had borne Sophia;only yesterday she was a baby, a schoolgirl to be smacked. Theyears rolled up in a few hours. And now she was sending telegramsfrom a place called Charing Cross! How unlike was the hand of thetelegram to Sophia's hand! How mysteriously curt and inhuman wasthat official hand, as Mrs. Baines stared at it through red, weteyes!
stillnessevery one heard it. "Sophia Baines run off!
Mr. Critchlow said some one should go to Manchester, to ascertainabout Scales. He went himself, that afternoon, and returned withthe news that an aunt of Scales had recently died, leaving himtwelve thousand pounds, and that he had, after quarrelling withhis uncle Boldero, abandoned Birkinshaws at an hour's notice andvanished with his inheritance.
"It's as plain as a pikestaff," said Mr. Critchlow. "I could ha'warned ye o' all this years ago, even since she killed herfather!"
Mr. Critchlow left nothing unsaid.
During the night Mrs. Baines lived through all Sophia's life,lived through it more intensely than ever Sophia had done.
The next day people began to know. A whisper almost inaudiblewent across the Square, and into the town: and in the stillnessevery one heard it. "Sophia Baines run off with a commercial!"
In another fortnight a note came, also dated from London.
"Dear Mother, I am married to Gerald Scales. Please don't worryabout me. We are going abroad. Your affectionate Sophia. Love toConstance." No tear-stains on that pale blue sheet! No sign ofagitation!
And Mrs. Baines said: "My life is over." It was, though she wasscarcely fifty. She felt old, old and beaten. She had fought andbeen vanquished. The everlasting purpose had been too much forher. Virtue had gone out of her--the virtue to hold up her headand look the Square in the face. She, the wife of John Baines!She, a Syme of Axe!
Old houses, in the course of their history, see sad sights, andnever forget them! And ever since, in the solemn physiognomy ofthe triple house of John Baines at the corner of St. Luke's Squareand King Street, have remained the traces of the sight it saw onthe morning of the afternoon when Mr. and Mrs. Povey returned fromtheir honeymoon--the sight of Mrs. Baines getting into thewaggonette for Axe; Mrs. Baines, encumbered with trunks andparcels, leaving the scene of her struggles and her defeat,whither she had once come as slim as a wand, to return stout andheavy, and heavy-hearted, to her childhood; content to live withher grandiose sister until such time as she should be ready forburial! The grimy and impassive old house perhaps heard her heartsaying: "Only yesterday they were little girls, ever so tiny, andnow--" The driving-off of a waggonette can be a dreadful thing.