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

"No I'm not. When I get crude, you'll know it, dear sister. Who do I look like?"
She tilted her head, unknowingly copying Mother's affected mannerism, but in an unaffected way. "Father, of course, but younger and not as heavy."
"Father's not fat," I protested.
"You know what I mean. When men get older they either go to fat or put on another layer of muscle."
"Or both."
"Ugh. But not you. In a few years you'll get the muscle and look just like him."
"That's reassuring." We had always regarded Father as being a very handsome man.
"Peacock," said Elizabeth, reading my face and thus my thoughts. I grinned and saluted her with my glass. It was empty, but I soon corrected that. The wine tasted wonderful but with no food in my stomach it was shooting straight to my head.
"Mother will burst a blood vessel if you turn up drunk in the kitchen," she observed without rancor.
"If I really get drunk, then I shan't care. Would you like some?"
"Yes," she said decisively, and got a glass. "She'll make drunkards of us all before she's finished. I'm surprised Father isn't...."
"Father has other occupations," I said, pouring generously and thinking fondly of Mrs. Montagu.
"I wish I did," she muttered, and drained off half her portion. "Father goes out, you have your riding and studies, but I'm expected to sit here all day and find contentment with needlework, household duties, and numbering out my prospects."
"Prospects?"
Elizabeth's mouth twisted in disgust. "After she finished going on about Cambridge, she started asking me about the unmarried men in the area."
"Uh-oh."
"All of them, including old Mr. Cadwallader. He must be seventy if he's a day."
"But very rich."
"Now who's taking sides?"
"Not I. I was just thinking the way she would think."
Elizabeth groaned and finished off her wine. I made to pour her another and she did not refuse it. "I hope things settle down quickly in Philadelphia so she can go back. I know that it's wicked, wishing one's mother away, but..."
"She's only our mother by reason of birth," I said. "If it comes to it, Mrs. Nooth's been more of a mother to us than that other woman." I nodded at the portrait. "Or even Mrs. Montagu. I wish Father had married her instead."
'Then neither of us would have been ourselves and we wouldn't be sitting here getting drunk."
"It's something to think about, isn't it?"
"Wicked," she concluded with an unrepentant grimace.
"Yes, I'm born to be hanged for that one."
"God forbid," she added.
As one, we lifted our glasses in a silent toast to a lot of different things. I was feeling very muzzy now, with all ray limbs heavy and glowing with inner warmth. It was too nice a feeling to clutter up with the inevitable scolding that awaited me the moment I stepped into the kitchen.
"P'haps," I speculated, "I should leave Mother and Mrs. Nooth to their work."
Elizabeth instantly noted my change of mind and smiled, shaking her head in mock sadness for my lost bravado.
"P'haps," I continued thoughtfully, "I could just borrow a loaf of bread from one of the lads, then pick up a small cheese
from the buttery. That would fill me 'til supper. Father should be home by then and Mother will have something else to worry about besides me."
"And have one of the servants blamed for the theft of the cheese?"
"I'll leave a note, confessing all," I promised gravely. "Mrs. Nooth will surely forgive . . ." Then something soured inside and the game lost its charm. "Damnation, this is my own house. Why should 1 creep around like a thief?"
Someone's shoe heels clacked and clattered hollowly against the wood floor of the hall. Elizabeth and I instantly recognized her step and hastily replaced the glasses and wine bottle in the cupboard. The answer to my plaintive question swung into the doorway just as we shut everything away and turned our innocent faces toward her in polite regard.
Mother.
She wasn't fooled by our pose. "What are you two doing?" she demanded.
"Only talking, Mother," said Elizabeth.
Mother sniffed, either in disbelief or disdain. Fortunately she was too far away to pick up any fumes from the wine. She turned an unfriendly eye upon me. "And where were you all day? Mrs. Nooth placed a perfectly good meal on the table and your portion went to waste."
With as many servants as we had, I doubted that. "I'm sorry, Mother."
"You'll tender your apologies to Mrs. Nooth. She was very offended."
And very forgiving. And in the kitchen. "Indeed, Mother? I shall go to her immediately and make amends."
She'd heard me but had not listened. "Where were you, Jonathan?"
"Inspecting the fields," I answered easily. It was mostly true, but I resented the fact that this woman was turning me into a liar.
"Never mind that. You've far more important duties before you than fanning. From now on you will leave such menial work to those men who have been hired for it."
"Yes, Mother." My head was spinning with that peculiar disorientation that I associated with intoxication. With each passing minute the wine soaked more deeply into me, increasing
its effect, but I was careful not to let it show.
"As long as you're here I want to continue our talk about your education. You may be excused, Elizabeth."
From where I was standing, I could clearly see the flash of anger in my sister's eyes at being dismissed as though she were one of the servants. Her mouth tightened and her chin lifted, but she said nothing, nothing at all, quite loudly, all the way out the door.
Mother did not ignore her so much as she simply did not notice. Her attention was fixed entirely upon me. She crossed the room to the chair she'd claimed next to Father's desk and arranged herself. I was not invited to sit, nor did I ask to do so. It might unnecessarily prolong our interview. My stomach, presently awash with wine, would provide me with a valid reason to depart soon enough. I was still hungry, but that was outweighed by the need to hear her out, the need to gain information in order to present a logical argument against it later. With Father. I knew better than to contend with his wife, who was familiar with only her own unique logic and no one else's.