Chapter 2 Chapter One

"Here," said Betty, "is the 'little theater.'" She reached into the door and turned on rows of lights.The companion next to her looked in, as if—it wasn't the first time—that she had stepped into a certain chapter of the novel. "Of course, they used gas lamps in those days," Betty went on, "and nothing else has changed." "This is the theater where she gave her private performance?" "Yes, this is also the place where she bid farewell to the world." The interior of the Little Theater is well-planned and upholstered like a dazzling jewel box.Heavy velvet draperies keep sound and light out, while the interior is dominated by earthy grays and golds.The theater was designed to be circular, about forty feet in diameter, and carved in queer fretted reliefs.The linear area drawn horizontally against the round walls on both sides is probably the front desk, which looks not much bigger than a carpeted side platform in a golden carved arch.Some easy chairs were placed in the rear as auditoriums, and the cloth between the bars of the easy chairs was embroidered with an initials: "FV".The whole theater is filled with the atmosphere of the 1860s.

①Continuous patterns are connected by several straight lines or narrow stripes, which are very common in Greek, Roman and Byzantine architecture. "Don't mention that," Betty added, pointing at the same time.Nick Wood laughed.But then it occurred to him that maybe he didn't want to add a groan, because the lady seemed to be angry. There is a fairly modern bar attached to one wall of the theater, which is small but has everything you need.Wine bottles and glasses glistened against the mirror, and there were even some out-of-place signs, such as "No Checks Accepted", "No Gambling" and so on.

"It was my father's idea," Betty explained to him, making a face. "His thinking was always pragmatic. He even had a movie projector behind the wall. If you want to watch a movie, you just lower the screen on the stage." "What about Ling Tang?" "Oh, my mother was mad, and still is!" It was hard for Nick Wood to imagine that he was on the top floor of a country house not more than twenty miles from London, with snow falling on the roof and the central heating system humming constantly.With or without a bar, the mini-theatre itself has the feel of a bar.The tranquility, the eerie splendor and the dreamlike etherealness of the theater cushions make you walk softly and speak softly.

Betty Steiner could see that he was impressed by the atmosphere of the theater.And he thought that pleased her.At least, what he felt was wrong didn't affect her.Betty is full of romantic feelings, she is the kind of person who loves rare things.But neither her dress nor her manner suggested it. The girl was soft-spoken, serious-looking, about twenty years old, but her smile was stunning.With a slight smile, her face and eyes light up.From the eyes of the past, you would think she is beautiful, because she has the good facial features and pink complexion advertised by traditional beauties.Her brown hair was cut into a short mushroom head curled inwards, and her blue eyes were frank.But whenever the corner of her mouth curls up and she smiles, it reveals her temperament, whether it is humorous or sly.But that smile is often fleeting, and then the whole face is expressionless again.

Wearing a simple black dinner dress, without any jewelry accessories, she stood in the center of the secret theater and nodded to herself, as if satisfied that everything here was in its place. "Since there is a ready-made bar here," Betty smiled, "Would you like a glass of wine?" "thanks." Betty lifted the movable panel of the bar and flashed into the small space.There is a cone-shaped lamp on the top of the bar, which is the brightest light source in this dark room. The light shines on her brown hair, reflecting a little golden light.Wood studied the gold-plated initials on the panel under the bar: "FV."

"Flavia Vernon," he said. "You say she died here?" "That's right. She was performing "Salome" when she died suddenly on the stage." "<Salome>?" "Yes. A poet wrote the play especially for her." Betty named a Victorian poet who was as famous as the Westminster Abbey where he was buried.She saw Wood's surprised expression.She repeated: "Really, it is true, there is a manuscript of the play in the library down there. Would you like whiskey or brandy?" "Whiskey, thanks. That's not..." "You're absolutely right. Of course, there were terrible scandals, but no one talked about them. In those days, there was a respectable idea: 'It doesn't matter what you do as long as you play it safe'. "

The bottles at the bar hang upside down in a single row on racks, each with a small tap attached to its spout, as you would normally find in a pub.Betty turned off the tap on the whiskey bottle, and the boss reluctantly handed the glass and soda straw to him. "Do you agree with that statement?" Betty thought about it. "Yes, I think I agree. But I'm afraid my sister won't." (Yes, he thought, Elena wouldn't agree.) "Elena would say," Betty went on, "'What It doesn't matter, as long as it's indiscreet, it shows that your mind is not complicated.'" She grimaced and smiled. "You're right, I hate that word."

"complex?" "That's right. That's the word for something that's new, shiny, smart, and boring." He made a wisecrack, though he thought he was taking the question seriously. "You mean, spiritually, you're a Victorian?" "Not really. But at least I'm as unfashionable as my father. It's well known that his ideas are always pragmatic." "I doubt it," Nick Wood said.He said the wrong thing. He saw her face and blue eyes suddenly change color.He was staring blankly and absent-mindedly at the glass as he spoke, while Betty was wiping the glass in a professional manner.After hearing his words, her fingers suddenly stopped moving.They looked at each other, then he tipped his glass and took a sip.

"Why do you say that?" Betty asked bluntly. "What do you mean?" "Why do you say that about my father?" "My dear Miss Steiner! I'm talking about the habits of the rich." "yes?" "For example, your father is said to be sitting on millions of dollars of property..." "Not that much." "Oh, anyway, there must be a few thousand pounds." He put down his glass. "And this mansion is one of the evidences. If you just flip a switch, anything can appear. I just wonder if people like him never make mistakes?"

His heels sank into the thick gray carpet.A few lamps, dimly hidden behind the cut glass of the theater walls, cast shadows of gilded reliefs.Although Betty's face was also brightly illuminated, the expression on her face became more and more unpredictable.Her talk and friendly manner all evening had vanished without a trace.She put down the glass and stopped wiping it, and started wiping the bar with the same rag. "Flavia Vernon," she began. "Always called this place the 'Villa of the Mask'." "why?" "Let's not talk about it." Betty looked up. "Mr. Wood, who are you?"

"That question," he said, "is difficult for anyone to answer. I mean, it is asked too suddenly." "Please don't make fun of me." "I'm not kidding, I'm—" Her utterly feminine bluntness made him want to run away. "I am a friend of your father. He invited me to his house for the New Year. You are very like him, Miss Steinhor." Her eyes were fixed on the bar. "Are you familiar with my father?" "Yeah, quite familiar." "But you don't know it," said Betty. "He is not my biological father at all? I don't know that he and my mother are remarried? Irina is his daughter with his first wife, and I was born with my mother and her first husband? You and him They are good friends, but you don't even know these things?" There was a sound in the room—the little clock behind the bar was ticking, and the hands pointed to twenty past ten. Nick laughed. "I mean," he said, "the way you talk and act. You're very direct, aren't you?" As soon as the words came out of his mouth, he regretted it, because her face was so ugly.Why?He wondered, how did the conversation between the two get out of tune?Who knows where the taboo was violated, self-defeating and destroying the previous intimacy? "If you doubt my real identity," he added, "Vince James can testify against me." It's a good thing Vince James was here, he thought.As long as Wins says, with his characteristic haughty tone, "You mean Nick Wood? I know him. He's all right." Even the most uneasy host can be reassured. Betty suddenly said, "Excuse me. Not only did I say a lot of nonsense, but I was also very rude." "Where. Could you tell me a little more about Flavia Vernon?" "Are you interested in listening? Really interested in listening?" "very interested." Betty rested her elbows on the well-polished bar.The overhead lights cast a tinge of gold on her light brown hair.She looked around the theater, her mouth moved slightly, as if hesitating and didn't know how to speak. "The house is hers," said Betty. "Sir Sacomdam bought it for her in the mid sixties." "Is she a famous actress?" Betty raised her eyebrows and said, "Rather than being famous, it's better to say that she is notorious. Although she thinks she is worse than those third-rate actresses, and has always yearned to perform in classical plays, the audience don't want to watch those, they are going to see her. Nong’s. Only princes and nobles can enter this small private theater.” An absurd image suddenly appeared in his mind: the late Queen Victoria walked into this theater tremblingly, and after wandering around with gloomy eyes for a while, she sent a message saying that she didn't like it here. A smile appeared on Betty's face again, she obviously guessed his mind. "No, that's not right! The princes and nobles I'm talking about are not that noble. But even so, many traditional customs have been preserved. Do you know what beignoir is?" Nick thought for a while. "That's something you get at the French theater, isn't it?" he asked. "It's a kind of private box, like a cubicle, with a hole in the wall where people in mourning can come and see the show without being seen." Betty nodded. "Come and see our little box." She invited. She lifted the board of the bar, slipped out, and walked across to the theater.He followed.Betty walked across the railed easy seating area of ​​the stands to the rear wall.To Wood, the heavy curtain here was no different from the curtains on the other walls, and Betty pulled it aside to reveal a dark room.As the curtain drew back, he saw a padded alcove, with an upholstered seat almost as wide as the divan sitting on top of a raised bleacher. "The distinguished guests," she explained to him, "can sit here and watch, quietly and privately." "But how can these distinguished guests see the outside?" "Try it yourself." Betty urged again. Curious, he stepped forward into the alcove and sat down.Betty sat down with him.She saw one arm move, and the curtain closed strangely.The darkness covered their heads and faces like a fire hood, leaving only a long and narrow opening about the level of their line of sight.Looking from this opening, he seemed to see the opposite stage through a layer of gray tulle. "The mystery lies in the material of the curtain," she went on to explain. "Unless there is a bright light, no one will notice it." This is a room within a room, a room within a room.From where Wood sat, he could see clearly across the stage, down to the mantelpiece behind the stage; tilting his head to the right, he could even see the abrupt modern bar with its colorful labels. "There are several other rooms like this," Betty said. "My father chose the largest one in the center for the movie projector. It's stuffy in here, isn't it?" At this time, the back of his hand accidentally touched Betty's side. Just such a light touch, such a casual and accidental touch, can actually arouse all kinds of emotions and make people completely fall out of reality.It brings infinite suggestions and takes the mind to places you have never entered. Nick Wood suddenly remembered that he was not here to be a guest.His plan was more or less directed at Dowright Steinhor and his world-famous fortune. But, he just couldn't help it.He could hear -- even feel -- Betty's soft breath beside him.With such a light touch on her, the surrounding darkness, the room within the room, and the old brocade touching her in the secret room all gave hints.A faint light came through the opening of the curtain, and Betty turned her head quickly, and he could only see her one eye, which was full of panic.He knew she felt the same way, that they were equally caught off guard. "We'd better..." She opened her mouth suddenly, but stopped. The two waited. Yes, they were both waiting.What are you going to do?Yeah, what on earth are you going to do?Do you think the same as me?Or is it just me?Under the circumstances, in this wordless conversation, a few seconds—half a second really—seemed like minutes. He reached out a hand and put it on hers.She didn't pull her hand away, she just didn't move.His shoulder in his velvet dinner jacket rested on her arm covered in black veil. He felt her breathing change.Then he turned to face her, when an unexpected and new voice in the theater startled them both.The voice said loudly and clearly: "Hi," said the voice. "Someone left with the lights on."