Plays : Fourth Series. John GalsworthyЧитать онлайн книгу.
on the knock, as though no doors were licensed to be closed against her, a grey-haired lady enters; a capable, broad-faced woman of seventy, whose every tone and movement exhales authority. With a nod and a "good morning" to STRANGWAY she turns at face to JIM BERE.]
MRS. BRADMERE Ah! Jim; you're looking better.
[JIM BERE shakes his head. MRS. BRADMERE. Oh! yes, you are.
Getting on splendidly. And now, I just want to speak to Mr.
Strangway.]
[JIM BERE touches his forelock, and slowly, leaning on his
stick, goes out.]
MRS. BRADMERE. [Waiting for the door to close] You know how that came on him? Caught the girl he was engaged to, one night, with another man, the rage broke something here. [She touches her forehead] Four years ago.
STRANGWAY. Poor fellow!
MRS. BRADMERE. [Looking at him sharply] Is your wife back?
STRANGWAY. [Starting] No.
MRS. BRADMERE. By the way, poor Mrs. Cremer—is she any better?
STRANGWAY. No; going fast: Wonderful—so patient.
MRS. BRADMERE. [With gruff sympathy] Um! Yes. They know how to die! [Wide another sharp look at him] D'you expect your wife soon?
STRANGWAY. I I—hope so.
MRS. BRADMERE: So do I. The sooner the better.
STRANGWAY. [Shrinking] I trust the Rector's not suffering so much this morning?
MRS. BRADMERE. Thank you! His foot's very bad.
[As she speaks Mrs. BURLACOMBE returns with a large pale-blue
book in her bared.]
MRS. BURLACOMBE. Good day, M'm! [Taking the book across to
STRANGWAY] Miss Willie, she says she'm very sorry, zurr.
STRANGWAY. She was very welcome, Mrs. Burlacombe. [To MRS.
BURLACOMBE] Forgive me—my sermon.
[He goes into the house. The two women graze after him. Then, at once, as it were, draw into themselves, as if preparing for an encounter, and yet seem to expand as if losing the need for restraint.]
MRS. BRADMERE. [Abruptly] He misses his wife very much, I'm afraid.
MRS. BURLACOMBE. Ah! Don't he? Poor dear man; he keeps a terrible tight 'and over 'imself, but 'tis suthin' cruel the way he walks about at night. He'm just like a cow when its calf's weaned. 'T'as gone to me 'eart truly to see 'im these months past. T'other day when I went up to du his rume, I yeard a noise like this [she sniffs]; an' ther' 'e was at the wardrobe, snuffin' at 'er things. I did never think a man cud care for a woman so much as that.
MRS. BRADMERE. H'm!
MRS. BURLACOMBE. 'Tis funny rest an' 'e comin' 'ere for quiet after that tearin' great London parish! 'E'm terrible absent-minded tu—don't take no interest in 'is fude. Yesterday, goin' on for one o'clock, 'e says to me, "I expect 'tis nearly breakfast-time, Mrs. Burlacombe!" 'E'd 'ad it twice already!
MRS. BRADMERE. Twice! Nonsense!
MRS. BURLACOMBE. Zurely! I give 'im a nummit afore 'e gets up; an' 'e 'as 'is brekjus reg'lar at nine. Must feed un up. He'm on 'is feet all day, gain' to zee folk that widden want to zee an angel, they're that busy; an' when 'e comes in 'e'll play 'is flute there. Hem wastin' away for want of 'is wife. That's what 'tis. An' 'im so sweet-spoken, tu, 'tes a pleasure to year 'im—Never says a word!
MRS. BRADMERE. Yes, that's the kind of man who gets treated badly.
I'm afraid she's not worthy of him, Mrs. Burlacombe.
MRS. BURLACOMBE. [Plaiting her apron] 'Tesn't for me to zay that.
She'm a very pleasant lady.
MRS. BRADMERE Too pleasant. What's this story about her being seen in Durford?
MRS. BURLACOMBE. Aw! I du never year no gossip, m'm.
MRS. BRADMERE. [Drily] Of course not! But you see the Rector wishes to know.
MRS. BURLACOMBE. [Flustered] Well—folk will talk! But, as I says to Burlacombe—"'Tes paltry," I says; and they only married eighteen months, and Mr. Strangway so devoted-like. 'Tes nothing but love, with 'im.
MRS. BRADMERE. Come!
MRS. BURLACOMBE. There's puzzivantin' folk as'll set an' gossip the feathers off an angel. But I du never listen.
MRS. BRADMERE Now then, Mrs. Burlacombe?
MRS. BURLACOMBE. Well, they du say as how Dr. Desart over to Durford and Mrs. Strangway was sweethearts afore she wer' married.
MRS. BRADMERE. I knew that. Who was it saw her coming out of Dr.
Desart's house yesterday?
MRS. BURLACOMBE. In a manner of spakin' 'tes Mrs. Freman that says 'er Gladys seen her.
MRS. BRADMERE. That child's got an eye like a hawk.
MRS. BURLACOMBE. 'Tes wonderful how things du spread. 'Tesn't as if us gossiped. Du seem to grow-like in the naight.
MRS. BRADMERE [To herself] I never lied her. That Riviera excuse,
Mrs. Burlacombe—Very convenient things, sick mothers. Mr.
Strangway doesn't know?
MRS. BURLACOMBE. The Lord forbid! 'Twid send un crazy, I think. For all he'm so moony an' gentlelike, I think he'm a terrible passionate man inside. He've a-got a saint in 'im, for zure; but 'tes only 'alf-baked, in a manner of spakin'.
MRS. BRADMERE. I shall go and see Mrs. Freman. There's been too much of this gossip all the winter.
MRS. BURLACOMBE. 'Tes unfortunate-like 'tes the Fremans. Freman he'm a gipsy sort of a feller; and he've never forgiven Mr. Strangway for spakin' to 'im about the way he trates 'is 'orses.
MRS. BRADMERE. Ah! I'm afraid Mr. Strangway's not too discreet when his feelings are touched.
MRS. BURLACOMBE. 'E've a-got an 'eart so big as the full mune. But 'tes no yuse espectin' tu much o' this world. 'Tes a funny place, after that.
MRS. BRADMERE. Yes, Mrs. Burlacombe; and I shall give some of these good people a rare rap over the knuckles for their want of charity. For all they look as if butter wouldn't melt in their mouths, they're an un-Christian lot. [Looking very directly at Mrs. BURLACOMBE] It's lucky we've some hold over the village. I'm not going to have scandal. I shall speak to Sir Herbert, and he and the Rector will take steps.
MRS. BURLACOMBE. [With covert malice] Aw! I du hope 'twon't upset the Rector, an' 'is fute so poptious!
MRS. BRADMERE. [Grimly] His foot'll be sound enough to come down sharp. By the way, will you send me a duck up to the Rectory?
MRS. BURLACOMBE. [Glad to get away] Zurely, m'm; at once. I've some luv'ly fat birds.
[She goes into the house.]
MRS. BRADMERE. Old puss-cat!
[She turns to go, and in the doorway encounters a very little, red-cheeked girl in a peacock-blue cap, and pink frock, who curtsies stolidly.]
MRS. BRADMERE. Well, Tibby Jarland, what do you want here? Always sucking something, aren't you?
[Getting no reply from Tibby JARLAND, she passes out. Tibby comes in, looks round, takes a large sweet out of her mouth, contemplates it, and puts it back again. Then, in a perfunctory and very stolid fashion, she looks about the floor, as if she had been told to find something. While she is finding nothing and sucking her sweet, her sister MERCY comes in furtively, still frowning and vindictive.]
MERCY. What! Haven't you found it, Tibby? Get along with 'ee, then!
[She accelerates the stolid Tissy's departure