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

I knew just the one.
As children, Elizabeth, Jericho, and I had gone adventuring, or what we called adventuring, for we really knew the area quite well. Usually our games involved a treasure hunt, for everyone on the island knew that Captain Kidd had come here to bury his booty. It didn't matter to us that such riches were more likely to be fifty miles east of us on the south end of the island; the hunting was more important than the finding. But instead of treasure that day, I'd found a kettle, or a sharpish depression gouged into the earth by some ancient glacier, according to my schoolmaster. Trees and other vegetation concealed its edge. My foot slipped on some wet leaves and down I tumbled into a typical specimen of Long Island's geography.
Jericho came pelting after me, fearful that I had broken my neck. Elizabeth, though hampered by her skirts, followed almost as quickly, shouting tear-choked questions after him. I was almost trampled by their combined concern and inability to stop fast enough.
The wind had certainly been knocked from me, but I'd suffered nothing worse than some scrapes and bruises. After that initial fright passed we took stock of our surroundings and claimed it for our own. It became our pirate's cave (albeit open to the sky and to any cattle that wandered in to graze), banditti's lair, and general sanctuary from tiresome adults wanting us to do something more constructive with our time.
Now it seemed that it was still a sanctuary, not from adults, but for adults. Just as I'd guided Roily down to the easy way into the kettle, I noticed two people far ahead near the line of trees marking the entry. A man and woman walked arm in arm there, obviously on the friendliest of terms. Even at that distance I abruptly recognized my father. The woman with him was Mrs. Montagu. She was a sweet-faced, sweet-tempered widow who had always been kind to me and Elizabeth, everything that Mother was not. Mother, thank God, knew nothing about her, or life for all of us would truly become a living hell.
It was a quietly acknowledged fact in our household that most of Father's business trips took him no more than three miles away so that he might visit Matilda Montagu. Their relationship was hardly a secret, but not something to bring up in open conversation. They had not asked for this privacy, but got it,
anyway, for both were liked and respected hereabouts.
I'd pulled Roily to a stop and now almost urged him in their direction. No. Not fair. Father had little enough happiness of his own since Mother's return; I would not intrude upon him with my present troubles. We could talk later. Besides, I had no wish to embarrass him by bringing up the disagreeable details of his wife's latest offenses before his mistress.
Father and Mrs. Montagu continued their leisurely walk, unaware of me, which was just as well. It was interesting to watch them together, for this was a side of Father that I'd never really seen. I was somewhat ashamed of my curiosity, but not so much that I was willing to move on. Not that I expected them to suddenly seize each other and start rolling on the cold damp ground in a frenzy of passion. Nor would I have stayed to watch, my curiosity being limited by the discretions of good taste. But between the demands of my preparatory education and all the other distractions of life, I'd had few opportunities to observe the rules of courtship in the upper classes. So far it hardly looked different from the servants', for I'd occasionally seen them strolling about with one another making similar displays of affection.
He had one arm around her waist, one hand, rather. Her wide skirts kept him from getting much closer. He also leaned his head down toward her so as to miss nothing of whatever she was saying. And he was laughing. That was good to see. He had not done much of that in the last month. What about his other hand? Occupied with carrying a bundle or basket. Full of food, probably. It was hardly the best weather for eating comfortably out of doors, but they seemed content to ignore it as long as they were together.
Interesting. Now they paused to face each other. Father stooped slightly and kissed her on the lips for a very long time. My own mouth went dry. Perhaps it was time to leave. As I dithered with indecision their kiss ended and they turned to walk into the shadow of the trees. They did not come out again.
Roily snorted impatiently and dropped his head to snatch a mouthful of new grass just peeping through last year's dead layer. At some point my fleshly cravings had also altered so that carnality had been supplanted with extreme hunger. The sun was high and far over; I'd been out for hours and had long since digested my breakfast. And there was Elizabeth, who would be
wondering whether I'd been thrown. She loved horses too, but didn't trust Roily to behave himself.
I turned him back up the rise leading around the kettle, heading home.
The horse being more valuable than its rider, I took care of Roily myself when we reached the stables. As a menial job, I could have easily left it for one of the lads to do and no one would have thought twice about it. Especially Mother. I was raised to be a gentleman and could clearly imagine her disapproval while going about my caretaking tasks. But where horses were concerned, such work was no work at all for me. Defiance doubled, I thought, humming with pleasure. Jericho wasn't there or he might have willingly helped out—if I'd invited him. I made a fast job of it, though, and before long was marching up to the kitchen to wheedle a meal from the cook.
Then someone hissed from the corner of the house. Elizabeth stood there, eyes comically wide and lips compressed, urgently waving at me to come over. Curiosity won out over hunger.
"What is it?" I asked, trotting up.
"Not so loud," she insisted, grabbing my arm and dragging me around the corner. She visibly relaxed once we were out of sight from the kitchen.
"What is it?" I repeated, now mimicking her hoarse whisper.
"Mother was furious that you missed lunch."
I gave vent to an exasperated sigh and raised my voice back to normal. "Damnation, but I'm an adult and my time is my own. She's never minded before."
"Yes, but she wanted to talk to you about Cambridge."
"She told you all that nonsense?"
"In extraordinary detail. She seems to have decided how you're to spend your next few years down to the last minute."
"How very kind of her."
"She's in the kitchen with Mrs. Nooth planning out meals, and I didn't think you'd want to run into her."
I took one of Elizabeth's hands and solemnly bowed over it. "For that, dear sister, you have my undying gratitude, but I am famished and must eat. A fellow can hardly spend his life going about in fear of his own mother."
"Ha! It's not fear, it's only avoiding unnecessary unpleasantness."
She was quite right. I really didn't want to face the woman on an empty stomach; some alternative needed to be thought up, but not out here. The day had warmed a little, but Elizabeth's hand was icy. "Let's go inside, you're freezing. Where's your shawl?"
She shrugged indifferently. "Upstairs someplace. You should be the one to talk; look at yourself, riding all morning without hat or even gloves. It will serve you right if you get the rheumatics, God forbid."
I chuckled. The ailments of age were still very far away for me. My morning's ride was worth a spot of stiffness in the joints. We went in by the same side door I'd used to escape, and Elizabeth led me to the library. A good fire was blazing there now, and forgetting her lack of concern about the cool day, we rushed toward it like moths.
"So you think your going to Cambridge is nonsense?" she asked, stretching out her hands and spreading her long fingers against the flames.
"Mmm. The woman's mad. When I see Father I'll sort it out with him as you said.
"She's very sure of herself. What if he's on her side?"
"Why should he be?"
"Because he usually does whatever she wants. It's not as noisy as arguing, you know."
"I don't think he will for something as important as this. Besides, look at the impracticality of it all. Why send me all the way to England to read law? It may garner me some status, but what else?"
"An education?" she suggested.
"There's that, but everyone knows you really go to a university to make the kind of friends and acquaintances who can become useful later in life. I can do that in England, but they'll all be left behind when I return home."
"You've become cynical already, little brother?" She was hardly a year older than me, but had always taken enjoyment from her position as the eldest.
"Realistic. I've spent a lot of time in this room listening to Father and his cronies while they're sharing a bottle. I can practice law well enough, but I'll be better at it for having a few friends 'round me as he does. Which reminds me..." 1 quit the fireplace to open a nearby cupboard and poured out a
bit of wine to keep my strength up. My stomach snarled with ingratitude at the thoughtful gesture.
Elizabeth giggled at the noise. She looked remarkably like the portrait above her. Prettier, I thought. Livelier. Certainly saner.
"What is it?" she asked, taking note of my distraction.
"I was just thinking that you could have almost posed for that." I indicated the painting.
She stood away for a better look. "Perhaps, but my face is longer. If it's all the same to you, I would prefer not to be compared to her at all."
"She may have been different back then," I pointed out. "If not, then why did Father ever marry her and have us?"
"That's hardly our business, Jonathan."
"It certainly is since we're the living results of their. .. affection? ... for one another."
"Now you're being crude."