書蟲3級《查爾斯·布拉沃的死亡之謎》3. 詹姆斯·格利醫(yī)生的講述

3. Dr James Gully's story

My name is Dr James Gully. I am 68 years old. I live at Orwell Lodge, in Balham. In January 1871 I was living in Malvern, near W ales. That's where I first met Florence – Florence Ricardo, as she was called then ...

Dr James Gully

I remember the day when I first met Florence. It was a cold January morning. There was snow on the hills, but the sun was shining. Florence's mother brought her to my hospital in Malvern. Florence was not ill, but she was very unhappy. She had run away from her husband, Alexander Ricardo. Her father had told her to go back to him.

But I won't go!' she said. 'I'm never going back to him, never!'

I looked at her carefully. She was crying, and there was a dark bruise on her face. She was a young woman, twenty-five years old, and she had been married for six years.

Does your husband hit you, my dear?' I asked.

Yes, he does. He often hits me. I hate him!'

But you're his wife, Florence,' her mother said. 'So you have to live with him. That's what wives do.'

No!' Florence screamed at her mother. 'You don't understand. When he's drunk, he's dangerous, he hurts me! I'll kill myself if you make me go back!'

She got up and hit her hand against the window.

This young woman is ill,' I told her mother. 'She needs a quiet, safe place where she can rest and be calm. We have a small house in the hospital gardens. She can stay there until she is better.'

So Florence stayed, and I visited her every day. We walked in the hospital gardens, and she told me about her husband, Alexander.

I was just a young girl when I married him,' she said. 'I didn't understand anything. It doesn't matter what a man looks like – what matters is how he behaves.'

And how does Alexander behave?' I asked.

Well, he left the army after we married,' she said. 'And that made him unhappy. He doesn't know what to do all day. We live in a big country house – Gatcombe Park – but he is always in London with his friends. He sees other women too, I think. When he comes home, he drinks. Two or three bottles of wine every day.'

Don't you try to stop him?' I asked.

Of course I do. I try. Once or twice I've put a little antimony in his wine, to make it taste bad. It made him sick, but he didn't stop drinking.'

I'd heard of this before. Antimony is a dangerous poison – it can kill you, if you take a lot. But some wives put a little of it in their husband's wine. It makes the man feel sick, so he doesn't drink so much. Some men do that to their wives, too. I think it's a bad idea.

There were tears in her eyes. 'When he's drunk, he hits me. Don't send me back to him, Dr Gully! Please don't send me back!'

Of course I won't, my dear,' I said quietly. 'Don't worry. No woman should live with a man like that.'

But Florence was afraid that her husband Alexander would make her come home. At that time, there were very strong laws about how women must behave. Most men liked these laws, but I didn't. I thought the law was unfair to women. The law said that a married woman couldn't decide things for herself. She needed a man – a guardian – to decide things for her. Usually, this guardian was her husband or her father. But sometimes a friend could become a woman's guardian.

If you want to leave your husband,' I said, 'I will help you. In law, I can become your guardian. I will tell my lawyers to start preparing the necessary papers now. Then your husband cannot order you to go home. And your father cannot tell you what to do either. Would you like that? Will that make you feel safe?'

Oh yes, please, Dr Gully,' she said. 'Will you do that for me? Can you write to your lawyers today?'

I smiled. 'It will be a pleasure, my dear.'

My lawyers began work immediately. Florence's husband, Alexander, was very angry, but he could not stop me.

Florence continued to live in Malvern, and I talked to her every day. She was a beautiful, intelligent young woman, and she liked my hospital. My hospital was different to other hospitals. I gave sick people baths of cold and hot water, good healthy food, rest and quiet – and it worked! I told her about the famous people who visited me – Charles Darwin, Charles Dickens, Florence Nightingale. She liked stories like that. As time passed she began to look healthier. She began to talk happily. Sometimes she even smiled.

She had a beautiful smile. In fact she was a very beautiful young woman. The most beautiful, interesting young woman I have ever met.

I told her about my family. I was sixty-three years old then. I had a son who was ten years older than Florence, and a small granddaughter. But my wife lived in a hospital in Yorkshire. She was eighty years old, and her mind had gone; she didn't recognize me or my son. So really, I didn't have a wife any more.

When my lawyers finished their work, Florence became separated in law from her husband Alexander Ricardo, and I became her guardian.

Can I go on living here?' she asked me.

You can stay here as long as you like,' I said. 'But you're a free woman now. I won't tell you what to do.'

She laughed, and took my hand. 'Oh yes, James, of course. You're so kind. I'm so grateful to you.'

That was the first time she called me James, and it felt – wonderful! I wanted to take her in my arms and dance! Of course I didn't – she was only twenty-five, and I was sixty-three, but ... a man can still fall in love, even when he is old.

I wanted to take her in my arms and dance.

And love hurts when you are old, just as much as it does when you are young. More, perhaps, because when you are old you have so little time left.

In April 1871 Alexander Ricardo died. He had already been ill, and after Florence left him, he drank more and more every day, and was often sick. In the end alcohol destroyed his stomach.

When he died, Florence, his widow, became a very rich lady. All her husband's money was hers. But her father wasn't her guardian. I was. Later that year, she came on holiday with me to Germany.

It was the most wonderful holiday of my life. We stayed in a town called Kissingen, in Bavaria. We walked in the hills and gardens, looking at the beautiful clean rivers. We went to restaurants and the theatre, two happy people together.

We lived together like husband and wife. In fact, some people in the hotel thought she was my wife. We laughed and talked all day. I'm sure it was easy to see that I was in love with her.

I couldn't stop looking at her and thinking about her. Everything I did, everything I thought or wrote or said, was for her.

So what about her? Was she in love with me?

I thought she was. She looked wonderful, she laughed and sang as we walked through the town together. We danced for hours in the evening; she was strong and healthy – stronger than me. She talked to me all the time, she called me 'her famous doctor'. I thought she was happy to be with me, to spend all day and all night together.

Isn't that love?