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

He nodded agreement and his brows dropped back into place. "Speaking of him, did he not give you some more Greek to interpret?" He looked at the pile of books on the table before him.
"Doesn't he always?" Greek was not my favorite study and my tutor well knew it and thus emphasized it more than any other. "I'll see to it later tonight. My head hurts too much for that kind of work right now."
"I'll go get you some moss snuff," he said, rising.
"Ugh, no. Mrs. Nooth can take it herself. It's never helped any headache I've had and never will. I'll just lie down until the pain's out of me."
Pushing away from the wall, I wandered over to the bed and almost dropped into its welcome comfort. Almost, because Jericho was instantly at my side to remove my coat. Since a lazy refusal would only inspire silent, long-suffering reproach from him, I gave in and gave up. Once started, off came the
waistcoat and shoes as well, all to be taken away for brushing or polishing. I managed to retain my breeches and outer shirt; both would be changed before going down to supper so it didn't matter if I napped in them or not.
"When Father comes home . . ."
"I shall inform you," he promised, as he started for the door.
Then peevishly, I asked, "What the devil is that row?"
lericho listened with me. "A coach, I think."
My heart jumped, but only once. Father had left on horseback, not in the coach. Jericho and I looked at one another in mutual puzzlement, then he gave back my shoes. Curiosity triumphed over my headache. I reached for an especially florid, Oriental-looking dressing gown that Elizabeth had painstakingly made for me, and shrugged it on.
"Let's go see," I sighed.
No one was in the upper hall, but as we came downstairs we glimpsed one of the maids haring off to the kitchen, no doubt with fresh news for Mrs. Nooth. Mother emerged from the library like some ship under full sail and stopped the girl with a curt order. The little wench came to heel and hastened to open wide the big front door. Outside stood a battered-looking coach and four, and there was much activity about the baggage and two alighting passengers. With a great smile, Mother went out to greet them.
I shifted uneasily and glanced at Jericho. He shrugged slightly. Having endured an extremely long month of Mother's quirky temperament I was hard pressed to imagine that anyone or anything could give her joy. Apparently the possibility existed; we'd just never seen it before.
"They must be friends of hers from Philadelphia," I speculated.
Outside, Mother exchanged a kiss on the cheek with a woman and extended her hand to a man, who bowed deeply over it. Rather too deeply, I thought. What sort of people would find Mother's company so agreeable that they would come for a visit?
Through the broad door the wind blew in a few stray leaves and other... rubbish. That's the word that occurred to me when I got a good look at them. They swept into the house, surveying it with bright eyes as if they owned the place. They noticed me
at the same time and the woman gave a little exclamation of pleased surprise.
"Dearest Marie, is this your good son, Jonathan Fonteyn?" she demanded in a loud, flat, and childishly thin voice.
I winced.
Mother was capable of swift thought and judgment and her conclusion was that now was not the time for introductions; I was not properly dressed to greet guests. "A moment, Deborah, a moment to catch my breath and then I shall ask him to corae and meet you."
Deborah, correctly deducing that she'd been importune, turned a beaming face to Mother and ignored me entirely. The man copied her.
Mother issued a sharp order to the maid for tea and biscuits and then invited her guests into the parlor with a graceful gesture. As they proceeded ahead, she swung a livid face in my direction and pointed upstairs meaningfully.
"Good God," I muttered sourly, masking it with a cordial smile and a nod of understanding. Jericho followed as I fled to my room.
"You know who they are?" he asked, putting down my clothes and smoothly moving toward the wardrobe.
"Friends of hers from Philadelphia. Deborah Hardinbrook and her brother, Theophilous Beldon. I've heard her talk about them. At length. She's the widow of some captain who drowned at sea and he's supposed to be a doctor, God help us. Whatever you do, don't mention my headache to anyone lest it get back to him and he offers to cure it."
Jericho removed a claret-colored coat from the wardrobe and shook it out.
"Why this one?" I asked, as he helped me into it. "It's not my best."
"Exactly. To wear anything really nice might tell these two you wish to impress them. This coat will tell them that you could care less about their favor, but at the same time inform them that you are the head of this house in your father's absence and it is their job to impress you."
"It will?"
"It does. Trust me on this, Mr. Jonathan."
I would, for he was always right on such details. "Elizabeth. She'll have to be warned."
"And so she shall be," he promised, pulling out a pair of shoes and inspecting the buckles for tarnish. There was none, of course.
"I have these," I protested, pointing at the ones on my feet.
"New buckles on old shoes," he chided. "It doesn't look right, not for a first meeting."
"We can switch them to another pair."
He firmly held the shoes out for me. "Wear these. They will demand respect. Save the others for Sunday."
I grunted and did as I was told.
He was finished in a very few minutes. "There. Sometimes you cannot avoid going into the lion's den, but when you must, it is better to be well dressed."
"What makes you think this is a lion's den?"
"What makes you think it is not?"
"Excellent point. Go see to Elizabeth, will you?"
"Certainly."
In deference to my sober garb and still-buzzing brain, I did not rush downstairs, though it was tempting. Head high and with a serious face, I paced slowly across the hall to the parlor and paused in the doorway, waiting to be noticed.
Mother had her back to me, so it was Deborah Hardinbrook who looked up and stopped her conversation. Her brother, seated next to her, politely stood. Mother turned and assumed an unfamiliar smile.
"Ah, Jonathan. At last. Do come in and meet my very dear friends." She conducted us all through formal introductions.
On my best behavior, I bowed low over Mrs. Hardinbrook's hand and expressed my pleasure at meeting her in French. She was about Mother's age, with a hard eye and lines around her mouth that may have been placed there by laughter but not joy. She assessed me quickly, efficiently, and was fulsome with complements to Mother about me. I felt like a statue on display, not noticed for myself, but for the enlargement of its owner.
Dr. Beldon was in his thirties, which also made him seem quite old to me. He was wiry and dark, his brown eyes so large and rounded that they seemed to swell from their sockets. They fastened upon me with an assessment similar to his sister's but with a different kind of intensity, though what it was, I could not have said. We bowed and exchanged the necessary social pleasantries toward one another.
Mrs. Hardinbrook resumed her talk with Mother, giving her a full account of the harrowing journey from Philadelphia. At first I listened with resentful politeness, then with interest, for despite her exaggerations of manner, she was amusing. Mother actually seemed to be enjoying herself. Beldon smiled at appropriate moments and occasionally added comments. Unlike his sister, he made an effort to include me in the conversation. Smiling. Smiling. Smiling.
Toad-eaters, I thought behind my own twisted lips. Father had taught me to recognize their sort and to be 'ware of them.