"Elrod, P.N. - Jonathan Barrett 01 - Red Death" - читать интересную книгу автора (Elrod P N)

"You dare?" Her voice rose enough to break my ears, enough to reach the servants' hall. Hopefully, they would know better than to come investigate the din.
"No, Mother. I swear to you, I am not mocking you. I sincerely apologize that I have given offense." Such words came easily; she'd given me ample opportunity for practice over the weeks. I finished off with a bow to emphasize my complete sincerity. Yet another opportunity to study the floor.
Thank God that this time it worked. Straightening, I saw her color slowly return to normal and the lines in her face abruptly smooth out. This swift recovery was more disturbing to me than her instant rage. Since her return, I'd quickly adjusted to the fact that she was not at all like other people, but that was hardly a solace during those times when her differences were so acutely demonstrated.
Dominance established, she resumed where she'd left off, almost as though nothing had happened. "You are going to Cambridge, Jonathan. Cambridge in England, Jonathan," she repeated, putting a razor edge on each syllable as though to underscore my abysmal ignorance.
It took me some moments to understand, to sort out the mistake. I suppose that she'd been anticipating a torrent of enthusiasm from me. Instead, my face fell and from my lips popped the first words that came to mind. "But I want to go to Harvard."
That's when the explosion truly came and she started calling me names.
You know the rest.
What was she saying now? Something about the virtues of Cambridge. I did not interrupt; it would have been pointless. She wasn't interested in my opinions or plans I might have made. Any and all objections had been drowned in the hot tidal wave of her temper. To resurrect them again would only aggravate her more. As Elizabeth had reminded me, I could sort it all out with Father later.
Did Father know about this? I couldn't believe that he would not have spoken to me about it before leaving yesterday. Surely he would have said something, for he, too, had planned that I should go to Harvard. That she had carefully waited until he was absent before breaking her news took on a fresh and ominous meaning, but I couldn't quite see the reason behind it yet. It was difficult to think while she talked on and on, pausing only to get the occasional nodding agreement from me at appropriate times.
Why was she so concerned about my education after fifteen years of blithe neglect? Marie Fonteyn Barrett had been singularly uninterested in either of her children since we were very small. It was a mixed blessing for us, for growing up without a mother had left something of a blank spot in our lives. On the other hand, what sort of broken monsters might we have been had she stayed with Father instead of moving to Philadelphia?
She'd only made the long journey from there to our home on Long Island because of all the turmoil in that city. With the rebels stirring things up at every opportunity, it had become too dangerous to remain, so she had written Father, and he, being a good and decent man, had said her house was there for her, the doors open. Her swift arrival caused us to speculate that she had not actually waited for his reply.
She'd just as swiftly assumed the running of the household in her own manner, subtly and not so subtly disrupting every level of life and work. Surprisingly, few servants left. Most were very loyal to Father and had the understanding that this was to be only a brief visit. When things had settled back to normal in Philadelphia, Mother would soon depart from us.
A likely chance, I thought cynically. Surely she was enjoying herself too much to leave.
She paused in her speech; apparently I'd been delinquent in my latest response.
"This is ... is marvelous to hear, Mother. I hardly know what to say."
"A 'thank you' would be appropriate."
Yes, of course it would. "Thank you, Mother."
She nodded, comically regal, but not a bit amusing. My stomach was starting to roil in reaction to the tempest between my ears. I had to get out of here before exploding myself.
"May I be excused, Mother?"
"Excused? I should think you'd want to hear all the rest of the details we have planned."
'Truly I do, but must confess that my brain is whirling so much now I am hardly able to breathe. I beg but a little time to recover so that I may give you my best attention later."
"Very well. I suppose you'll run off to tell Elizabeth everything."
To this, a correct assumption that was really none of her business, I made another courtly bow upon which she could apply her own interpretation.
"You are excused. But remember: no arguments and no more foolishness. Going to Cambridge is the greatest opportunity you're ever going to receive to make something of yourself."
"Yes, Mother." I bowed again, inching anxiously toward the door.
"This is, after all, for your own good," she concluded serenely
Anger flushed through me again as I turned and stalked from the room. How fond she was of that idea. God save me from all the hideous people hell-bent on doing things for my own good. So far there'd been only one in my life, my mother, and she was more than enough.
Quietly shutting the door behind me, I slipped down the hall until there was enough distance between us for noise not to matter, then began to run as though the house were on fire. Not bothering with a coat or hat, I threw myself outside into the cold April air. The woman was suffocating. I needed to be free of her and all thought of her. My feet carried me straight to the stables. With its mud, muck, and the irreverent company of the lads, this was one place I would be safe.
"Over here, Mr. Jonathan!"
My black servant, Jericho, waved at me. He was just emerging from the darkness of one of the buildings. Though he was primarily my valet and therefore supposed to keep to the house, neither of us paid much attention to such things. He was fairly high up in the household hierarchy and able to bend a rule here and there as long as nobody minded. If he chose to play the part of a groom, he suffered no loss in status, because working with horses was a source of pleasure for him. Right now, he was a godsend, for he had saddled up Roily, my favorite, and was leading him out to me.
I couldn't help but laugh at his foresight. "How did you guess? Magic?"
"No magic," he said, smiling at the old joke between us. He used to tease the servant girls about being able to read their deepest thoughts and being a sharp observer of human nature made him right more often than not. The younger ones were awed, the older ones amused, and one rather guilty-hearted
wench accused him of witchcraft. "I'd heard that Mrs. Barrett wanted to speak to you. Every other time you've come here to ride it off."
"And here I am once more. Thank you, Jericho. Will you come with me?"
"I rather assumed you would prefer the solitude."
Right again. Perhaps he did have hidden powers of divination.
He held Roily's head as I swung up to the saddle and helped with the stirrups. "I'll tell Miss Elizabeth where you are," he said before I could ask him to do exactly that.
I laughed again, not at him but at the wonderful normality he represented, and took up the reins. Knowing what was to come next and how eager I was to get started, Roily danced away and sprang forward with hardly a signal from me. Doing something that Mother would disapprove of was what I needed most, and leaving the stable yard at a full gallop to jump over a wall into the fields beyond was a most satisfying form of revenge.
Roily was almost as perceptive as Jericho and seemed to sense that I wanted to fly as fast and as far as possible. The cold wind roaring past us deafened me to the strident echoes of her voice and blinded me to the memory of her distorted face. She shrank away to less than nothing and was lost amid the joy I now felt clinging to the back of the best horse in the world as he carried me to the edge of that world ... or at least to the cliffs overlooking the Sound.
We slowed at last, though for a moment I thought that if Roily decided to leap out toward the sea instead of turning to trot parallel to it he would easily sprout the necessary wings to send us soaring into the sky like some latter-day Pegasus and Bellerophon. What a ride that might be, and I would certainly know better than to try flying him to Mount Olympus to seek out the gods. They could wait for their own turn ... if I ever let them have one.
The air cutting over us was clean with the sea smell and starting to warm up as the sun climbed higher. I drank it in like a true-born hedonist until my lungs ached and my throat burned. Roily picked his own path and I let him, content enough with the privilege of being on his back. We went east, into the wind, him stretching his neck, his ears up with interest, me busy holding my balance over the uneven ground. The trot sped up to
a canter and he shook his head once as though to free himself of the bridle as we approached another fence.
The property it marked belonged to a farmer named Finch who kept a few horses of his own. His lands were smaller than Father's and he could not afford to have riding animals, but the rough look of the mares on that side made no difference to Roily, aristocrat though he was. In his eyes a female was a female and to hell with her looks and age as long as she was ready for a good mounting. I barely had time to turn him and keep him from sailing over the fence right into the middle of them all.
Roily snorted and neighed out a protest. One of the other horses answered and I had to work hard at getting him out of there.
"Sorry, old man," I told him. "You may have an excellent bloodline, but I don't think Mr. Finch would thank you for passing it on through his mares."
He stamped and tried to rear, but I pulled him in, not letting him get away with it.
"If it's any consolation, I know just how you feel," 1 confided.
I was seventeen and still a virgin ... of sorts. I'd long since worked out ways around certain inevitable frustrations that come from being a healthy young man, but instinctively knew they could hardly be as gratifying as actual experience with an equally healthy young woman. Damn. Now, why did I have to start thinking along those paths again? An idiotic question; better to frame it as a syllogism of logic. Premise one: I was, indeed, healthy; premise two: I was, indeed, young. Combine those and I rarely failed to come to a pleasurable conclusion. However, I was not prepared to come to any such conclusions here in the open while on horseback. Talk about doing something to garner maternal disapproval. . . and I'd probably fall out of the saddle.
The true loss of my virginity was another goal in my personal education I'd planned to achieve at Harvard—if I ever got there, since Mother had said that everything was settled about Cambridge. I wondered if they had girls at Cambridge. Oh, God, this wasn't helping at all. I kicked Roily into a jarring trot, hoping that it would distract me. The last thing I needed was to return home with any telltale stain on my light-colored
breeches. Perhaps if I found a quiet spot in the woods ...