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Файл:Сага о Форсайтах. В петле. Книга для чтения на английском языке
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He thought she was going to cry; but, getting
up quickly, she half turned her back on them, and
stood regaining control of herself.
June said suddenly: “Well, I shall go to Soames
and tell him he must leave you alone. What does
he want at his age?”
“A child. It’s not unnatural.”
“A child!” cried June scornfully. “Of course! To
leave his money to. If he wants one badly enough
let him take somebody and have one; then you can
divorce him, and he can marry her.”
Jolyon perceived suddenly that he had made a
mistake to bring June — her violent partizanship
was fighting Soames’ battle. “It would be best for
Irene to come quietly to us at Robin Hill, and see
how things shape.”
“Of course,” said June; “only…”
Irene looked full at Jolyon — in all his many at
tempts afterwards to analyze that glance he never
could succeed. “No! I should only bring trouble on
you all. I will go abroad.”
He knew from her voice that this was final. The
irrelevant thought flashed through him: ‘Well,
I could see her there.’ But he said: “Don’t you
think you would be more helpless abroad, in case
he followed?”
“I don’t know. I can but try.”
June sprang up and paced the room. “It’s all
horrible,” she said. “Why should people be tortured
PART II
201
and kept miserable and helpless year after year
by this disgusting sanctimonious law?” But some
one had come into the room, and June came to
a standstill. Jolyon went up to Irene: “Do you
want money?”
IN CHANCERY
“No.”
“And would you like me to let your flat?”
“Yes, Jolyon, please.”
“When shall you be going?”
“Tomorrow.”
“You won’t go back there in the meantime, will
you?” This he said with an anxiety strange to him
self.
“No; I’ve got all I want here.”
“You’ll send me your address?”
She put out her hand to him. “I feel you’re a
rock.”
“Built on sand,” answered Jolyon, pressing her
hand hard; “but it’s a pleasure to do anything, at
any time, remember that. And if you change your
mind..! Come along, June; say goodbye.”
June came from the window and flung her arms
round Irene. “Don’t think of him,” she said under
her breath; “enjoy yourself, and bless you!”
With a memory of tears in Irene’s eyes, and of
a smile on her lips, they went away extremely si
lent, passing the lady who had interrupted the in
terview and was turning over the papers on the
table.
202
Opposite the National Gallery June exclaimed:
1
“Of all undignified beasts and horrible laws!
”
But Jolyon did not respond. He had something
of his father’s balance, and could see things impar
tially even when his emotions were roused. Irene
was right; Soames’ position was as bad or worse
than her own. As for the law — it catered for a
human nature of which it took a naturally low
view. And, feeling that if he stayed in his daugh
ter’s company he would in one way or another
commit an indiscretion, he told her he must catch
his train back to Oxford; and hailing a cab, left her
to Turner’s watercolours, with the promise that
he would think over that Gallery.
But he thought over Irene instead. Pity, they
said, was akin to love! If so he was certainly in
danger of loving her, for he pitied her profoundly.
To think of her drifting about Europe so handi
capped and lonely! ‘I hope to goodness she’ll keep
her head!’ he thought; ‘she might easily grow des
perate.’ In fact, now that she had cut loose from
her poor threads of occupation, he couldn’t imag
ine how she would go on — so beautiful a creature,
2
hopeless, and fair game
for anyone! In his exas
PART II
1
Of all undignified beasts and horrible laws! — (воскл.)
Черт бы побрал этих бесстыжих скотов и эти ужасные за
коны!
2
fair game — (разг.) легкая добыча
203
peration was more than a little fear and jealousy.
Women did strange things when they were driven
into corners. ‘I wonder what Soames will do now!’
he thought. ‘A rotten, idiotic state of things! And
I suppose they would say it was her own fault.’
IN CHANCERY
Very preoccupied and sore at heart, he got into his
train, mislaid his ticket, and on the platform at
Oxford took his hat off to a lady whose face he
seemed to remember without being able to put a
name to her, not even when he saw her having tea
at the Rainbow.
Chapter IV
WHERE FORSYTES FEAR TO TREAD
Quivering from the defeat of his hopes, with the
green morocco case still flat against his heart,
Soames revolved thoughts bitter as death. A spi
der’s web! Walking fast, and noting nothing in the
moonlight, he brooded over the scene he had been
through, over the memory of her figure rigid in his
grasp. And the more he brooded, the more certain
he became that she had a lover — her words, ‘I would
sooner die!’ were ridiculous if she had not. Even if
she had never loved him, she had made no fuss
1
1
where Forsytes fear to tread — ср. посл. Where angels
fear to tread — там, куда ангелы боятся ступить
204
until Bosinney came on the scene. No; she was in
love again, or she would not have made that melo
dramatic answer to his proposal, which in all the
circumstances was reasonable! Very well! That
simplified matters.
‘I’ll take steps to know where I am,’ he thought;
‘I’ll go to Polteed’s the first thing tomorrow morning.’
But even in forming that resolution he knew he
would have trouble with himself. He had employed
Polteed’s agency several times in the routine of his
profession, even quite lately over Dartie’s case, but
he had never thought it possible to employ them
to watch his own wife. It was too insulting to him
self!
He slept over that project and his wounded
pride — or rather, kept vigil. Only while shaving
did he suddenly remember that she called herself
by her maiden name of Heron. Polteed would not
know, at first at all events, whose wife she was,
would not look at him obsequiously and leer be
hind his back. She would just be the wife of one
of his clients. And that would be true — for was
he not his own solicitor?
He was literally afraid not to put his design into
execution at the first possible moment, lest, after
all, he might fail himself. And making Warmson
bring him an early cup of coffee; he stole out of
the house before the hour of breakfast. He walked
rapidly to one of those small West End streets
PART II
205
where Polteed’s and other firms ministered to the
virtues of the wealthier classes. Hitherto he had
always had Polteed to see him in the Poultry; but
he well knew their address, and reached it at the
opening hour. In the outer office, a room furnished
IN CHANCERY
so cosily that it might have been a moneylender’s,
he was attended by a lady who might have been a
schoolmistress. “I wish to see Mr. Claud Polteed.
He knows me — never mind my name.”
To keep everybody from knowing that he, Soames
Forsyte, was reduced to having his wife spied on, was
the overpowering consideration.
Mr. Claud Polteed — so different from Mr. Lewis
Polteed — was one of those men with dark hair,
slightly curved noses, and quick brown eyes, who
might be taken for Jews but are really Phoenicians;
he received Soames in a room hushed by thickness of
carpet and curtains. It was, in fact, confidentially
furnished, without trace of document anywhere to
be seen.
Greeting Soames deferentially, he turned the
key in the only door with a certain ostentation. “If
a client sends for me,” he was in the habit of say
ing, “he takes what precaution he likes. If he comes
here, we convince him that we have no leakages. I
may safely say we lead in security, if in nothing
else… Now, sir, what can I do for you?”
Soames’ gorge had risen so that he could hard
ly speak. It was absolutely necessary to hide from
206
this man that he had any but professional interest
in the matter; and, mechanically, his face assumed
its sideway smile.
“I’ve come to you early like this because there’s
not an hour to lose” — if he lost an hour he might
fail himself yet! “Have you a really trustworthy
woman free?”
Mr. Polteed unlocked a drawer, produced a
memorandum, ran his eyes over it, and locked the
drawer up again. “Yes,” he said; “the very woman.”
Soames had seated himself and crossed his legs —
nothing but a faint flush, which might have been his
normal complexion, betrayed him.
“Send her off at once, then, to watch a Mrs. Irene
Heron of Flat C, Truro Mansions, Chelsea, till fur
ther notice.”
“Precisely,” said Mr. Polteed; “divorce, I pre
sume?” and he blew into a speakingtube. “Mrs.
Blanch in? I shall want to speak to her in ten min
utes.”
“Deal with any reports yourself,” resumed Soames,
“and send them to me personally, marked confiden
tial, sealed and registered. My client exacts the ut
most secrecy.”
Mr. Polteed smiled, as though saying, ‘You are
teaching your grandmother, my dear sir;’ and his
eyes slid over Soames’ face for one unprofessional
instant. “Make his mind perfectly easy,” he said.
“Do you smoke?”
PART II
207
“No,” said Soames. “Understand me: Nothing
may come of this. If a name gets out, or the watch
ing is suspected, it may have very serious conse
quences.”
Mr. Polteed nodded. “I can put it into the ci
IN CHANCERY
pher category. Under that system a name is never
mentioned; we work by numbers.”
He unlocked another drawer and took out two
slips of paper, wrote on them, and handed one to
Soames. “Keep that, sir; it’s your key. I retain
this duplicate. The case we’ll call 7x. The party
watched will be 17; the watcher 19; the Mansions
25; yourself — I should say, your firm — 31; my
firm 32, myself 2. In case you should have to men
tion your client in writing I have called him 43;
any person we suspect will be 47; a second per
son 51. Any special hint or instruction while we’re
about it?”
“No,” said Soames; “that is — every consider
ation compatible.”
Again Mr. Polteed nodded. “Expense?”
1
Soames shrugged. “In reason
,” he answered
curtly, and got up. “Keep it entirely in your own
hands.”
“Entirely,” said Mr. Polteed, appearing sudden
ly between him and the door. “I shall be seeing you
in that other case before long. Goodmorning, sir.”
208
1
In reason — (зд.) В пределах разумного
His eyes slid unprofessionally over Soames once
more, and he unlocked the door.
“Goodmorning,” said Soames, looking neither
to right nor left.
Out in the street he swore deeply, quietly, to
himself. A spider’s web, and to cut it he must use
this spidery, secret, unclean method, so utterly re
pugnant to one who regarded his private life as his
most sacred piece of property. But the die was
1
, he could not go back. And he went on into
cast
the Poultry, and locked away the green morocco
case and the key to that cipher destined to make
crystalclear his domestic bankruptcy.
Odd that one whose life was spent in bringing
to the public eye all the private coils of prop
erty, the domestic disagreements of others, should
dread so utterly the public eye turned on his own;
and yet not odd, for who should know so well as
he the whole unfeeling process of legal regula
tion.
He worked hard all day. Winifred was due at
four o’clock; he was to take her down to a confer
ence in the Temple with Dreamer Q.C., and wait
ing for her he reread the letter he had caused her
to write the day of Dartie’s departure, requiring
him to return.
PART II
1
the die was cast — (разг.) жребий брошен; выбор сде
лан; обратной дороги нет
209
“DEAR MONTAGUE,
“I have received your letter with the news that you
have left me for ever and are on your way to Buenos Aires.
It has naturally been a great shock. I am taking this earli
est opportunity of writing to tell you that I am prepared
IN CHANCERY
to let bygones be bygones if you will return to me at once.
I beg you to do so. I am very much upset, and will not say
any more now. I am sending this letter registered to the
address you left at your Club. Please cable to me.
“Your still affectionate wife,
“WINIFRED DARTIE.”
Ugh! What bitter humbug! He remembered
leaning over Winifred while she copied what he
had pencilled, and how she had said, laying down
her pen, “Suppose he comes, Soames!” in such a
strange tone of voice, as if she did not know her
own mind. “He won’t come,” he had answered,
“till he’s spent his money. That’s why we must
act at once.” Annexed to the copy of that letter
was the original of Dartie’s drunken scrawl from
the Iseeum Club. Soames could have wished it
had not been so manifestly penned in liquor. Just
the sort of thing the Court would pitch on. He
seemed to hear the Judge’s voice say: “You took
this seriously! Seriously enough to write him as
you did? Do you think he meant it?” Never mind!
The fact was clear that Dartie had sailed and had
not returned. Annexed also was his cabled answer:
“Impossible return. Dartie.” Soames shook his
head. If the whole thing were not disposed of
210
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