Читать книгу Aunt Beardie - A Mystery Novel - Bowen Marjorie - Страница 4

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A young man lay on a hard bed and stared at the square of bright blue sky he could see from his attic window. He was ardent and ambitious and his plans were taken up with a brilliant future. It should not be so difficult for him to gain all he wanted, he argued to himself, for these were tempestuous times, when the ordinary rules of society were set aside, and it was only strange and embittering that he had not already found a chance of enriching himself. It was true that he was poor and of humble birth and of humbler occupation, but he had taken great trouble with himself and he was naturally gifted—sharp-witted, adroit, of distinguished manners and a noble appearance—strange heritage for one who was little more than a peasant! So far he had not been able to turn these advantages to much account. Many circumstances that he tried to forget had been against him, and he was still no more than twenty years of age. He did not notice the square of blue sky nor the coral-coloured buds of apple blossom against it, resting on the gnarled, lichen-covered boughs; nor did he hear the shrill, lilting songs of the birds that fluttered to and fro in the old grey trees, or note the bittersweet smell of earth newly wet by rain, or the almost intangible odour of springing grasses. He was unconscious, too, of the hardness of the pallet on which he rested, of the poverty of his attire, for with his well-kept hands clasped behind his dark head he was staring into a golden future. He wanted everything that evoked the lust and ambition of ordinary men: money and fame, an easy life with an heroic lustre, a beautiful woman for his wife, and noble friends to be subservient to him. The scope of these desires was one reason for his ill success; every chance that had come his way had seemed to him too mean for his abilities. He did not want to shine in his native suburb, or even to be a great man in his native town. He longed always for large affairs, and often turned over in his active mind how he might make the acquaintance of those in high places. This dreamer felt that his gifts were sufficiently brilliant to allow him to await patiently a fine chance. He had not been idle; there was his daily work, his humble work, his part to play among his fellows. And he had to be careful not to arouse their suspicions about anything unusual, possibly dangerous, in his manner or mind, for these were times when a man might be clapped on the shoulder in the morning by the hand of authority and be a headless corpse by the evening. But with the few pence at his command he had purchased books, and in the attic that was his allotted chamber and was too poor a place to excite anyone's curiosity, he had studied, using logic and imagination instead of experience, teaching himself all that he believed would be useful when he had achieved his ambition and moved easily among the wealthy and the nobly born. Whenever he went abroad he marked eagerly those of better condition than himself, how they behaved and spoke, what manner of dress they favoured. He had strong natural gifts of dissimulation also, and it often amused him to play different parts, altering the tone of his voice, even the lines of his face, adjusting his garments so that his personality was quite disguised. Though his thoughts were wholly selfish and of his own aggrandisement and the glory that should one day be his, they were not without a certain gloss of grandeur. They had the purity and the simplicity of youth, and his face, framed by dark masses of chestnut hair and lit by the sun falling through that poor, unglazed window, had a not ignoble beauty, while the unconscious smile that lifted his lips as he dreamed had charm and pathos, as well as hard and cynical lines.