Chapter 91

第九十一章

第二天一清早，菲利普就起床为米尔德丽德收拾房间。他把那位一直照料他生活的妇人辞退了。大约六点光景，米尔德丽德来了。一直伫立在窗前向外张望的菲利普，连忙下楼开门，并帮她把行李拿上楼来。所谓行李，不过是三只用褐色纸包着的大包裹。因迫于生计，她不得不把一些并非必需的用品典卖了。米尔德丽德身上穿的还是昨晚那件绸衣裙，虽说眼下没施脂粉，但眼圈周围还是黑黑的，这显然是早上洗脸马虎而留下的印记。这使得她显得病恹恹的。她怀抱着孩子步出马车时的姿态凄楚动人。她显得有点儿腼腆。他们俩发觉没什么好说的，只是平平淡淡地互相寒暄了几句。

"啊，你到底来了。"

"我从来没在伦敦的这一带住过。"

菲利普领她去看房间。克朗肖就是在那个房间里咽气的。菲利普一直不想再搬回那个房间去住，虽说他也知道这种想法有些儿荒唐。自从克朗肖猝然弃世以来，他一直呆在那个小房间里，睡的是一张折叠床。当初，他是想让自己的朋友睡得舒适些才搬进那个小房间的。那个孩子安静地躺在她母亲的怀里。

"我想，你认不出她来了吧，"米尔德丽德说。

"打我们把她送到布赖顿起，我就没看见过她。"

"把她安顿在哪儿呀？她太沉了，时间长了，我可抱不动。"

"我恐怕还没置摇篮呢，"菲利普说话的当儿，局促不安地笑了笑。

"喔，她可以跟我睡。她一直是跟我睡的。"

米尔德丽德把孩子放在一张安乐椅里，随即目光朝房间四下里打量着。她认出房间里大部分陈设均是她在菲利普原来的住处见过的。只有一件没见过，那就是劳森去年夏天为菲利普画的那幅人头像，眼下悬挂在壁炉上方。米尔德丽德用一种不无挑剔的目光审视着这幅画像。

"从几个方面来说，我喜欢这张画。可从另一些方面来说，我又不喜欢它。我认为你要比这张画漂亮得多。"

"事情还真起了变化呢，"菲利普哈哈大笑，"你可从来没有当面说过我漂亮呀。"

"我这个人可没那个闲心思去为一个男人的相貌担忧。我不喜欢漂亮的男人。在我来看，漂亮的男人太傲慢了。"

说罢，她的目光扫视着房间，出乎女性的本能，她在寻找一面镜于，但是房间里却一面也没有。她抬起手拍了拍额前浓密的刘海。

"我住在这儿，别人会说什么呢？"她突然发问道。

"喔，这儿只住着另一个男人同他的妻子。他成天在外头，除了星期天去付房租外，其余的日子里我一直见不到他的妻子。他们夫妇俩从不跟人交往。打我住到这儿以来，我对他们中间的一位还没讲满两句话呢。"

米尔德丽德走进卧室，打开包裹，把东西安放好。菲利普试图读一点书，但无奈情绪亢奋，无心阅读。于是，他仰坐在椅子里，嘴里叼了支香烟，眼睛笑眯眯地凝视着熟睡的孩子。菲利普感到非常愉快。他自信他压根儿没有眷恋米尔德丽德之心。原先他对米尔德丽德所怀有的那种情感已荡然无存，对此，他也感到不胜惊讶。他隐隐约约觉得自己对她的肉体有种嫌恶的情绪，他想要是去抚摩她，他身上准会起鸡皮疙瘩。他猜不透自己究竟是怎么回事。就在这当儿，米尔德丽德随着一阵叩门声走了进来。

"我说呀，以后你进来就甭敲门了，"菲利普说，"每一个房间你都看过了吗？"

"我从来还未见过这么小的厨房呢。"

"到时你会发觉这个厨房大得足够你给我们俩烹制高级点心的了，"菲利普口气淡淡地顶了她一句。

"我看到厨房里啥也没有。我想还是上街去买些东西来。"

"是得去买些来。不过，对不起，我得提醒你花钱得算计着点。"

菲利普给了她些钱。她出门上街去了。半个小时以后，她就回来了，并把买来的东西往桌子上一放。因爬楼梯，此时她还直喘气呢。

"嘿，你身患贫血症，"菲利普说，"我得给你开些布劳氏丸吃吃。"

"我找了好一会儿才找到商店。买了点猪肝。猪肝的味儿挺鲜的，对不？再说也不能一下吃很多猪肝，所以说猪肝要比肉铺子里的猪肉上算得多。"

厨房里有个煤气灶，米尔德丽德把猪肝炖在煤气灶上以后，便走进房里来摊台布。

"你为什么只摊一块呢？"菲利普问道，"你自己不吃吗？"

米尔德丽德两颊绯红。

"我想兴许你不喜欢跟我同桌吃饭。"

"为什么会不喜欢跟你同桌吃饭呢？"

"嗯，我只是个用人，是不？"

"别傻里傻气的啦！你怎么会这么傻呢？"

菲利普粲然一笑，但是米尔德丽德那谦恭的态度在他心中激起了一阵莫名其妙的慌乱。可怜的人儿啊！他们俩初次见面时她的仪态至今还历历在目。菲利普沉吟了半晌才开腔说话。

"别以为我这是在给你施舍，"他说，"我们俩不过是做笔交易。我为你提供食宿，而你为我干活。你并不欠我什么东西。对你来说，也没有什么不光彩的。"

对此，米尔德丽德没有应声，然而，大颗大颗的泪珠顺着双额滚滚而下。菲利普根据在医院的经验得知，像米尔德丽德这一阶层的女人都把伺候人视为下品。菲利普不由得有点儿沉不住气了，但是他还是责怪自己，因为米尔德丽德显然是身子疲乏不舒服。他站了起来，走过去帮她在桌子的另一边也摊上块台布。这时，那孩子醒了。米尔德丽德预先已经给她准备下梅林罐头食品了。猪肝和香肠做好后，他们便坐下来吃饭。为了节约起见，菲利普把酒给戒了，只是喝点儿开水。不过，他家里还存有半瓶威士忌酒。于是他想喝上一点儿兴许对米尔德丽德会有好处。他尽力使这顿晚餐吃得愉快些，但是米尔德丽德却神情阴郁，显得精疲力竭的样子。一吃完晚饭，她便站起来，把孩子送回床上。

"我想你早些上床休息对你的身体会有好处的，"菲利普说，"你瞧上去累极了。"

"我想洗好碗碟后就去睡觉。"

菲利普点燃了烟斗，开始埋头看书。听到隔壁房间有人走动的声响是愉快的。因为有的时候，孤独感压得他喘不过气来。米尔德丽德走进来打扫桌子。耳边不时传来她洗涤时发出的碗碟磕碰声。菲利普暗自思忖着，竟穿着黑色绸衣裙打扫桌子，收拾碗碟，这正是她与众不同的个性特点，他想着想着不觉莞尔一笑。但是，他还得用功呢，于是捧着书走到桌子跟前。他正在研读奥斯勒的《内科学》。这本书深受学生欢迎，从而取代了使用多年的泰勒撰写的教科书。不一会儿，米尔德丽德走了进来，边走边放下卷起的袖子。菲利普漫不经心地瞥了她一眼，但没有移动。这个场面怪离奇的。菲利普感到有些儿尴尬，生怕米尔德丽德会认为他会出她的洋相，然而除了用满足性欲的办法之外，他又不知用什么办法去安抚她。

"喂，明天上午九时我有课，因此我得八点一刻就吃早饭。你来得及做吗？"

"哦，来得及的。怎么会来不及呢？我在国会大街时，每天早晨我都得赶到赫尔内山去乘八点十二分的车。"

"我希望你会发觉你的房间很舒服。今晚睡个长觉，明天你一定会大变样。"

"我想你看书看得很晚，是不？"

"我一般要到十一点，或十一点半左右。"

"那祝你晚安。"

"晚安。"

他们中间就隔着张桌子，但菲利普并没有主动伸出手去。米尔德丽德轻轻地把房门闭上了。菲利普听到她在卧室里走动的声响。不一会儿，耳边传来了米尔德丽德上床就寝时那张床发出的吱吱嘎嘎声。

 

Next day he got up early to make the room ready for Mildred. He told the woman who had looked after him that he would not want her any more. Mildred came about six, and Philip, who was watching from the window, went down to let her in and help her to bring up the luggage: it consisted now of no more than three large parcels wrapped in brown paper, for she had been obliged to sell everything that was not absolutely needful. She wore the same black silk dress she had worn the night before, and, though she had now no rouge on her cheeks, there was still about her eyes the black which remained after a perfunctory wash in the morning: it made her look very ill. She was a pathetic figure as she stepped out of the cab with the baby in her arms. She seemed a little shy, and they found nothing but commonplace things to say to one another.

‘So you’ve got here all right.’

‘I’ve never lived in this part of London before.’

Philip showed her the room. It was that in which Cronshaw had died. Philip, though he thought it absurd, had never liked the idea of going back to it; and since Cronshaw’s death he had remained in the little room, sleeping on a fold-up bed, into which he had first moved in order to make his friend comfortable. The baby was sleeping placidly.

‘You don’t recognise her, I expect,’ said Mildred.

‘I’ve not seen her since we took her down to Brighton.’

‘Where shall I put her? She’s so heavy I can’t carry her very long.’

‘I’m afraid I haven’t got a cradle,’ said Philip, with a nervous laugh.

‘Oh, she’ll sleep with me. She always does.’

Mildred put the baby in an arm-chair and looked round the room. She recognised most of the things which she had known in his old diggings. Only one thing was new, a head and shoulders of Philip which Lawson had painted at the end of the preceding summer; it hung over the chimney-piece; Mildred looked at it critically.

‘In some ways I like it and in some ways I don’t. I think you’re better looking than that.’

‘Things are looking up,’ laughed Philip. ‘You’ve never told me I was good-looking before.’

‘I’m not one to worry myself about a man’s looks. I don’t like good-looking men. They’re too conceited for me.’

Her eyes travelled round the room in an instinctive search for a looking-glass, but there was none; she put up her hand and patted her large fringe.

‘What’ll the other people in the house say to my being here?’ she asked suddenly.

‘Oh, there’s only a man and his wife living here. He’s out all day, and I never see her except on Saturday to pay my rent. They keep entirely to themselves. I’ve not spoken two words to either of them since I came.’

Mildred went into the bedroom to undo her things and put them away. Philip tried to read, but his spirits were too high: he leaned back in his chair, smoking a cigarette, and with smiling eyes looked at the sleeping child. He felt very happy. He was quite sure that he was not at all in love with Mildred. He was surprised that the old feeling had left him so completely; he discerned in himself a faint physical repulsion from her; and he thought that if he touched her it would give him goose-flesh. He could not understand himself. Presently, knocking at the door, she came in again.

‘I say, you needn’t knock,’ he said. ‘Have you made the tour of the mansion?’

‘It’s the smallest kitchen I’ve ever seen.’

‘You’ll find it large enough to cook our sumptuous repasts,’ he retorted lightly.

‘I see there’s nothing in. I’d better go out and get something.’

‘Yes, but I venture to remind you that we must be devilish economical.’

‘What shall I get for supper?’

‘You’d better get what you think you can cook,’ laughed Philip.

He gave her some money and she went out. She came in half an hour later and put her purchases on the table. She was out of breath from climbing the stairs.

‘I say, you are anaemic,’ said Philip. ‘I’ll have to dose you with Blaud’s Pills.’

‘It took me some time to find the shops. I bought some liver. That’s tasty, isn’t it? And you can’t eat much of it, so it’s more economical than butcher’s meat.’

There was a gas stove in the kitchen, and when she had put the liver on, Mildred came into the sitting-room to lay the cloth.

‘Why are you only laying one place?’ asked Philip. ‘Aren’t you going to eat anything?’

Mildred flushed.

‘I thought you mightn’t like me to have my meals with you.’

‘Why on earth not?’

‘Well, I’m only a servant, aren’t I?’

‘Don’t be an ass. How can you be so silly?’

He smiled, but her humility gave him a curious twist in his heart. Poor thing! He remembered what she had been when first he knew her. He hesitated for an instant.

‘Don’t think I’m conferring any benefit on you,’ he said. ‘It’s simply a business arrangement, I’m giving you board and lodging in return for your work. You don’t owe me anything. And there’s nothing humiliating to you in it.’

She did not answer, but tears rolled heavily down her cheeks. Philip knew from his experience at the hospital that women of her class looked upon service as degrading: he could not help feeling a little impatient with her; but he blamed himself, for it was clear that she was tired and ill. He got up and helped her to lay another place at the table. The baby was awake now, and Mildred had prepared some Mellin’s Food for it. The liver and bacon were ready and they sat down. For economy’s sake Philip had given up drinking anything but water, but he had in the house a half a bottle of whiskey, and he thought a little would do Mildred good. He did his best to make the supper pass cheerfully, but Mildred was subdued and exhausted. When they had finished she got up to put the baby to bed.

‘I think you’ll do well to turn in early yourself,’ said Philip. ‘You look absolute done up.’

‘I think I will after I’ve washed up.’

Philip lit his pipe and began to read. It was pleasant to hear somebody moving about in the next room. Sometimes his loneliness had oppressed him. Mildred came in to clear the table, and he heard the clatter of plates as she washed up. Philip smiled as he thought how characteristic it was of her that she should do all that in a black silk dress. But he had work to do, and he brought his book up to the table. He was reading Osler’s Medicine, which had recently taken the place in the students’ favour of Taylor’s work, for many years the text-book most in use. Presently Mildred came in, rolling down her sleeves. Philip gave her a casual glance, but did not move; the occasion was curious, and he felt a little nervous. He feared that Mildred might imagine he was going to make a nuisance of himself, and he did not quite know how without brutality to reassure her.

‘By the way, I’ve got a lecture at nine, so I should want breakfast at a quarter past eight. Can you manage that?’

‘Oh, yes. Why, when I was in Parliament Street I used to catch the eight-twelve from Herne Hill every morning.’

‘I hope you’ll find your room comfortable. You’ll be a different woman tomorrow after a long night in bed.’

‘I suppose you work till late?’

‘I generally work till about eleven or half-past.’

‘I’ll say good-night then.’

‘Good-night.’

The table was between them. He did not offer to shake hands with her. She shut the door quietly. He heard her moving about in the bed-room, and in a little while he heard the creaking of the bed as she got in.