bleak house(凄凉的房子)-第245节
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had been a younger hand with less experience； I should have
taken her； certain。 Equally； last night； when her Ladyship； as is so
universally admired I am sure； come home； looking—why； Lord！ a
man might almost say like Venus rising from the ocean； it was so
unpleasant and inconsistent to think of her being charged with a
murder of which she was innocent； that I felt quite to want to put
an end to the job。 What should I have lost？ Sir Leicester Dedlock；
Baronet； I should have lost the weapon。 My prisoner here
proposed to Mrs Bucket； after the departure of the funeral； that
they should go； per buss； a little ways into the country； and take
tea at a very decent house of entertainment。 Now； near that house
of entertainment there’s a piece of water。 At tea； my prisoner got
up to fetch her pocket…handkerchef from the bedroom where the
bonnets was； she was rather a long time gone； and came back a
little out of wind。 As soon as they came home this was reported to
me by Mrs Bucket； along with her observations and suspicious。 I
had the piece of water dragged by moonlight； in presence of a
couple of our men； and the pocket…pistol was brought up before it
had been there half…a…dozen hours。 Now； my dear； put your arm a
little further through mine； and hold it steady； and I sha’n’t hurt
you！”
In a trice Mr Bucket snaps a handcuff on her wrist。 “That’s
one；” says Mr Bucket。 “Now the other； darling。 Two； and all told！”
He rises； she rises too。 “Where；” she asks him； darkening her
large eyes until their drooping lids almost conceal them—and yet
they stare； “where is your false； your treacherous and cursed
wife？”
“She’s gone forrard to the Police Office；” returns Mr Bucket。
“You’ll see her there； my dear。”
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“I would like to kiss her？” exclaims Mademoiselle Hortense；
panting tigress…like。
“You’d bite her； I suspect；” says Mr Bucket。
“I would！” making her eyes very large。 “I would love to tear her；
limb from limb。”
“Bless you； darling；” says Mr Bucket； with the greatest
composure； “I’m fully prepared to hear that。 Your sex have such a
surprising animosity against one another； when you do differ。 You
don’t mind me half so much； do you？”
“No。 Though you are a Devil still。”
“Angel and devil by turns； eh？” cries Mr Bucket。 “But I am in
my regular employment； you must consider。 Let me put your
shawl tidy。 I’ve been lady’s maid to a good many before now。
Anything wanting to the bonnet？ There’s a cab at the door。”
Mademoiselle Hortense； casting an indignant eye at the glass；
shakes herself perfectly neat in one shake； and looks； to do her
justice； uncommonly genteel。
“Listen then； my angel；” says she； after several sarcastic nods。
“You are very spiritual。 But can you restore him back to life？”
Mr Bucket answers； “Not exactly。”
“That is droll。 Listen yet one time。 You are very spiritual。 Can
you make a honourable lady of Her？”
“Don’t be so malicious；” says Mr Bucket。
“Or a haughty gentleman of Him？” cries Mademoiselle；
referring to Sir Leicester with ineffable disdain。 “Eh！ O then
regard him！ The poor infant！ Ha！ ha！ ha！”
“Come； come； why this is worse Parlaying than the other；” says
Mr Bucket。 “Come along！”
“You cannot do these things？ Then you can do as you please
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with me。 It is but the death； it is all the same。 Let us go； my angel。
Adieu you old man； grey。 I pity you； and I des…pise you！”
With these last words； she snaps her teeth together； as if her
mouth closed with a spring。 It is impossible to describe how Mr
Bucket gets her out； but he accomplishes that feat in a manner
peculiar to himself； enfolding and pervading her like a cloud； and
hovering away with her as if he were a homely Jupiter； and she
the object of his affections。
Sir Leicester； left alone； remains in the same attitude as though
he were still listening； and his attention were still occupied。 At
length he gazes round the empty room； and finding it deserted；
rises unsteadily to his feet； pushes back his chair； and walks a few
steps； supporting himself by the table。 Then he stops； and； with
more of those inarticulate sounds； lifts up his eyes and seems to
stare at something。
Heaven knows what he sees。 The green； green woods of
Chesney Wold； the noble house； the pictures of his forefathers；
strangers defacing them； officers of police coarsely handling his
most precious heirlooms； thousands of fingers pointing at him；
thousands of faces sneering at him。 But if such shadows flit before
him to his bewilderment； there is one other shadow which he can
name with something like distinctness even yet； and to which
alone he addresses his tearing of his white hair； and his extended
arms。
It is she； in association with whom； saving that she has been for
years a main fibre of the root of his dignity and pride； he has never
had a selfish thought。 It is she whom he has loved； admired；
honoured； and set up for the world to respect。 It is she； who； at the
core of all the constrained formalities and conventionalities of his
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life； has been a stock of living tenderness and love； susceptible as
nothing else is of being struck with the agony he feels。 He sees her；
almost to the exclusion of himself； and cannot bear to look upon
her cast down from the high place she has graced so well。
And； even to the point of his sinking on the ground； oblivious of
his suffering； he can yet pronounce her name with something like
distinctness in the midst of those intrusive sounds； and in a tone of
mourning and compassion rather than reproach。
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Chapter 55
Flight
nspector Bucket of the Detective has not yet struck his great
blow； as just now chronicled； but is yet refreshing himself
I
with sleep preparatory to his field…day； when； through the
night and along the freezing wintry roads； a chaise and pair comes
out of Lincolnshire； making its way towards London。
Railroads shall soon traverse all this country； and with a rattle
and a glare the engine and train shall shoot like a meteor over the
wide night…landscape； turning the moon paler； but； as yet； such
things are non…existent in these parts； though not wholly
unexpected。 Preparations are afoot； measurements are made；
ground is staked out。 Bridges are begun； and their not yet united
piers desolately look at one another over roads and streams； like
brick and mortar couples with an obstacle to their union；
fragments of embankments are thrown up； and left as precipices
with torrents of rusty carts and barrows tumbling over them；
tripods of tall poles appear on hill…tops； where there are rumours
of tunnels； everything looks chaotic； and abandoned in fell
hopelessness。 Along the freezing roads； and through the night； the
post…chaise makes its way without a railroad on its mind。
Mrs Rouncewell； so many years housekeeper at Chesney Wold；
sits within the chaise； and by her side sits Mrs Bagnet with her
grey cloak and umbrella。 The old girl would prefer the bar in front；
as
