Mistress Mary Quite Contrary
Mary had liked to look at her mother from a distance and she had thought her very pretty, but as she knew very little of her she could scarcely have been expected to love her or to miss her very much when she was gone. She did not miss her at all, in fact, and as she was a self-absorbed child she gave her entire thought to herself, as she had always done. If she had been older she would no doubt have been very anxious at being left alone in the world, but she was very young, and as she had always been taken care of, she supposed she always would be. What she thought was that she would like to know if she was going to nice people, who would be polite to her and give her her own way as her Ayah and the other native servants had done.
A Mary le había gustado mirar a su madre desde lejos y la había considerado muy guapa, pero como la conocía muy poco, difícilmente podía esperarse que la quisiera o que la echara mucho de menos cuando ya no estuvo. De hecho, no la echó de menos en absoluto, y como era una niña ensimismada, dedicaba todo su pensamiento a sí misma, como siempre había hecho. Si hubiera sido mayor, sin duda se habría sentido muy inquieta al quedarse sola en el mundo, pero era muy pequeña, y como siempre habían cuidado de ella, suponía que siempre sería así. Lo que pensaba era que le gustaría saber si iba a ir con gente amable, que fuera cortés con ella y le consintiera sus caprichos como habían hecho su Aya y los demás criados nativos.
She knew that she was not going to stay at the English clergyman’s house where she was taken at first. She did not want to stay. The English clergyman was poor and he had five children nearly all the same age and they wore shabby clothes and were always quarreling and snatching toys from each other. Mary hated their untidy bungalow and was so disagreeable to them that after the first day or two nobody would play with her. By the second day they had given her a nickname which made her furious.
Sabía que no se iba a quedar en casa del clérigo inglés adonde la llevaron al principio. No quería quedarse. El clérigo inglés era pobre y tenía cinco hijos casi todos de la misma edad, que llevaban ropa raída y andaban siempre peleándose y quitándose los juguetes unos a otros. Mary detestaba su desordenado bungaló y se portaba tan mal con ellos que, al cabo de uno o dos días, nadie quería jugar con ella. Para el segundo día ya le habían puesto un apodo que la ponía furiosa.
It was Basil who thought of it first. Basil was a little boy with impudent blue eyes and a turned-up nose, and Mary hated him. She was playing by herself under a tree, just as she had been playing the day the cholera broke out. She was making heaps of earth and paths for a garden and Basil came and stood near to watch her. Presently he got rather interested and suddenly made a suggestion.
Fue Basil quien lo pensó primero. Basil era un niño de ojos azules descarados y nariz respingona, y Mary lo detestaba. Estaba jugando sola bajo un árbol, igual que jugaba el día en que estalló el cólera. Hacía montones de tierra y senderos para un jardín, y Basil se acercó y se quedó de pie a mirarla. Al poco rato se interesó bastante y de pronto hizo una sugerencia.
“Why don’t you put a heap of stones there and pretend it is a rockery?” he said. “There in the middle,” and he leaned over her to point.
"¿Por qué no pones ahí un montón de piedras y haces como que es una rocalla?", dijo. "Ahí, en el medio", y se inclinó sobre ella para señalar.
“Go away!” cried Mary. “I don’t want boys. Go away!”
"¡Vete!", gritó Mary. "No quiero niños. ¡Vete!"
For a moment Basil looked angry, and then he began to tease. He was always teasing his sisters. He danced round and round her and made faces and sang and laughed.
Por un momento Basil pareció enfadado, y luego se puso a chincharla. Siempre andaba chinchando a sus hermanas. Bailó dando vueltas y más vueltas a su alrededor, puso muecas, cantó y se rio.
“Mistress Mary, quite contrary, How does your garden grow? With silver bells, and cockle shells, And marigolds all in a row.”
"Doña Mari Contraria, / ¿cómo crece tu jardín? / Con campanillas de plata / y conchas de berberecho / y caléndulas en fila."
He sang it until the other children heard and laughed, too; and the crosser Mary got, the more they sang “Mistress Mary, quite contrary”; and after that as long as she stayed with them they called her “Mistress Mary Quite Contrary” when they spoke of her to each other, and often when they spoke to her.
Lo cantó hasta que los demás niños lo oyeron y se rieron también; y cuanto más se enfadaba Mary, más cantaban ellos "Doña Mari Contraria"; y a partir de entonces, mientras estuvo con ellos, la llamaban "Doña Mari Contraria" cuando hablaban de ella entre sí, y a menudo cuando le hablaban a ella.
“You are going to be sent home,” Basil said to her, “at the end of the week. And we’re glad of it.”
"Te van a mandar a casa", le dijo Basil, "al final de la semana. Y nos alegramos."
“I am glad of it, too,” answered Mary. “Where is home?”
"Yo también me alegro", respondió Mary. "¿Dónde está esa casa?"
“She doesn’t know where home is!” said Basil, with seven-year-old scorn. “It’s England, of course. Our grandmama lives there and our sister Mabel was sent to her last year. You are not going to your grandmama. You have none. You are going to your uncle. His name is Mr. Archibald Craven.”
"¡No sabe dónde está su casa!", dijo Basil, con el desdén de sus siete años. "Es Inglaterra, claro. Allí vive nuestra abuelita, y a nuestra hermana Mabel la mandaron con ella el año pasado. Tú no vas a ir con tu abuelita. No tienes. Vas a ir con tu tío. Se llama Mr. Archibald Craven."
“I don’t know anything about him,” snapped Mary.
"No sé nada de él", replicó Mary con brusquedad.
“I know you don’t,” Basil answered. “You don’t know anything. Girls never do. I heard father and mother talking about him. He lives in a great, big, desolate old house in the country and no one goes near him. He’s so cross he won’t let them, and they wouldn’t come if he would let them. He’s a hunchback, and he’s horrid.”
"Ya sé que no", respondió Basil. "No sabes nada. Las niñas nunca saben. Oí a papá y a mamá hablando de él. Vive en una casona vieja, enorme y desolada, en el campo, y nadie se le acerca. Es tan arisco que no los deja, y ellos no irían aunque los dejara. Es jorobado, y es horrible."
“I don’t believe you,” said Mary; and she turned her back and stuck her fingers in her ears, because she would not listen any more.
"No te creo", dijo Mary; y le dio la espalda y se metió los dedos en los oídos, porque no quería escuchar más.
But she thought over it a great deal afterward; and when Mrs. Crawford told her that night that she was going to sail away to England in a few days and go to her uncle, Mr. Archibald Craven, who lived at Misselthwaite Manor, she looked so stony and stubbornly uninterested that they did not know what to think about her. They tried to be kind to her, but she only turned her face away when Mrs. Crawford attempted to kiss her, and held herself stiffly when Mr. Crawford patted her shoulder.
Pero después le dio muchas vueltas; y cuando esa noche Mrs. Crawford le dijo que dentro de unos días zarparía rumbo a Inglaterra para ir con su tío, Mr. Archibald Craven, que vivía en la mansión Misselthwaite, puso una cara tan pétrea y de terca indiferencia que no supieron qué pensar de ella. Trataron de ser amables con ella, pero solo apartó la cara cuando Mrs. Crawford intentó besarla, y se quedó tiesa cuando Mr. Crawford le dio unas palmaditas en el hombro.
“She is such a plain child,” Mrs. Crawford said pityingly, afterward. “And her mother was such a pretty creature. She had a very pretty manner, too, and Mary has the most unattractive ways I ever saw in a child. The children call her ‘Mistress Mary Quite Contrary,’ and though it’s naughty of them, one can’t help understanding it.”
"Es una niña tan poco agraciada", dijo Mrs. Crawford después, con lástima. "Y su madre era una criatura tan bonita. Tenía además unos modales encantadores, y Mary tiene la manera de ser más desagradable que he visto en una niña. Los niños la llaman 'Doña Mari Contraria', y aunque es una travesura por su parte, no se puede evitar entenderlo."
“Perhaps if her mother had carried her pretty face and her pretty manners oftener into the nursery Mary might have learned some pretty ways too. It is very sad, now the poor beautiful thing is gone, to remember that many people never even knew that she had a child at all.”
"Quizá, si su madre hubiera llevado su cara bonita y sus modales encantadores más a menudo al cuarto de los niños, Mary podría haber aprendido también algunas maneras agradables. Es muy triste, ahora que la pobre y hermosa criatura ya no está, recordar que mucha gente ni siquiera sabía que tuviera una hija."
“I believe she scarcely ever looked at her,” sighed Mrs. Crawford. “When her Ayah was dead there was no one to give a thought to the little thing. Think of the servants running away and leaving her all alone in that deserted bungalow. Colonel McGrew said he nearly jumped out of his skin when he opened the door and found her standing by herself in the middle of the room.”
"Creo que apenas la miraba", suspiró Mrs. Crawford. "Cuando murió su Aya no quedó nadie que pensara en la pobre criatura. Imagínese a los criados huyendo y dejándola completamente sola en aquel bungaló abandonado. El coronel McGrew dijo que casi se le sale el corazón por la boca cuando abrió la puerta y la encontró de pie, ella sola, en medio de la habitación."
Mary made the long voyage to England under the care of an officer’s wife, who was taking her children to leave them in a boarding-school. She was very much absorbed in her own little boy and girl, and was rather glad to hand the child over to the woman Mr. Archibald Craven sent to meet her, in London. The woman was his housekeeper at Misselthwaite Manor, and her name was Mrs. Medlock. She was a stout woman, with very red cheeks and sharp black eyes. She wore a very purple dress, a black silk mantle with jet fringe on it and a black bonnet with purple velvet flowers which stuck up and trembled when she moved her head. Mary did not like her at all, but as she very seldom liked people there was nothing remarkable in that; besides which it was very evident Mrs. Medlock did not think much of her.
Mary hizo el largo viaje a Inglaterra al cuidado de la esposa de un oficial, que llevaba a sus hijos para dejarlos en un internado. Andaba muy pendiente de su propio niño y su niña, y se alegró bastante de entregarle la cría a la mujer que Mr. Archibald Craven había mandado a recibirla en Londres. La mujer era su ama de llaves en la mansión Misselthwaite, y se llamaba Mrs. Medlock. Era una mujer robusta, de mejillas muy coloradas y ojos negros y penetrantes. Llevaba un vestido muy morado, una capa de seda negra con flecos de azabache y una toca negra con flores de terciopelo morado que sobresalían y temblaban cuando movía la cabeza. A Mary no le gustó nada, pero como muy rara vez le gustaba la gente, aquello no tenía nada de particular; además, era evidente que Mrs. Medlock no la tenía en gran estima.
“My word! she’s a plain little piece of goods!” she said. “And we’d heard that her mother was a beauty. She hasn’t handed much of it down, has she, ma’am?”
"¡Vaya! ¡Menuda cosita más feúcha!", dijo. "Y eso que habíamos oído que su madre era una belleza. No le ha pasado gran cosa de eso, ¿verdad, señora?"
“Perhaps she will improve as she grows older,” the officer’s wife said good-naturedly. “If she were not so sallow and had a nicer expression, her features are rather good. Children alter so much.”
"Quizá mejore cuando crezca", dijo la esposa del oficial con buen talante. "Si no estuviera tan cetrina y tuviera una expresión más simpática, sus facciones son bastante buenas. Los niños cambian tanto."
“She’ll have to alter a good deal,” answered Mrs. Medlock. “And, there’s nothing likely to improve children at Misselthwaite—if you ask me!”
"Tendrá que cambiar bastante", respondió Mrs. Medlock. "Y en Misselthwaite no hay nada que vaya a mejorar a los niños... ¡si quiere que le diga!"
They thought Mary was not listening because she was standing a little apart from them at the window of the private hotel they had gone to. She was watching the passing buses and cabs and people, but she heard quite well and was made very curious about her uncle and the place he lived in. What sort of a place was it, and what would he be like? What was a hunchback? She had never seen one. Perhaps there were none in India.
Creían que Mary no escuchaba porque estaba un poco apartada de ellas, junto a la ventana del hotel privado adonde habían ido. Miraba pasar los autobuses, los coches de punto y la gente, pero oía perfectamente y sintió mucha curiosidad por su tío y por el lugar donde vivía. ¿Qué clase de lugar sería, y cómo sería él? ¿Qué era un jorobado? Nunca había visto ninguno. Quizá en la India no los había.
Since she had been living in other people’s houses and had had no Ayah, she had begun to feel lonely and to think queer thoughts which were new to her. She had begun to wonder why she had never seemed to belong to anyone even when her father and mother had been alive. Other children seemed to belong to their fathers and mothers, but she had never seemed to really be anyone’s little girl. She had had servants, and food and clothes, but no one had taken any notice of her. She did not know that this was because she was a disagreeable child; but then, of course, she did not know she was disagreeable. She often thought that other people were, but she did not know that she was so herself.
Desde que vivía en casas ajenas y no tenía Aya, había empezado a sentirse sola y a tener pensamientos extraños que eran nuevos para ella. Había empezado a preguntarse por qué nunca había parecido pertenecer a nadie, ni siquiera cuando su padre y su madre vivían. Los demás niños parecían pertenecer a sus padres y madres, pero ella nunca había parecido ser de veras la niña de nadie. Había tenido criados, comida y ropa, pero nadie le había prestado atención. No sabía que esto se debía a que era una niña desagradable; pero, claro está, tampoco sabía que fuera desagradable. A menudo pensaba que lo eran los demás, pero no sabía que ella misma lo fuera.
She thought Mrs. Medlock the most disagreeable person she had ever seen, with her common, highly colored face and her common fine bonnet. When the next day they set out on their journey to Yorkshire, she walked through the station to the railway carriage with her head up and trying to keep as far away from her as she could, because she did not want to seem to belong to her. It would have made her angry to think people imagined she was her little girl.
A Mrs. Medlock la tenía por la persona más desagradable que había visto jamás, con aquella cara vulgar y muy colorada y aquella vulgar toca lujosa. Cuando al día siguiente emprendieron el viaje a Yorkshire, cruzó la estación hasta el vagón con la cabeza bien alta y procurando mantenerse lo más lejos posible de ella, porque no quería parecer que le pertenecía. La habría enfadado pensar que la gente la imaginara su hija.
But Mrs. Medlock was not in the least disturbed by her and her thoughts. She was the kind of woman who would “stand no nonsense from young ones.” At least, that is what she would have said if she had been asked. She had not wanted to go to London just when her sister Maria’s daughter was going to be married, but she had a comfortable, well paid place as housekeeper at Misselthwaite Manor and the only way in which she could keep it was to do at once what she was told to do. She never dared even to ask a question.
Pero a Mrs. Medlock no la inquietaban en absoluto ni ella ni sus pensamientos. Era de esa clase de mujeres que "no aguantan tonterías de los críos". Al menos, eso es lo que habría dicho si se lo hubieran preguntado. No había querido ir a Londres justo cuando iba a casarse la hija de su hermana Maria, pero tenía un puesto cómodo y bien pagado como ama de llaves en la mansión Misselthwaite, y la única manera de conservarlo era hacer de inmediato lo que le mandaban. Nunca se atrevía siquiera a hacer una pregunta.
“Captain Lennox and his wife died of the cholera,” Mr. Craven had said in his short, cold way. “Captain Lennox was my wife’s brother and I am their daughter’s guardian. The child is to be brought here. You must go to London and bring her yourself.”
"El capitán Lennox y su esposa murieron del cólera", había dicho Mr. Craven con su manera cortante y fría. "El capitán Lennox era hermano de mi esposa y yo soy el tutor de su hija. Hay que traer a la niña aquí. Debe usted ir a Londres y traerla en persona."
So she packed her small trunk and made the journey.
Así que hizo su pequeño baúl y emprendió el viaje.
Mary sat in her corner of the railway carriage and looked plain and fretful. She had nothing to read or to look at, and she had folded her thin little black-gloved hands in her lap. Her black dress made her look yellower than ever, and her limp light hair straggled from under her black crepe hat.
Mary iba sentada en su rincón del vagón, con aspecto feúcho y quejumbroso. No tenía nada que leer ni que mirar, y había cruzado sobre el regazo sus manitas flacas enfundadas en guantes negros. El vestido negro la hacía parecer más amarilla que nunca, y su pelo claro y lacio se escapaba en mechones por debajo del sombrero de crespón negro.
“A more marred-looking young one I never saw in my life,” Mrs. Medlock thought. (Marred is a Yorkshire word and means spoiled and pettish.) She had never seen a child who sat so still without doing anything; and at last she got tired of watching her and began to talk in a brisk, hard voice.
"En mi vida he visto una criatura con peor cara de mimada", pensó Mrs. Medlock. (En Yorkshire, mimada quiere decir consentida y caprichosa.) Nunca había visto a una niña que se quedara tan quieta sin hacer nada; y al fin se cansó de mirarla y se puso a hablar con voz enérgica y dura.
“I suppose I may as well tell you something about where you are going to,” she said. “Do you know anything about your uncle?”
"Supongo que ya puedo contarle algo sobre adónde va", dijo. "¿Sabe algo de su tío?"
“No,” said Mary.
"No", dijo Mary.
“Never heard your father and mother talk about him?”
"¿Nunca oyó a su padre y a su madre hablar de él?"
“No,” said Mary frowning. She frowned because she remembered that her father and mother had never talked to her about anything in particular. Certainly they had never told her things.
"No", dijo Mary frunciendo el ceño. Frunció el ceño porque recordó que su padre y su madre nunca le habían hablado de nada en particular. Desde luego, nunca le contaban cosas.
“Humph,” muttered Mrs. Medlock, staring at her queer, unresponsive little face. She did not say any more for a few moments and then she began again.
"Ajá", masculló Mrs. Medlock, mirando fijamente aquella carita rara y sin expresión. No dijo nada más durante unos instantes y luego volvió a empezar.
“I suppose you might as well be told something—to prepare you. You are going to a queer place.”
"Supongo que conviene que le cuenten algo... para prepararla. Va usted a un sitio raro."
Mary said nothing at all, and Mrs. Medlock looked rather discomfited by her apparent indifference, but, after taking a breath, she went on.
Mary no dijo absolutamente nada, y Mrs. Medlock pareció bastante desconcertada por su aparente indiferencia, pero, tras tomar aliento, prosiguió.
“Not but that it’s a grand big place in a gloomy way, and Mr. Craven’s proud of it in his way—and that’s gloomy enough, too. The house is six hundred years old and it’s on the edge of the moor, and there’s near a hundred rooms in it, though most of them’s shut up and locked. And there’s pictures and fine old furniture and things that’s been there for ages, and there’s a big park round it and gardens and trees with branches trailing to the ground—some of them.” She paused and took another breath. “But there’s nothing else,” she ended suddenly.
"No es que no sea un caserón grande e imponente, aunque de un modo lúgubre, y Mr. Craven está orgulloso de él a su manera... que también es bastante lúgubre. La casa tiene seiscientos años y está al borde del páramo, y hay cerca de cien habitaciones, aunque la mayoría están cerradas con llave. Y hay cuadros, y muebles antiguos y hermosos, y cosas que llevan allí siglos, y hay un gran parque alrededor y jardines y árboles con las ramas arrastrando por el suelo... algunos." Hizo una pausa y tomó aliento de nuevo. "Pero no hay nada más", terminó de pronto.
Mary had begun to listen in spite of herself. It all sounded so unlike India, and anything new rather attracted her. But she did not intend to look as if she were interested. That was one of her unhappy, disagreeable ways. So she sat still.
Mary había empezado a escuchar a su pesar. Todo aquello sonaba tan distinto de la India, y cualquier novedad la atraía bastante. Pero no tenía intención de parecer interesada. Esa era una de sus maneras infelices y desagradables. Así que se quedó quieta.
“Well,” said Mrs. Medlock. “What do you think of it?”
"Bueno", dijo Mrs. Medlock. "¿Qué le parece?"
“Nothing,” she answered. “I know nothing about such places.”
"Nada", respondió ella. "No sé nada de sitios así."
That made Mrs. Medlock laugh a short sort of laugh.
Eso hizo que Mrs. Medlock soltara una especie de risa breve.
“Eh!” she said, “but you are like an old woman. Don’t you care?”
"¡Anda!", dijo, "pero si parece usted una vieja. ¿No le importa nada?"
“It doesn’t matter” said Mary, “whether I care or not.”
"Da lo mismo", dijo Mary, "que me importe o no."
“You are right enough there,” said Mrs. Medlock. “It doesn’t. What you’re to be kept at Misselthwaite Manor for I don’t know, unless because it’s the easiest way. He’s not going to trouble himself about you, that’s sure and certain. He never troubles himself about no one.”
"En eso tiene toda la razón", dijo Mrs. Medlock. "Da lo mismo. Para qué la van a tener en la mansión Misselthwaite, no lo sé, a no ser porque es lo más fácil. Él no se va a molestar por usted, eso es más que seguro. Nunca se molesta por nadie."
She stopped herself as if she had just remembered something in time.
Se detuvo como si acabara de recordar algo a tiempo.
“He’s got a crooked back,” she said. “That set him wrong. He was a sour young man and got no good of all his money and big place till he was married.”
"Tiene la espalda torcida", dijo. "Eso lo amargó. Era un joven agrio y no le sacó provecho a todo su dinero ni a su gran finca hasta que se casó."
Mary’s eyes turned toward her in spite of her intention not to seem to care. She had never thought of the hunchback’s being married and she was a trifle surprised. Mrs. Medlock saw this, and as she was a talkative woman she continued with more interest. This was one way of passing some of the time, at any rate.
Los ojos de Mary se volvieron hacia ella pese a su propósito de aparentar indiferencia. Nunca se le había ocurrido que el jorobado estuviera casado, y se sorprendió un poquito. Mrs. Medlock lo notó, y como era mujer parlanchina, continuó con más ganas. Al menos, era una manera de pasar el rato.
“She was a sweet, pretty thing and he’d have walked the world over to get her a blade o’ grass she wanted. Nobody thought she’d marry him, but she did, and people said she married him for his money. But she didn’t—she didn’t,” positively. “When she died—”
"Era una cosita dulce y bonita, y él habría recorrido el mundo entero para conseguirle una brizna de hierba que ella quisiera. Nadie pensaba que se casaría con él, pero se casó, y la gente decía que se casó por su dinero. Pero no fue así... no fue así", con firmeza. "Cuando ella murió..."
Mary gave a little involuntary jump.
Mary dio un pequeño respingo involuntario.
“Oh! did she die!” she exclaimed, quite without meaning to. She had just remembered a French fairy story she had once read called “Riquet à la Houppe.” It had been about a poor hunchback and a beautiful princess and it had made her suddenly sorry for Mr. Archibald Craven.
"¡Oh! ¿Se murió?", exclamó, sin quererlo en absoluto. Acababa de acordarse de un cuento de hadas francés que había leído una vez, titulado "Riquete el del Copete". Trataba de un pobre jorobado y una hermosa princesa, y de pronto le hizo sentir lástima por Mr. Archibald Craven.
“Yes, she died,” Mrs. Medlock answered. “And it made him queerer than ever. He cares about nobody. He won’t see people. Most of the time he goes away, and when he is at Misselthwaite he shuts himself up in the West Wing and won’t let anyone but Pitcher see him. Pitcher’s an old fellow, but he took care of him when he was a child and he knows his ways.”
"Sí, se murió", respondió Mrs. Medlock. "Y eso lo volvió más raro que nunca. No le importa nadie. No quiere ver a la gente. La mayor parte del tiempo se marcha, y cuando está en Misselthwaite se encierra en el Ala Oeste y no deja que lo vea nadie más que Pitcher. Pitcher es un viejo, pero lo cuidó de niño y le conoce las mañas."
It sounded like something in a book and it did not make Mary feel cheerful. A house with a hundred rooms, nearly all shut up and with their doors locked—a house on the edge of a moor—whatsoever a moor was—sounded dreary. A man with a crooked back who shut himself up also! She stared out of the window with her lips pinched together, and it seemed quite natural that the rain should have begun to pour down in gray slanting lines and splash and stream down the window-panes. If the pretty wife had been alive she might have made things cheerful by being something like her own mother and by running in and out and going to parties as she had done in frocks “full of lace.” But she was not there any more.
Sonaba a algo salido de un libro y no hizo que Mary se sintiera alegre. Una casa con cien habitaciones, casi todas cerradas y con las puertas bajo llave... una casa al borde de un páramo... fuera lo que fuese un páramo... sonaba deprimente. ¡Y un hombre con la espalda torcida que también se encerraba! Miró fijamente por la ventana con los labios apretados, y le pareció de lo más natural que la lluvia hubiera empezado a caer a cántaros en líneas grises y oblicuas, salpicando y chorreando por los cristales. Si la bonita esposa hubiera estado viva, quizá habría alegrado las cosas siendo algo parecida a su propia madre y yendo y viniendo y acudiendo a fiestas como ella hacía, con vestidos "llenos de encaje". Pero ya no estaba allí.
“You needn’t expect to see him, because ten to one you won’t,” said Mrs. Medlock. “And you mustn’t expect that there will be people to talk to you. You’ll have to play about and look after yourself. You’ll be told what rooms you can go into and what rooms you’re to keep out of. There’s gardens enough. But when you’re in the house don’t go wandering and poking about. Mr. Craven won’t have it.”
"No espere verlo a él, porque lo más probable es que no", dijo Mrs. Medlock. "Y no espere que haya gente que hable con usted. Tendrá que entretenerse y arreglárselas sola. Le dirán en qué habitaciones puede entrar y de cuáles debe mantenerse alejada. Jardines hay de sobra. Pero cuando esté en la casa, no ande vagando ni fisgando por ahí. Mr. Craven no lo consiente."
“I shall not want to go poking about,” said sour little Mary and just as suddenly as she had begun to be rather sorry for Mr. Archibald Craven she began to cease to be sorry and to think he was unpleasant enough to deserve all that had happened to him.
"No me apetecerá andar fisgando", dijo la agria pequeña Mary, y tan de repente como había empezado a sentir cierta lástima por Mr. Archibald Craven, empezó a dejar de sentirla y a pensar que él era lo bastante antipático como para merecer todo lo que le había pasado.
And she turned her face toward the streaming panes of the window of the railway carriage and gazed out at the gray rain-storm which looked as if it would go on forever and ever. She watched it so long and steadily that the grayness grew heavier and heavier before her eyes and she fell asleep.
Y volvió la cara hacia los chorreantes cristales de la ventanilla del vagón y contempló la gris tormenta de lluvia, que parecía que iba a seguir por siempre jamás. La miró tanto rato y con tanta fijeza que el gris se fue haciendo más y más denso ante sus ojos, y se quedó dormida.