"Freda Warrington - Dracula the Undead" - читать интересную книгу автора (Warrington Freda)

should be for women.' She looked up and spoke with sudden passion. 'I feel there is so
much you could teach me! We have so little time! If only I could come with you upon
your journey tomorrow, we could talk all day!'
How I hated to refuse her! It oppresses me deeply to conceal the truth. To pretend that
we are here for the sake of idle curiosity and amusement, when the true reason is so dire!
I refused her as gently as possible, and she took the refusal with serenity. But she is
perceptive. She said hesitantly, in her beautifully accented English, 'Madam Harker, if
you will forgive me so saying, you seem weary, and sad, as if a shadow lay on you.'
I answered, not untruthfully, 'I am missing my son.'
'Quincey,' she said, with a smile. 'Is that a usual English name?'
'It is more common in America,' I said. 'It was the name of a very dear American
friend of ours, who died bravely.'
'I'm sorry. How old is your child?'
'He will be six in November.' I opened my locket and showed her the photograph of
Quincey. I noticed that Elena's hands are quite large, the fingers long and well-shaped.
'Oh, he looks a beautiful, strong boy!'
 'I wish he were stronger.' I told her how Quincey, since he was stricken by rheumatic
fever at the age of two, has been weak and sickly. It shames me to admit it but tears came
to my eyes. (Quincey needs my care, not my tears -and I will never cry for myself.) I
think it was only the prospect of tomorrow's worrisome journey that so weighed on me. I
mastered myself. 'He may not be strong in body, but his character and soul are the kindest
that ever a child possessed.'
'I see it in his face. He has his mother's eyes,' Elena answered. 'Have you other
children?'
Tears nearly came again! I explained that his birth was difficult and the doctors have
told me I will almost certainly never conceive again. There, that is the first time I have
ever written it. It was not so hard. Elena looked thoughtful, almost fierce in a strange
way, and for some reason I found that far easier to bear than sympathy.
'But men you are free!' she whispered.
'In what way?' I said, startled. 'How can "freedom" from children be in any way
fulfilling?'
'My father expects me to marry Miklos - that is, the young man that was at my uncle's
house. A woman is born to serve her husband, then to serve her sons - but until then, I
exist to serve my father. I try, but always he wants something different! He wants me
married, yet he wants to keep me to himself. If I dare to speak to Miklos, he becomes
furious, because we are not yet engaged! I do not know what I am to do to please him!'
She sounded distressed. 'Don't you love Miklos?' I said. 'You mustn't marry him if you
have no feeling for him.'
'Oh, I like him well enough,' she said darkly. 'But only as a friend, a brother. I am not
sure that I ever want to marry.'
I was shocked. 'But surely you must want children?'
'Oh, I am very fond of them,' she replied quickly. 'I would like a son, but without the
rest...'
I laughed. 'My dear, you cannot have a son without a husband!'
'But is there no more to life than marriage? Nothing else for me to do? Forgive me, I
do not express myself well.'
'No, you do, very well,' I reassured her. 'But there is no greater fulfilment than
motherhood. And look what rich lives these farmers have, living a simple life on the land.
Sometimes I wish our own lives were so uncomplicated!'
'But I wish to travel, as you do, Madam Harker,' she said. Her face was very intent, the