The Greatest Mysteries of Wilkie Collins (Illustrated Edition). Уилки КоллинзЧитать онлайн книгу.
without the slightest change in her voice, her face, or her manner. She could not have appeared more perfectly unconcerned if I had told her of the death of the goat in the enclosure outside.
“Why?” I repeated. “Do you ask why I come here to tell you of your daughter’s death?”
“Yes. What interest have you in me, or in her? How do you come to know anything about my daughter?”
“In this way. I met her on the night when she escaped from the Asylum, and I assisted her in reaching a place of safety.”
“You did very wrong.”
“I am sorry to hear her mother say so.”
“Her mother does say so. How do you know she is dead?”
“I am not at liberty to say how I know it — but I DO know it.”
“Are you at liberty to say how you found out my address?”
“Certainly. I got your address from Mrs. Clements.”
“Mrs. Clements is a foolish woman. Did she tell you to come here?”
“She did not.”
“Then, I ask you again, why did you come?”
As she was determined to have her answer, I gave it to her in the plainest possible form.
“I came,” I said, “because I thought Anne Catherick’s mother might have some natural interest in knowing whether she was alive or dead.”
“Just so,” said Mrs. Catherick, with additional self-possession. “Had you no other motive?”
I hesitated. The right answer to that question was not easy to find at a moment’s notice.
“If you have no other motive,” she went on, deliberately taking off her slate-coloured mittens, and rolling them up, “I have only to thank you for your visit, and to say that I will not detain you here any longer. Your information would be more satisfactory if you were willing to explain how you became possessed of it. However, it justifies me, I suppose, in going into mourning. There is not much alteration necessary in my dress, as you see. When I have changed my mittens, I shall be all in black.”
She searched in the pocket of her gown, drew out a pair of black lace mittens, put them on with the stoniest and steadiest composure, and then quietly crossed her hands in her lap.
“I wish you good morning,” she said.
The cool contempt of her manner irritated me into directly avowing that the purpose of my visit had not been answered yet.
“I HAVE another motive in coming here,” I said.
“Ah! I thought so,” remarked Mrs. Catherick.
“Your daughter’s death — — ”
“What did she die of?”
“Of disease of the heart.”
“Yes. Go on.”
“Your daughter’s death has been made the pretext for inflicting serious injury on a person who is very dear to me. Two men have been concerned, to my certain knowledge, in doing that wrong. One of them is Sir Percival Glyde.”
“Indeed!”
I looked attentively to see if she flinched at the sudden mention of that name. Not a muscle of her stirred — the hard, defiant, implacable stare in her eyes never wavered for an instant.
“You may wonder,” I went on, “how the event of your daughter’s death can have been made the means of inflicting injury on another person.”
“No,” said Mrs. Catherick; “I don’t wonder at all. This appears to be your affair. You are interested in my affairs. I am not interested in yours.”
“You may ask, then,” I persisted, “why I mention the matter in your presence.”
“Yes, I DO ask that.”
“I mention it because I am determined to bring Sir Percival Glyde to account for the wickedness he has committed.”
“What have I to do with your determination?”
“You shall hear. There are certain events in Sir Percival’s past life which it is necessary for my purpose to be fully acquainted with. YOU know them — and for that reason I come to YOU.”
“What events do you mean?”
“Events that occurred at Old Welmingham when your husband was parish-clerk at that place, and before the time when your daughter was born.”
I had reached the woman at last through the barrier of impenetrable reserve that she had tried to set up between us. I saw her temper smouldering in her eyes — as plainly as I saw her hands grow restless, then unclasp themselves, and begin mechanically smoothing her dress over her knees.
“What do you know of those events?” she asked.
“All that Mrs. Clements could tell me,” I answered.
There was a momentary flush on her firm square face, a momentary stillness in her restless hands, which seemed to betoken a coming outburst of anger that might throw her off her guard. But no — she mastered the rising irritation, leaned back in her chair, crossed her arms on her broad bosom, and with a smile of grim sarcasm on her thick lips, looked at me as steadily as ever.
“Ah! I begin to understand it all now,” she said, her tamed and disciplined anger only expressing itself in the elabourate mockery of her tone and manner. “You have got a grudge of your own against Sir Percival Glyde, and I must help you to wreak it. I must tell you this, that, and the other about Sir Percival and myself, must I? Yes, indeed? You have been prying into my private affairs. You think you have found a lost woman to deal with, who lives here on sufferance, and who will do anything you ask for fear you may injure her in the opinions of the town’speople. I see through you and your precious speculation — I do! and it amuses me. Ha! ha!”
She stopped for a moment, her arms tightened over her bosom, and she laughed to herself — a hard, harsh, angry laugh.
“You don’t know how I have lived in this place, and what I have done in this place, Mr. What’s-your-name,” she went on. “I’ll tell you, before I ring the bell and have you shown out. I came here a wronged woman — I came here robbed of my character and determined to claim it back. I’ve been years and years about it — and I HAVE claimed it back. I have matched the respectable people fairly and openly on their own ground. If they say anything against me now they must say it in secret — they can’t say it, they daren’t say it, openly. I stand high enough in this town to be out of your reach. THE CLERGYMAN BOWS TO ME. Aha! you didn’t bargain for that when you came here. Go to the church and inquire about me — you will find Mrs. Catherick has her sitting like the rest of them, and pays the rent on the day it’s due. Go to the town-hall. There’s a petition lying there — a petition of the respectable inhabitants against allowing a circus to come and perform here and corrupt our morals — yes! OUR morals. I signed that petition this morning. Go to the bookseller’s shop. The clergyman’s Wednesday evening Lectures on Justification by Faith are publishing there by subscription — I’m down on the list. The doctor’s wife only put a shilling in the plate at our last charity sermon — I put half-a-crown. Mr. Churchwarden Soward held the plate, and bowed to me. Ten years ago he told Pigrum the chemist I ought to be whipped out of the town at the cart’s tail. Is your mother alive? Has she got a better Bible on her table than I have got on mine? Does she stand better with her tradespeople than I do with mine? Has she always lived within her income? I have always lived within mine. Ah! there IS the clergyman coming along the square. Look, Mr. What’s-your-name — look, if you please!”
She started up with the activity of a young woman, went to the window, waited till the clergyman passed, and bowed to him solemnly. The clergyman ceremoniously raised his hat, and walked on. Mrs. Catherick returned to her chair, and looked at me with a grimmer sarcasm than ever.