Chapter 7 Chapter VII

We returned to Manderley in early May, arriving, according to Maxim, with the first swallows and hyacinth flowers.This is the most wonderful season before midsummer: the azaleas are fragrant in the valley, and the blood-red heather is in full bloom. I remember that it was a rainy morning. We left London and drove home. At about five o'clock in the afternoon, we had almost arrived in Manderley, just in time for afternoon tea.To this day, I still remember how I looked, dressed as usual, not like a bride, even though we had only been married for seven weeks: a gray-yellow blouse, a stone marten collar, and a A shapeless tape raincoat, too big and ill-fitting, dragging down to the ankles.I thought at the time that wearing such a raincoat would show the bad weather in London; and because the raincoat was long, it would make my figure appear taller.In my hand I held a pair of arm-length gloves and a large leather bag.

"It's rain in London," said Maxim as we set off. "Just wait and see, when we get close to Manderley, it will be sunny and sunny." He was right, and when we got to Exeter, the dark clouds were left behind, drifting farther and farther, overhead It is a blue sky with a white road ahead. I am so happy to see the sun.Because of superstition, I have always regarded the rain as a bad omen, and the leaden sky in London has made me unhappy. "Feel better?" Maxim asked me.I smiled at him, held his hand, and thought how easy it would be for him to go back to my own home: stroll into the hall, pick up the backlog of letters, and ring the bell to order refreshments.

But for my embarrassment, how much can he guess?He just asked me, do I feel better?Does this mean that he understands my mood at the moment? "It's okay, we'll be there soon. I think you need some refreshment." He let go of my hand, because there was a curve ahead, and the car had to slow down. That's when I realized that he thought I was tired, so he didn't speak. It never occurred to me that I was as afraid of reaching Manderley at this moment as I was yearning for her theoretically.As soon as that moment comes, I'd like it to move back. It would be better for us to be together in a coffee-room at a random inn by the side of the road, by an impersonal fire.I'd rather be a passing inn, a bride in love with her husband, than the wife of Maxime de Winter, new to Manderley.We drove through bright villages, where the windows of the farmhouses looked hospitable.A peasant woman, with a baby in her arms, stood at the door and smiled at me; a man, with a bucket in his hand, clattered across the path towards the well.

How I wish we could be one of them, or their neighbours.In the evening, Maxim leaned against the farmhouse door, smoking his pipe, proud of the strong and tall sunflower he planted himself.And me?I busied myself in the well-swept kitchen, setting the table for dinner.On the dressing table, an alarm clock ticked away peacefully.There was also a row of well-polished dishes.After dinner Maxim read his paper with his boots on the fire grill.I took a whole lot of mending from a cabinet drawer.There can be no doubt that such a life is peaceful and orderly, and free from rigid rules. "Only two miles away," Maxim told me. "Do you see that long line of trees over there? From the top of the hill there slopes down to the valley, and beyond it is the sea. That's Manderley, and those trees are Manderley's woods."

I forced a smile and didn't answer.All I felt was a panic, an uncontrollable dizziness.All the rapturous excitement and blissful pride evaporated.I was like a toddler being led to her first day of school, and like an immature young maid leaving home for the first time in search of a job.The paltry amount of self-control that had been acquired with difficulty in the short seven weeks of their marriage was now a shred of cloth shaking in the wind.I seem to have forgotten even the most basic rules of conduct. I may not be able to distinguish between my left and right hands later on, whether I should stand or sit down, and which spoon and fork I should use when eating, will all be messed up.

"As I say, take off the tape raincoat," he said, looking me over from head to toe. "It's not raining at all here. Also, straighten your ridiculous leather neckerchief. Poor little darling, I dragged you home in such a hurry. It seems that you should have bought some clothes in London. " "As long as you don't mind, I don't care," I said. "Most women only think about what they're wearing all day," he said absently.After turning the corner, we came to an intersection.Here is the beginning of a high wall. "Here we go!" He said with a hitherto unheard of excitement as I gripped the car's leather seats with both hands.

The car turned into a curve, and there were two large iron gates in front of the left, next to the janitor's house.The iron gate was wide open, and there was a long driveway after entering the gate.As the car drove in, I saw several prying faces behind the darkened windows of the concierge.A child came out from behind the house, watching with wide-eyed curiosity.I hurriedly shrank back into the chair, my heart pounding.I know why these people poke their heads, and why children stare.They wanted to see what I looked like, and might be laughing and talking about it in the kitchenette now: "Only the top of her hat," they'd say. "She refuses to show her face. It doesn't matter, I can know the face of this person tomorrow, and there will be news from the house."

Perhaps, he finally sensed my timid embarrassment, so he took my hand, kissed it, and said with a smile: "People here are a little curious, don't mind. Everyone wants to see it." Seeing how you look, they probably haven't talked about it for a few weeks. If you're sincere and natural, they'll all like you. As for the housework, you don't have to worry about it at all. Mrs. Danvers will take care of everything, let her Go handle it. I think she'll be hard on you at first. She's got a weird personality. But you don't mind, that's just the way she is. See those shrubs? When the hydrangeas bloom, they're The surrounding bushes are like a dark blue wall."

I didn't say anything.I thought again of the scene of buying color picture postcards in that small country shop many years ago: rubbing the postcards with my fingers, I walked out of the shop and came into the bright sunlight, feeling secretly proud: it would be appropriate to include this picture in the album, " Manderley", what a beautiful name!But now Manderley is my home!I will write to my friends: "We will stay in Manderley all summer, please come and play." The driveway is new and strange to me now, but I will be very familiar with it in the future I know where there is a turn, where there is a corner; where the gardener has trimmed a bush, and where a branch has been cut, I can see at once.I walked down the driveway into the concierge by the iron gate, and asked warmly, "How's your leg feeling today?" Then the old lady would stop being curious about me and welcome me into the kitchen.I envied Maxim, for his carefree poise and the smile that showed that he was happy to be home.

When will I be as poised as he is, with such a smile on my lips?It seems that this is too far away. How I wish I could get to this point soon.But at the time, I felt like I was dumbfounded in panic.As long as I can get rid of this embarrassment, I would even rather become a gray-haired, shambling old woman who has lived in Manderley for a long time. The iron gate slammed shut behind us, and the dusty road was no longer in sight.I found that the driveway was very different from what I had imagined.I thought Manderley's drive must be a broad road, graveled, and trimmed lawn on either side;But it was not like this, but twisted forward like a snake, and in some places was not much wider than a path.There are two rows of big trees beside the road, the branches are swaying and intertwined, forming a thick shade like a dome of a church, and we are like walking through the archway.The green foliage was so thick that even the midday sun couldn't see through it, except for occasional dappled, flickering warm golden lights on the driveway.It was very quiet all around, and there was no sound.There was a westerly wind blowing merrily on the highway, making the grass bow and dance along the roadside, but there was no wind in the driveway.Even the car's engine had changed its tune. It hummed softly instead of roaring as loudly as before.

The driveway slantly stretches towards the valley, and a large group of trees presses towards them, among which there are tall and huge beech trees with smooth and lovely white trunks, supporting countless branches one after another.There are also many trees that I can't name.They were coming at me, and I could touch them with my hand. We continued on, passing a small bridge over a narrow stream.The path, which was not at all a driveway, was still winding forward, like an enchanted ribbon, through the dark and silent grove, and was undoubtedly reaching into the heart of the wood.There is no open space to see from the left and right, and no houses can be seen. The drive was long and never ending, and my nerves were beginning to give way.I think, if you turn this corner, or go a little further, and make a circle, you will be able to see the end.But every time I rose from my chair, I was again disappointed: no house or field, no comforting open garden, and still a dead forest all around.The two large iron gates have become a passing memory, and the road outside the gate is farther away, as if it belongs to another world. Suddenly, I saw a small piece of bright sky ahead of the dark drive, and suddenly the dark woods began to thin out, and the nameless bushes disappeared.Beside the road is a blood-red wall that is far higher than the head. It turns out that we have come to the heather bushes.Heather appears so suddenly that it not only disorients you, it even surprises you.The car was driving into the woods just now, and I didn't expect such a strange scene to appear at all.The heather was as red as blood and it really scared me.There are clusters of heather, which are incredibly lush, with no leaves or branches, only a blood-red color that symbolizes killing, because it is too rich and colorful, it looks very weird, not at all like the heather flowers I have seen before . I glanced at Maxim, who smiled and asked me, "Do you like it?" I panted and replied: "I like it." I don't know if I'm telling the truth.I have always regarded heather as an ordinary house flower, either purple or light red, neatly arranged in a circular flowerbed.But the heather here is not a plant at all, but a towering dense mass of monstrosities, unnaturally beautiful and unbelievably large. At this time we were not far from the house.Sure enough, as I expected, the lane changed from narrow to wide, stretching towards an open field. Surrounded by blood-red heather on both sides, we turned the last corner and finally reached Manderley!Ah, Mandali, it really looks like what I imagined, the majestic mansion on the color picture postcard many years ago, elegant, exquisite, flawless, more perfect than the image I saw in my dream!The house is surrounded by flat grass and carpet-like lawns, and sits in between; the courtyard terrace slopes to the garden, and the garden leads to the sea.We drove up the wide stone steps and finally stopped in front of the open front door.Then, through a mullioned window, I saw that the hall was full of people.I heard Maxim swear in a low voice, "Damn woman, she knows I don't like this." Then he slammed the car to a halt. "What's going on?" I asked. "Who are those people?" "It seems that you have to brace yourself now," he said to me angrily. "Mrs. Danvers gathered the whole family and the servants in the manor to welcome us. It's all right, you don't need to speak, I will take care of everything." I fumbled for the handle of the car door, a little panicked, and also, because of the long-distance car ride, my body was shivering.While I was fumbling with the car door lock, the head butler led a footman down the steps and he opened the car door for me. The manager is an old man with a very kind face.I smiled up at him and held out my hand.He probably didn't see it, but he just picked up the blanket and my small makeup box, helped me out of the car, and turned his face to Maxim. Maxim, taking off his gloves, said to the steward: "Hello, Frith, we're back. It rained when we left London, so it doesn't look like it's raining here. How is everyone?" "All right, sir, thank you for your interest. Yes, it hasn't rained here, and it's been mostly sunny for a month. I'm glad to see you back, and I hope you are in good health. I hope your wife is also well." "We are both in good health, thank you, Frith. It's just that I'm a little tired from the long drive and want to drink tea. I didn't expect this," Maxim said, turning his head towards the hall. . "Sir, this is Mrs. Danvers's order." The steward said with no expression on his face. "I guessed it," Maxim said bluntly, then turned his face and beckoned me into the room, "Come on, it won't take much time anyway, and drink tea when we're done." We climbed the stone steps together, Frith and his footman followed behind with blankets and my tape raincoat.I also felt a dull pain in my chest, and at the same time, my throat was astringent and sad because of the tension. Until now, when I close my eyes and recall the day when I first arrived in Manderley, I can still imagine myself at that time: wearing tights, holding a pair of arm-length gloves in sweaty hands, thin and frail, showing embarrassment, Stand on the threshold.Closing my eyes, I saw the stone hall again.Several imposing doors opened into the adjoining library.On the walls of the hall are the works of Peter Riley and Van Dyke.An exquisite and luxurious staircase leads to the Bard's Gallery.In the hall, a large group of people stood in the front row and the back row, all the way to the stone-built market road and restaurants over there.These people stared at me with open mouths and curious expressions, like spectators watching a good show around the guillotine, and I was like a prisoner with his hands tied behind his back waiting to be executed. ① Peter Riley (1618-1680), a famous Dutch portrait painter. ②Van Dyck (1599-1641), a famous portrait and landscape painter born in Belgium. A man stepped out of the line.This person was thin and tall, dressed in dark black clothes, with protruding cheekbones, paired with two big deep-set eyes, making him look no different from a pale skull face. she came towards me.I held out my hand to her, envious of her noble and serene attitude.She held my hand, and what I was holding on to was a limp and heavy drooping hand, cold as death and lifeless. "This is Mrs. Danvers," Maxim introduced to me. Without withdrawing her dead hand, she began to speak, her deep-set eyes fixed on mine.I couldn't bear her gaze, and finally looked away.Only then did her hands squirm and regain their vitality. I felt uncomfortable all over, and at the same time, I was gradually becoming filthy. I can't recall her exact words at the moment, but I do remember that she welcomed me to Manderley in her own name and on behalf of all the employees and servants.It was a rehearsed greeting of courtesy, a kind of dry bureaucracy. Her voice was as cold and lifeless as her hands.After she finished speaking, she waited, as if expecting my reply, and I remember how I blushed, stammered a few words of thanks, and dropped my gloves on the ground in my panic.She bent down and picked up the glove for me.As she handed me the gloves, I saw a faint, contemptuous smile on her lips.I immediately guessed that she must be laughing at my lack of education. Her expression was a little strange, which made me unable to concentrate. Even after she returned to the servants, this black figure still stood out and was different. Free, although she is silent, I know she is still staring at me. Maxim took my arm and said a few words of appreciation.He spoke very naturally, without embarrassment, as if giving a speech was a breeze.After saying this, he hugged me into the library to drink tea, and closed the door behind him, and we were finally alone together again. Two spaniels came running from the fire to meet us, scratching Maxim with their front paws, pulling back their long soft-coated ears affectionately, and calling his hand.Afterwards, the dog abandoned Maxim and ran up to me, calling my heels, looking suspicious and wary.The bitch, who was blind in one eye, soon got tired of me, and with a grunt, went back to the fire.But Jesper the puppy put his nose in my palm, his chin on my lap, and made out with me, and when I stroked his soft ears, his eyes showed deep spirituality, and he slapped He flicked his tail flicking. I took off my hat, took off my sad little scarf, and threw it together with my gloves and bag on the seat by the window.Only then did I feel better.It was a deep, comfortable room, with shelves lined against the walls, piled up to the ceiling; such a library a single man would never want to leave in his life.Beside the great fireplace stood a thick armchair, and a pair of crates for the two dogs.But it seems they never went in the crates, because the chairs had quite a few dents.It means that they often rest here.The long windows faced the lawn, and the lawn looked out, and the sea shone in the distance. There was a peaceful old smell in the room.Despite the constant display of lilacs and roses in early summer, the air in the room never seemed to change.The air from the garden or the sea, which loses its freshness as soon as it enters the house, becomes part of this unchanging library, mingling with the musty collection of books that are never read, and the cartouche ceiling. , blended with the light black wainscot paneling and heavy curtains. It was an old moss-like smell, which you often smell in churches where services are rarely held, where moss grows on rocks and vines surround windows.The library is such a quiet place, a place for trance meditation. After a while, refreshments came.Frith and the young footman arranged everything solemnly, and I stood aside, waiting for them to leave.Maxim was leafing through a pile of letters, and I was drinking scalding hot tea with dripping pancakes and crumble cakes in my hands. From time to time he looked up at me, smiled at me, and then went back to reading the letter.These letters are presumably a backlog accumulated over the past few months.Thinking of this, I feel that I know so little about his life in Manderley, his day-to-day routine, his boyfriend and girlfriend, his expenses and how he manages his family.The past few weeks flew by as I snuggled up to him as we drove through France and Italy, thinking only of how much I loved him.I saw Venice through his eyes, echoed his every word, asked no questions about the past or the future, and was content with the present, with this little glory. He was much more lively and gracious than I had originally imagined.He showed his youth and enthusiasm in various ways, and he was not at all like when we first met, he was not at all the blank-eyed, mysterious stranger who occupied a table in the restaurant.He was my Maxim, who laughed, sang, threw stones into the water, took my hand, stretched his brow, lifted the burden off his shoulders.I regard him as a lover, a friend.In those few weeks, I forgot his old orderly routine, which had to start all over again, just like before, and these weeks were just fleeting holidays, suddenly forgotten . I watched him read the letter.Sometimes he frowned, sometimes smiled, and sometimes threw the letter aside with a blank expression.I think, if it were not for the merciful God, my letter from New York must be among this mass of geese and fish at this moment, and he would treat it with the same indifference, perhaps at the beginning. Confused, then yawned, threw the letter into the wastebasket, and reached for the teacup.Thinking of this, I shudder, how dangerous, almost, at this moment he will drink tea here alone, go on with his life, maybe don't think of me very much, at least he doesn't feel regretful; and what about me?I played bridge with Mrs. Van Hopper in New York, and I waited day after day for the reply that never came. I leaned back in the chair and looked around, trying to instill some confidence in myself.Make yourself aware that you are indeed at Manderley, in the mansion on the picture postcard, in the famous Manderley estate.I had to try to convince myself that everything here really belonged to me, his as well as mine.The wide and comfortable chair in which I am sitting now, and so many books up to the ceiling, and the pictures on the walls, and the garden, and the woods, and all that I have read about Manderley, are mine, because I am Maxim's wife. Time flies.Here, we will grow old together.And then we'll be sitting in the library drinking tea like this, Maxim and myself.The dog and us are companions, and that will be the descendant of the present two dogs.The library will still have the same old musty smell that it has now.There will come a day when the house will be a mess and a mess, and that's when the kids—our sons—are not grown up.I seem to see the little ones wearing muddy boots, sprawled on the sofa, bringing a lot of clubs, cricket bats, jackknives, bows and arrows into the house.The table over there is so shiny and smooth at the moment.Then there will be on the table a big ugly box for butterflies and moths, and another for birds' eggs, wrapped in coarse cotton.At that time, I will say to the children, "This mess doesn't stay here. Take it away, baby, and put it in your own study." Listen to me, and the children roar out of the house , and the youngest brother was toddling behind him, much quieter than his elder brothers. The sound of the door opening interrupted my reveries, and Frith and his footman came in to clear the tea things.When the collection was over, Frith said to me, "Ma'am, Mrs. Danvers asked if you would like to see your room." Maxim raised his head from a pile of letters and asked, "How are the rooms in the east wing decorated?" "My lord, it seems to me that the decoration is very well done. Of course, when the work was going on, there was a mess there. Mrs. Danvers was concerned that the work would not be completed before your return.However, the craftsmen finally finished their work on Monday. I think you'll be quite comfortable on that side, my lord.The light is better over there. " "Are you doing a lot of building and remodeling here?" I asked. Maxim replied curtly, "Nothing, just repainting the East Wing suite for us to use. Frith is right, it's much more refreshing to live there, and you can see the roses from the room." The garden is beautiful. When my mother was alive, that side of the room was reserved for guests. Well, when I finish reading these letters, I will go upstairs to find you. Go, this is a good opportunity, and find a way to talk to Danforth. Ma'am make friends." I stood up slowly, and the nervous panic came back again.I went into the hall, wishing I could wait for Maxim when he had finished reading the letter, and take his arm to look at the rooms together, rather than follow Mrs Danvers around alone. At this moment, the hall was empty of people, and it looked very empty.My steps hit the stone slabs, and the echoes echoed to the roof. The sound made me very guilty, like people walking in church, very uncomfortable, very restrained.Flip clap, clap clap.What a nasty sound.Frith in felt boots must think I look like a fool. "This hall is really big, isn't it?" I unnaturally put on a cheerful voice, still looking like a schoolgirl.Unexpectedly, he replied very solemnly: "Yes, ma'am, Manderley is a big mansion. Of course it is not as grand as some mansions, but it is quite magnificent. In ancient times, this was a banquet hall. Now when there are big occasions, such as It is said that the hall is still used for banquets or dances. In addition, my wife probably knows that Manderley is open once a week for public visits." "Yeah, I know," I replied, still embarrassed by the patter of my footsteps.It seemed to me that he led me on as if he were a tour guide for a public guest, and that I myself behaved like a stranger: politely glancing here and there, browsing the various weapons and paintings hanging on the walls, stroking the Carved stair railing. At the stairs, a man in black stood waiting for me, staring at me with two deep-set eyes on his pale skeleton face.I turned back to appeal to the impassive Frith, but he had already crossed the hall and disappeared into the corridor over there. Now only Mrs. Danvers and I are left.I followed her up the magnificent grand staircase, and she waited motionless, her hands folded on her chest, and she never took her eyes off my face.I forced a smile, but she didn't smile back, and I couldn't really blame her, because there was no reason for the smile at this time, it was just a foolish disguise for a happy mood. "Did I keep you waiting?" She replied, "Madam, it's up to you how you like to spend your time. I'm just doing what you want." She turned and walked through the arches of the gallery and into the hallway over there .We went down a wide carpeted passage, turned left, and entered an oak door.After entering the door, there are two symmetrical escalators, first going down, then going up, very narrow, and finally coming to a door.She flung the door open and sideways let me in.This is a small and exquisite front room, or boudoir for women to rest and make up, furnished with a sofa, some chairs, and a writing table.This room leads to an adjoining spacious double bedroom.The bedroom has large windows and connects to a bathroom.Once inside, I walked up to the window and looked out at the view, below, of the rose garden and the eastern half of the terrace.Beyond the garden was a flat meadow leading to the nearby woods. "Well, you can't see the sea from here," I said, turning to Mrs. Danvers. "Yes, out of sight. Not only can't you see the sea from this side of the house, you can't even hear the waves. You don't even think that the sea is near at all from this side." The way she spoke was very special, as if there was something in her words.She puts particular emphasis on the words "this side of the room," as if to suggest to me that the apartment we're now in is inferior. "It's a pity. I love the ocean," I said. She didn't answer, still staring at me, still clasping her hands across her chest. "It's a nice room, though," I said. "It's sure to be very comfortable here. I heard everything was put together before we got back." "Yes," she said. "What was this room like in the past?" I asked. "There are fuchsia wallpapers here, as well as various curtains, curtains, etc. Mr. De Winter thinks the room is not bright enough, so he doesn't use this room much except for occasional guests. This time, De Winter In the letter, Mr. specifically instructed that the two of you will live here." "So this isn't his old bedroom," I said. "No, ma'am. He never used the east wing before." "Oh. But he never told me about it." I wandered over to the dressing table and started combing my hair.My luggage was unpacked and ready, the hairbrushes and combs were in the tray, and Maxim had given me a set of hairbrushes, which were now displayed on the dressing-table for Mrs Danvers's eyes.These are brand new brushes, expensive and something I'm proud of. "Alice opened your luggage for you. Alice will attend to you until your maid arrives," said Mrs. Danvers. I smiled at her again, put the brush on the dressing table, and said awkwardly, "I don't have a maid. Is Alice the housemaid here? Let her serve me." She had the same expression on her face as when we first met and I awkwardly dropped my gloves. "I don't think it's going to work in the long run," she said. "You know that a lady of your stature must have a maid." I blushed all the time, and reached out to get the brush again.There was a thorn in her words, I knew that.I avoided her gaze and replied: "If this is absolutely necessary, then please take the trouble to do it for me, just find any girl who wants to go out and find something to do." "If that pleases you," she said, "please order." For a while, neither of them spoke.I want her to go away.I don't understand why this woman keeps standing like this, with her hands folded in front of her black dress, staring at me intently. "Have you been coming to Manderley for a long time?" I said. "Probably stayed longer than anyone else, didn't you?" "No! Frith came before me," her voice was lifeless, so cruel, exactly like her hands that had been in my palm. "Frith came while the old man was alive, when Mr. de Winter was a boy." "Oh, that's right," I said. "You came after that." "Not bad," she said. "After that." I looked up at her again, and once again met a pair of gloomy eyes on her pale face.It was these eyes, for some reason, that made me feel strangely uneasy, and had a premonition that something bad was about to happen.I wanted to put on a smiling face, but I couldn't.Those eyes took me all over, those dull eyes, devoid of any sympathy! "I came just when the first Mrs. de Winter was married." As I said above, her voice has always been monotonous and flat, but when she said this sentence, her voice suddenly became sharp and fierce. It was both angry and allegorical, and even the bony and pale cheekbones were smeared a little. color. This change came so suddenly that I was startled and even a little scared.I don't know what to do, what to say.She seemed to have uttered a few unspoken words.These words have been buried deep in her heart for a long time, and now she can't hold back anymore.Her eyes were still fixed on my face, and there was a strange mixture of pity and contempt in her eyes.Under her gaze, I felt that I was more immature than I had imagined, and I really knew too little about the various ways of life in life. I could see that she looked down on me. People in her position are very snobbish, and it was obvious at a glance that I was not a lady at all, but a cowardly and weak woman of low status.But besides contempt, there was always something else in her eyes, whether it was definite hatred or sheer malice. I've got to find something to say, but I can't just sit around and play with my hairbrush all the time and show her that I'm both afraid and wary of her. "Mrs. Danvers," I said as I listened, "I hope we can get to know each other and get on with each other. You'll have to be patient with me, for this life is quite new to me and very different from what it used to be." Same. I must try to get used to my new life here; of course, the first thing is to make Mr. de Winter happy. I know that all domestic arrangements can be left to you, Mr. de Winter told me that. , you can manage it according to the old rules, and I will not raise any objections." I stopped, out of breath.I don't know if it's appropriate to say this or not.When I raised my head again, she had already walked away, and she was standing by the door holding the doorknob with her hand. "Okay," she said. "I hope everything will be as you wish. I have been housekeeper for more than a year, and Mr. de Winter has never expressed dissatisfaction. Of course, things were very different when the late Mrs. de Winter was alive. Back then, often Entertaining guests and holding banquets, even though I am in charge of things for her, she always likes to personally intervene in such big occasions." I realized again that she was choosing her words carefully, as if exploring a path to my heart.She stared at my face to see what effect the words had had on me. "I'd rather have you in charge, I'd rather have it," I repeated. Again there was that expression on her face that I had noticed earlier, that first handshake in the hall: utter mockery, unmistakable contempt.She knows that I dare not challenge her; she sees that I am afraid of her. "Anything else to order?" she asked.I pretended to look around and said, "It's nothing. There is everything.I will definitely feel very comfortable living here.You make the house so beautiful. “后面一句完全是奉承；为取得她的好感，我作了最后一次尝试。可她依旧扳着脸，耸耸肩说：”我只不过是按德温特先生的吩咐办事罢了。 " 她手按门把，在门旁流连不去，像是还有什么要对我说，可又拿不。定主意如何措词，所以就等着我再说些什么，好让她见缝插针。 我但愿她快点走开。她像个影子，站在那儿一直盯着我看，骷髅脸上深陷的双眼端详着我。 “您要是发现什么不称心的地方，务请立刻吩咐，好吗？”她问。 “好的，好的。丹弗斯太太，”我嘴上这么说，可心里明白这并不是她想说的话。 如此一间一答之后，又是冷场。 “如果德温特先生问起他那口大衣橱，”她突然转了话题，“请转告说衣橱太大，无法搬动。我们试了一下，因为门太窄，衣橱搬不进来。这里的房间比西厢的房间小。 倘若他对这套房间的布置不满意，请他告诉我。我可真不知道该怎么布置这些房间才好。 " “别担心，丹弗斯太太，”我说，“我想他一定会非常满意。只是让你们辛苦了。 我根本不知道他要你们重新装修布置这套房间。其实用不着如此兴师动众，要是让我住西厢，我一样会感到很满意，很舒服。 " 她用奇怪的目光打量着我，开始扭动房门的把手。“德温特先生说您想住在这一侧。 西厢的房间历史悠久，大套间的卧室比这间屋子大一倍，天花板上雕着漩涡花饰，非常华贵。用花毯披挂的椅子全是珍品；壁炉也是雕花的。那个房间是全宅最漂亮的，窗外是草坪，草坪再往外就是大海。 " 听了这些话，我觉得很不是滋味，甚至有些羞愧。她为什么带着忿忿然的口吻说话，一边还暗示安顿我的这个房间比较低劣，够不上曼陀丽的标准，只不过是为一个二流角色准备的二流房间而已。 “德温特先生大概是想把最漂亮的房间留着让公众参观吧？”我说。她仍在扭动房门的把手，听到我说话，便又抬头看我，盯着我的双眼，在回话前沉吟了半晌。当她回话时，她的声音竟比先前更沉静，语调也更平板：“卧室是从来不让公众参观的；只向外开放大厅、画廊和楼下的房间。”说到这儿，她顿了一顿，暗暗察看我的反应。“德温特夫人在世时，他们夫妇俩住在西厢，我刚才对您说起的面向大海的那个大房间就是德温特夫人的卧室。” 这时，我看到她脸上掠过一个阴影。她退到墙角，尽量不使自己显眼。原来，外面响起了脚步声，迈克西姆进屋来了。 他问我：“怎么样？行吗？称心吗？” 他环顾房间，高兴得像个小学生，接着说道：“我一直认为这是最美的房间，这些年来一直当客房使用，真可惜了。不过我总觉得有朝一日会用上这个房间的。丹弗斯太太，你干得着实出色，我给你打满分。” “谢谢，老爷，”她面无表情地答道，然后转过身，走出房间，轻轻带上了门。 迈克西姆走到窗口，探身看外面的景色。“我爱这玫瑰园，”他说。“我对童年的回忆之一就是跟着母亲在玫瑰园里玩，那时候腿骨还不硬，摇摇晃晃地学走路，妈妈在一旁摘去凋谢的玫瑰花穗。这房间有一种和平、幸福的气氛，而且宁静。在这儿，你根本想不到只消走五分钟便可到达海边。” “丹弗斯太太也这么说，”我告诉她。 他从窗边走开，在房间里踱来踱去，摸摸家具，看看墙上的画片，一会儿又走去把衣橱打开，摸摸已经放好的我的衣服。 他突然问道：“跟丹弗斯太太这老婆子相处得怎么样？” 我转过脸去，又一次对镜梳头发：“她的态度好像有点生硬。”半晌，我又接着说，“也许她以为我要干预这儿的家务。” “这个我看她才不在乎呢，”他说。我抬起头来，恰好看见他盯着镜子里的我瞧。 接着，他又转身走向窗边，一边低声吹着口哨，把身体重量压在脚跟上，一前一后摇晃。 “别管她，”他说。“从很多方面看，这人是有点古怪。别的女人想要跟她处好关系，看来挺不容易。对于这一点，你切不要注意。如果此人实在惹你讨厌，把她赶走得了。不过，你知道，她办事干练，可以代你管家，免得你操心。我看她对其他仆人一定相当霸道，只是还没敢霸到我头上来。她要是敢对我放肆，我早就让她滚蛋了。” “我看，等她了解我以后，也许能够处好关系，”我赶快接着说。“刚开始时，她有点儿讨厌我毕竟还是很自然的。” “讨厌你，为什么讨厌你？你说这话到底是什么意思？” 他从窗口转过身来，愠怒地皱着眉头，脸色异常。对这句话他竟这样在乎，我不理解，可同时我又希望自己没说刚才那句话。 “我是说，对一个管家，照顾单身男子毕竟比较容易，”我说。“我看她已习惯于这一套，可能怕我干预得太过分。” “太过分？上帝啊……要是你以为……”他的话只开了一个头就打住了。他从房间那头走过来，吻着我的前额。 “把丹弗斯太太给忘了吧，”他说。“我对她可不感兴趣。来，让我带你看看曼陀丽去。” 那天晚上，我再也没见到丹弗斯太太，我俩也没再谈论这个人。思想上已把她驱开，我觉得轻松多了，那种把自己看作外来侵犯者的感觉也才淡漠一些。而当迈克西姆搂着我的肩，带我在楼下的房间里四处浏览的时候，我才开始觉得自己终于有点儿像理想中的角色，开始把曼陀丽当作自己的家了。 我的脚步落在大厅的石板上不再发出异样难堪的响声。这会儿迈克西姆打着钉子的皮鞋发出的声音比我的脚步响得多。还有那两条狗啪嗒啪嗒的脚步声，听着既使人安适，又很悦耳。 使我高兴的另一个原因是，这是我俩在曼陀丽度过的第一个夜晚。我们刚回家就忙着浏览墙上的绘画，花去不少时间，所以迈克西姆看看钟说，时间来不及了，晚饭前不必更衣。这么一来，省得我受窘。要不然，那个名叫艾丽斯的使女肯定要问我换哪一套衣服，还要帮我穿着。而我就只得穿上范?霍珀夫人赐的那套衣服（这套衣服她女儿穿着不合身），裸着双肩，忍着寒冷，走下长长的一段楼梯，到大厅去吃饭。我方才就一直担心，生怕一本正经坐在这庄严肃穆的餐厅里用膳。可现在，因为不用更衣，一切又变得轻松而自然，同两人在外面上餐馆没什么两样。穿着原来的紧身衣，我觉得舒服。 我笑着谈论在意大利和法国的见闻，我们还把旅途拍的照片放在桌上。弗里思和跟班就像餐馆里没有个性的侍者一样，他们不会像丹弗斯太太那样瞪眼看我。 饭后，我俩坐在藏书室里。一会儿，窗帷放下了，壁炉里添了柴火。虽然已是五月，夜晚仍寒气逼人，幸好炉火熊熊，给我温暖。 饭后两人这样坐在一起还是头一回。在意大利，我们或步行或驾车出去兜风，进小咖啡馆去打发时间，或者并肩斜靠在桥上。 迈克西姆本能地朝壁炉左方他的位子上走去，伸手拿起报纸。他把一个宽大的杭垫塞在脑袋后边，点燃一支香烟。我暗暗想：“这是他的老习惯，多少年来他每天都这样。” 他不朝我这边看，径自读报，露出心满意足、非常舒服的样子。回家来恢复了原先的生活方式，他又是一家之主了。 我坐在一边，双手托着腮帮子沉思。我爱怜地抚摸着长耳狗柔软的耳朵。这时我突然想到，我并不是第一个懒洋洋靠在这张椅子上的人。在我之前，已有人坐过这椅子，椅垫上肯定留下过她身子的印痕；她的手曾搁在这儿的扶手上；她曾从同一具银质咖啡壶中往外斟咖啡，把杯子送到唇边；同我此刻的姿势一样，她也曾俯身去爱抚长耳狗…… 我下意识地打了个寒噤，似乎有人在我背后打开了门，引进了股冷风。我是坐在吕蓓卡的椅子上，斜靠着吕蓓卡的椅垫。长耳狗跑来把头搁在我膝上，因为这是它的老习惯，它还记得过去就在这个地方，她曾给它吃糖。