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

"This is more our house than hers when you think of it. She had no right to
come here and do this to us. We were happy until she came."
True. All true.
Elizabeth put down the cup, her tea finished. It must have been scalding, but
she was too upset to notice. "Father will have to do something. After all th
is, he will have to do something."
We fell silent for a while. I went back to building up the fire. The chill
of the room—and of other things—was seeping past my skin and into the bones
.
Father came in just as one of the logs began to properly blaze. As one, El
izabeth and I ran to him for the embrace we'd been denied earlier. It was
something we'd done as children and now we gladly returned to that simple
and much-needed comfort. He smiled and his arms opened wide.
"Is that tea I spy?" he asked after a moment.
We loosened our grip and Elizabeth glided over to pour. He made a side trip
to a cabinet and brought out a bottle of brandy, adding some to each cup.
"I think we all need this," he observed.
He'd shed the cloak at some point, but still carried some of the outdoors
with him in his manner. His riding boots were stained with old mud. He'd b
een wearing them, I remembered, when he'd taken his morning walk with Mrs.
Montagu. Such previous pleasures driven aside by tonight's pains, he look
ed tired. Older, [realized with another chill. But instead of being burden
ed by age, he was a man aged by a burden. His wife.
"Well?" he asked. "Which of you wants to talk first?"
Elizabeth stepped in. "Where's Mother?"
"In her room. That fellow with the popping eyes gave her a dose of laudanu
m to calm her down. He and that silly woman are sitting in with her. Said
he was a doctor. Would he be Beldon, then?"
"Yes. The woman is his sister, Deborah Hardinbrook."
Father had heard enough about them from Mother to need no further introduc
tion. "Proper little pair of toadies, but they seem to be making themselve
s useful for the moment. Now, please, tell me what happened."
Between us we managed to garble up the narrative enough for him to raise hi
s hand in protest.
"Jonathan, your turn," he said firmly. "Pretend you're in court."
It was his way of reminding me to present all the facts, but as simply as po
ssible and in good order. I did my best. Elizabeth added nothing, but nodded
agreement as I spoke. When I'd finished, our brandy-laced tea was all gone.

Father sighed and ran a hand through his graying hair. It was his own, tied
back with a now-wilted ribbon. He wore a wig only when engaged in court bu
siness or seeing a client. "A pretty mess," he concluded. "Are you badly hu
rt? Elizabeth?"
She shook her head. I did the same. The sting had faded, though my cheeks sti
ll felt tender to touch.
"But it might have been worse," I said. "If Mother had kicked her as she'd int
ended . .."
Elizabeth dropped her eyes. "We must do something, Father."
"Indeed," he said, neither agreeing nor disputing. He stood and paced the ro
om a few times. On the last round he checked the hallway for any listeners a