"Elrod, P.N. - Jonathan Barrett 04 - Dance of Death" - читать интересную книгу автора (Elrod P N)

His gaze alternated between my face and Ridley's. "First you're there and then you're not, and now this. You should have a conjuring show. It's just too uncanny."
"I quite agree,'' I said dryly.
"Something wrong?"
"I'm tired and I want to have done with this."
And more than that I wanted to feed again. Though outwardly I'd fully recovered from the attack Ridley and Arthur had made upon me the previous evening, I was still mending within. My vanishings just now had depleted my strength more than I cared to think about; my very bones felt hollow.
Perhaps Oliver realized something of this. He stood well aside allowing me to lead Ridley to sit at the table the footmen had recently used for their supper. I sat opposite him, checked on the number of lighted candles, and decided there was enough illumination for me to work by. The single one I'd used in the cell would have been insufficient for the sort of detailed project I was about to attempt.
Finally settled-as well as unable to put it off any longer-I began the dangerous process of rearranging another man's thoughts.
Oliver, after his initial question, was content to leave me undisturbed as I cautiously worked. Whenever I had to pause and think on what to say next, I'd steal a glance at my cousin and find him watching with rapt attention. Since first learning of them he'd been highly curious about my unnatural abilities; I hoped this demonstration would content him, since I wanted it to be the last one for the time being. I had no liking for forcing my influence upon another and took such a liberty with people only when dictated by dire necessity. At the worst it was a terrible and sometimes hazardous intrusion upon another and at the least any lengthy encounter like this one always gave me a god-awful headache.
But for all our sakes and his, Ridley very much needed to forget certain past events, as well as remember to abide by a new pattern of behavior in the future. Though presently under my control, he was as hearty in mind as in body, and I found it a difficult and exhausting task. I not only had to constantly maintain my hold against his strength of will, but labored hard to keep my own perilous emotions in check lest I cause him a permanent injury of mind.
You 're not to pick any more duels, Ridley, do you understand that? It's past time that you assume more peaceful pursuits than harassing honest citizens. No more violence for you, my lad.
Light enough words, but it was the force I put behind them that counted. He blinked and winced a few times, a warning to me to ease off. I did, but damnation, I'd come so close to dying again ...
You know well enough how to cause trouble, so you must certainly know how to avoid it, and that's exactly what you'll be doing from now on. If I hear about you being in any more rows . . . well, you just behave yourself or I'll know the reason why.
When I'd run out of things to tell Ridley, which were mostly instructions I'd already given to Arthur but requiring much less of an exertion, I leaned back in my own chair to pinch the bridge of my nose and release a small groan of sincere relief that it was finally finished.
"Now you're the one who looks like a dead fish," said my good cousin.
"Then serve me up with some sauce, I'm ready to be carried out on a platter after all this.''
Oliver pressed the back of his hand to my forehead. "No fever, but it's clammy down here, so I can't be sure."
"I'm not feverish, only a bit worn down. A little rest and some additional refreshment and I'll be my own self again."
"Which is something more than amazing from what you've told me about your adventure."
"Less adventure than ordeal," I grumbled, rubbing my arm. Arthur had nearly severed it with his sword last night, and though muscle and sinew were knitted up again with
hardly a scar to show for the injury, it still wanted to ache. Another visit to the Fonteyn stables might help ease things.
"And I want to hear the full story of it, if you would be so kind. Elizabeth's only been able to repeat the high points you'd given her."
But I'd told my sister all that there was to tell and said as much now to Oliver.
"That's not the same as hearing from the source. Besides, I'm full of questions that she was unable to answer.''
"Such as?"
"I'll ask 'em as they occur to me, so expect to be interrupted. For the moment, all I want to know is what do we do with Mr. Ridley here?"
Our guest was still blank-eyed and slack-jawed. Perhaps the experience was tiring to him as well. One could but hope. "Take him upstairs and put him with his cousin, then pack the two of 'em off as soon as Arthur's ready to travel."
"Tomorrow, whether he' s ready or not.''
That suited me very well. Wearily I stood and instructed Ridley to do the same and follow us out of the cellar and upstairs. He did so, as docile as a sheep. Oliver, leading the way with the one candle we'd not extinguished and left behind, cast a worried look back at our charge.
"We'll not have any more trouble with him? You're sure?"
"Quite sure." At least for the present. Ridley and Arthur would behave themselves for a time, but past experience told me that even the most firm suggestions would eventually erode away and be forgotten. I'd have to make a point of visiting them from time to time to strengthen what had been constructed in their minds tonight. My hope was they would eventually embrace my compelled guidance as their own desire, and no longer have need of my influence to keep out of trouble.
"Seems unnatural, that," Oliver muttered.
"I can readily agree."
"It also doesn't seem ... well, enough, somehow."
"In what way?"
"After all that he's done and tried to do, just to tell him to run along and sin no more hardly seems fitting. He should be hanged."
"Did Edmond not explain to you how unlikely an occurrence that would be?''
"In rare detail if nothing else about this business. He also said the scandal would be bad for the family, though I'm getting to the point where I think a scandal would do the lot of 'em a world of good.''
"I could almost agree with you, except for how it would involve and affect us. I am content to put it all behind me and get on to more rewarding pursuits."
"Damn, but you almost sound like him."
"I suppose I must. After all, think how much we have in common." I meant it as a light jest, but it didn't come out right. Oliver looked back again, eyebrows high with shock. "I'm sorry, Coz. That was very rude of me."
"Think nothing of it. You've had a hard time of things."
Wasn't that the grand understatement? And not just for last night but for the last year or so of my life. Oliver's sympathy coupled with his kind dismissal of my poor manners crushed me down as much as the weight of recent events seemed to be doing. My death, my return to life, my search for the woman who had made such a miracle possible, all pressed close, crowding out any other thoughts in my brain for the next few moments. So thoroughly did they occupy me that I was genuinely surprised to come to myself in the central hall of Fonteyn House with no recollection of how I'd gotten there.
"Now what?'' asked Oliver, setting his candle on a table.
As an answer, I looked hard at Ridley until I was certain I had his full attention. "You are a guest of Fonteyn House and will conduct yourself in a gentle and honorable manner. The servants will see to your needs, and don't forget to give
them a decent vale when you leave tomorrow morning."
Ridley responded with a slight nod of acknowledgment, and I cocked an eyebrow at Oliver. He regarded each of us with no small amount of wonder.
"He can stay the night in Arthur's room," I said.
Taking the suggestion, Oliver called for a servant. One of the household's larger footmen appeared, stopping short in his tracks to give Ridley first a surprised, then highly wary look. He'd apparently heard tales from the men who had been on duty in the cellar. Of course, Ridley's appearance might have had something to do with it, what with all the bandaging, blood, and damage his clothes had taken from last night's fight and this day's incarceration. Add to that his abnormal calmness of manner and you had the makings of what promised to be some very speculative and animated below stairs gossip.
"Show Mr. Ridley here to his cousin's room," Oliver instructed the man as though nothing at all was or had ever been amiss. "He'll take his supper there, and see that he's cleaned up and has all he needs to stay the night. And be sure to have someone fetch along a very large brandy for me to the blue drawing room."
The fellow looked ready to offer a few dozen questions, but was too well trained to make the attempt. Oliver's mother, the previous mistress of Fonteyn House, had not been one to encourage any kind of familiarity between servants and their betters, and her influence still lingered. The footman bowed and cautiously invited Ridley to follow him upstairs. Our prisoner, now our guest, went along as nice as you please without a backward glance at us. Oliver breathed out a pent-up sigh and let his shoulders sag a trifle. He exchanged a quick look with me; I gave him a short nod meant to reassure him that all was well and would remain so.