bleak house(凄凉的房子)-第189节
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A languid cousin with a moustache； in a state of extreme
debility； now observes from his couch； that—man told him
ya’as’dy that Tulkinghorn had gone down to t’ that iron place t’
give legal ’pinion ’bout something； and that； contest being over t’
day； ’twould be highly jawlly thing if Tulkinghorn should pear
with news that Coodle man was floored。
Mercury in attendance with coffee informs Sir Leicester；
hereupon； that Mr Tulkinghorn has arrived； and is taking dinner。
My Lady turns her head inward； for the moment； then looks out
again as before。
Volumnia is charmed to hear that her Delight is come。 He is so
original； such a stolid creature； such an immense being for
knowing all sorts of things and never telling them！ Volumnia is
persuaded that he must be a Freemason。 Is sure he is at the head
of a lodge； and wears short aprons； and is made a perfect Idol of；
with candlesticks and trowels。 These lively remarks the fair
Dedlock delivers in her youthful manner； while making a purse。
“He has not been here once；” she adds； “since I came。 I really
had some thoughts of breaking my heart for the inconstant
creature。 I had almost made up my mind that he was dead。”
It may be the gathering gloom of evening； or it may be the
darker gloom within herself； but a shade is on my Lady’s face； as if
she thought； “I would he were！”
“Mr Tulkinghorn；” says Sir Leicester； “is always welcome here；
and always discreet wheresoever he is。 A very valuable person；
and deservedly respected。”
The debilitated cousin supposes he is “’normously rich fler。”
“He has a stake in the country；” says Sir Leicester； “I have no
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doubt。 He is； of course； handsomely paid； and he associates almost
on a footing of equality with the highest society。”
Everybody starts。 For a gun is fired close by。
“Good gracious； what’s that？” cries Volumnia with her little
withered scream。
“A rat；” says my Lady。 “And they have shot him。”
Enter Mr Tulkinghorn； followed by Mercuries with lamps and
candles。
“No； no；” says Sir Leicester； “I think not。 My Lady； do you
object to the twilight？”
On the contrary； my Lady prefers it。
“Volumnia？”
O！ nothing is so delicious to Volumnia； as to sit and talk in the
dark。
“Then take them away；” says Sir Leicester。 “Tulkinghorn； I beg
your pardon。 How do you do？”
Mr Tulkinghorn with his usual leisurely ease advances； renders
his passing homage to my Lady； shakes Sir Leicester’s hand； and
subsides into the chair proper to him when he has anything to
communicate； on the opposite side of the Baronet’s little
newspaper table。 Sir Leicester is apprehensive that my Lady； not
being very well； will take cold at that open window。 My Lady is
obliged to him； but would rather sit there for the air。 Sir Leicester
rises； adjusts her scarf about her； and returns to his seat。 Mr
Tulkinghorn in the meanwhile takes a pinch of snuff。
“Now；” says Sir Leicester。 “How has that contest gone？”
“Oh； hollow from the beginning。 Not a chance。 They have
brought in both their people。 You are beaten out of all reason。
Three to one。”
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It is a part of Mr Tulkinghorn’s policy and mastery to have no
political opinions； indeed； no opinions。 Therefore he says “you”
are beaten； and not “we。”
Sir Leicester is majestically wroth。 Volumnia never heard of
such a thing。 The debilitated cousin holds that it’s—sort of thing
that’s sure tapn slongs votes—giv’n—Mob。
“It’s the place； you know；” Mr Tulkinghorn goes on to say in the
fast increasing darkness； when there is silence again； “where they
wanted to put up Mrs Rouncewell’s son。”
“A proposal which； as you correctly informed me at the time； he
had the becoming taste and perception；” observes Sir Leicester；
“to decline。 I cannot say that I by any means approve of the
sentiments expressed by Mr Rouncewell； when he was here for
some half…hour； in this room； but there was a sense of propriety in
his decision which I am glad to acknowledge。”
“Ha！” says Mr Tulkinghorn。 “It did not prevent him from being
very active in this election； though。”
Sir Leicester is distinctly heard to gasp before speaking。 “Did I
understand you？ Did you say that Mr Rouncewell had been very
active in this election？”
“Uncommonly active。”
“Against—”
“O dear yes； against you。 He is a very good speaker。 Plain and
emphatic。 He made a damaging effect； and has great influence。 In
the business…part of the proceedings he carried all before him。”
It is evident to the whole company； though nobody can see him；
that Sir Leicester is staring majestically。
“And he was much assisted；” says Mr Tulkinghorn； as a wind…
up； “by his son。”
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“By his son； sir？” repeats Sir Leicester； with awful politeness。
“By his son。”
“The son who wished to marry the young woman in my Lady’s
service？”
“That son。 He has but one。”
“Then； upon my honour；” says Sir Leicester； after a terrific
pause； during which he has been heard to snort and felt to stare；
“then upon my honour； upon my life； upon my reputation and
principles； the floodgates of society are burst open； and the waters
have—a—obliterated the landmarks of the framework of the
cohesion by which things are held together！”
General burst of cousinly indignation。 Volumnia thinks it is
really high time； you know； for somebody in power to step in and
do something strong。 Debilitated cousin thinks—Country’s going
—DAYVLE—steeple…chase pace。
“I beg；” says Sir Leicester； in a breathless condition； “that we
may not comment further on this circumstance。 Comment is
superfluous。 My Lady； let me suggest in reference to that young
woman—”
“I have no intention；” observes my Lady from her window； in a
low but decided tone； “of parting with her。”
“That was not my meaning；” returns Sir Leicester。 “I am glad
to hear you say so。 I would suggest that as you think her worthy of
your patronage； you should exert your influence to keep her from
these dangerous hands。 You might show her what violence would
be done； in such association； to her duties and principles； and you
might preserve her for a better fate。 You might point out to her
that she probably would； in good time； find a husband at Chesney
Wold； by whom she would not be—” Sir Leicester adds； after a
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moment’s consideration； “dragged from the altars of her
forefathers。”
These remarks he offers with his unvarying politeness and
deference when he addresses himself to his wife。 She merely
moves her head in reply。 The moon is rising； and where she sits
there is a little stream of cold pale light； in which her head is seen。
“It is worthy of remark；” says Mr Tulkinghorn； “however； that
these people are； in their way； very proud。”
“Proud？” Sir Leicester doubts his hearing。
“I should not be surprised； if they all voluntarily abandoned the
girl—yes； lover and all—instead of her abandoning them；
supposing she remained at Chesney Wold under such
circumstances。”
“Well！”
