Chapter 8 chapter eight

Hugh couldn't believe his luck.The diary fell into his hands like a gift, like a ripe fruit dropped by the gods.After a while, he thought, he was dumbfounded just now, and it took him a while to realize what it was.He was staring at the words just now, thinking that someone in the publishing house, such as some careless editor or researcher, had scribbled on it.But those neat handwritings are obviously quite old.He closed the diary and examined its cover carefully.The cover looks very ordinary, just an account book.In the lower right corner of it is a number one written in the same black marker with a circle drawn around it.

He opened the diary again, read the first paragraph, and then the whole page about Downhouse and Dad's reputation. Suddenly he made a startling discovery, like a door slamming open was actually a series of Discoveries and Doors That Keep Opening: Dated 1865 Is it true that it was a diary kept by one of Darwin's children! He continued to look down.God, that language, that description, and those names, all seem true and reliable.He examined the handwriting carefully: round, elegant, feminine.The author is a woman who talks about wearing hoop skirts and her older sister Etty.After thinking about it, he guessed the author's identity: Elizabeth.Darwin or his second daughter Lizzie.It must be hers.How much do you know about her?He scoured his mind for the books he had read recently that said very little about her.She is his other daughter.Little is known about her.That word, submerged in history, suddenly jumped into my mind.Let's see, Darwin had ten children (don't think that's not bad for such a sick old man), but three of them died very young, including of course ten-year-old Anne.Her death left her father heartbroken.

He was very excited.Other names came, too, William, George, Francis and Leonard (forgot the name of a boy), and the beloved Henrietta, whom everyone liked.It was Etty who read and edited his father's manuscripts.Like her father, she suffered from constant illness.In her day, she was a perfect woman.She even fulfilled the Victorian lady's highest wish to marry.But during these long years, Lizzie was forgotten.What's up with her?was she ever married Hugh was fascinated by Lizzie's written description.He admired her clever way of hiding the diary in the seemingly ordinary ledger, just like Ellen.Poe wrote in "The Stolen Letter".How long this ruse had been lying in the ass he made a quick rough estimate of about a hundred and forty years.Think about it, it has been lying there all these years, and I am the first person to bring it back to the sky!

He continued to look down, glancing now and then at the Watcher, who sat primly at a table under the French windows.She seemed to be trying to avoid looking at him, like a security guard at a museum of fine arts, lest it appear that he thought you were really going to steal a Renoir.But it was possible for him, and he knew it himself.He picked up Lizzie's trick, occasionally picked up some documents, and then pushed them aside indifferently.He set out to find a reason to burn any publisher of Byron's memoirs, a coward from the start, and one who didn't deserve these treasures.He struggled in his mind: should he steal the damn thing.Maybe he just needs to loan it out and that's it.In this way, he has a reason to return it, such as mixing it with other materials and taking it out.

The phone rang, startling Hugh.The woman answered the phone in a low voice, then turned to him and said: I am very sorry, because of the relocation, we have to close earlier today.He still has a part to read.I'm afraid you only have five minutes. Five minutes is enough.He rearranged the materials, put a stack on the table to block it, then opened his shirt and stuffed the diary in, fastening it with his belt.He casually copied some more notes, thanked the woman with a nonchalant smile, and walked down the creaking wooden stairs and out the front door.As he walked in the cool London air, he felt as if he had just come out of the Tower of London with the Imperial Treasure.

Only a few minutes left.Hugh rushed to King's Cross station, jumped out of the taxi, and ran to the train bound for Cambridge.When the train was about to start, he climbed into a second-class carriage and sat down on a seat by the window.Outside, the station pillars, then the log sheds, the coal piles, and the gloomy backside of the railway tenements slid by.It was late in the evening, but it was beginning to get dark. He was so focused on his own business that he didn't pay much attention to the things around him.The other passengers nearby were within his line of sight, but he ignored them.He took off the backpack, put it heavily on his lap, and patted it with his hands. He could feel the diary inside, and he could clearly feel the thick cover with its edges and corners rounded. He was excited and suppressed again. I couldn't help being excited.

Staring at the darker and darker car windows, he was vaguely aware of the objects passing by outside the window and the people and objects in the car's looming reflections on the window glass.He collected himself and began to count the things in his hand.He understood that although the diary made him very excited, there was also a lot of water in it, and it also had a not-so-optimistic side.Because he always had a lingering idea in his mind, he felt that this discovery would be of great help to his career.It is likely to cause a huge stir in Darwin scholarly circles.Clearly though, it does not lead to new ideas. The man's eccentricities and illnesses are well known, but it is a record from members of his family.He just doubts how accurate it is.Yes, it paints a picture of Darwin as the head of the family.But the descriptions here are more complex, more nuanced and not all rhetoric.Lizzie seems to imply that the old man is hiding in the home like a refuge.Any contact with the outside world stimulated his hypochondriacs and turned the whole family upside down or, more correctly, enveloped the whole family in a fog of repression.What did Darwin's temper and depression seem to terrify everyone? What did it have to do with his short stick?Or what does it have to do with mirrors that peer into visitors?What does it have to do with Darwin becoming extremely distraught after an old shipmate Leonard says came to see him?Lizzie certainly had her opinion on things.In fact, she produced a kind of Robert.Louis.Stevenson's tenant is waiting for Lang.It was the same with the terrible clatter of Silver's wooden legs.

However, as the saying goes: there are no heroes in the eyes of a squire.He remembered the counterargument that only squires don't see heroes. He tried to imagine what Lizzie looked like: young, not more than twenty years old, wearing a high-necked dress, writing in a diary under the cold winter sun coming in through the window; A cotton nightgown, leaning on the bed, the shadows under the candlelight swaying on the wall.He pictured her racking her brain for words to express her chaotic emotions.He sighed lightly, shook his head and didn't think about it anymore, but her eyes were still there, reflected on the dark train window.Startled, he tried to turn his head away, but suddenly felt a hand on his arm.

I was wondering if you saw me, said Beth. He couldn't believe it.She was smiling, incomprehensible to him like a sphinx. Beth, my gosh.what are you doing here to Cambridge.And you? Too.He was very surprised.how long have you been sitting here a little earlier than you.You just walk in front of me and sit down.What are you thinking about. sorry.Yes, I didn't notice.I'm thinking about something. I can tell.I almost didn't recognize you.what happened to your beard I scraped it off. New life, new look? right.He had a self-deprecating half-smile.I'm starting out doing small things to live and then moving on to big things like getting a haircut.

Understood.She looked him over carefully.Ah, you look less homeless and more mainstream.Still, it looks pretty good. you too. She was in nice blue jeans, a scoop-neck sweater, and her hair was tied up.He shook his head. It's hard to imagine meeting you like this, he said. I know.The last time I saw you from the boat, you were a tiny figure on a lonely island. And soon you vanished into the sky.He came to his senses.God, I'm sorry.I forgot about your mother and the funeral.Hope those things don't make you too sad. It was actually very sad, much worse than I thought it would be.Totally unexpected.She looked out of the window from beside him.She had a heart attack, but she didn't tell us about it.

I am very depressed. She turned to look at him.You never really believe that your parents are going to die It's a bit of a roundabout way of saying it, but it's true.We have a good relationship. Her voice was calm, without a hint of self-pity.He didn't know how to answer.He hadn't quite recovered from the surprise he'd had when he saw her just now. At times like these, you learn more about yourself, she continued, and you see who you really are.All that is lurking within will come to the surface. For example? Oh, I don't understand either.Relationships, unresolved conflicts, and things you never knew you had.You must have felt this way too. That's right.He said.Then he changed the subject.Where's your father? Is he all right? not too good.They have been married for thirty-seven years and met in the second year of college.At the beginning, he was completely stunned, but now that he came to his senses, it became even more painful. Every little bit of daily life reminded him that she was gone.I think he still doesn't quite believe that reality yet.He didn't want to delete her message on the answering machine.I have to think about how I can be around him more in the future. Is it a family call?on the island? Yes, my brother Ned, who is five years younger than me, lives in California, so can't be of much help.That's all.She shrugged.You tell me something about yourself.when did you leave there It's been almost three weeks now.I'm so tired of waiting.Things ain't what they used to be when you two left You feel so lonely by yourself. no.But I do want to do something. She smiled.He thought her smile was a little sad. What about that project?Who is responsible? Two children came.I thought they were nice and serious. You are alone again. Be it.Oh how is Nigel?what is he doing I don't know very well either. You don't know? We went our separate ways. His heart hangs.what happened? It's really hard to say.He must go to the funeral, though I don't want him to.My ex-husband was there too, so I was a little nervous.I remember seeing the two of them deliberately ignoring each other and thinking it would be best to get rid of them both.So we parted ways when we got back.I guess he's looking for a new one.He is good at chatting, and is very good at winning the favor of women. I'm glad to hear that.I don't think he deserves you. She laughed and said: Like, not like you. Yes, not like me. The train pulls into a station.She was smiling.They had to get up and let an older woman pass.Hugh helped lift her suitcase onto the platform.When he returned, Beth propped her feet up on the seat opposite, with a copy of the Evening Standard under her feet. So what are you doing in Cambridge?he asked. Doing research, she replied, what about you? Do the same research. He was startled to realize that something had changed in him: it had been easy to tell her the truth on the island, but now there was a barrier between them.He felt as if he was playing with their pawns blocking each other's way. What kind of research?About Darwin, she asked? Ahhh.And you? Darwin. Oh, he said, biography or something? Roughly the same.I can't tell right now.And you? the same. They all fell silent, thinking about their next move.Through the backpack, he could feel the diary.If she knew he had but obviously it couldn't be told to her or anyone.But what was she thinking? After a minute or two he said: You know, Nigel told me once that you had a relationship with Darwin. She gave him a wary look. How could he say that? have no idea.but really?Are you? No matter what anyone says, you don't believe it.Her tone interrupted the conversation. Checkmate is dead. They chatted all the way until the train reached Cambridge.On the platform, he found that it was starting to rain lightly.None of them have umbrellas.He noticed little drops of water hanging from her eyelids. Would you like something to drink?she asked. He looked at his watch.There is an hour before the library closes.He was eager to read a few more pages of the diary.think so, but She spoke for him: you have something to do. Yes.very sorry. Stop saying sorry. How about tomorrow?he asked. OK.My schedule has never been flexible, sorry to say. They agreed on a time and place at seven o'clock, at Princely Gent's Bar, and got into a taxi together.In the car, they exchanged addresses and phone numbers.She wrote his on the back of an envelope.She lived with a friend on Norfolk High Street, not far from where he rented.She let him out of the car, but insisted that he not pay the fare.Through the car window, she glanced at his residence.Not much, she said, but I like the name: Twenty-One Windows.Have you counted it? certainly. See you tomorrow. Back in the room, Xio dropped his backpack, turned around and ran to the library.He walked along the narrow side street.The streets were lined with brown brick houses and long narrow passages, which looked ugly.The rain was getting heavier at this time, but it felt particularly cool when it fell on my face.In the market square, he entered a world of Gothic architecture with spiers and ancient arches.He then turned into a passage behind the walls of Trinity College and crossed the stone-paved bridge opposite Cambridge.The river under the bridge is rippling like a green blanket.In the distance, willow branches are blowing gently on the shore, and three black swans are swimming past below with their heads lowered.Life is always full of coincidences and accidents.You never know when it will lead you to which intersection or when you will turn a critical turn, even when you are turning. He hopped up the library steps, showed his library card, and pushed through the revolving doors and up the stairs to the room where the manuscripts were kept.Roland was there, and he was quickly sorting out the application form.He waved hello, then glanced at his watch and shook his head reproachfully. I'm looking for something about Darwin's family life Hugh said, do you have any suggestions?I'm especially interested in Elizabeth Lizzie. Ha, the inquiry into the mystery has been hindered. why would you say so? I'm just repeating what I've heard. Ten minutes later, Hugh was placed on a table in the corner.He carefully read the six or seven books Roland gave him one by one. Little is known about Lizzie.Born on July 8, 1847.never married.Died on June 8, 1926.Just these few dry clauses.Her father once mentioned that she shivered strangely as a child.Henrietta had left a few words suggesting that Lizzie was slow to respond.Come to think of it, this is the source of the slander.Almost in anger, he dismissed those words immediately, and Lizzie's own diary refuted any of the above claims.Moreover, he was well aware of the rivalry among his fellow-citizens, and therefore understood the pros and cons of these words. There is a book that mentions a very strange thing.In 1866 (the year after she kept the diary, Hugh remembered), she refused confirmation.She ignored the catechism and told her mother that I didn't really want to hear it.In the same year, she announced that she would change her name to Bessie instead of Lizzie.How strange.Did she do it on a whim?Or had she experienced some kind of crisis, some powerful emotional shock, that made her want to change herself completely?And four years later, just before Henrietta married a man named Lichfield, she seemed to disappear from people's sight.She went abroad alone.After that, she is rarely mentioned in family history. Don't think about it, how reliable is her observation?Was she a Victorian girl with too much imagination?Was she overly attached to her father?Is it jealous of Addie?But some things were clear: she was a rebellious dork with a thirst for life but also, by her own accounts, shy, suspicious, and hiding behind her back.She is still a scout and what a scout!For some reason, Hugh suddenly felt the need to protect her, to side with her against her perfect sister, her incomprehensible mother and her loving but domineering father. She was certainly well aware of the diseases that plagued Darwin in his later years.He looked up the index and skimmed the relevant chapters: all documented, with pitiful bouts of exhaustion and nausea, dizziness and headaches, fatigue and insomnia, eczema and anxiety.There are too many various symptoms on him, and no one disease can fully explain it.It was explained that he had Chagas disease, an infection he had been bitten by a trypanosome in South America.For this episode, Darwin had a very detailed description (Hugh made a note: March 26, 1835 blood-sucking bug parasite).But those symptoms don't match that.Darwin did suffer from a debilitating illness in Argentina, but that was before, not after, the famous and well-known bite.Therefore, most scholars tend to believe that his illness is caused by psychosomatic disorder.One is Janet.According to Brown's biographers, they appear to be the result of a combination of grief, guilt, and fear, some deep-seated fear of being exposed.But what kind of secret is there in his life?What was he afraid of being exposed? Hugh's thoughts were interrupted by Roland. It closes in half an hour. Roland, do you have any letters from Lizzie?May I take a look at it? I'm afraid not. None? No, there are some.But it's reserved for someone else.Someone called and made a reservation. other people? Roland nodded repeatedly.You see, I cannot speak casually.Administrators are not allowed to disclose research about others.As Vegas said: What happened here should not be spread.But the coincidence was just too surprising. What? For a long time, no one treated Elizabeth.Darwin was interested.And just two days ago, like you, a young woman came here and wanted to know all about her.She is also an American. Her name is Beth.Dalcimer? Ha, so you know her, or do you know her? I know her. Then I really hope you are not competitors.She is indeed charming. On the way back, don't think about what Beth is studying, and why she keeps it so secret.On the other hand, he had to admit, he kept his secrets just as much.But therein lies the problem: he has something to hide, so what is she hiding? He stopped at the Hawkshead pub.It was hot, humid, smoky, and very noisy.As he approached the bar, he noticed a young man sitting on a stool.He looked a lot like Carl's lean back at Harvard, with curly black hair that reached his collar.Hugh felt a familiar wave of bewilderment and emptiness and a long, numbing pain. He finds a table with a beer, ignoring the winks from a young, gray-haired woman.He finished the pint and asked for another pint.After the alcohol, the pain started to ease a little.He relaxed, letting his thoughts return to his days in Andover. In fact, when he was fired, he wasn't crushed.On the contrary, he was secretly delighted and excited.This event brought everything to an extreme.He went to that school, just to follow in his brother's footsteps. Carl was so good, they expected his brother to do the same and as usual, he was no match for him.But this is the same thing as success, just in a different way.It's also a huge feat, only in reverse.That smooth path was not for him.He is a rebel.That morning, he spent half an hour engraving his name on a bench on campus.He had heard that Wordsworth (Note: William Wordsworth, British romantic poet.) had carved his name like this when he was a child in the Lake District. Hugh, my God.impossible.When Carl called the dormitory the next day to see if he had been caught, Hugh had to tell him what had happened.He is finished.Carl whines on the phone because he must feel responsible.He came to Andover to celebrate Hugh's admission to Harvard.The two sneaked to a bar.Carl came to join him on the train to Connecticut.It's hard to tell who is comforting whom.Together they have to face their father.Father wasn't particularly angry.But in a way, it was worse. He seemed to be counting on Hugh to fail.He's mad at Carl. When Hugh left the bar, the rain had stopped.He walked back to the rental room and saw the landlady left him a note under the door.Bridget had called to call him back, no matter how late.So he went to the lobby to make a phone call. Hugh, thank goodness. What's up? Listen, I've thought about it.We have to meet and I don't want to hear you say no. All right.But tell me why. I'll tell you when we meet.At noon tomorrow, okay?St. James' Park?Hugh at the nearest entrance to St. James's Palace, are you there?Are you listening to me? yes, in. Then how do you say would you like to see me? He paused, just for a second. I go.