از وایلدفل هال دیدن می‌کنم

CHAPTER TWO

I Visit Wildfell Hall

A week after the party, I went with Rose to Wildfell Hall.

Mrs Graham’s servant took us into a big room where a warm fire was burning in the fireplace.

An artist’s easel stood in the middle of the room. Beside the easel, there was a table which was covered with paints and brushes. Near one wall, several paintings were standing on the floor.

A few minutes later, Mrs Graham came into the room with her little boy. She welcomed us with a smile.

‘We must sit here in my studio today,’ she said. ‘There’s no fire in the sitting-room and it’s a cold day. Please sit down.’ Mrs Graham sat in front of her easel. As she was speaking, she looked at her unfinished painting. It was a picture of Wildfell Hall. I could see that it was well painted. Our new neighbour was a very good artist.

‘I’m sorry, Mrs Graham,’ I said. ‘You’re working.’

‘I have very few visitors,’ she said. ‘My work can wait.’

I stood up and looked at the painting more carefully. The words ‘Fernley Manor’ were written at the bottom of the picture.

‘I see that this painting of Wildfell Hall is almost finished,’ I said. ‘But why have you called the house “Fernley Manor”?’

Mrs Graham was silent for a moment. ‘Because I don’t want people. friends. to know where I’m living,’ she said. ‘Aren’t you going to keep this picture?’ I asked.

‘No. I don’t paint to please myself.’

‘Mamma sends all her pictures to London,’ little Arthur said. ‘Someone sells them and sends us the money.’

I began to look at the other paintings in the studio. Almost every picture was a view of Wildfell Hall, or places near it.

‘As you see, I have to paint the same things again and again,’ Mrs Graham said. ‘I’ve heard that there is a fine view of the sea near here. Is that true?’

‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘But it’s a long walk to the sea. more than four miles. Go along the road to.’

‘Oh, please don’t tell me the way now,’ Mrs Graham said. ‘I won’t go until the spring.’

As she spoke, Mrs Graham looked out of the window. Suddenly, she got up and left the room. I looked out of the window too. A man was walking away from the house, but I could not see him clearly.

‘That’s Mama’s friend,’ said Arthur.

Rose and I were surprised. We looked at each other.

‘Who is it?’ Rose asked me quietly, but I did not know.

Rose began to talk to the little boy and I looked at Mrs Graham’s other pictures. One painting showed the face of a pretty little child - Arthur himself.

Then I saw another picture on the floor. It was turned round to face the wall. I picked it up and looked at it. The painting was a portrait of a handsome young man with blue eyes and dark red, curling hair. Who was he?

At that moment, Mrs Graham came back into the studio. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Someone has come about the pictures.’

I held up the painting of the handsome young man.

‘I’m interested in this portrait,’ I said. ‘Please will you tell me-‘

‘Please put that picture back’ Mrs Graham said quickly. She was angry. ‘You shouldn’t have touched it.’

‘I was only going to ask-‘ I began again.

‘I can’t answer any of your questions, Mr Markham,’ Mrs Graham said. She took the painting out of my hand and put it on the floor against the wall. Then she turned back to me and smiled.

But I was angry now. ‘It’s time for us to go, Rose,’ I said. ‘We’ll leave you to your work, Mrs Graham.’

Then I bowed politely and walked towards the door.

Mrs Graham followed and held out her hand. ‘I was rude,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry. I want us to be friends, Mr Markham.’

I smiled too and shook her hand.

Four months passed before I visited Wildfell Hall again. But my friendship with Mrs Graham became stronger. She often walked on the moors with her little son. Sometimes she sat and sketched, or read a book.

Whenever I saw them, I went to meet them. Arthur always talked happily to me and he soon became my friend. When he saw me or Sancho, the little boy ran up to us. His mother was not always pleased, but she usually spoke to me.

Our conversations were interesting. We talked about books and paintings. Mrs Graham’s ideas were often the same as mine. I think that she enjoyed my company.

One day in early March, I was working in my fields. I looked up and saw Mrs Graham and her son sitting by a stream. Sancho saw Arthur and ran happily towards the little boy. I followed him and stood silently behind the mother and her son. I watched her draw a picture of the water and the trees nearby.

After a few minutes, she laughed and turned to look at me.

‘Mr Markham, please excuse me,’ she said. ‘But I cannot draw when anyone is watching me.’

‘Then I’ll talk to Arthur,’ I replied, smiling.

Soon, the sun began to go down. Mrs Graham finished her drawing and I walked with them to Wildfell Hall.

When we reached the old house, the sky was pale grey and the moon was shining. A light was burning in one of the windows of the dark house.

‘Don’t you feel that this a gloomy place to live?’ I asked.

‘I do sometimes,’ Mrs Graham replied. ‘When the wind blows around the empty rooms, I feel sad and alone. But Wildfell Hall is my home now. Good night, Mr Markham. Thank you for your company.’

I turned and walked away from the house. As I went towards Linden-Car, I saw Lawrence. He was riding his grey pony along the road. I stopped to speak to him.

‘Have you been visiting Mrs Graham?’ Lawrence asked.

‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘Oh, well,’ he said, ‘I thought that you didn’t like her.’

‘I’ve changed my mind,’ I said. ‘I know Mrs Graham a little better now.’

Lawrence smiled but he did not reply.

‘Lawrence,’ I said, ‘are you in love with Mrs Graham?’ He looked very surprised and then he laughed. ‘What makes you say that?’ he asked.

‘You seem interested in my friendship with her,’ I replied. ‘Perhaps you’re jealous.’

‘No, I’m not jealous,’ he said. ‘But I am surprised. I thought that you were going to marry Eliza Millward.’

‘You’re wrong. I’m not thinking of marriage at all,’ I replied. ‘Then you should leave those young women alone,’ he said.

I was angry. ‘People say that you are going to marry Jane Wilson,’ I replied. ‘Are you?’

‘No,’ Lawrence replied.

‘Then you should leave her alone,’ I said.

Lawrence smiled. But he said nothing more and rode on. I reached home late that evening. But as soon as I arrived, my mother told Rose to make some fresh tea for me.

I sat down by the fire. ‘You spoil me, mother,’ I said.

‘Yes, Gilbert, I do,’ she replied. ‘When you have a wife, everything will change. A silly, careless girl like Eliza Millward will think only of herself. And a clever woman like Mrs Graham will be too busy with her own ideas. She’ll have no time to think of her husband.’

‘Well, I’m not thinking of marriage to either of them,’ I said. ‘I’m very happy at the moment. I don’t want to get married yet!’

Spring came. One fine day at the end of March, I was on the moors. I was looking at my sheep and their young lambs. I saw Eliza Millward and my sister coming up the hill towards me.

‘Good morning, ladies,’ I said, bowing politely. ‘Where are you walking to?’

‘We’re going to Wildfell Hall,’ Eliza replied. ‘We’re going to see Mrs Graham. I want to know why she lives in that gloomy old place. Why don’t you come too, Gilbert? You know her better than I do!’

‘I don’t know her very well,’ I said. ‘But I’ll go with you. Little Arthur Graham is a good friend of mine.’

Rachel - Mrs Graham’s old servant - showed us into the large, dark sitting-room at Wildfell Hall. All the furniture was made of old, black wood and the windows were high and small. The room was very gloomy.

Mrs Graham was sitting in an old chair by the fireplace. Arthur was reading aloud to his mother. She did not look very pleased to see us.

I sat near the window with Sancho. I called Arthur to sit with me. The ladies began to talk and I listened to them.

‘Why did you choose to live in this old house, Mrs Graham?’ Eliza asked. ‘A small cottage would be much more comfortable.’

‘And how can you live so far away from other people?’ Rose said. ‘This is such a lonely place!’

‘Perhaps that is why I like it,’ Mrs Graham replied.

‘How long have you lived alone?’ Eliza asked. ‘Where did you live when your husband was alive? Was it far from here?’

Mrs Graham stood up. ‘You ask too many questions, Miss Eliza,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t answer them.’

Then she walked across the room to speak to me.

‘Mr Markham, now that the weather is better, I want to walk to the sea,’ she said. ‘Please tell me how to get there. I need some different views to paint.’

Rose heard Mrs Graham’s words.

‘You can’t go to the sea alone!’ my sister said. ‘And you can’t walk there and back again with Arthur. It’s too far.

We’re all going to visit the sea very soon. We’ll go in a pony-carriage and take food for a picnic. Come with us! You’ll have plenty of time to paint the view.’

‘Miss Markham, I don’t think that-‘ Mrs Graham began, but Rose stopped her.

‘I’ll make the arrangements,’ my sister said. ‘We’ll go on the first warm day!’

A few days later, the weather became cold and wet. We had to wait several weeks before we went on our picnic. At last, on a beautiful morning in May, we all started out.

There were eight of us in the picnic party. Mrs Graham and Arthur, Eliza and Mary Millward. Jane Wilson and her brother Richard who lived at Ryecote Farm, my sister Rose, and myself. Mr Lawrence had been invited too, but he could not come.

I shall never forget that day. I was very happy and I think that Mrs Graham was happy too. Arthur walked happily between Mrs Graham and me, with my dog beside him.

As usual, I enjoyed talking to Mrs Graham. Many of our ideas were the same, but sometimes they were different. The time passed pleasantly.

At last we reached the end of our journey. We all went and stood on the top of a tall cliff. The sea was many feet below us. The water was dark blue and the tops of the waves were white. Mrs Graham did not speak, but her dark grey eyes shone with happiness. The wind blew her hair about her head and made her pale cheeks pink. I looked at Mrs Graham and I realized that she was very beautiful.

At that moment, Rose called us to the picnic. Eliza Millward sat next to me. She talked and laughed all the time that we were eating.

After the meal, Mrs Graham asked Eliza to take care of Arthur. Then she took her easel and paints and a small seat to a higher part of the cliff.

Eliza went on talking to me but I did not listen. After a few minutes, I left her and walked towards Mrs Graham. She was sitting on the edge of the high cliff.

As I walked up the narrow path, she turned her head quickly. ‘I didn’t expect you!’ she said. ‘Are they all coming up here?’

‘No, I don’t think so,’ I said, smiling. ‘I’ll sit quietly and watch you.’

‘I don’t like people watching me,’ she said quickly.

‘Then I’ll look at the sea,’ I replied.

I did look at the water, but I looked at the beautiful artist too. ‘A painting of her would be wonderful’ I thought. ‘I wish that I were an artist!’

We sat silently for some time. Then Mrs Graham spoke again.

‘What was Arthur doing when you left him?’ she asked.

‘He was with Eliza Millward,’ I said. ‘You left him with her, not me. But I’m his friend, you know.’

‘Then please go to him, Mr Markham,’ she said. ‘Please tell him that I’ll see him in a few minutes.’

‘Let me wait here for those few minutes,’ I replied. ‘Then I can help you down this narrow path.’

‘I can walk down without help,’ Mrs Graham said.

‘Then I’ll carry your things,’ I replied.

The young widow did not answer. Later, she asked my opinion about her painting and I was very pleased.

We returned to the others and soon we were all on our way home. I did not enjoy the journey. I wanted to be alone with Mrs Graham, but she was in the pony-carriage with Arthur and Mary Millward. Eliza Millward walked beside me and talked all the time. I was soon tired of her.

When we reached the road to Wildfell Hall, Mrs Graham and Arthur left us. She smiled as she said goodbye to me and I felt very happy.