A DIARY AND A TRAIN

百度搜索 The Thirteenth Tale 天涯 或 The Thirteenth Tale 天涯在线书库 即可找到本书最新章节.

    Hester’s diary was damaged. The key was missing, the clasp so rusted that it left e stains on your fingers. The first three pages were stuck together where the glue from the inner cover had melted into them. On every page the last word dissolved into a brownish tide mark, as if the diary had been exposed to dirt and damp together. A few pages had been torn; along the ripped edges was a tantalizing list ments: abn, cr, ta, est. Worst of all, it seemed that the diary had at some point been submerged in water. The pages undulated; when closed, the diary splayed to more than its intehiess.

    It was this submersion that was going to cause me the greatest difficulty. When one gla a page, it was clear that it was script. Not any old script, either, but Hester’s. Here were her firm asders, her balanced, fluid loops; here were her fortable slant, her eic yet funal gaps. But on a closer look, the words were blurred and faded. Was this line an l or a t? Was this curve an a or an e? Or an s, even? Was this figuration to be read as bet or lost?

    It was going to be quite a puzzle. Although I subsequently made a transcript of the diary, on that day the holiday train was too crowded to permit pencil and paper. I hunched in my window seat, diary close to my nose, and pored over the pages, applying myself to the task of deciphering. I managed one word in three at first, then as I was drawn into the flow of her meaning, the words began to e halfway to meet me, rewarding my efforts with generous revelations, until I was able to turn the pages with something like the speed of reading. In that train, the day before Christmas, Hester came to life.

    I will not test your patience by reprodug Hester’s diary here as it came to me: fragmented and broken. In the spirit of Hester herself, I have mended and tidied and put in order. I have banished chaos and clutter. I have replaced doubt with certainty, shadows with clarity, laae with substance. In doing so, I may have occasionally put words inte that she never wrote, but I  promise that if I have made mistakes, it is only in the small things; where it matters I have squinted and scrutinized until I am as sure as sure  be that I have distinguished her inal meaning.

    I do not give the entire diary, only aed sele of passages. My choice has been dictated first by questions of relevao my purpose, which is to tell the story of Miss Winter, and sed by my desire to give an accurate impression of Hester’s life at Angelfield.

    Angelfield House is det enough at a distance, although it faces the wrong way and the windows are badly positioned, but on approag, one sees instantly the state of dilapidation it has been allowed to fall into.

    Ses of the stonework are dangerously weathered. Window frames are rotting. And it did look as though parts of the roof are storm-damaged. I shall make it apriority to check the ceilings iis.

    The housekeeper weled me at the door. Though she tries to hide it, I uood immediately that she has difficulty seeing and hearing. Given her great age, this is no surprise. It also explains the filthy state of the house, but I suppose the Angelfield family does not want to throw her out after a lifetime’s servi the house. I  approve their loyalty, though I fail to see why she ot be helped by younger, stronger hands.

    Mrs. Duold me about the household. The family has been living here with what most would sider a greatly reduced staff for years now, and it has e to be accepted as part of the way of the house. Quite why it should be so, I have not yet ascertained, but what I do know is that there is, outside the family proper, only Mrs. Dunne and a gardener called John Digehere are deer (though there is no hunting anymore), but the man who looks after them is never seen around the house; he takes instru from the same solicitor who engaged me and who acts as a kind of estate manager—so far as there is ae ma. It is Mrs. Dunne herself who deals with the regular household finances. I supposed that Charles Angelfield looked over the books and the receipts each week, but Mrs. Dunne only laughed and asked if I thought she had the sight to go making lists of figures in a book. I ot help but think this highly unorthodox. Not that I think Mrs. Durustworthy. From what I have seen she gives every indication of being a good-hearted, ho woman, and it is my hope that when I e to know her better I shall be able to ascribe her retitirely to deafness. I made a o demonstrate to Mr. Angelfield the advantages of keeping accurate records and thought that I might offer to uake the job myself if he was too busy to do it.

    P this, I began to think it time I met my employer, and could not have been more surprised when Mrs. Duold me he spends his entire day in the old nursery and that it is not his habit to leave it. After a great many questions I eventually ascertaihat he is suffering from some kind of disorder of the mind. A great pity! Is there anything more sorrowful than a brain whose proper fun has been disrupted?

    Mrs. Dunne gave me tea (which I preteo drink out of politeness, but later threw into the sink for I had no faith in the liness of the teacup, havihe state of the kit) and told me a little about herself. She is in her eighties, never married, and has lived here all her life. Naturally enough our talk then turo the family. Mrs. Dunne khe mother of the twins as a girl and young woman. She firmed what I had already uood: that it is the ret departure of the mother to an asylum for the siind that precipitated my e. She gave me such a torted at of the events that precipitated the mother’s ittal that I could not make out whether the woman had or had not attacked the doctor’s wife with a violin. It hardly matters; clearly there is a family history of disturban the brain, and I fess, my heart beat a little faster when I had it firmed. What satisfa is there, foverness, in being given the dire of minds that already run in smooth and untrammeled lines? What challenge in maintaining ordered thinking in children whose minds are already  and tidy? I am not only ready for this job, I have spent years longing for it. Here, I shall finally find out what my methods are worth!

    I inquired after the father’s family—-for though Mr. March is deceased and the children never knew him, still, his blood is theirs and has an impa their natures. Mrs. Dunne was able to tell me very little, though. Instead, she began a series of aes about the mother and the uncle, which, if I am to read between the lines (as I’m sure she meao), tained hints of something sdalous… Of course, what she suggests is not at all likely, not in England at least, and I suspect her of being somewhat fanciful. The imagination is a healthy thing, and a great many stific discoveries could not have been made without it, but it o be haro some serious object if it is to e to anything. Left to was own way, it tends to lead into silliness. Perhaps it is age that makes her mind wander, for she seems a kind thing in other ways, and not the sort to i gossip for the sake of it. In any case, I immediately put the topic firmly from my mind.

    As I write this I hear noises outside my room. The girls have e out of their hiding plad are creeping about the house. They have been done no favors, allowed to suit themselves like this. They will be enormously from the regime of order, hygiene and disciplihat I mean to instill in the house. I shall not go out to them. No doubt they will expect me to, and it will suit my purposes to discert them at this stage.

    Mrs. Dunne showed me the rooms on the ground floor. There is filth everywhere, all the surfaces thick with dust, and curtains hanging in tatters, though she does not see it and thinks of them as they were years ago iime of the twins’ grandfather, when there was a full staff There is a piano that may be beyond saving, but I will see what  be done, and a library that may be full of knowledge ohe dust is wiped and one  see what is there.

    The other floors I explored alone, not wanting to infliany stairs at onrs. Dunne. On the first floor I became aware of a scuffling, a whispering and smiggling. I had found my charges. They had locked the door and fell silent when I tried the handle. I called their names ohehem to their own devices a on to the sed floor. It is a cardinal rule that I do not chase my charges, but traio e to me. The sed-floor rooms were in the most terrible disorder. Dirty, but I had e to expect that. Rainwater had e through the roof (I expected as much) and there were fungi growing in some of the rotting floorboards. This is a truly uhy enviro in which to raise children. A number of floorboards were missing, looked as if they had been deliberately removed. I shall have to see Mr. Angelfield about getting these repaired. I shall point out to him that someone could fall downstairs or at the very least twist an ankle. All the hinges need oiling, and all the doorframes are ed. Wherever I went I was followed by a squeaking of doors swinging on their hinges, a creaking of floorboards, and drafts that set curtains fluttering, though it is impossible to tell exactly where they e from.

    I returo the kit as soon as I could. Mrs. Dunne r<var></var>eparing our evening meal, and I had no ination to eat food cooked in pots as unpleasant as the ones I had seen, so I got stuto a great pile of washing up (after giving the sink the most thh scrubbing it had seen for a decade) a a close eye on her with the preparation. She does her best.

    The girls would not e down to eat. I called ond no more. Mrs. Dunne was all for calling and persuading, but I told her that I have my methods, and she must be on my side.

    The doctor came to dine. As I had beeo expect, the head of the household did not appear. I had thought the doctor would be offe this, but he seemed to find it entirely normal. So it was just the two of us, and Mrs. Dunne doing her best to wait at table, but needing much help from me. The doctor is an intelligent, cultivated man. He has a sincere desire to see the twins improve and has been the prime mover in bringio Angelfield. He explaio me at great length the difficulties I am likely to face here, and I listened with as much politeness as I could muster. Any governess, after the few hours I have had in this house, would have a full and clear picture of the task awaiting her, but he is a man, hence ot see how tiresome it is to have explai length what one has already fully uood. My fidgeting and the slight sharpness of one or two of my answers entirely escaped his notice, and I fear that his energy and his analytical skills are not matched by his powers of observation. I do not criticise him unduly for expeg everyone he meets to be less able than himself. For he is a clever man, and more than that, he is a big fish in a small pond. He has adopted an air of quiet modesty, but I see through that easily enough, for I have disguised myself ily the same manner. However, I shall need his support in the project I have taken on, and shall work at making him my ally despite his shortings.

    I hear sounds of an upset from downstairs. Presumably the girls have discovered the lo the pantry door. They will be angry and frustrated, but how else  I traio proper mealtimes? And without mealtimes, how  order be restored?

    Tomorrow I will start by ing this bedroom. I have wiped the surfaces with a damp cloth this evening, and was tempted to  the floor, but told myself no. It will only need doing again tomorrow when I scrub the walls and take down the curtains that are so thick with dirt. So tonight I sleep in dirt, but tomorrow I shall sleep in a bright  room. It will be a good beginning. For I plan to restore order and disciplio this house, and to succeed in my aim must first of all make myself a  room to think in. No one  think clearly and make progress if she is not surrounded by hygiene and order.

    The twins are g in the hall. It is time for me to meet my charges.

    I have been so busy anizing the house that I have had little time for my diary lately, but I must make the time, for it is chiefly in writing that I record and develop my methods.

    Emmeline I have made goress with, and my experieh her fits the pattern of behavior I have seen in other difficult children. She is not, I think, as badly disturbed as was reported, and with my influence will e to be a nice child. She is affeate and sturdy, has learo appreciate the bes of hygies with a good appetite and  be made to obey instrus by kind coaxing and the promise of small treats. She will soon e to uand that goodness rewards by bringing the esteem of others in its wake, and then I will be able to reduce the bribery. She will never be clever, but then I know the limits of my methods. Whatever my strengths, I  only develop what is there to start with.

    I am tent with my work on Emmeline.

    Her sister is a more difficult case. Violence I have seen before, and I am less shocked than Adelihinks by her destructiveness. However, I am struck by ohing: In other childreructiveness is generally a side effect e and not its primary objective. The violent act, as I have observed it in other charges, is most frequently motivated by an excess of anger, and the outp of the anger is only ially damaging to people and property. Adeline’s case does not fit this model. I have seen is myself, aold of others, in which destru seems to be Adeline’s only motive, and rage something she has to tease out, stoke up in herself in order to gee the energy to destroy. For she is a feeble little thing, skin and bone, as only crumbs. Mrs. Dunne has told me of one i in the garden, when Adeline is known to have damaged a number of yews. If this is true, it is a great shame. The garden was clearly very beautiful. It could be put thts, but John has lost heart over the matter, and it is not only the topiary but the garden in general that suffers from his lack of i. I will find the time and a way to restore his pride. It will do muprove the appearand the atmosphere of the house if he  be made happy in his work and the garden made orderly again.

    Talking of John and the garden reminds me—I must speak to him about the boy. Walking about the schoolroom this afternoon, I happeo e he window. It was raining, and I wao close the window so as not to let any more damp in; the window ledge on the inside is already crumbling away. If I hadn’t been so close to the window, nose almost pressed to the glass, in fact, I doubt I’d have seen him. But there he was: a boy, croug in the flower bed, weeding. He was wearing a pair of men’s trousers, cut off at the ankle and held up with a pair of braces. A wide-brimmed hat cast his fa shadow, and I was uo get a clear impression of his age, though he might have been eleven or twelve. I know it is on practi rural areas for children to engage in horticultural work, though I thought it was more only farmwork they did, and I appreciate the advantages of their learning their trade early, but I do not like to see any child out of school during school hours. I will speak to John about it and make sure he uands the boy must spend school hour<s>..</s>s in school.

    But to return to my subject: Where Adeline’s viciouso her sister is ed, she might be surprised to know it, but I have seen it all before. Jealousy and anger between siblings is onplace, and in twins rivalries are frequently heightened. With time I will be able to minimise the aggression, but in the meantime stant vigilance is required to prevent Adeline hurting her sister, and this slows down progress on other fronts, which is a pity. Why Emmelis herself be beaten (and have her hair pulled out, and be chased by Adeline wielding the fire tongs in which she carries hot coals) I have yet to uand. She is twice the size of her sister and could defend herself more vigorously than she does. Perhaps she flinches from inflig hurt on her sister; she is an affeate soul.

    My first judgment of Adeline in the early days was of a child who might not ever e to live as indepe and normal a life as her sister, but who could be brought to a point of balance, of stability, and whes could be tained by the imposition of a strict routine. I did not expect ever t her to uanding. The task I foresaw was greater than for her sister, but I expected far less thanks for it, for it would seem less in the eyes of the world. But I have been startled into modifying that opinion by signs of a dark and clouded intelligehis m she came into the classroing her feet, but without the worst displays of unwillingness, and on her seat, rested her head on her arm just as I have seen before. I began the lesson. It was nothing more thaelling of a story, an adaptation I had made for the purpose of the opening chapters of Jane Eyre, a story loved by a great many girls. I was trating on Emmeline, encio follow the story by animating it as much as possible. I gave one voice to the heroine, ao the aunt, yet ao the cousin, and I apahe storytelling with such gestures and expressions as seemed to illustrate the emotions of the characters. Emmeline did not take her eyes off me, and I leased with my effect.

    Out of the er of my eye I caught a movement. Adeline had turned her head in my dire. Still her head rested on her arm, still her eyes appeared closed, yet I had the distinct impression she was listening to me. Even if the ge of position was meaningless (and it was not; she has always turned away from me before), there is the alteration in the way she held herself. Where she normally slumps over her desk when she sleeps, in a state of animal unsciousness, today her whole body seemed alert: the set of the shoulders, a certain tension. As if she was straining toward the story, yet still trying to give the impression of i slumber.

    I did not wao see that I had noticed anything. I tio look as if I was reading only to Emmeline. I maintaihe animation of my fad voice. But all the time I was keeping an eye on Adeline. And she wasn’t only listening. I caught a quiver of her lids. I had thought her eyes closed, but not at all—from between her lashes, she was watg me!

    It is a most iing development, and ohat I foresee will be the terpin of my project here.

    Then the most ued thing happehe doctor’s face ged. Yes, hanged, before my very eyes. It was one of those moments when a faes suddenly into new focus, when the features, all reizably as they were before, are proo a dizzying shift and present themselves in an ued new light. I would like to know what it is in a human mind that causes the faces of those we know to shift and dance about like that. I have ruled out optical effects, phenomeed to light and so on, and have arrived at the clusion that the explanation is rooted in the psychology of the onlooker. Anyway, the sudden movement and rearra of his facial features caused me to stare at him for a few moments, which must have seemed very strao him. When his features had ceased their jumping about, there was something odd in his expression, too, something I could not, ot fathom. I do dislike what I ot fathom.

    We stared at each other for a few seds, each as awkward as the other, then rather abruptly he left.

    I wish Mrs. Dunne would not move my books about. How many times shall I have to tell her that a book is not finished until it is finished? And if she must move it, why not put it ba the library whe came? What is the point of leaving it oaircase?

    I have had a curious versation with John the gardener.

    He is a good worker, more cheerful now that his topiary is mending, and a helpful presence generally in the house. He drinks tea and chats i with Mrs. Dunne; sometimes I e across them talking in low voices, which makes me th<cite></cite>ink she is not as deaf as she makes out. Were it not for her great age I would imagine some love affair going on, but sihat is out of the question I am at a loss to explain what their secret is. I taxed Mrs. Duh it, unhappily, because she and I have a friendly uanding about things for the most part; I think she approves of my presence here—not that it would make any difference if she didn’t—and she told me that they talk of nothing but household matters, chis to be killed, potatoes to be dug and the like. “Why talk so low?” I insisted, and she told me it was not low at all, at least not particularly so. “But you don’t hear me when I talk low, ” I said, and she answered that new voices are harder than the ones she is used to, and if she uands John whealks low it is because she has known his voiany years and mine for only a couple of months.

    I had fotten all about the low voices i, until this new odd-ness with John. A few ms ago I was taking a walk just before lun the garden when I saw again the boy eeding the flower bed beh the schoolroom window. I gla my watch, and again it was in school hours. The boy did not see me, for I was hidden by the trees. I watched him for a moment or two; he was not w at all but sprawled across the lawn, engrossed in something on the grass, right under his nose. He wore the same floppy hat as before. I stepped toward him meaning to get his name and give him a lecture on the importance of education, but on seeing me he leaped to his feet, clamped his hat to his head with one hand and sprinted away faster than I have seen anyone move before. His alarm is proof enough of his guilt. The boy knew perfectly well he should be at school. As he ran off he appeared to have a book in his hand.

    I went to John and told him just what I thought. I told him I would not allow children>藏书网</a> to work for him in school hours, that it was wrong to upset their education just for the few pehey earn, and that if the parents did not accept that, I would go ahem myself. I told him if it was so necessary to have further hands w on the garden that I would see Mr. Angelfield and employ a man. I had already made this offer to get extra staff, both for the garden and the house, but John and Mrs. Dunne were both so against the idea I thought it better to wait until I was more acquainted with the running of things here.

    John’s response was to shake his head and deny all knowledge of the child. When I impressed upon him the evideny own eyes, he said it must be a village child just e wandering in, that it happened sometimes, that he was not responsible for all the village truants who happeo be in the garden. I told him then that I had seen the child before, the day I arrived, and that the child was clearly w. <u>.</u>He was tight-lipped, only repeated that he had no knowledge of a child, that anyone could weed his garden who wao, that there was no such child.

    I told John, with a little ahat I ret, that I inteo speak to the sistress about it, and that I would go directly to the parents and sort the matter out with them. He simply waved his hand, as if to say it was nothing to do with him and I might do as I liked (and I certainly shall). I am sure he knows who the boy is, and I am shocked at his refusal to help me in my duty toward him. It seems out of character for him to be obstructive, but then I suppose he began his orenticeship as a child and thought it never did him any harm. These attitudes are slow to die out in rural areas.

    I was engrossed in the diary. The barriers to legibility forced me to read slowly, puzzling out the difficulties, using all my experience, knowledge and imagination to flesh out the ghost words, yet the obstacles seemed not to impede me. On the trary, the faded margins, the eligibilities, the blurred words seemed to pulse with meaning, vividly alive.

    While I was reading in this absorbed fashion, in another part of my miirely a decision was f. Wherain drew in at the station where I was to desd for my e, I found my mind made up. I was not going home after all. I was going to Angelfield.

    The local lirain to Banbury was too crowded with Christmas travelers to sit, and I never read standing up. With every jolt of the train, every jostle and stumble of my fellow passengers, I felt the regle of Hester’s diary against my chest. I had read only half of it. The rest could wait.

    What happeo you, Hester, I thought. Where oh did you go?

百度搜索 The Thirteenth Tale 天涯 或 The Thirteenth Tale 天涯在线书库 即可找到本书最新章节.