Chapter 8 chapter eight

Of course, I never imagined that life in Manderley could be so orderly and rigid!Looking back today, I still remember the first morning: Maxim got up early, got dressed before breakfast, and started writing letters.It took a long time after nine o'clock before I hurried downstairs in response to the sound of small gongs.By this time he had almost finished his breakfast and was peeling fruit. He looked up at me with a smile and said, "Don't mind it, you've got to get used to it. I don't have time at this time of day. You know, managing a house as big as Manderley requires all your time. The coffee and the hot dishes are on the sideboard. We don't have a servant at breakfast." I told him my clock was slow and the shower was taking me longer, but he didn't listen, he hung his head Read a letter and frown for some reason.

I also distinctly remember being impressed, even a little overwhelmed, by the abundance of the breakfast. There was hot tea and coffee in a large silver pot; scrambled eggs and sausages sizzled and steamed on the stove, and fish was another hot dish; a nest of boiled eggs; porridge in one silver bowl; ham and a side of frozen sausages on another sideboard; honey pot.At both ends are bowls of fruit piled high.I find it strange that when Maxim only ate a sandwich roll and fruit for breakfast in Italy and France, and only drank a cup of coffee, he came home with such a rich breakfast, enough to feed a dozen people.Day after day, year after year, maybe he is used to it, and he doesn't think it is a waste at all.

I noticed he had a small piece of fish and I had a boiled egg.What to do with so much leftover food?These scrambled eggs, crispy sausages, porridge, leftover fish.Maybe there are some poor people at the back door of the kitchen who I don't know and will never meet in my life, waiting for alms, or else, throw all these things into the trash can and be done?Of course I have no way of knowing.I dare not ask at all. "Thank God I don't have many relatives to trouble you," said Maxim. "I've only got one older sister that I don't see often, an old grandmother who's almost blind. By the way, my sister Beatrice didn't come and said she'd come for lunch. I expected her to. She probably wanted to see her." meet you."

"Are you coming today?" My mood suddenly dropped to freezing point. "Yes. I got a letter from her this morning, saying she's coming today. But she won't be here long. I think you'll like her. She's very straightforward, she says what she thinks, she's not one of those A hypocritical character. If she doesn't like you, she'll tell it to your face." These words did not give me much comfort. On the contrary, I thought it would be better if a hypocrite would at least not expose me to my face. Maxim stood up and lit a cigarette. "I've got a lot of business to attend to this morning. You go play by yourself, okay?" he said. "I was going to take you for a walk in the garden, but I have to meet the head steward, Crowley. I haven't been here for a long time. Oh, by the way, Crawley is here for lunch too, you won't Oppose it? Can you deal with it?"

"Of course not," I said. "I'd be very happy." He picked up the letter and went out of the room.I remember being disappointed because I had imagined that on the first morning we would go for a walk by the beach arm in arm and not come back until we were exhausted.Because we came back late, the lunch was already cold, so we ate alone together.Had lunch.We sat and rested under the chestnut tree outside the library window. I ate this first breakfast for a long time, deliberately waiting for the time, until Frith came in and looked at me from behind the waiter's curtain, and I realized that it was past ten o'clock.I jumped up, feeling guilty, and said a few words of apology for sitting so long at the table.Frith bowed to the ground without saying a word, he was always so polite, his words and deeds were just right.However, I caught a flash of surprise in his eyes.Could it be that what I just said was wrong again?Maybe I shouldn't apologize at all.In this way, I lowered my status in his eyes.How I wish I could grasp the measure and know what to say and do at the time and place.It seemed that Frith, like Mrs. Danvers, was doubting my identity; and he saw that ease, grace, and self-confidence were by no means my qualities.It was something that would take me a long time, perhaps through painful training, and to learn this, I would have to suffer and pay the price.

And it is true.When I walked out of the room with my head down, I stumbled on the steps by the door. Frith ran to help me and picked up the handkerchief that fell on the floor for me, while the young servant named Robert stood in front of the curtain. Behind his back, he hurriedly turned his face away so that I wouldn't see him sniggering. As I walked across the hall, I also heard two whispers, and one of them, presumably Robert again, laughed.They were probably laughing at me.I went upstairs and wanted to be alone in my bedroom for a while.But as soon as I opened the door, I found that the maids were cleaning the room, one sweeping the floor and the other mopping the dressing table.The two looked at me in astonishment.I hurried back out.It turned out that I was wrong again. I shouldn't have gone to the bedroom at this time of the morning. No one thought that I would go there rashly. What I did just now violated Manderley's daily routine.

I had no choice but to go downstairs again lightly. Fortunately, I was wearing slippers and walked on the stone slab without making any noise.I went into the library, where the windows were wide open, and the fire was stacked but not lit, so that it was cold. I closed the window and looked around for a box of matches, but I couldn't find it, and I didn't know what to do for a while.I don't want to ring the bell.But the library, which was cozy and warm with a burning fire last night, is now like an icehouse. There must be matches upstairs in the bedroom, but I don't want to bother the maids with their round faces staring at me too much.I decided to get matches from the sideboard after Frith and Robert had left the dining room, so I tiptoed into the hall and listened.They were still packing, and I heard them talking; and the clatter of pallets.After a while, everything became quiet. The two must have entered through the waiter's special door and headed towards the kitchen.I walked across the hall and into the restaurant again.Sure enough, there was a box of matches on the sideboard, and I hurried across the room, grabbing them.But at this moment, Frith came back again.I sneaked the matchbox into the bag, but it was too late, and I saw him give my palm a surprised look.

"What do you want, ma'am?" he asked. "Ah, Frith," I was ashamed. "I'm looking for matches." He immediately took out a box of matches and handed them to me, along with cigarettes.This again really embarrassed me because I don't smoke. "Ah, no," I said. "The thing is, it's very cold in the library. Maybe it's because I've just come back from abroad and I think it's cold here, so I want to light a fire." "The fire in the library is usually lit in the afternoon, ma'am. Mrs. de Winter always used the morning room, so a fire is already lit in the gallery at this moment. Of course, if you order a fire to be lit in the library, I will order it to be done at once." .”

"Oh, no," I said. "I didn't mean that. Well, Frith, thank you, I'll go to the morning room now." "If you want paper, pens, and ink, they're all there, ma'am," he said. "Mrs. de Winter used to be there after breakfast to write letters and telephone, and if you had any orders for Mrs. Danvers, the house intercom was there." "Thank you, Frith," I said. I turned and walked into the hall humming a little tune to embolden myself.Of course I couldn't tell him that I hadn't been to the morning room yet, and that Maxim hadn't shown me there the night before.I knew he was standing at the entrance of the restaurant, watching me go down the hall, so I had to put on an air of familiarity.There was a door at the left-hand end of the grand staircase, and I walked recklessly toward it, praying that I was right.But as soon as I opened the door, I found that it was a garden storeroom, filled with miscellaneous odds and ends: a table for pruning flowers; wicker chairs piled against the wall; two or three hanging on nails Tape raincoat.I stepped back, pretending to be defiant, and glanced down the hall to see Frith still standing there.That said, nothing I did could escape his eyes.

"Madam, you should take the door on the right, the door on the side of the stairs, through the drawing-room, into the morning room. You should go straight through the small drawing-room, and then turn to the left." "Thank you, Frith," I said humbly, without putting on a show. I followed his instructions and walked through the large living room.It was a beautiful house, well proportioned, with a lawn that sloped down to the beach.I think this place is probably open to the public, and if Frith is the tour guide, he must be familiar with the history of every painting on the wall and the production period of every piece of furniture in the room.Indeed, the room was beautiful, as I could see, and the tables and chairs might be priceless, but I would not linger here, and I could never conceive myself sitting in them, or standing on them. This finely carved fireside put the book in his hand on the table next to him.The room is as solemn as a showroom in a museum.In one of those showrooms there are ropes drawn in front of the alcoves, and on chairs at the door sit a watchman in a cloak and a wide-brimmed hat, like the guards of a French chateau.

I hurried through the drawing room, turned left, and finally came to this morning room which I had not yet seen. It made me feel better to see the two dogs squatting before the fire.The puppy Jesper immediately ran towards me wagging his tail and put his nose into my hand. The old bitch just raised her nose when she heard me coming, and turned her blind eyes towards the direction I entered the door.It sniffed for a while, and realized that I was not the one it was waiting for, so it grunted, turned its head away, and stared at the fire again in a trance.Then Jesper left me too, and ran to settle down beside the old dogs, licking themselves, who, like Frith, knew that the library didn't light a fire until the afternoon, and so had long been in the habit of running. Come to the morning room to pass the habit of the morning time. For some reason I guessed before I reached the window that there must be heather outside the room.Sure enough, under the open window gathered great clusters of heather, as red as blood, such flowers as I had seen yesterday evening. They have spread and invaded the driveway.There is a small piece of grass in the middle of the flowers, which is as flat as a carpet of bitter freshness.In the middle of the lawn stood a small statue of a satyr playing bagpipes.The statue is set against the scarlet heather, and the small grass is like a stage, where he dances and performs. This room, unlike the library, does not have that musty smell.There are no chairs that have been sat on for a long time, and there are no tables full of books and newspapers.There were books and newspapers spread out in the library, which were not actually read by anyone, but were just old habits, and Maxim's father, perhaps even his old grandfather, liked to put on the show. The morning room is full of femininity, elegant and charming.It was evident that the mistress of the room had carefully selected every piece of furniture, so that the chairs, the vases, and even every little knick-knack here were in harmony with each other and with her own character.I seem to see her pick out the treasures she likes most one by one with her brilliant intuition among the treasures in Manderley's collection, leaving aside all the second-rate and ordinary things; Sure, I seemed to hear her ordering: "I want this, and this, and this." The room was furnished in a cohesive style, the furniture all from the same generation.The room was therefore surprisingly beautiful and impeccable, not at all rigid and indifferent like the living room which was open to the public.The rooms are vivid, bright and radiant, a bit like the great clusters of heather under the windows. I also noticed that the heather didn't just fill the grass outside the window, but had already invaded the interior of the room. The pretty face was looking down at me from the mantelpiece; there was also a large bottle on the coffee table by the sofa; Beside the golden candlesticks, there are also their slim figures.Heather was everywhere in the room, and even the walls were blood-red, so rich and dazzling in the morning sun.The heather was the only flower in the room. I wondered if this was a deliberate arrangement. Maybe the room was furnished in such a way that it was only for the heather?Otherwise why are there no heather in the other rooms?There were also flowers in the dining-room library, but they were neatly trimmed and set in place to complement them, not as much heather as here. I walked over and sat down at the desk.To my surprise, this colorful and exquisite room is also used as a place for business.I had thought that a room furnished with such tasteful taste, though profusely rich in flowers, was merely a place for the display of ornamental beauty, and for private repose in languor.But this writing desk, although delicate and delicate, is by no means a woman's gadget. You sit by it, bite the pen holder, write short notes by hand, then throw the blotting paper crookedly, and go on. Walk away casually.There is a pigeonhole-style file rack on the writing desk, and there are labels such as "Letter to be answered", "Letter to be kept", "Housework", "Grange", "Menu", "Miscellaneous", and "Correspondence Address" The label was written in a thin cursive script with which I was already familiar. The instant recognition of the handwriting startled me, as I had not seen it since the title pages of the volume were destroyed. Besides, , I didn't expect to see it again. I opened a drawer indiscriminately, and saw her handwriting again.This time it appeared in an open leather-covered journal titled "Guests at Manderley", organized by week and month, recording the names of the guests who came and went, the rooms they stayed in and their meals .I flipped through the pages and found that the booklet recorded the situation of the guests coming and going to and from Mandali throughout the whole year.In this way, the hostess only needs to open the booklet to know which guest has stayed at her house on which day until today, or even until now.Which room does the visitor stay in, and what kind of meals the hostess prepares for him.In the drawer there was also some white letter paper, for cursive writing by heavy penholders, and home letterhead with heraldry and address on it, and white business cards in little boxes. I took one out of the box and unwrapped the tissue paper."Mrs. M. de Winter" was printed on the card, and "Manderley" was also written in the corner of the card.I put the business card back in the locket and close the drawer.Suddenly, a sense of guilt came over me; as if I were a guest in someone's house, and the hostess said to me: "Of course, go and write at my desk." But I was sneaking around. Peeking at her private messages is really an unforgivable act.Now she may come into the room at any time and find me sitting at the writing desk, opening her drawers with impertinence. Suddenly, the phone on the desk in front of me rang loudly, and I jumped up in fright, thinking that F had been caught.With trembling hands, I picked up the receiver and asked, "Which one? Who are you looking for?" There was a strange humming sound from the other end of the line, and then a low and rough voice: "Is that Mrs. de Winter? "I couldn't make out whether it was a man or a woman who spoke. "I'm afraid you are mistaken," I said. "It has been more than a year since Mrs. de Winter passed away." I sat on my seat, silently looking at the microphone, waiting for the other party to answer.It wasn't until the other party raised my voice slightly in a bewildered tone, and asked for my name again, that I realized that I had slipped my tongue and made an irreparable mistake, so I blushed suddenly. The other party said on the phone: "Ma'am, this is Mrs. Danvers, and I'm talking to you on the intercom." It will make myself further embarrassing, even though the embarrassment I made just now is quite good.So I stammered my apologies: I'm sorry, Mrs. Danvers.I was startled by the ringing of the phone, and I didn't understand what nonsense I was talking about.I didn't expect you were talking to me. I didn't know it was an internal call. " She replied: "Madam, please forgive me for disturbing you." I think she must have guessed that I was rummaging through the things on the writing desk here.Then she said: "I just want to ask, are you looking for me, is today's menu satisfactory?" "Ah," I said. "Ah, I'm sure it will. I mean I'm completely happy with the menu. You'll see. Mrs. Danvers, don't ask my advice. " "I think you'd better look over it," continued the other. "It's sitting on the blotting table near you." Fumbling around to the left, I finally found this piece of paper that I hadn't noticed before, and I glanced at it: curried lobster, roast beef, asparagus, chocolate custard, and so on.Whether this is lunch or dinner, I don't know.Probably lunch. "Very well, Mrs. Danvers," I said. "It's a good fit, really good." "If you want to change dishes, please tell them, and I will ask them to do so right away. Please take a look, I left a blank next to the word seasoning, whichever you like, please fill in it. I don't Know what kind of sauce you're used to with your roast beef. Mrs. de Winter used to be so particular about sauces that I never had to ask her to decide." "Uh," I said. "Well, this . . . let me think about it. I can't tell, Mrs. Danvers. I reckon you'll do it the usual way. You'll see what Mrs. de Winter likes." "Have you no particular preferences of your own, madam?" "No, no. I really can't tell, Mrs. Danvers." "If Mrs. de Winter was alive, I reckon she'd order wine sauce." "Then use this seasoning meter." "Excuse me, madam, for interrupting you while you are writing." "No, no, don't say that, you didn't bother me at all." "We send letters at noon here, and Robert will take the letters you need to pay for, and he will also take care of postage stamps. All you have to do is give him a call.If you have any urgent mail to pay, he will send someone to the post office immediately to send it. " "Thank you, Mrs. Danvers." After I finished, I waited with the receiver in hand, but she said nothing more.I didn't put down the receiver until I heard the other party hang up with a beep. My eyes turned back to the writing desk, to the stationery and blotting-stands which were always at hand.The pigeonhole file rack in front of me seemed to be staring at me, with labels saying “Pending Letters,” “Grange,” “Miscellaneous,” and so on, blaming me for sitting around doing nothing.The woman who used to sit in my seat didn't waste time like me. She reached out and grabbed the receiver of the intercom phone, and gave orders crisply and decisively. Lose.She doesn't just say, "Yes, Mrs. Danvers", "Of course, Mrs. Danvers", like I do.When the phone call was over, she began writing letters, five, six, seven, on and on, in that unusual italic hand I had become familiar with.She tore off the smooth white letter paper one by one.At the bottom of each personal letter she signed her name: Rebecca.The slanted R letter is particularly tall, compared with the other letters look very small. I tapped my fingers on the desk.The file shelves are empty, there are no letters to answer, and I don't know of any bills to pay.Just now Mrs. Danvers said that if there is any urgent mail to be paid, you can call Robert and he will send it to the post office.Rebecca must have had a lot of urgent mail to pay in the past, and I don't know who the letters were addressed to.Perhaps to the tailor: "That white satin dress must be done on Thursday." Or to the barber: "Next Friday I have my hair done, ask Mr Anthony to wait for me at three o'clock in the afternoon, and I will wash it Hair, massage, perm, manicure." No, no.Letters of this kind took no time, she just needed Frith to connect to London and make a phone call. Frith would tell the other party on the phone: "Mrs. de Winter wants me to inform you..." I tapped my fingers on the desk.I can't think of anyone I need to write a letter to.Only Mrs. Van Hopper.At this moment, in my own home, sitting at my own desk, I have too much time to write a letter to Mrs. Van Hopper, a woman whom I loathe and shall never see again!Thinking of this, I feel a little absurd, what a great irony! I took a piece of letter paper, picked up a fine-bore, shiny-tipped fountain pen, and began to write: "Dear Mrs. Van Hopper."I wrote on and off, laboriously, in letters wishing her a pleasant journey, that her daughter be in better health than ever, and that the weather in New York be fine and warm.As I wrote, I noticed for the first time in my life that my handwriting was crooked and out of shape, without character or style, or even that of an educated hand.Only a poor student in a second-rate school could write this handwriting.