Читать книгу Wingless Bird - Анна Морион - Страница 3

– Here's your room, miss! I washed it to a shine this morning. Alas, the carpet isn't dishevelled… You've come so suddenly, miss… But I'll do it to-morrow! – Jane chirped as she led Vivian to the tall, wide white doors.

– Don't trouble yourself, Jane. I shall only sleep in these chambers. I didn't come all the way from Casterbridge to spend my time in my own rooms," Vivian reassured her: Jane was infinitely friendly, and it seemed to her that they might be friends. Vivian had left all her friends behind her in her native town, and in London she knew only her aunt and her cousin. And she longed for a kind soul to lean on and gossip with!

Jane, of course, was a maid of no birth, and Vivian was the daughter of a small nobleman. But Vivian knew that there were no ranks in friendship, only feelings. The girls were the same age, the same height, and both liked to watch people and then giggle at one person or another for no reason at all. Young, fun-loving heads.

– Oh miss, I'm sure you won't be bored! The season will soon begin! – Jane said. – Our ma'am gives such sumptuous receptions! So many guests!

– It's a sin for my aunt not to have such receptions when she has everything she needs! This house could hold hundreds of guests! – exclaimed Vivian with a laugh. – But, Jane, don't call me Miss; call me Vivian.

– Come, miss, what's the use of calling you by your first name to a servant? – Jane's astonishment was unbounded: this beauty was so kind! But still, she could not accept her excessive kindness: it was not proper for her, a simple maid, the daughter of a shoemaker and a washerwoman, to call this beautiful miss with such familiarity! – But if you wish, I will call you Miss Vivian.

– Well, it's many times better than Miss Cowell," said Vivian with a laugh. – And yet, what a huge and beautiful house my aunt has!

The compliment was sincere: the three-storey stone house was like a medieval castle, but full of light. Lady Cranford loved daylight, so heavy green curtains of real velvet were only drawn over the large, clear-glass windows when night fell on the town. The white marble floors and staircases glistened with cleanliness (the lady of the house demanded that they be washed and polished every day). There were no carpets, but the walls were decorated with modest but elegant mouldings and beautiful paintings, both originals and copies of famous artists. Every twenty paces there were white marble sculptures, copies of the works of famous sculptors. Lady Cranford loved art and spent a great deal of money on paintings and sculptures. After the death of her husband, who died of consumption ten years ago, she transformed the once dark and gloomy house into a place of light and art. Every piece of furniture, every curl in the carved ceiling, every vase of flowers – everything had been thought out to the last detail. And yet, this bright, beautiful house breathed a dead coldness and seemed uninhabited.

Alas, the guest quarters were no different from the other rooms of the house and were also something cold, elegant, and bright. The marble floor, however, was covered with a thick red carpet, which was pleasant to tread barefoot, which pleased Vivian. A large soft bed with silk sheets, a white chest of drawers, white walls and ceiling. By one of the windows, however, was a soft sofa upholstered in scarlet velvet and two chairs of the same kind, and near the other window stood a light-coloured carved dressing-table and a soft pouffe. In the centre of this scarlet group stood an austere-looking light table, on which stood a lovely silver, but completely empty vase.

– It's so cold in here… And not a single flower! – Vivian said quietly as she entered her chambers and looked around.

Jane followed noiselessly behind her guest and kept her eyes on her.

– Oh, it's my fault, Miss Cowell," she began.

– Miss Vivian," Vivian corrected her calmly.

– Miss Vivian," Jane repeated obediently, and went on guiltily: – 'Lady Cranford ordered me to put together a beautiful bouquet for you, but I haven't had time-I can do it now! I'll make you the most beautiful bouquet in the world!

Jane was ready to do anything to please her new miss: Vivian looked a little distressed and hugged her shoulders shiveringly, though it was a sunny June day outside.

– Is there a garden here? – Vivian raised her dainty eyebrows.

– Of course, miss! The largest and most beautiful in all London! Our ma'am loves flowers and plants of all kinds," Jane smiled at her.

– It's beautiful! – Miss Cowell smiled broadly and clapped her hands together. – 'Let's go together! I'll pick the bouquet myself and admire my aunt's efforts.

The girls laughed as they left the cold white room and ran almost at a run to the garden.

Jane was not exaggerating when she said that Lady Cranford's garden was unequalled even in a city as vast as London: it was beautiful, rich in plants and flowers, and smelt of summer. The flowers shone with all the colours of the rainbow, and the delicate shades of each of the seven, and their variety delighted the eyes and hearts of lovers of the gifts of nature. Thick funny bumblebees flew from one flower to another, sometimes chasing away butterflies perched on the wide-open buds. The wide, well-maintained paths were paved with large, flat stone slabs – it was a pleasure to walk along them and enjoy the surrounding beauty. In the middle of the garden was a small lake with clear, cold water. Next to it stood a small wooden house, where a family of two snow-white swans with five grey chicks lived. Not far from the lake was a beautiful wooden gazebo where Lady Cranford and her son drank morning tea on warm days. There were marble statues of half-naked maidens everywhere, and a small round stone fountain in the middle of the garden, in which birds could often be seen bathing and drinking.

– How beautiful! – Vivian exclaimed with genuine delight: she had never seen so many flowers in her life, and many of them were even unfamiliar to her modest knowledge of botany.

Jane smiled broadly: how nice it was to see this beautiful miss happy!

– Jane, there you are! – Suddenly there was a loud female voice, and turning round the girls saw a young maid coming towards them.

– That's Emily, and she's a maid too," Jane hastened to explain to her.

– How many servants does my aunt have? – Vivian asked.

– 'A great many, Miss Vivian. A house this big, and a garden and park like this, requires a lot of labour. – Jane stood patiently waiting for Emily, who was walking at a quick, nervous pace, to reach her and tell her what she needed from her, Jane.

– Jane! Mr. Brown is grumbling and looking all over for you! – said Emily, slightly out of breath, and then crouched down before Vivian in a deep curtsy: 'Good day, miss!

– A fine day!" said Vivian in a friendly tone, feeling Emily's gaze fixed on her, full of curiosity. She was well aware of the impression her angelic appearance made on others and passers-by, and was not at all uncomfortable with the maid's insistent attention.

"Let her admire it. Servants love handsome gentlemen," thought the guest indifferently, and purposely curved her red plump lips in a charming smile.

– What a pity you can't keep me company, Jane," she said to the girl. – 'But I'm sure Mr. Brown…Who is this Mr. Brown?

– The butler, miss! – Emily answered readily, ahead of her friend, who had already opened her mouth to reply.

Jane cast Emily a displeased look: having met Miss Vivian only fifteen minutes ago, she was already jealous of her attention to the other servants.

– 'Don't keep Mr. Brown waiting. Come back to me as soon as you're free. In the meantime, I'll take a stroll through this magical garden and pick myself a bouquet," Vivian said, removing her white gloves from her hands.

The maids made a curtsy and hurried into the house, while Vivian continued her slow walk through her aunt's garden. Walking along the stone paths, in a sea of flowers, Vivian pondered hard.

"The new Earl of Cranford is no longer free! Aunt Beatrice with such a pleased face told of his family! Married! Three children! Perhaps we should devise a new plan and find a new target. My cousin Anthony is very good-looking, but alas, he is only the youngest son. – Thoughts were whirling through the fiery-haired girl's head at the speed of light. She picked the prettiest, most colourful flowers and put them in a bouquet. – I'll have to write to them. They'll be upset… It's all right, London is rich in suitors, and the season has only just begun… But good God, what a heat! I wish I didn't burn in the sun!"

Vivian brushed away a few drops of sweat from her high, white forehead with her fingers. Like all redheads, her delicate skin turned red and sometimes blistered at the slightest contact with the sun's rays. But she should always remain dazzling, because the girl knew the bitter truth: if you are poor, beauty is your only wealth.

– Don't forget your hat, my dear cousin. In this heat, in the sun, without a hat, you may get sick. – Suddenly she heard the voice of her cousin Mr. Cranford behind her.

– Alas, my favourite hat is gone: it was blown away by the wind while I was admiring the sea," she replied, with a slight annoyance at her embarrassment. She did not turn round to Anthony: he was of little interest to her, both as a man and as a prospective bridegroom. There was no need for her to put her charms to work.

– It must be a great loss. You girls always take the loss of even easily replaceable things to heart," Anthony smiled. He had come up to his cousin and could now admire the profile of her face.

– You are right, dear cousin: we girls are so frivolous," said Vivian out of politeness, but not out of any desire to keep the conversation going, still without dignifying her cousin with a glance.

– What a beautiful bouquet. Did you make it? – Anthony asked: he was too shrewd not to notice his cousin's indifference to him. But he mistook it for fatigue: the beautiful guest had spent many hours in the carriage, and naturally it had taken its toll on her health.

– That's right, dear cousin, I'll do it myself," Vivian answered him, as she bent to pick a large red rosebud, but pricked her finger on the sharp thorns and gave an involuntary shriek.

– Allow me. – Anthony carefully plucked the bud she had chosen and held it out to her cousin. She accepted it readily.

Their fingers touched, and Vivian, without knowing why, blushed.

"How sweet and modest she is," went through Anthony's mind.

– Thank you, Mr. Cranford," Vivian said quietly, and added a rose to her bouquet.

– I don't think I would be wrong in assuming that you like flowers," her cousin suddenly smiled broadly.

"So what of it?" – the girl thought unhappily, but said aloud: – How can one not love flowers? Is there anyone who is completely indifferent to these beautiful creatures?

– Alas, such people do exist. But, as you have seen, Greenhall is not indifferent to flowers. My mother planned the garden herself, and every flower grows exactly where she told it to.

– Your mother has excellent taste.

– You are like a flower yourself, my dear cousin. A bright, flaming flower," Anthony said earnestly, and was pleased to see his cousin's neck and face glow again.

Vivian could not find words: this handsome young man was so gallant! He must be extremely romantic, and London beauties simply fall at his feet.

– My dear cousin, your words are so sweet. But, please, beware of saying them in front of your mother: she may misinterpret them," said the girl, gravely: "I would not have my aunt think that she, Vivian, wished to take possession of her son's heart and soul!

– There is not a drop of romance in my mother's heart," Anthony reassured her with irony in his voice. – And, please, call me Anthony. After all, we are rather close relatives.

– Whatever you say, Anthony. – Vivian's face lit up with a broad, sincere smile: it turned out that her cousin was not so bad! Perhaps they could be friends?

– But now go inside: you've had enough time in the sun and you need to rest. Besides, lunch is coming up. Let me show you out. – Anthony gave her his elbow in a gallant manner.

– You're right: this heat is tiring me. – Vivian put her beautiful white palm on her cousin's shoulder, and the young people walked slowly, chatting animatedly, into the saving shade of Greenhall.

As soon as they entered the hall, they met the lady of the house herself: she had already changed into a new, but once again strict black dress, and was on her way to the kitchen to give orders in person, not through the housekeeper, to buy for tomorrow morning's tea-party chocolates of a new brand, which had appeared in the shops only yesterday. Lady Cranford did not eat chocolate and avoided sweets, wishing to keep her figure slim, but Anthony enjoyed two or three every day.

But her cheekbones sharpened as her gaze fell on Vivian walking with her son, and when she saw her niece's colourful bouquet, she addressed her in an icy, bone-chilling tone:

– 'I see you have put together a marvellous bouquet, Vivian. Especially beautiful are these pink gladioli, which I forbid even my favourite grandchildren to touch.