Читать книгу Wingless Bird - Анна Морион - Страница 5

Despite the silent tension that prevailed at lunch, and which all three of them unwittingly felt, the meal passed in a lovely discussion of today's heat, Lady Cranford's magnificent garden, and the latest rumours from the royal palace. However, the conversation then drifted smoothly into a discussion of politics and war, and Vivian, who came from a small remote town, could not keep up that part of the conversation, but caught every word her aunt and cousin said carefully. It was only after a while that Anthony noticed how silent his cousin had become and realised that she simply had nothing to say about the royal family, politics or the war with France. And how could a provincial girl have such knowledge? Feeling annoyed, Anthony tried to turn the conversation in another direction, but his mother stubbornly returned to the topics that interested her and ranted about this or that event.

– 'Mother, our talk of politics and war is tiring our guest,' Anthony finally said bluntly to his mother.

– Is that true, my dear? – Lady Cranford raised her eyebrows, though she could see the bored eyes of her niece, who was fiddling with the gold chain round her neck with her long white fingers.

– Alas, Auntie, I am not good at royal gossip, politics, or war," she answered frankly: she was terribly annoyed at Aunt Beatrice's way of making long monologues about things in which she, Vivian, had no interest. She had been looking forward to hearing the latest news about the season, high society, fashion and dancing, and was now leaning back in her chair, bored out of her mind (which her aunt thought was grossly rude). But on hearing Anthony's words, earnestly desiring to allow her to take part in the conversation again, Vivian levelled her back and smiled gratefully at her cousin, much to her mother's displeasure.

– But then what are you interested in? – Lady Cranford asked in a deliberately surprised tone, as if her niece were an ignorant fool.

– I am interested in more practical things, auntie," Vivian replied politely, but assertively.

– Like what, for instance? – turned to her cousin.

– First of all, I am interested in when and how you plan to introduce me to the world," said the girl, looking intently into Lady Cranford's eyes.

"How tenacious she is! Just arrived, and here she is, already demanding that I put all my affairs aside and devote myself entirely to her debut! – thought her aunt with a slight chuckle. – But it is for the best: the sooner this girl goes out into the world, the sooner she will marry, and her marriage will relieve me of the duty of looking after her.

– You're right, my dear. But let's discuss it later, over afternoon tea in the gazebo by the lake. Besides, I don't think discussing your debut would be an interesting conversation for Anthony: young men are not much interested in such things," Lady Cranford smiled playfully.

– You are right, mother: the last thing in the world I want to hear about your feminine things. Let your feminine secrets remain an unknown universe to me," Anthony laughed softly. – But if the meal is at an end, please forgive me: I have some plans.

– Of course, my dear. We won't detain you," his mother smiled, this time with a perfectly sincere smile. – You may be free too, Vivian: but at seven o'clock sharp I expect you in the gazebo by the lake.

– Thank you, auntie. I shall be in my room: I think I am really tired from the journey. – Vivian rose readily from her chair, made a curtsy, and went to her room.

– 'See you to-night, mother. – Anthony kissed his mother's hand and disappeared from the balcony, leaving Lady Cranford alone.

But she was not bored: her thoughts were somewhere far away, in the past. And her heart clenched with pain and her soul was full of pangs of longing.

Despite the fact that Vivian and Anthony left the South Balcony at the same time, they did not have a long conversation, but only wished each other a good day and went to their rooms. The girl was annoyed at her aunt's neglect of her, and the latter's order to come to the gazebo by the lake even angered her: she, Vivian, was not a servant, but a guest! Her aunt had no right to command her! Behind the beautiful face of the angel hid a fiery burning temperament.

When she reached her chambers, Vivian slammed the door quite loudly, and then threw her white gloves on the red carpet and exclaimed quietly:

– That woman! That wicked prim old woman! I hate her! How long will I have to endure her orders? I wish I could get married soon!

The girl went to the large window and looked out on the stone courtyard where the windows of her chambers actually faced.

"I must write to them. They need to know that I will do everything in my power to make our plan a reality. I won't let them down! – She thought, frowning her eyebrows and playing with her chain with her fingers. – So I must not let on that every word and deed of my heartless aunt hits me like a slap in the face. That woman is the Devil himself in a dress! I'll bear it all, and Lord knows I won't give her the pleasure of seeing me cry!"

Suddenly Miss Cowell's sharp green eyes caught sight of Anthony Cranford in the courtyard: he was striding towards a waiting, new-looking open carriage with a pair of snow-white horses. As if sensing someone's eyes on him, the young aristocrat stopped, turned round and looked up at the window at which his cousin was standing. Not expecting this act of his, Vivian did not immediately find what to do, but smiled and lightly waved at him. Anthony smiled in return, and touched his tall black hat with his fingers, and then deftly jumped into the carriage, which immediately drove him to the great iron gates leading from Greenhall to the centre of the town.

"My cousin is so gallant… And just how did my cruel aunt have such a marvellous son?" – Vivian thought as she looked at the carriage.

There was a knock at the door.

The girl took a deep breath, trying to regain her composure, and once again hid her true feelings behind a dazzling smile.

– Come in! – she said.

Jane entered the chambers.

– I apologise, Miss Vivian, for disturbing you. I only wanted to know if you needed anything.

– How good of you to be here! – Vivian said sincerely: in this big, dead house Jane's maid was almost the only flame of warmth that warmed her soul. – I wouldn't mind a hot bath. Oh, and bring me a couple of blank sheets of paper, ink and a quill: I must write home.

– As you say, Miss Vivian! – Jane brightened up and ran out of the door.

In the time it took Jane and Emily, whom she had summoned to help her, to carry buckets of hot water into the spacious bathroom in Vivian's chamber behind a beautiful portable screen, the guest had written a lengthy letter, which Jane handed to Philip, the coachman. Soon Vivian was lying in hot water mixed with rose oil, and trying not to think of the heavy tete-a-tete with Aunt Beatrice that awaited her in the evening.

But the tea party in the gazebo by the lake was much friendlier than both ladies had expected, and within an hour they had arranged all the details of the future debut of the "dear" niece, as well as a sumptuous reception in her honour at Greenhall. It was decided that Vivian's first appearance should be a real furore, and this furore was scheduled for Friday: that was the day of the ball at the Duchess of Marlborough's – the most popular woman in London and the kingdom after the wife of His Royal Majesty the Prince Regent.

– I hope we shall soon find a good husband for you, my dear," said Lady Cranford, as if in passing, as the tea party drew to a close.

– I hope so too, dear aunt," Vivian smiled at her.

– This season promises to be a very good one for both you and Anthony: he has a rich bride to find. – This time the mistress of the manor decided to kill all possible hopes of her niece for marriage with her son and directly stated what fate awaited Anthony.

– Your son is a very handsome man. I am sure he will make a very good match," replied her niece calmly. – But now I would like to retire to my chambers: this day has been full of events and impressions. I confess I am very tired, and long for rest.

– Of course, my dear. Rest, was her reply.

– Thank you, dear aunt. – Vivian sat down in a deep bow and left the gazebo.

The exciting event was only a week away, but in anticipation of it, Vivian had lost sleep and appetite, and she had a great deal on her mind, the most immediate of which was a complete overhaul of her wardrobe according to the latest London fashions.

Fortunately, Anthony Cranford did not have to drench himself in sweat sitting in his open carriage under the searing summer sun: the sky was suddenly covered with heavy grey clouds, and the streets of London were filled with the stuffiness that usually sets in before a storm. There was no doubt: it was going to rain soon, and the young aristocrat thought wistfully that he had done wrong in choosing this particular Cranford carriage, bought only five days ago.

"I wish I could make it to the Lair without getting wet. Lovely weather, I'll say!" – he thought with a chuckle as he looked up at the cloudy sky.

As if to mock the young man's hope, a loud clap of thunder suddenly pierced the air.

– Thomas, speed it up! – Anthony said to his coachman with a light laugh.

– Yes, sir! – The coachman replied, and, with a little shriek of his whip, spurred the white horses.

The carriage rolled swiftly down the stone-paved streets, nearly knocking down the common people crossing the road. But soon Anthony's luck changed, and his carriage got stuck in a traffic jam. It was as if God had decided to mock the people of London: in an instant it rained so hard that it was difficult to see anything at arm's length.

"Devil! That suit was delivered only yesterday! What bad luck!" – He was soaked to the skin, as were all the others who were in the open streets and squares at this time. It was the elegant dark blue suit he had wished to show off to his friends. Alas! The suit and hat were irretrievably ruined. Only the black leather shoes were intact.

Young Cranford's mood had waned, but the downpour had distracted him from the strange and unnecessary thoughts that had been troubling him all the way: thoughts of how lovely his young cousin Vivian was. He saw before him her embarrassed smile and big green eyes like emeralds. And she was so touchingly defenceless, this girl....

– Here we are, sir! – suddenly he heard the loud bass of his coachman.

"I must have forgotten myself again. Only to fall in love with a penniless cousin, however beautiful she may be!" – Anthony thought to himself with mockery.

– Go home and pick me up at six o'clock tomorrow," he commanded the coachman: the young hustler did not wish to be late for breakfast at Greenhall, knowing how his absence from the table would upset his mother. The young man loved and respected his mother very much, even though she disapproved of his late-night revels with his friends at the Den.

"The Den" was a small two-storey house that Anthony and his two friends rented almost on the outskirts of London. The purpose of this place was: drinking hard liquor, having fun with corrupt women and playing cards for money. However, it was not something blatantly obscene: almost all the young aristocrats of London partied as if these were the last nights of their lives. Anthony Cranford was one of them, and not even his mother could stop him from going out drinking with his friends! Youth, what can you take from it? Its desires are only to be resigned to, or looked down upon.

– Ah! Cranford! – There was a loud shout as Anthony crossed the threshold of the Lair. – Caught in that dreadful downpour, mate? How lucky you are!

His best friend, Jeremy Wington, the only son and heir of a wealthy banker, came out to meet the newcomer. This young gentleman could not boast of aristocratic origin, but, thanks to his father's millions, Jeremy was among the friends of almost all the young aristocrats of London. With Anthony Cranford he was associated with a particularly strong friendship: when and how these two met, as well as how they found a common language so different in character and thinking gentlemen, it seems, will forever remain a mystery. However, Lady Cranford, who disliked Jeremy because of his 'pernicious influence on her son', suspected that Anthony had had the misfortune to meet Jeremy Wington at one of the student parties when they were both at Oxford University.

Jeremy Wington was a jolly fellow with a pleasant, even handsome appearance: he was tall, with shoulder-length dark hair and brown eyes, and his face never showed a hint of vegetation-he was always smooth-shaven. The banker's son was always tastefully dressed, had a talent for writing love poems, was a good dancer and could drink a bottle of whisky in a quarter of an hour. Jeremy was loved in the world for his cheerful character and future millions, which will bring happiness to one of the London aristocratic beauties. The only person who had to smile a false smile at this brave gentleman was the Countess of Cranford.

– The damned rain has spoilt my new suit! – said Anthony, with a light laugh, as he took off his wet coat and threw it into a corner of the small, sparsely furnished anteroom. – I shall not catch a cold after the Thames has poured over me!

– You're right, my friend, not another word! – Jeremy clapped his hands together and shouted, "Eddie! Get me a glass of brandy, and a full one at that! And don't you dare drink half of it on the way, you moustache! – Then he turned to Anthony again: "You're soaked to the skin! Well, take off your rags and we'll dry them by the fire. We won't be needing clothes tonight anyway: Mrs.Bree's whorehouse is waiting for us upstairs.

– It's going to be a busy evening," Anthony grinned, and suddenly a beautiful woman's face appeared before his eyes, causing him to ask, "Any redheads?

– Since when did you start liking redheads? – Jeremy chuckled at that. – You're lucky, though: there are two redheaded girls at our little gathering. And Eddie's already got his eye on two blondes.

– If there are two redheads and two blondes, how many girls have you ordered? – Anthony laughed. – Half a board? Am I right?

– What do you take me for! – Jeremy exclaimed hotly. – All the girls of the brothel are at our service, and no less!

That night Anthony was having fun with the two red-haired, corrupt brothel girls of Mrs.Bree's, imagining that his beautiful, fiery-haired cousin Vivian was in his bed. The heroine of his fantasies slept on silk sheets under the protection of Greenhall, but she never dreamed and had no idea that her cousin had already fallen at her feet.

Stately Greenhall slept, and only one person took the time to put out the candle in her large, cold bedroom: Lady Cranford held a small portrait in her slightly trembling fingers, and her lips moved in silent muttering.