Kidnapped / Похищенный. Книга для чтения на английском языке

The nearer I got to the house, the drearier it appeared. It seemed like the one wing of a house that had never been finished. What should have been the inner end stood open on the upper floors, and showed against the sky with steps and stairs of uncompleted masonry. Many of the windows were unglazed, and bats flew in and out like doves out of a dove-cote.

The night had begun to fall as I got close; and in three of the lower windows, which were very high up and narrow, and well-barred, the changing light of a little fire began to glimmer. I came forward cautiously, and giving ear as I came, heard someone rattling with dishes, and a little dry, eager cough that came in fits; but there was no sound of speech, and not a dog barked.

I lifted my hand with a faint heart under my jacket, and knocked once. Then I stood and waited. The house had fallen into a dead silence; a whole minute passed away, and nothing stirred but the bats overhead. Whoever was in that house kept deadly still, and must have held his breath.

I was in two minds whether to run away; but anger got the upper hand, and I began instead to rain kicks and buffets on the door, and to shout out aloud for Mr. Balfour. I was in full career, when I heard the cough right overhead, and jumping back and looking up, beheld a man’s head in a tall nightcap, and the bell mouth of a blunderbuss, at one of the first-storey windows.

‘It’s loaded,’ said a voice.

‘I have come here with a letter,’ I said, ‘to Mr. Ebenezer Balfour of Shaws. Is he here?’

‘Well,’ was the reply, ‘ye can put it down upon the doorstep, and be off with ye.’

‘I will do no such thing,’ I cried. ‘I will deliver it into Mr. Balfour’s hands, as it was meant I should. It is a letter of introduction.’

‘Who are ye, yourself?’ he asked, after a considerable pause.

‘I am not ashamed of my name,’ said I. ‘They call me David Balfour.’

At that, I made sure the man started, for I heard the blunderbuss rattle on the window-sill; and it was after quite a long pause, and with a curious change of voice, that the next question followed: ‘Is your father dead?’

I was so much surprised at this, that I could find no voice to answer, but stood staring.

‘Ay,’ the man resumed, ‘he’ll be dead, no doubt; and that’ll be what brings ye chapping to my door.’ Another pause, and then defiantly, ‘Well, man,’ he said, ‘I’ll let ye in;’ and he disappeared from the window.

Chapter III

I Make Acquaintance of My Uncle

Presently there came a great rattling of chains and bolts, and the door was cautiously opened and shut to again behind me as soon as I had passed.

‘Go into the kitchen and touch naething[8 - naething = nothing – (шотл.) ничего],’ said the voice; and while the person of the house set himself to replacing the defences of the door, I groped my way forward and entered the kitchen.

As soon as the last chain was up, the man rejoined me. He was a mean, stooping, narrow-shouldered, clay-faced creature; and his age might have been anything between fifty and seventy. His nightcap was of flannel, and so was the nightgown that he wore, instead of coat and waistcoat, over his ragged shirt. He was long unshaved; but what most distressed and even daunted me, he would neither take his eyes away from me nor look me fairly in the face. What he was, whether by trade or birth, was more than I could fathom; but he seemed most like an old, unprofitable serving-man, who should have been left in charge of that big house upon board wages.

‘Are ye sharp-set?’ he asked, glancing at about the level of my knee. ‘Ye can eat that drop parritch[9 - parritch = porridge – (шотл.) овсянка]?’

I said I feared it was his own supper.

‘O,’ said he, ‘I can do fine wanting it. I’ll take the ale, though, for it slockens my cough.’ He drank the cup about half out, still keeping an eye upon me as he drank; and then suddenly held out his hand. ‘Let’s see the letter,’ said he.

I told him the letter was for Mr. Balfour; not for him. ‘And who do ye think I am?’ says he. ‘Give me Alexander’s letter.’

‘You know my father’s name?’

‘It would be strange if I didnae,’ he returned, ‘for he was my born brother; and little as ye seem to like either me or my house, or my good parritch, I’m your born uncle, Davie, my man, and you my born nephew. So give us the letter, and sit down and fill your kyte.’

I sat down to the porridge with as little appetite for meat as ever a young man had. Meanwhile, my uncle, stooping over the fire, turned the letter over and over in his hands.

‘Do ye ken what’s in it?’ he asked, suddenly.

‘You see for yourself, sir,’ said I, ‘that the seal has not been broken.’

‘Ay,’ said he, ‘but what brought you here?’

‘To give the letter,’ said I.

‘No,’ says he, cunningly, ‘but ye’ll have had some hopes, nae doubt?’

‘I confess, sir,’ said I, ‘when I was told that I had kinsfolk well-to-do, I did indeed indulge the hope that they might help me in my life. But I am no beggar; I look for no favours at your hands, and I want none that are not freely given. For as poor as I appear, I have friends of my own that will be blithe to help me.’

‘Hoot-toot!’ said Uncle Ebenezer, ‘dinnae fly up in the snuff at me. We’ll agree fine yet. And, Davie, my man, if you’re done with that bit parritch, I could just take a sup of it myself. Ay,’ he continued, as soon as he had ousted me from the stool and spoon, ‘they’re fine, halesome[10 - halesome = wholesome – (шотл.) полезный] food – they’re grand food, parritch. Your father was very fond of his meat, I mind; he was a hearty, if not a great eater; but as for me, I could never do mair[11 - mair = more – (шотл.) больше] than pyke at food.’

He continued to eat like a man under some pressure of time, and to throw out little darting glances now at my shoes and now at my home-spun stockings. Once only, when he had ventured to look a little higher, our eyes met; and no thief taken with a hand in a man’s pocket could have shown more lively signals of distress. This set me in a muse, whether his timidity arose from too long a disuse of any human company; and whether perhaps, upon a little trial, it might pass off, and my uncle change into an altogether different man. From this I was awakened by his sharp voice.

‘Your father’s been long dead?’ he asked.

‘Three weeks, sir,’ said I.

‘He was a secret man, Alexander – a secret, silent man,’ he continued. ‘He never said muckle when he was young. He’ll never have spoken muckle of me?’

‘I never knew, sir, till you told it me yourself, that he had any brother.’

‘Dear me, dear me!’ said Ebenezer. ‘Nor yet of Shaws, I dare say?’

‘Not so much as the name, sir,’ said I.

‘To think o’ that!’ said he. ‘A strange nature of a man!’ For all that, he seemed singularly satisfied, but whether with himself, or me, or with this conduct of my father’s, was more than I could read. Certainly, however, he seemed to be outgrowing that distaste, or ill-will, that he had conceived at first against my person; for presently he jumped up, came across the room behind me, and hit me a smack upon the shoulder. ‘We’ll agree fine yet!’ he cried. ‘I’m just as glad I let you in. And now come awa’ to your bed.’

To my surprise, he lit no lamp or candle, but set forth into the dark passage up a flight of steps, and paused before a door, which he unlocked. He bade me go in, for that was my chamber. I did as he bid, but paused after a few steps, and begged a light to go to bed with.

‘Hoot-toot!’ said Uncle Ebenezer, ‘there’s a fine moon.’

‘Neither moon nor star, sir, and pit-mirk[12 - pit-mirk – dark as the pit (примеч. авт.)],’ said I. ‘I cannae see the bed.’

‘Hoot-toot, hoot-toot!’ said he. ‘Lights in a house is a thing I dinnae agree with. I’m unco feared of fires. Good-night to ye, Davie, my man.’ And before I had time to add a further protest, he pulled the door to, and I heard him lock me in from the outside.

With the first peep of day I opened my eyes, to find myself in a great chamber, hung with stamped leather, furnished with fine embroidered furniture, and lit by three fair windows. Ten years ago it must have been as pleasant a room to lie down or to awake in as a man could wish; but damp, dirt, disuse, and the mice and spiders had done their worst since then; and being very cold in that miserable room, I knocked and shouted till my gaoler came and let me out. He carried me to the back of the house, where was a draw-well, and told me to ‘wash my face there, if I wanted;’ and when that was done, I made the best of my own way back to the kitchen, where he had lit the fire and was making the porridge.

When we had made an end of our meal, my uncle sat down in the sun at one of the windows and silently smoked. From time to time his eyes came coasting round to me, and he shot out one of his questions. Once it was, ‘And your mother?’ and when I had told him that she, too, was dead, ‘Ay, she was a bonnie lassie[13 - bonnie lassie – (шотл.) красивая девочка]!’ Then, after another long pause, ‘Whae[14 - Whae = who] were these friends o’ yours?’ I told him they were different gentlemen of the name of Campbell; though, indeed, there was only one, and that the minister, that had ever taken the least note of me; but I began to think my uncle made too light of my position, and finding myself all alone with him, I did not wish him to suppose me helpless.

He seemed to turn this over in his mind; and then, ‘Davie, my man,’ said he, ‘ye’ve come to the right bit when ye came to your uncle Ebenezer. I’ve a great notion of the family, and I mean to do the right by you; but while I’m taking a bit think to mysel’ of what’s the best thing to put you to – whether the law, or the meenistry, or maybe the army, whilk[15 - whilk = which – (шотл.) что, который] is what boys are fondest of – I wouldnae like the Balfours to be humbled before a wheen[16 - wheen = a few – (шотл.) несколько] Hieland Campbells, and I’ll ask you to keep your tongue within your teeth. Nae letters; nae messages; no kind of word to onybody; or else – there’s my door.’

‘Uncle Ebenezer,’ said I, ‘I’ve no manner of reason to suppose you mean anything but well by me. For all that, I would have you to know that I have a pride of my own. It was by no will of mine that I came seeking you; and if you show me your door again, I’ll take you at the word.’

He seemed grievously put out. ‘Hoots-toots,’ said he, ‘ca’ cannie, man – ca’ cannie! Just you give me a day or two, and say naething to naebody, and as sure as sure, I’ll do the right by you.’

‘Very well,’ said I, ‘enough said. If you want to help me, there’s no doubt but I’ll be glad of it, and none but I’ll be grateful.’