加勒比海之谜27
时间：2026-01-04 07:19:51
（单词翻译:单击）
Eighteen
WITHOUT BENEFIT OF CLERGY
I
The beach was rather empty this morning. Greg was splashing in the wa-
ter in his usual noisy style, Lucky was lying on her face on the beach with
a sun- tanned back well oiled and her blonde hair splayed over her
shoulders. The Hillingdons were not there. Señora de Caspearo, with an
assorted bag of gentlemen in attendance, was lying face upwards and talk-
ing deep-throated, happy Spanish. Some French and Italian children were
playing at the water’s edge and laughing. Canon and Miss Prescott were
sitting in beach chairs observing the scene. The Canon had his hat tilted
forward over his eyes and seemed half asleep. There was a convenient
chair next to Miss Prescott and Miss Marple made for it and sat down.
“Oh dear,” she said with a deep sigh.
“I know,” said Miss Prescott.
It was their joint tribute to violent death.
“That poor girl,” said Miss Marple.
“Very sad,” said the Canon. “Most deplorable.”
“For a moment or two,” said Miss Prescott, “we really thought of leaving,
Jeremy and I. But then we decided against it. It would not really be fair, I
felt, on the Kendals. After all, it’s not their fault—It might have happened
anywhere.”
“In the midst of life we are in death,” said the Canon solemnly.
“It’s very important, you know,” said Miss Prescott, “that they should
make a go of this place. They have sunk all their capital in it.”
“A very sweet girl,” said Miss Marple, “but not looking at all well lately.”
“Very nervy,” agreed Miss Prescott. “Of course her family—” she shook
her head.
“I really think, Joan,” said the Canon in mild reproof, “that there are
some things—”
“Everybody knows about it,” said Miss Prescott. “Her family live in our
part of the world. A great-aunt—most peculiar—and one of her uncles
took off all his clothes in one of the tube stations. Green Park, I believe it
was.”
“Joan, that is a thing that should not be repeated.”
“Very sad,” said Miss Marple, shaking her head, “though I believe not an
uncommon form of madness. I know when we were working for the Ar-
menian relief, a most respectable elderly clergyman was afflicted the
same way. They telephoned his wife and she came along at once and took
him home in a cab, wrapped in a blanket.”
“Of course, Molly’s immediate family’s all right,” said Miss Prescott. “She
never got on very well with her mother, but then so few girls seem to get
on with their mothers nowadays.”
“Such a pity,” said Miss Marple, shaking her head, “because really a
young girl needs her mother’s knowledge of the world and experience.”
“Exactly,” said Miss Prescott with emphasis. “Molly, you know, took up
with some man—quite unsuitable, I understand.”
“It so often happens,” said Miss Marple.
“Her family disapproved, naturally. She didn’t tell them about it. They
heard about it from a complete outsider. Of course her mother said she
must bring him along so that they met him properly. This, I understand,
the girl refused to do. She said it was humiliating to him. Most insulting to
be made to come and meet her family and be looked over. Just as though
you were a horse, she said.”
Miss Marple sighed. “One does need so much tact when dealing with the
young,” she murmured.
“Anyway, there it was! They forbade her to see him.”
“But you can’t do that nowadays,” said Miss Marple. “Girls have jobs and
they meet people whether anyone forbids them or not.”
“But then, very fortunately,” went on Miss Prescott, “she met Tim
Kendal, and the other man sort of faded out of the picture. I can’t tell you
how relieved the family was.”
“I hope they didn’t show it too plainly,” said Miss Marple. “That so often
puts girls off from forming suitable attachments.”
“Yes, indeed.”
“One remembers oneself —” murmured Miss Marple, her mind going
back to the past. A young man she had met at a croquet party. He had
seemed so nice—rather gay, almost Bohemian in his views. And then he
had been unexpectedly warmly welcomed by her father. He had been suit-
able, eligible; he had been asked freely to the house more than once, and
Miss Marple had found that, after all, he was dull. Very dull.
The Canon seemed safely comatose and Miss Marple advanced tentat-
ively to the subject she was anxious to pursue.
“Of course you know so much about this place,” she murmured. “You
have been here several years running, have you not?”
“Well, last year and two years before that. We like St. Honoré very
much. Always such nice people here. Not the flashy, ultra-rich set.”
“So I suppose you know the Hillingdons and the Dysons well?”
“Yes, fairly well.”
Miss Marple coughed and lowered her voice slightly.
“Major Palgrave told me such an interesting story,” she said.
“He had a great repertoire of stories, hadn’t he? Of course he had trav-
elled very widely. Africa, India, even China I believe.”
“Yes indeed,” said Miss Marple. “But I didn’t mean one of those stories.
This was a story concerned with—well, with one of the people I have just
mentioned.”
“Oh!” said Miss Prescott. Her voice held meaning.
“Yes. Now I wonder—” Miss Marple allowed her eyes to travel gently
round the beach to where Lucky lay sunning her back. “Very beautifully
tanned, isn’t she,” remarked Miss Marple. “And her hair. Most attractive.
Practically the same colour as Molly Kendal’s, isn’t it?”
“The only difference,” said Miss Prescott, “is that Molly’s is natural and
Lucky’s comes out of a bottle!”
“Really, Joan,” the Canon protested, unexpectedly awake again. “Don’t
you think that is rather an uncharitable thing to say?”
“It’s not uncharitable,” said Miss Prescott, acidly. “Merely a fact.”
“It looks very nice to me,” said the Canon.
“Of course. That’s why she does it. But I assure you, my dear Jeremy, it
wouldn’t deceive any woman for a moment. Would it?” She appealed to
Miss Marple.
“Well, I’m afraid—” said Miss Marple, “of course I haven’t the experi-
ence that you have—but I’m afraid—yes I should say definitely not nat-
ural. The appearance at the roots every fifth or sixth day—” She looked at
Miss Prescott and they both nodded with quiet female assurance.
The Canon appeared to be dropping off again.
“Major Palgrave told me a really extraordinary story,” murmured Miss
Marple, “about—well I couldn’t quite make out. I am a little deaf some-
times. He appeared to be saying or hinting—” she paused.
“I know what you mean. There was a great deal of talk at the time—”
“You mean at the time that—”
“When the first Mrs. Dyson died. Her death was quite unexpected. In
fact, everybody thought she was a malade imaginaire—a hypochondriac.
So when she had the attack and died so unexpectedly, well, of course,
people did talk.”
“There wasn’t—any—trouble at the time?”
“The doctor was puzzled. He was quite a young man and he hadn’t had
much experience. He was what I call one of those antibiotics-for-all men.
You know, the kind that doesn’t bother to look at the patient much, or
worry what’s the matter with him. They just give them some kind of pill
out of a bottle and if they don’t get better, then they try a different pill.
Yes, I believe he was puzzled, but it seemed she had had gastric trouble be-
fore. At least her husband said so, and there seemed no reason for believ-
ing anything was wrong.”
“But you yourself think—”
“Well, I always try to keep an open mind, but one does wonder, you
know. And what with various things people said—”
“Joan!” The Canon sat up. He looked belligerent. “I don’t like—I really
don’t like to hear this kind of ill-natured gossip being repeated. We’ve al-
ways set our faces against that kind of thing. See no evil, hear no evil,
speak no evil—and what is more, think no evil! That should be the motto
of every Christian man and woman.”
The two women sat in silence. They were rebuked, and in deference to
their training they deferred to the criticism of a man. But inwardly they
were frustrated, irritated and quite unrepentant. Miss Prescott threw a
frank glance of irritation towards her brother. Miss Marple took out her
knitting and looked at it. Fortunately for them Chance was on their side.
“Mon père,” said a small shrill voice. It was one of the French children
who had been playing at the water’s edge. She had come up unnoticed,
and was standing by Canon Prescott’s chair.
“Mon père,” she fluted.
“Eh? Yes, my dear? Oui, qu’est-ce qu’il y a, ma petite?”
The child explained. There had been a dispute about who should have
the water-wings next and also other matters of seaside etiquette. Canon
Prescott was extremely fond of children, especially small girls. He was al-
ways delighted to be summoned to act as arbiter in their disputes. He rose
willingly now and accompanied the child to the water’s edge. Miss Marple
and Miss Prescott breathed deep sighs and turned avidly towards each
other.
©2005-2010英文阅读网