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

not about to inform her of it. In the month since her return, I'd had to fa
ce her here alone on a dozen minor offenses; this was starting out no more d
ifferently than the others. I'd guessed that she'd noticed the new buckles o
n my shoes and was about to deliver a scorching opinion of their style and c
ost. The other lectures had been on a similar level of importance. I was gla
d to know that Elizabeth was standing by ready to soothe my burns when it wa
s over.
Mother had assumed the demeanor of royalty granting an anxiously awaited au
dience, studying some letter or other as I walked in, her wide skirts caref
ully arranged, the tilt of her head just right. She could not have been an
actress, though, for she was much too obvious in her method and would have
been hooted from the stage in a serious drama. Farce, perhaps. Yes, she mig
ht have been perfect at farce, playing the role of the domineering dowager.
Marie Fonteyn Barrett had been very beautiful once, slender, graceful, with
eyes as blue as an autumn sky, her skin milk white and milk soft. So she app
eared in her portrait above the library fireplace. In the twenty years since
it had been painted the milk had curdled, the grace turned to stiff arrogan
ce. The eyes were the same color, but had gone hard, so that they seemed les
s real than the ones in the painting. Her hair was different as well. No mor
e were the flowing black curls of a young bride; now it was piled high over
her creased brow and thickly powdered. In the last month it had grown out a
bit and needed rearranging. Perhaps she would even wash it out and begin afr
esh. I could but hope for it. Her constant stabbings and jabbings at that aw
ful pile of lard and flour with her ivory scratching stick got on my nerves.
The curtains were open and cold April sunshine, still too immature for war
mth, seeped through the windows. The wood in the fireplace had not been li
ghted, so the room was chilly. Mother was a great believer in conserving h
ousehold supplies unless it concerned her own comfort. The lack of fire ga
ve me hope that our interview would be mercifully short.
"Jonathan," she said, putting aside the paper in her hand. I recognized it as
part of the normal litter on Father's desk, something she'd merely grabbed u
p to use as a prop. Why was the woman so artificial?
"Mother." The word was still awkward for me to say.
She smiled with a benevolent satisfaction that raised my apprehensions so
mewhat. "Your father and I have some wonderful news for you."
If the news was so wonderful, why was Father not here to deliver it with he
r? "Indeed, Mother? Then I am anxious to hear it."
"You will be very pleased to learn that you will be going up to Cambridge fo
r your university education."
That was hardly news to me, but I put on something resembling good cheer fo
r her sake. "Yes, I am very pleased. I have been looking forward to it all
year."
Her brows lowered and eyes narrowed with irritation. Perhaps I was not as
pleased as had been expected.
"I shall do my absolute best at Harvard to make you and Father proud of me,
" I added hopefully.
Now her mouth thinned. "You will be going to Cambridge, Jonathan."
"Yes, Mother, I know. Harvard University is located in Cambridge."
Somehow, I had said the wrong thing. Fury, red-faced and frightening to l
ook upon, suddenly distorted her features so she hardly seemed human. I a