The Thirteenth Tale- 第19部分

dr。　maudsley　was　not　young；　yet　though　he　was　in　his　middle　forties　he　gave　the　impression　of　youth。　he　was　not　tall；　nor　really　very　muscular；　but　he　had　an　air　of　vitality；　of　vigor　about　him。　his　legs　were　long　for　his　body　and　he　used　to　stride　along　at　a　great　pace；　with　no　apparent　effort。　he　could　walk　faster　than　anyone；　had　grown　used　to　finding　himself　talking　into　thin　air　and　turning　to　find　his　walking　panion　scurrying　along　a　few　yards　behind　his　back；　panting　with　the　effort　of　keeping　up。　this　physical　energy　was　matched　by　a　great　mental　liveliness。　you　could　hear　the　power　of　his　brain　in　his　voice；　which　was　quiet　but　quick；　with　a　facility　for　finding　the　right　words　for　the　right　person　at　the　right　time。　you　could　see　it　in　his　eyes：　dark　brown　and　very　shiny；　like　a　bird’s　eyes；　observant；　intent；　with　strong；　neat　eyebrows　above。

maudsley　had　a　knack　of　spreading　his　energy　around　him—that’s　no　bad　thing　for　a　doctor。　his　step　on　the　path；　his　knock　at　the　door；　and　his　patients　would　start　feeling　better　already。　and　not　least；　they　liked　him。　he　was　a　tonic　in　himself；　that’s　what　people　said。　it　made　a　difference　to　him　whether　his　patients　lived　or　died；　and　when　they　lived；　which　was　nearly　always；　it　mattered　how　well　they　lived。

dr。　maudsley　had　a　great　love　of　intellectual　activity。　illness　was　a　kind　of　puzzle　to　him；　and　he　couldn’t　rest　until　he’d　solved　it。　patients　got　used　to　him　turning　up　at　their　houses　first　thing　in　the　morning　when　he’d　spent　the　night　puzzling　over　their　symptoms；　to　ask　one　more　question。　and　once　he’d　worked　out　a　diagnosis；　then　there　was　the　treatment　to　resolve。　he　consulted　the　books；　of　course；　was　fully　cognizant　of　all　the　usual　treatments；　but　he　had　an　original　mind　that　kept　ing　back　to　something　as　simple　as　a　sore　throat　from　a　different　angle；　constantly　casting　about　for　the　tiny　fragment　of　knowledge　that　would　enable　him　not　only　to　get　rid　of　the　sore　throat　but　to　understand　the　phenomenon　of　the　sore　throat　in　an　entirely　new　light。　energetic；　intelligent　and　amiable；　he　was　an　exceptionally　good　doctor　and　a　better　than　average　man。　though；　like　all　men；　he　had　his　blind　spot。

the　delegation　of　village　men　included　the　baby’s　father；　his　grandfather　and　the　publican；　a　weary…looking　fellow　who　didn’t　like　to　be　left　out　of　anything。　dr。　maudsley　weled　the　trio　and　listened　attentively　as　two　of　the　three　men　recounted　their　tale。　they　began　with　the　gates　left　open；　went　on　to　the　vexed　issue　of　the　missing　saucepans　and　arrived　after　some　minutes　at　the　climax　of　their　story：　the　kidnapping　of　the　infant　in　the　perambulator。

‘they’re　running　wild；“　the　younger　fred　jameson　said　finally。

‘out　of　control；“　added　the　older　fred　jameson。

‘and　what　do　you　say？“　asked　dr。　maudsley　of　the　third　man。　wilfred　bonner；　standing　to　one　side；　had；　until　now；　remained　silent。

mr。　bonner　took　his　cap　off　and　drew　in　a　slow；　whistling　breath。　“well；　i’m　no　medical　man；　but　it　seems　to　me　them　girls　is　not　right。”　he　acpanied　his　words　with　a　look　full　of　significance；　then；　in　case　he　hadn’t　got　his　message　across；　tapped　his　bald　head；　once；　twice；　three　times。

all　three　men　looked　gravely　at　their　shoes。

‘leave　it　with　me；“　said　the　doctor。　”i’ll　speak　to　the　family。“

and　the　men　left。　they　had　done　their　bit。　it　was　up　to　the　doctor；　the　village　elder；　now。

though　he’d　said　he　would　speak　to　the　family；　what　the　doctor　actually　did　was　speak　to　his　wife。

‘i　doubt　they　meant　any　harm　by　it；“　she　said；　when　he　had　finished　telling　the　story。　”you　know　what　girls　are。　a　baby　is　so　much　more　fun　to　play　with　than　a　doll。　they　wouldn’t　have　hurt　him。　still；　they　must　be　told　not　to　do　it　again。　poor　mary。“　and　she　lifted　her　eyes　from　her　sewing　and　turned　her　face　to　her　husband。

mrs。　maudsley　was　an　exceedingly　attractive　woman。　she　had　large　brown　eyes　with　long　lashes　that　curled　prettily；　and　her　dark　hair　that　had　not　a　trace　of　gray　in　it　was　pulled　back　in　a　style　of　such　simplicity　that　only　a　true　beauty　would　not　be　made　plain　by　it。　when　she　moved；　her　form　had　a　rounded；　womanly　grace。

the　doctor　knew　his　wife　was　beautiful；　but　they　had　been　married　too　long　for　it　to　make　any　difference　to　him。

‘they　think　in　the　village　that　the　girls　are　mentally　retarded。“

‘surely　not！“

‘it’s　what　wilfred　bonner　thinks；　at　least。“

she　shook　her　head　in　wonderment。　“he　is　afraid　of　them　because　hey　are　twins。　poor　wilfred。　it　is　just　old…fashioned　ignorance。　thank　goodness　the　younger　generation　is　more　understanding。”

the　doctor　was　a　man　of　science。　though　he　knew　it　was　statistically　unlikely　that　there　was　any　mental　abnormality　in　the　twins；　he　could　not　rule　it　out　until　he　had　seen　them。　it　did　not　surprise　him；　though；　that　his　wife；　whose　religion　forbade　her　to　believe　ill　of　any…me；　would　take　for　granted　that　the　rumor　was　ill…founded　gossip。

‘i’m　sure　you　are　right；“　he　murmured　with　a　vagueness　that　meant　he　was　sure　she　was　wrong。　he　had　given　up　trying　to　get　her　to　believe　only　what　was　true；　she　had　been　raised　to　the　kind　of　religion　that　could　admit　no　difference　between　what　was　true　and　what　was　good。

‘what　will　you　do；　then？“　she　asked　him。

‘go　and　see　the　family。　charles　angelfield　is　a　bit　of　a　hermit；　but　he’ll　have　to　see　me　if　i　go。“

mrs。　maudsley　nodded；　which　was　her　way　of　disagreeing　with　her　husband；　though　he　didn’t　know　it。　“what　about　the　mother？　what　do　you　know　of　her？”

‘very　little。“

and　the　doctor　continued　to　think　in　silence；　and　mrs。　maudsley　continued　her　sewing；　and　after　a　quarter　of　an　hour　had　passed；　the　doctor　said；　“perhaps　you　might　go；　theodora？　the　mother　might　sooner　see　another　woman　than　a　man。　what　do　you　say？”

and　so　three　days　later　mrs。　maudsley　arrived　at　the　house　and　knocked　at　the　front　door。　astonished　to　get　no　answer；　she　frowned—　after　all；　she　had　sent　a　note　to　say　she　was　ing—and　walked　round　to　the　back。　the　kitchen　door　was　ajar；　so　with　a　quick　knock　she　went　in。　no　one　was　there。　mrs。　maudsley　looked　around。　three　apples　on　the　table；　brown　and　wrinkled　and　starting　to　collapse　upon　themselves；　black　dishcloth　next　to　a　sink　piled　high　with　dirty　plates；　and　the　window　so　filthy　that　inside　you　could　hardly　tell　day　from　night。　her　linty　white　nose　sniffed　the　air。　it　told　her　everything　she　needed　to　know。　she　pursed　her　lips；　set　her　shoulders；　took　a　tight　grip　on　the　tortoiseshell　handle　of　her　bag　and　set　off　on　her　crusade。　she　went　from　room　to　room　looking　for　isabelle；　but　on　the　way　taking　in　the　squalor；　the　mess；　the　unkemptness　that　lurked　everywhere。

the　missus　tired　easily；　and　she　couldn’t　manage　the　stairs　very　well；　and　her　sight　was　going；　and　she　often　thought　she　had　cleaned　things　when　she　hadn’t；　or　meant　to　clean　them　and　then　forgot；　and　to　be　honest；　she　knew　nobody　really　cared；　so　she　mostly　concentrated　on　feeding　the　girls；　and　they　were　lucky　she　managed　that　much。　so　the　house　was　dirty；　and　it　was　dusty；　and　when　a　picture　was　knocked　wonky　it　stayed　wonky　for　a　decade；　and　when　one　day　charlie　couldn’t　find　the　paper　bin　in　his　study；　he　just　dropped　the　paper　onto　the　floor　in　the　place　where　the　paper　bin　used　to　be；　and　it　soon　occurred　to　him　that　it　was　less　fuss　to　chuck　it　out　once　a　year　than　to　do　it　once　a　week。

mrs。　maudsley　didn’t　like　what　she　saw　at　all。　she　frowned　at　the　half…closed　curtains；　and　sighed　at　the　tarnished　silver；　and　shook　her　head　in　amazement　at　the　saucepans　on　the　stairs　and　the　sheet　music　that　was　scattered　all　over　the　floor　of　the　hallway。　in　the　drawing　room；　she　bent　down　automatically　to　retrieve　a　playing　card；　the　three　of　spades；　that　was　lying　dropped　or　discarded　in　the　middle　of　the　floor；　but　when　she　looked　around　the　room　for　the　rest　of　the　pack；　she　was　at　a　loss；　so　great　was　the　disorder。　glancing　helplessly　back　at　the　card　she　became　aware　of　the　dust　covering　it　and；　being　a　fastidious；　white…gloved　woman；　was　overwhelmed　with　the　desire　to　put　it　down；　only　where？　for　a　few　seconds　she　was　paralyzed　with　anxiety；　torn　between　the　desire　to　end　the　contact　between　her　pristine　glove　and　the　dusty；　faintly　sticky　playing　card；　and　her　own　unwillingness　to　put　the　card　down　in　a　place　that　wasn’t　the　right　one。　eventually；　with　a　perceptible　shudder　of　the　shoulders；　she　placed　it　on　the　arm　of　the　leather　armchair　and　walked　with　relief　out　of　the　room。

the　library　seemed　better。　it　was　dusty；　certainly；　and　the　carpet　was　threadbare；　but　the　books　themselves　were　in　their　places；　which　was　something。　yet　even　in　the　library；　just　when　she　was　preparing　herself　to　believe　that　there　remained　some　small　feeling　for　order　buried　in　this　filthy；　chaotic　family；　she　came　across　a　makeshift　bed。　tucked　into　a　dark　corner　between　two　sets　of　shelves；　it　was　just　a　flea…ridden　blanket　and　a　filthy　pillow；　and　at　first　she　took　it　for　a　cat’s　bed。　then；　looking　again；　she　spotted　the　corner　of　a　book　visible　beneath　the　pillow。　she　drew　it　out。　it　was　jane　eyre。

from　the　library　she　passed　to　the　music　room；　where　she　found　the　same　disorder　she　had　seen　elsewhere