W. Somerset Maugham: Novels, Short Stories, Plays & Travel Sketches (33 Titles In One Edition). Уильям Сомерсет Моэм

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СКАЧАТЬ be alarmed.”

      “I’m not alarmed, but I suppose I shall have to give up hunting for at least a month.”

      Edward was driven to Dr. Ramsay, who bandaged him and sent him back to Court Leys. Bertha was surprised to see him in a dogcart. Edward by now had recovered his good temper, and explained the occurrence, laughing.

      “It’s nothing to make a fuss about. Only I’m bandaged up so that I feel like a mummy, and I don’t know how I’m going to get a bath. That’s what worries me.”

      Next day Arthur Branderton came to see him. “You’ve found your match at last, Craddock.”

      “Me? Not much! I shall be all right in a month, and then out I go again.”

      “I wouldn’t ride him again, if I were you. It’s not worth it. With that trick of his of swinging his leg, you’ll break your neck.”

      “Bah,” said Edward, scornfully. “The horse hasn’t been built that I can’t ride.”

      “You’re a good weight now, and your bones aren’t as supple as when you were twenty. The next fall you have will be a bad one.”

      “Rot, man! One would think I was eighty; I’ve never funked a horse yet, and I’m not going to begin now.”

      Branderton shrugged his shoulders, and said nothing more at the time, but afterwards spoke to Bertha privately.

      “You know, I think, if I were you, I’d persuade Edward to get rid of that horse. I don’t think he ought to ride it again. It’s not safe. However well he rides, it won’t save him if the beast has got a bad trick.”

      Bertha had in this particular great faith in her husband’s skill. Whatever he could not do, he was certainly one of the finest riders in the county; but she spoke to him notwithstanding.

      “Pooh, that’s all rot!” he said. “I tell you what, on the 11th of next month we go over pretty well the same ground; and I’m going out, and I swear he’s going over that post and rail in Coulter’s field.”

      “You’re very incautious.”

      “No, I’m not. I know exactly what a horse can do. And I know that horse can jump if he wants to, and by George, I’ll make him. Why, if I funked it now I could never ride again. When a chap gets to be near forty and has a bad fall, the only thing is to go for it again at once, or he’ll lose his nerve and never get it back. I’ve seen that over and over again.”

      Miss Glover later on, when Edward’s bandages were removed and he was fairly well, begged Bertha to use her influence with him.

      “I’ve heard he’s a most dangerous horse, Bertha. I think it would be madness for Edward to ride him.”

      “I’ve begged him to sell it, but he merely laughs at me,” said Bertha. “He’s extremely obstinate and I have very little power over him.”

      “Aren’t you dreadfully frightened?”

      Bertha laughed. “No, I’m really not. You know he always has ridden dangerous horses and he’s never come to any harm. When we were first married I used to go through agonies. Every time he hunted I used to think he’d be brought home dead on a stretcher. But he never was, and I calmed down by degrees.”

      “I wonder you could.”

      “My dear, no one can keep on being frightfully agitated for ten years. People who live on volcanoes forget all about it; and you’d soon get used to sitting on barrels of gunpowder if you had no armchair.”

      “Never!” said Miss Glover, with conviction, seeing a vivid picture of herself in such a position.

      Miss Glover was unaltered. Time passed over her head powerlessly; she still looked anything between five-and-twenty and forty, her hair was no more washed-out, her figure in its armour of black cloth was as juvenile as ever; and not a new idea nor a thought had entered her mind. She was like Alice’s queen, who ran at the top of her speed and remained in the same place; but with Miss Glover the process was reversed: the world moved on, apparently faster and faster as the century drew near its end, but she remained fixed—an incarnation of the eighteen-eighties.

      The day before the 11th arrived. The hounds were to meet at the Share and Coulter, as when Edward had been thrown. He sent for Dr. Ramsay to assure Bertha that he was quite fit; and after the examination, brought him into the drawing-room.

      “Dr. Ramsay says my collar-bone is stronger than ever.”

      “But I don’t think he ought to ride the roan notwithstanding. Can’t you persuade Edward not to, Bertha?”

      Bertha looked from the doctor to Edward, smiling. “I’ve done my best.”

      “Bertha knows better than to bother,” said Edward. “She don’t think much of me as a churchwarden, but when a horse is concerned, she does trust me; don’t you, dear?”

      “I really do.”

      “There,” said Edward, much pleased, “that’s what I call a good wife.”

      Next day the horse was brought round and Bertha filled Edward’s flask.

      “You’ll bury me nicely if I break my neck, won’t you?” he said, laughing. “You’ll order a handsome tombstone.”

      “My dear, you’ll never come to a violent end. I feel certain you will die in your bed when you’re a hundred and two, with a crowd of descendants weeping round you. You’re just that sort of man.”

      “Ha, ha!” he laughed. “I don’t know where the descendants are coming in.”

      “I have a presentiment that I am doomed to make way for Fanny Glover. I’m sure there’s a fatality about it. I’ve felt for years that you will eventually marry her, and it’s horrid of me to have kept you waiting so long—especially as she pines for you, poor thing.”

      Edward laughed again. “Well, good-bye!”

      “Good-bye. Remember me to Mrs. Arthur.”

      She stood at the window to see him mount, and as he flourished his crop at her, she waved her hand.

      The winter day closed in and Bertha, interested in the novel she was reading, was surprised to hear the clock strike five. She wondered that Edward had not yet come in, and ringing for tea and the lamps, had the curtains drawn. He could not now be long.

      “I wonder if he’s had another fall,” she said, with a smile. “He really ought to give up hunting, he’s getting too fat.”

      She decided to wait no longer, but poured out her tea and arranged herself so that she could get at the scones and see comfortably to read. Then she heard a carriage drive up. Who could it be?

      “What bores these people are to call at this time!”

      As the bell was rung, Bertha put down her book to receive the visitor. But no one was shown in; there was a confused sound of voices without. Could something have happened to Edward after all? She sprang to her feet and walked half across the room. СКАЧАТЬ