Английский ЕГЭ - банк заданий - страница 328
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“My aunt will be down presently, Mr. Nuttel,” said Vera, a very self-possessed young lady of fifteen; “in the meantime you must try and put up with me.”
Framton Nuttel endeavoured to say the correct something which should duly flatter the niece without unduly discounting Mrs. Sappleton that was to come. Privately, he doubted more than ever whether these formal visits to total strangers would do much towards helping the nerve cure, which he was supposed to be undergoing.
“I know how it will be,” his sister said when he was preparing to migrate to this rural retreat; “you will bury yourself down there and not speak to a living soul, and your nerves will be worse than ever from moping. I'll give you letters of introduction to all the people I know there. Some of them, as far as I can remember, were quite nice.” Framton wondered whether Mrs. Sappleton fell into the nice division.
“Do you know many of the people round here?” asked Vera, when she judged that they had had sufficient silent communion.
“Hardly a soul,” said Framton. “My sister stayed here four years ago, and she gave me letters of introduction to some of the people here.”
“Then you know practically nothing about my aunt?” pursued the self-possessed young lady. “Her great tragedy happened just three years ago. Out through that French window, three years ago to a day, her husband and her two young brothers went off for their day's shooting. They never came back. In crossing the moor to their favourite sniping ground, they were engulfed in a treacherous piece of bog. Their bodies were never recovered. That was the most dreadful part of it.”
Here the child's voice lost its self-possessed note and became falteringly human.
“Poor aunt always thinks that they will come back someday, her husband with his white waterproof coat over his arm, her brothers and the little brown spaniel that was lost with them. They'll walk in through that window just as they used to do. That is why the window is kept open every evening until dusk. Sometimes on still, quiet evenings like this, I almost get a creepy feeling that they will all walk in through that window...”
She broke off with a little shudder. It was a relief to Framton when the aunt bustled into the room with a whirl of apologies for being late in making her appearance.
“I hope you don't mind the open window,” said Mrs. Sappleton briskly; “my husband and brothers will be home soon, and they always come in this way. They've been out for snipe in the marshes today.” She rattled on cheerfully about the shooting and the scarcity of birds, and the prospects for duck in the winter. To Framton it was all purely horrible.
“The doctors agree in ordering me complete rest, an absence of mental excitement, and avoidance of any physical exercise,” announced Framton, who laboured under the tolerably widespread delusion that chance acquaintances are hungry for the least detail of one's ailments, their causes and cure. “On the matter of diet they are not so much in agreement,” he continued.
“No?” said Mrs. Sappleton, in a voice which only replaced a yawn at the last moment. Then she suddenly brightened into alert attention but not to what Framton was saying.
“Here they are at last!” she cried. “Just in time for tea.”
Framton shivered slightly and turned towards the niece with a look intended to convey sympathetic comprehension. The child was staring out through the open window with a dazed horror in her eyes. In a chill shock of nameless fear, Framton swung round in his seat and looked in the same direction.
In the deepening twilight three figures were walking across the lawn towards the window, they all carried guns under their arms, and one of them was additionally burdened with a white coat hung over his shoulders. A tired brown spaniel kept close at their heels.
Framton grabbed wildly at his stick and hat; the hall door, the gravel drive, and the front gate were dimly noted stages in his headlong retreat.
“Here we are, my dear,” said the bearer of the white mackintosh, coming in through the window. “Who was that man who bolted out as we came up?”
“A most extraordinary man, a Mr. Nuttel,” said Mrs. Sappleton; “could only talk about his illnesses, and dashed off without a word of goodbye or apology when you arrived. One would think he had seen a ghost.”
“I expect it was the spaniel,” said Vera calmly; “he told me he had a horror of dogs. He was once hunted into a cemetery by a pack of dogs and had to spend the night in a newly dug grave with the creatures snarling just above him. Enough to make anyone lose their nerve.”
Romance at short notice was her speciality.
(Adapted from ‘The Open Window’ by H.H. Munro)
Framton Nuttel went to stay in the countryside…
