Гилберт Кит Честертон – Сельский вампир и другие истории Отца Брауна / Vampire of the Village and other Father Brown Stories. Уровень 3 (страница 2)

He sat looking at the landscape as it fell past the window, and then said more sharply:‘I am coming down here, and asking your help, because there’s going to be an exhumation. They think that he has been poisoned.’

‘And here we are at the station,’ said Father Brown happily. ‘I suppose your idea is that poisoning the poor man would be among the household tasks of his wife.’

‘Well,there never seems to have been anyone else here[29] who had any connection with him,’ said Mulborough, as they got off the train. ‘At least there is one strange old friendof his, a broken-down actor, hanging around; but the police and the local lawyer seem sure thathe is an unbalanced gossiper; with some obsession on an argument with an actor who was his enemy; but who certainly wasn’t Maltravers. A repeating case, I should say, and certainly nothing to do with the problem of the poison.’

Father Brown had heard the story.But he knew that he never knew a story until he knew the characters in the story[30]. He spent the next two or three days visitingthe main actors of the drama. His first interview with the strange widow was short but bright. He brought away from it at least two facts; one that Mrs Maltravers sometimes talked in a way which the Victorian village would call sarcastic; and, second, that unlike few actresses, she happened to belong to his own church[31].

He was right not to figure out from this alone that she was innocent of the said crime. He knew well that his old church had several notable poisoners. But he easily understood its connection, in this sort of case, with a certain intellectual liberty which these Puritans would call immorality; and which would certainly seem to them to be almost cosmopolitan. Anyhow, he was sure she could count for a great deal, whether for good or evil. Her brown eyes were brave to the point of battle, and her mouth, playful and rather large, suggested that her purposes touching the priest’s poetical son,whatever they might be[32], were of pretty deep nature.

The priest’s poetical son himself, asked during vast village scandal on a bench outside the Blue Lion, gave an impression of low mood. Hurrel Horner, a son of theRev.[33] Samuel Horner, was a strong young man in a light grey suit with a touch of something extravagant in a light green tie, in other casesmainly notable for his brown hair and a permanent grimace on his face. But Father Brown had a way with him in getting people to explain at length why they didn’t want to say anything. About the general gossiping in the village, the young man began to curse freely. He even added a little gossip of his own. He told with anger about some past relationship between the Puritan Miss Carstairs-Carew and Mr Carver the lawyer. He even accused that legal character of having attempted to force himself[34]to befriend with Mrs Maltravers. But when he came to speak of his own father, whether out of good manners or loyalty, or because his anger was too deep for speech, he said only a few words.

‘Well, there it is. He holds to the opinion that she is anadventuress; a sort of barmaid with golden hair. I tell him she’s not; you’ve met her yourself, and you know she’s not. But he won’t even meet her. He won’t even see her in the street or look at her out of a window. An actress would make his house and even his holy presence dirty. If he is called a Puritan he says he’s proud to be a Puritan.’

‘Your father,’ said Father Brown, ‘is supposed to have his views respected, whatever they are;they are not views I understand very well myself[35]. But I agree he is not supposed to say anything about a lady he has never seen and then refuse even to look at her, to see if he is right. That is illogical.’

‘That’s his strongest point,’ replied the young man. ‘Not even one quick meeting. Of course, he is against my other theatrical tastes as well.’

Father Brown quickly followed up the new opening, and learnt much that he wanted to know. The young man was almost entirely into dramatic poetry. He had written tragedies in verse which had been liked by good judges. He was no fool with fear of stage; indeed he was no fool of any kind. He had some really original ideas about acting Shakespeare;it was easy to understand his having been extremely glad by finding the brilliant lady[36] at the Grange. And even the priest’s intellectual sympathy softenedthe rebelof Potter’s Pond so much that at their parting[37] he actually smiled.

It was that smile which made Father Brown realize that the young man was really unhappy.So long as he frowned, it might well have been only low spirit[38]; but when he smiled it was somehow a more real sign of sadness.

The priest continued to think about that conversation with the poet. An inner feeling told himthat the strong young manwas eaten from within by some grief[39]greater even than the ordinary story of ordinary parents being a difficultyto the course of true love. It was all the more so, because there were not any other reasons. The boy already had literary and dramatic success; his books might be said to be very popular. Nor did he drink or spend away his well-earned money[40]. At his well-knownvisits at the Blue Lion he drank only one glass of light ale; and he seemed to be rather careful with his money. Father Brown thought of another possible difficulty in connection with Hurrel’s large earnings and small expenses; and his brow darkened[41].

The conversation of Miss Carstairs-Carew,on whom he called next[42], was made to paint the priest’s son in the darkest colours[43]. But because it was about him having all the vices which Father Brown was quite sure the young man did not have[44], he put it down to a usualmix of Puritanism and gossip. The lady, though big, was quite elegant, however, and offered the visitor a small glass of port-wine and a piece of seed-cake, in the manner of everybody’s oldest great-aunts, before he managed to avoid a speech about the general fall of morals and manners[45].

His next place of visit was very much of a contrast[46]; because he went down a dark and dirty street, where Miss Carstairs-Carew would have refused to follow him; and then into a small house made noisier by a high voice on a top floor… From this he left, with a rather confused expression along with a very excited man who had a blue chin and a black with a trace of bottle-green jacket, shouting loudly:‘He did not disappear! Maltravers never disappeared! He appeared:he appeared dead and I’ve appeared alive. But where’s all the rest of the company? Where’s that man, that monster, who on purposestole my lines, spoiled my best scenes and ruined my career? I was the best Tubal that ever walked the stage. He played Shylock – he didn’t need to act much for that! And so with the greatest opportunity of my whole career[47]. I could show you cuttings from newspapers[48] on my acting of Fortinbras – ’

‘I’m quite sure they were great and very well-deserved,’ said the little priest. ‘I understood the company had left the village before Maltravers died. But it’s all right. It’s quite all right.’ And he began to walk down the street with speed again.

‘He was to act Polonius[49],’ continued the unstoppable speakerbehind him. Father Brown suddenly stopped dead[50].

‘Oh,’ he said very slowly, ‘he was to act Polonius.’

‘That villain Hankin!’ screamed the actor. ‘Follow him.Follow him to the ends of the earth[51]! Of course he’d left the village; trust him for that[52]. Follow him – find him; and may the curses – ’But the priest was again running away down the street.

Two much simpler and perhaps more practical conversations were after this emotional scene. First the priest went into the bank, where he spent ten minutes with the manager; and then made a very polite call to the old and nice clergyman. Here again all seemed very much as described, without changeand that cannot be changedas one might think; a touch or two of faith from more harsh traditions, in the small crucifix on the wall, the big Bible on the bookshelf and the old gentleman starting with regret that people don’t respect Sunday enough; but all with a flavour of politeness, a little delicacy and style.

The clergyman also gave his guest a glass of port-wine; but with it he gave an old British biscuit instead of seed-cake. The priest had again the weird feeling that everything was almost too perfect, and that he was living a century before his time. Only on one point the nice old clergyman refused to be nicer than that; he kindly but firmly said that he would not meet a stage player. However, Father Brown put down his glass of port-wine with thanks; and went off to meet his friend the doctor at the corner of the street; from wherethey were to go together to the offices of Mr Carver, the lawyer.

‘I suppose your trip was not interesting,’ began the doctor, ‘and you've found it a very boring village.’

Father Brown’s reply was quick and almost shrill. ‘Don’t call your village boring. I am sureit’s a very unusual village indeed[53].’

‘I’ve been working with the only unusual thing that ever happened here, I should think,’ noticed Dr Mulborough. ‘And even that happened to somebody from outside. I may tell you they managed the exhumation quietly last night; and I did the autopsy this morning. In plain words we’ve been digging up a body that’s simply full of poison.’