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The Woman in White / Женщина в белом
The Woman in White / Женщина в белом
Подготовка текста, комментарии и словарь С. А. Матвеева
© ООО «Издательство АСТ», 2015
The First Epoch
The Story Begun by Walter Hartright[1] (of Clement’s Inn,[2] Teacher of Drawing)
One day I received a letter. Frederick Fairlie, Esquire, of Limmeridge House, Cumberland,[3] wanted to hire a competent drawing-master, for a period of four months.
The master was to superintend the instruction of two young ladies in the art of painting in water-colours;[4] and he was to devote his leisure time, afterwards, to the business of repairing and mounting a valuable collection of drawings. Four guineas a week was the salary!
“Oh, Walter, your father never had such a chance as this![5]” said my mother, when she had read the letter and had handed it back to me.
This teacher would live at Limmeridge House with the family. I knew I was very lucky to get this job. Teaching the young ladies would be easy and pleasant, and the pay and working conditions were excellent.
The next morning I sent my papers. Three days passed, and on the fourth day, an answer came. It announced that Mr. Fairlie accepted my services, and requested me to start for Cumberland immediately. All the necessary instructions for my journey were carefully and clearly added in a postscript.
The heat had been awful all day, and it was now a close and sultry night. The moon was full and broad in the dark blue starless sky. I decided to walk. I wound my way down slowly over the heath. By the time I had arrived at the end of the road I had become completely absorbed in my own fanciful visions of Limmeridge House, of Mr. Fairlie, and of the two ladies whose practice in the art of water-colour painting I was so soon to superintend.[6]
I had now arrived at the point where four roads met – the road to Hampstead,[7] along which I had returned, the road to Finchley,[8] the road to West End, and the road back to London. I had mechanically turned in this latter direction. Suddenly I felt the touch of a hand laid lightly and suddenly on my shoulder from behind me.
There, in the middle of the broad bright wide road stood the figure of a solitary Woman, dressed from head to foot in white garments. The strange woman spoke first.
“Is that the road to London?” she said.
I looked attentively at her. It was then nearly one o’clock. There was nothing wild, nothing immodest in her manner: it was quiet and self – controlled. The voice had something curiously still and mechanical in its tones, and the utterance was remarkably rapid. She held a small bag in her hand: and her dress – bonnet, shawl, and gown all of white – was certainly not composed of very delicate or very expensive materials. I guessed her to be about twenty-two years old.