Мертвая комната. Уровень 2 / The Dead Secret. Уилки Коллинз

I laugh when I know I'm not going to leave you a sixpence.”

      Shrowl got a little irritated.

      “What's the use of talking nonsense about your money?” he said. “You must leave it to somebody.”

      “Yes, I will,” said Mr. Treverton. “I will leave it, as I have told you over and over again, to the first Somebody I can find who honestly despises money.”

      “That means nobody,” grunted Shrowl.

      “I know what to do!” retorted his master.

      Before Shrowl uttered a word, there was a ring at the gate-bell of the cottage.

      “Go out,” said Mr. Treverton, “and see what that is.”

      Mr. Treverton filled and lit his pipe. Soon Shrowl returned, and reported a man visitor.

      “I picked up his letter,” said Shrowl. “He poked it under the gate and went away. Here it is.”

      As Mr. Treverton opened the envelope, two slips dropped out. One fell on the table before which he was sitting; the other fluttered to the floor. This last slip Shrowl picked up and looked over its contents.

      Mr. Treverton began to read the letter. The letter was not long. He read it down to the signature, and went through it again from the beginning.

      “Shrowl,” he said, very quietly, “my brother, the Captain, is drowned.”

      “I know,” answered Shrowl.

      “I wonder what he thought about me when he was dying?” said Mr. Treverton, abstractedly.

      “He didn't waste a thought on you or anybody else,” remarked Shrowl.

      “Damn that woman!” muttered Mr. Treverton.

      He read the letter again:

      “Sir,

      As the old legal adviser and faithful friend of your family, I acquaint you with the sad news of your brother's death. This deplorable event occurred on board the ship of which he was captain, during a gale of wind. I enclose a detailed account of the shipwreck, extracted from The Times, by which you will see that your brother died nobly. I also send a slip from the local Cornish paper.

      I must add that no will has been found, after the most rigorous search, among the papers of the late Captain Treverton. So Porthgenna, his only property, derived from the sale of his estate, will go in due course of law[17] to his daughter.

      I am, Sir, your obedient servant,

      Alexander Nixon.”

      The newspaper-slip contained the paragraph from The Times. The other slip was from the Cornish paper.

      “Why don't you read about what a great man your brother was, and what a good life he led?” asked Shrowl. “Why don't you read about what a wonderful handsome daughter he's left, and what a capital marriage she's made along with the man that's owner of your old family estate? The ill wind – that killed her father – brought her forty thousand pounds. Why don't you read about it? She and her husband have got a better house in Cornwall than you have got here. Aren't you glad of that?”

      The only words Andrew said were these two -

      “Go out! And hold your tongue henceforth and forever about my brother and my brother's daughter. Hold your tongue – leave me alone – go out!”

      Shrowl slowly withdrew from the room.

      Mr. Treverton pushed aside his chair, and walked up and down. He whispered a few words to himself and threw both the newspaper-slips into the fire.

      Chapter VIII

      Mr. and Mrs. Frankland started from London on the ninth of May, and stopped at the station of a small town in Somersetshire. A robust boy entered this world a month earlier, and preferred to make his first appearance in a small Somersetshire inn.

      Young Mr. Orridge, the new doctor, felt a thrill of pleasurable agitation when he heard that the wife of a blind gentleman of great fortune required all his skill and attention. There were a dozen different reports about Mr. Frankland's blindness, and the cause of it.

      So at eight o'clock in the evening the child was born, and Mr. Orridge performed his duties.

      On the next day, and the next, and for a week after that, the accounts were favorable. But on the tenth day a catastrophe was reported. The nurse was suddenly ill.

      Mr. Frankland telegraphed to a friend in London for a nurse, but the doctor was against that plan, except as a last resource. He wanted to find the right person here. But Mr. Orridge met with no success. He found plenty of volunteers, but they were all loud-voiced, clumsy-handed, heavy-footed countrywomen, kind and willing enough, but sadly awkward.

      At two o'clock Mr. Orridge went to a country-house where he had a child-patient to see. “Perhaps I may remember somebody who may be the right person,” thought Mr. Orridge, as he got into his gig. “I have some hours at my disposal still, before the time comes for my evening visit at the inn.”

      He thought about Mrs. Norbury. She was frank, good-humored, middle-aged woman. Her husband was a country squire. Mr. Orridge asked Mrs. Norbury to help him to find a good nurse, as she was an old resident in the West Winston neighborhood.

      “You mean,” answered Mrs. Norbury, “have I heard about that poor unfortunate lady who had a child born at the inn? How is the lady? Who is she? Is the child well? Is she comfortable? Can I send her anything, or do anything for her?”

      “You can do a great thing for her, and render a great assistance to me,” said Mr. Orridge, “if you tell me of any respectable woman in this neighborhood – a proper nurse for her.”

      “You don't mean to say that the poor creature has not got a nurse!” exclaimed Mrs. Norbury.

      “She has had the best nurse in West Winston,” replied Mr. Orridge. “But, most unfortunately, the woman was taken ill this morning, and went home.”

      “Frankland, did you say her name was?” inquired Mrs. Norbury.

      “Yes. She is, I understand, a daughter of that Captain Treverton who was lost with his ship a year ago in the West Indies. Perhaps you may remember the account of the disaster in the newspapers?”

      “Of course I do! And I remember the Captain too. I was acquainted with him when he was a young man, at Portsmouth. But who is with Mrs. Frankland now?”

      “Her maid; but she is a very young woman, and doesn't understand nursing duties. The landlady of the inn is ready to help when she can. I suppose we shall telegraph to London and get somebody by railway.”

      “And that will take time, of course. And the new nurse may be a drunkard or a thief, or both,” said the Mrs. Norbury. “I am ready, I am sure, to take any trouble, or make any sacrifice, if I can be of use to Mrs. Frankland. Mr. Orridge, I think we will consult my housekeeper, Mrs. Jazeph. She is an odd woman, with an odd name; but she has lived with me in this house more than five years. She may know somebody in our neighborhood who can suit you, though I don't.”

      With those words, Mrs. Norbury rang the bell. The housekeeper entered the room.

      Mr. Orridge looked at her, with an interest and curiosity. She was woman of about fifty years of age. His medical eye detected that some of the intricate machinery of the nervous system went wrong with Mrs. Jazeph. He noted the painful working of the muscles of her face, and the hectic flush that flew into her cheeks when she entered the room and found a visitor there. He observed a strangely scared look in her eyes.

      “This is Mr. Orridge, the medical gentleman who has lately settled at West Winston,” said Mrs. Norbury to the housekeeper. “He is in attendance on a lady[18] who stopped, on her journey westward, at our station, and who is now staying at the Tiger's Head Inn. You have heard something about it, have you not, Mrs. Jazeph?”

      “Yes, ma'am,” said Mrs. Jazeph.

      “Well,” continued Mrs. Norbury,

17

in due course of law – согласно закону

18

he is in attendance on a lady – он лечит леди