bleak house(凄凉的房子)-第62章
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odd one）； obtrusively toward the window。 Why should Mr
Tulkinghorn； for such no reason； look out of window？ Is the hand
not always pointing there？ So he does not look out of window。
And if he did； what would it be to see a woman going by？ There
are women enough in the world； Mr Tulkinghorn thinks—too
many； they are at the bottom of all that goes wrong in it； though；
for the matter of that； they create business for lawyers。 What
would it be to see a woman going by； even though she were going
secretly？ They are all secret。 Mr Tulkinghorn knows that； very
well。
But they are not all like the woman who now leaves him and his
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house behind； between whose plain dress； and her refined
manner； there is something exceedingly inconsistent。 She should
be an upper servant by her attire； yet； in her air and step； though
both are hurried and assumed—as far as she can assume in the
muddy streets； which she treads with an unaccustomed foot—she
is a lady。 Her face is veiled； and still she sufficiently betrays herself
to make more than one of those who pass her look round sharply。
She never turns her head。 Lady or servant； she has a purpose in
her； and can follow it。 She never turns her head； until she comes to
the crossing where Jo plies with his broom。 He crosses with her；
and begs。 Still； she does not turn her head until she has landed on
the other side。 Then； she slightly beckons to him； and says “Come
here！”
Jo follows her； a pace or two； into a quiet court。
“Are you the boy I have read of in the papers？” she asked
behind her veil。
“I don’t know；” says Jo； staring moodily at the veil； “nothink
about no papers。 I don’t know nothink about nothink at all。”
“Were you examined at an Inquest？”
“I don’t know nothink about no…where I was took by the beadle；
do you mean？” says Joe。 “Was the boy’s name at the Inkwhich；
Jo？”
“Yes。”
“That’s me！” says Jo。
“Come farther up。”
“You mean about the man？” says Jo； following。 “Him as wos
dead？”
“Hush！ Speak in a whisper！ Yes。 Did he look； when he was
living； so very ill and poor？”
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“O jist！” says Jo。
“Did he look like—not like you？” says the woman with
abhorrence。
“Oh not so bad as me；” says Jo。 “I’m a reg’lar one I am！ You
didn’t know him； did you？”
“How dare you ask me if I knew him？”
“No offence； my lady；” says Jo； with humility； for even he has
got at the suspicion of her being a lady。
“I am not a lady。 I am a servant。”
“You are a jolly servant！” says Jo； without the least idea of
saying anything offensive； merely as a tribute of admiration。
“Listen and be silent。 Don’t talk to me； and stand farther from
me！ Can you show me all those places that were spoken of in the
account I read？ The place he wrote for； the place he died at； the
place where you were taken to； and the place where he was
buried？ Do you know the place where he was buried？”
Jo answers with a nod； having also nodded as each other place
was mentioned。
“Go before me； and show me all those dreadful places。 Stop
opposite to each； and don’t speak to me unless I speak to you。
Don’t look back。 Do what I want； and I will pay you well。”
Jo attends closely while the words are being spoken； tells them
off on his broom…handle； finding them rather hard； pauses to
consider their meaning； considers it satisfactory； and nods his
ragged head。
“I am fly；” says Jo。 “But fen larks； you know。 Stow hooking it！”
“What does the horrible creature mean？” exclaims the servant；
recoiling from him。
“Stow cutting away； you know！” says Jo。
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“I don’t understand you。 Go on before！ I will give you more
money than you ever had in your life。”
Jo screws up his mouth into a whistle； gives his ragged head a
rub； takes his broom under his arm； and leads the way； passing
deftly； with his bare feet； over the hard stones； and through the
mud and mire。
Cook’s Court。 Jo stops。 A pause。
“Who lives here？”
“Him wot give him his writing； and give me half a bull；” says Jo
in a whisper； without looking over his shoulder。
“Go on to the next。”
Krook’s house。 Jo stops again。 A longer pause。
“Who lives here？”
“He lived here。” Jo answers as before。
After a silence he is asked； “In which room？”
“In the back room up there。 You can see the winder from this
corner。 Up there！ That’s where I see him stritched out。 This is the
public ’ouse where I was took to。”
“Go on to the next！”
It is a longer walk to the next； but； Jo； relieved of his first
suspicions； sticks to the terms imposed upon him； and does not
look round。 By many devious ways reeking with offence of many
kinds； they come to the little tunnel of a court； and to the gas…lamp
（lighted now）； and to the iron gate。
“He was put there；” says Jo； holding to the bars and looking in。
“Where？ O； what a scene of horror！”
“There！” says Jo； pointing。 “Over yinder。 Among them piles of
bones； and close to that there kitchen winder。 They put him wery
nigh the top。 They was obliged to stamp upon it to git it in。 I could
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unkiver it for you with my broom； if the gate was open。 That’s why
they locks it； I s’pose；” giving it a shake。 “It’s always locked。 Look
at the rat！” cries Jo； excited。 “Hi！ Look！ There he goes！ Ho！ Into
the ground！”
The servant shrinks into a corner—into a corner of that hideous
archway； with its deadly stains contaminating her dress； and
putting out her two hands； and passionately telling him to keep
away from her； for he is loathsome to her； so remains for some
moments。 Jo stands staring； and is still staring when she recovers
herself。
“Is this place of abomination； consecrated ground？”
“I don’t know nothink of consequential ground；” says Jo； still
staring。
“Is it blessed？”
“WHICH？” says Jo； in the last degree amazed。
“Is it blessed？”
“I’m blest if I know；” says Jo； staring more than ever； “but I
shouldn’t think it warn’t。 Blest？” repeats Jo； something troubled
in his mind。 “It an’t done it much good if it is。 Blest？ I should think
it was t’othered myself。 But I don’t know nothink！”
The servant takes as little heed of what he says； as she seems to
take of what she has said herself。 She draws off her glove； to get
some money from her purse。 Jo silently notices how white and
small her hand is； and what a jolly servant she must be to wear
such sparkling rings。
She drops a piece of money in his hand； without touching it；
and shuddering as their hands approach。 “Now；” she adds； “show
me the spot again！”
Jo thrusts the handle of his broom between the bars of the gate；
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and with his utmost power of elaboration； points it out。 At length；
looking aside to see if he has made himself intelligible； he finds
that he is alone。
His first proceeding； is； to hold the piece of money to the
gaslight； and to be overpowered at finding that it is yellow…gold。
His next is； to give it a one…sided bite at the edge； as a test of its
quality。 His next； to put it in his mouth for safety； and to sweep the
step and passage with great care。 His job done； he sets off for Tom…
all…Alone’s； stopping in the light of innumerable gas…lamps to
produce the piece of gold； and give it another one…sided bite； as a
reassurance of its being genuine。
The Mercury in powder is in no want of society tonight； for my
Lady goes to a grand dinner； and three or four balls。 Sir Leicester
is fidgety； down at Chesney Wold； with no better company than
the gout； he complains to Mrs Rouncewell that the rain makes
such a monotonous pattering on the terrace； that he can’t read the
paper； even by the fireside in his own snug dressing…room。
“Sir Leicester would have done better to try the other side of
the house； my dear；” says Mrs Rouncewell to Rosa。 “His dressing…
room is on my Lady’s side。 And in all these years I never heard the
step upon the Ghost’s Walk； more distinct than it is tonight！”
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Chapter 17
Esther’s Narrative
ichard very often came to see us while we remained in
RLondon （though he soon failed in his letter writing）； and
with his quick abilities； his good spirits； his good temper；
his gaiety and freshness； was always delightful。 But； though I liked
him more and more； the better I knew him； I still felt more and
more； how much it was to be regretted that he had been educated
in no habits
