"Chelsea Quinn Yarbro - The St Germain Chronicles" - читать интересную книгу автора (Yarbro Chelsea Quinn)

Dominick nodded with vigorous distaste that concealed a curious pride. “Most
misnamed female I ever encountered. That whole side of the family, as Charles
says… they marry the most unlikely women. Serena came from Huguenot stock,
back in the middle of the seventeenth century, I think.” He added this last as if the
Huguenot influence explained matters.
“Ah, yes, great-aunt Serena was quite a handful,” the host laughed quietly. “The
last time I saw her—it was years ago, of course—she was careering about the
Cotswolds on both sides of her horse. The whole countryside was scandalized. They
barred her from the Hunt, naturally, which amused her a great deal. She could
outride most of them, anyway, and said that the sport was becoming tame.”
“Whittenfield…” the rotund man said warningly.
“Oh, yes, about the glass.” He sipped his port thoughtfully. “The glass comes
from Serena’s family, the English side. It’s an heirloom, of course. They say that the
Huguenot who married into the family took the woman because no one else would
have her. Scandal again.” Again he paused to take wine, and drained his glass
before continuing. “The mirror is said to be Venetian, about three hundred
forty-or-fifty years old. The frame was added later, and when Marsden appraised it,
he said he believed it to be Austrian work.”
“Hungarian, actually,” murmured the sixth guest, though no one heard him
speak.
 “Yes, well.” Whittenfield judiciously filled his glass once more. “Really
wonderful,” he breathed as he savored the port.
“Charles, you should have been an actor—you’re wasted on the peerage,”
Dominick said as he took a seat near the fire.
“Oh, very well. I’ll get on with it,” Whittenfield said, capitulating. “I’ve told you
the glass is Venetian and that it is something over three hundred years old. The
latest date Marsden ventured was 1570, but that, as I say, is problematical. In any
case, you may be certain that it was around in 1610, which is the critical year, so far
as the story is concerned. Yes, 1610.” He sank back in his chair, braced his heels
once more on the Tudor settle, and began, at last, in earnest.
“Doubtless you’re aware that Europe was a great deal more chaotic then than it
is now…”
“That’s not saying much,” the rotund man interjected.
“Twilford, for God’s sake, don’t give him an excuse to digress again,” Dominick
whispered furiously.
“As I was saying,” Charles went on, “Europe was doing very badly in 1610. That
was the year that Henri IV of France was assassinated and his nine-year-old son
succeeded him, and you know what Louis XIII turned out like! James was making
an ass of himself by prolonging Parliament and by locking up Arabella Stuart for
marrying William Seymour. One of the Tsars was deposed, but I can never keep
them straight, and I believe a Prussian prince was offered the job…”
“Polish,” the sixth guest corrected him politely. “Vasili Shuisky was deposed in
favor of Vladislav, Sigismund III’s son.”
“Very likely,” Whittenfield agreed. “Spain and Holland were having a
not-very-successful go at a truce. The German Protestant States were being harried
by their neighbors… That will give you some idea. Well, it happened that my
great-aunt Serena’s nine times great-grandmother was living…”
“Charles,” Twilford protested, “you can’t be serious. Nine times
great-grandmother!”
“Of course I am,” Whittenfield said, astounded at being questioned. “Serena was