Читать книгу Wingless Bird - Анна Морион - Страница 9

It was one day before Lady Marlborough's reception, for which London high society was waiting with bated breath, and the dresses Vivian had ordered were still not ready. The seamstresses worked day and night, and all the dresses were made, but the embroidery, which the customer wished to have on each dress, was complicated and time-consuming. Fortunately, to Vivian and Jane's delight, the hats, shoes, capes, jackets, cloaks and gloves had been delivered yesterday and tried on the same evening. But this was not enough for Vivian: what use was all this luxury if the centrepiece of her new image was not ready? The day before the exciting and extremely important event, the girl received a note from the atelier, which said that her dresses would be ready and delivered by the evening, which made the already desperate beauty breathe a sigh of relief and smile. But alas! Vivian waited in vain all evening, impatiently looking out of the window, hoping to see the messenger with her new dresses.

The night passed, the morning came, and with it an early breakfast, and with every hour Miss Cowell grew more anxious: what if the dresses were never delivered? It would be a tragedy, for the reception at Lady Marlborough's, which was to change Vivian's life dramatically, would be today!

The evening drew nearer, but the dresses were still missing. At luncheon, Vivian, full of grief, could no longer cope with her emotions, and she had no appetite at all.

Her condition did not escape her aunt's notice, and she asked her what was the cause of her nervous jerky movements, silence, and sad eyes.

– I am very sorry you have noticed my grief, dear aunt. The dresses that were to have been delivered last night have not arrived, and I have not a single dress worthy of my debut," Vivian confessed frankly, hoping that her aunt would help her to find a way out of this unpleasant situation.

– How unfortunate. But, my dear, your blue dress suits you very well and looks quite elegant," Lady Cranford tried to comfort her.

– No, no, not at all! How can I appear in it among guests who will be dressed in splendid gowns and suits? No, auntie, I am afraid if I go to Lady Marlborough's party dressed like that, I shall be mocked, and no honourable gentleman will even look in my direction. – Vivian sighed sadly, and flung up her hands: "Oh, auntie, what am I to do?

Lady Cranford wondered if perhaps she could lend her niece one of her new dresses that had never been worn.

– I have some brand new dresses that were delivered to me a couple of days ago, but I'm afraid they won't fit you, as they are made to my figure and height. Besides, as you may have noticed, I am still in mourning for my deceased husband, and all my clothes are black," she said, and, wishing to comfort her niece, for whom she was beginning to feel a real kinship, she took her hand in hers. – But don't be sad, my dear, we shall think of something.

Vivian, who had not expected such a friendly gesture from her strict aunt, smiled gratefully at her and squeezed her palm tightly.

– Shall we send one of our footmen to the atelier? What if your order is ready, but for some reason it was forgotten to be delivered? – The Countess suddenly suggested: she knew well how many orders every atelier serving the families of London's high society had. – At which atelier were your dresses ordered?

– Mrs.Davidson's atelier," Vivian answered readily.

– My dear, Mrs.Davidson's is one of the most sought-after ateliers in London and caters for half of all the noble families in London, including our own. There have been a couple of occasions when our orders have been sent to the wrong address and we have received orders from other families. I'm sure your dresses have been delivered by mistake to someone else. – Lady Cranford immediately summoned her breakfast footman and ordered him to go to Mrs.Davidson's studio to find out what fate had befallen Vivian's dresses. Then she turned to her niece again: "My dear, don't be afraid to trouble me if you have any difficulties.

– I thank you, auntie. And how can I ever thank you for your care? – Vivian replied softly, but she was full of wonder: why had her aunt suddenly become so kind to her? Was this some kind of game? A pretence? Should she be trusted? – Oh, I only just noticed that breakfast was without your son!

– Anthony is not feeling well. – The Countess raised her beautiful eyebrows slightly: her son had drunk too much red wine at dinner last night, which naturally displeased his mother.

"He drinks too much!" – she thought, but did not dare to share her anxiety with her niece, for they still knew so little of each other.

Ever since the meal at which Anthony had so awkwardly insulted his cousin, the two had hardly spoken to each other, and, exchanging a polite "Good morning," had passed each other in silence. But the heart of the mistress of Greenhall rejoiced at this circumstance.

– I hope he will soon feel better. We are going to the Duchess of Marlborough's this evening, and he must not miss it, for this ball is a wonderful chance to make new acquaintances and use his charms. Many pretty daughters of wealthy families have made their debut this season, which will bring a good dowry to the future spouse. Anthony must not miss his chance," said Lady Cranford.

– In your opinion, dear aunt, what should he expect? You must remember the sermon he preached to me about Mademoiselle de Croix and her ambition to win the Duke of Nightingale's heart and marry him. – Vivian asked, wanting to know what plans her aunt had for her son.

– As you know, Anthony is my youngest son, which means that when his father died, he inherited only a small share of the vast fortune that my eldest son Richard received. According to my deceased husband's will, Anthony receives a certain, rather decent sum each month, but compared to what his own brother receives, it is a pittance. I feel guilty towards my boy for not being able to leave him my funds… The heartless laws of England forbid me to bequeath my entire fortune to him, so all my money and this house will go to the already rich Richard. Fortunately, Anthony is well aware of his situation and is willing to do his best to marry well and secure a secure future for himself. However, like you, he does not dare to think about marriage with girls above him and much richer than him, because he is not the most prestigious groom in England. Alas! – The Countess wrinkled her nose and shook her head.

Only now Vivan realised how much Aunt Beatrice loved her son, and what an unenviable position in high society her cousin occupied. She thought: Anthony must have found his position as the youngest son much more burdensome than even her own, the daughter of a poor provincial nobleman. She had grown up in a modest mansion with a small garden, while Anthony had been surrounded from birth by the outrageous luxuries he would have to give up, for his chances of getting the daughter of an earl, or even a viscount, into his net were as slim as those of a beautiful Frenchwoman marrying the Duke of Nightingale.

– I'm so sorry. Anthony is a wonderful caring man and a true gentleman… I hope he marries very well and never knows what need is," Vivian said quietly to her aunt, and she raised her eyebrows in surprise at such high praise for her son.

"What if they are secret lovers, and their quarrel is a mere game, plotted by them to deaden my doubts, anxieties, and correct guesses as to their true feelings? How could I see if it was true? – suddenly flashed through Lady Cranford's mind, and the sprouts of distrust of her niece rose again in her soul. – Or am I deeply mistaken? After all, Vivian clearly wishes to make a good match, and my son is a poor candidate. And he realises how poor Vivian is. Besides, as she grows older, her beauty will fade and her poverty will not disappear. "No, no, my Anthony is a clever boy and knows how important it is for him to decide with his head and not his heart."

– But, darling, you shouldn't fly under the radar and expect to be proposed to by a titled and very rich man either. Your chances of such a marriage, if you take a sober view of the situation, are even less than Anthony's," said the Countess, in the tone of an abbess.

"Oh, auntie, you don't know me at all! You may order your son about, but I will pursue my purpose, and you will soon realise how you have underestimated your poor niece!" – With a sneer in her soul, thought Vivian to herself.

– 'You are right, of course, aunt,' she said aloud. – But would you like to take a walk in the garden? I can't get enough of your beautiful flowers.

Lady Cranford did not need to be asked twice, and hand in hand they went into the garden to enjoy the colours of summer on this rather cold but exciting day.

***

Anthony Cranford did not leave his chambers: he had spent last night drearily, and, from the unbearable weight of the thoughts that filled his mind, had drunk four glasses of red wine more than he should have at dinner. The wine was strong, stupefying, and by the end of the meal the young man was drunk, but he found the strength to say good night to the ladies, make them a gallant bow, and then walked straight to his chambers, locked the door, lay down in a wide bed, without taking off his suit, and immediately fell asleep.

What was the cause of such a completely uncharacteristic behaviour? After all, at home, Anthony did not allow himself more than two glasses of wine at dinner and a glass of expensive brandy when he woke up the desire to read. Sitting in Greenhall's vast, rich library, which contained thousands of books in English, French, German, and Latin (all Cranfords were quite fluent in this dead language), the young man would read a book and at the same time drink a glass of brandy slowly, savouring it, and it gave him moral pleasure.

Vivian. It was she who had been the culprit of his intoxication last night. This girl had disturbed the peace not only of her aunt, but also of her cousin.

The image of the red-haired cousin refused to leave Anthony's mind and, what was worse, his imagination painted him pictures full of the voluptuous intimacy that had tormented him without sleep every night since the modest Miss Cowell had appeared at Greenhall. He had thought that after he had called his cousin a "wingless bird," and that she had evidently borne a grudge against him (for she had avoided him and would not talk to him), he would feel better and be relieved of the obsession, but alas! Vivian's coldness only made him more passionate, and young Cranford was horrified to realise that his cousin had not only deprived him of peace and sleep, but had stolen his heart. And this he did not need, so unfortunate, for he was soon to be married to another rich girl. Anthony sincerely hoped that Vivian would marry as soon as possible, preferably right after her debut, which might cool his passion for her, because another man's wife is just a house cat, and he liked wild and free.

The young aristocrat had left his bed in the morning, but, dressed in a cosy dressing-gown, spent his time in the quiet of his richly furnished chambers: Lady Cranford had given him permission to furnish them to his own taste, and, owing to this circumstance, Anthony was surrounded by rather bright but elegant furniture.

He was sitting on a soft blue velvet sofa, with a book in his hands, but the lines were blurred before his eyes: Anthony wondered how he could avoid being taken in by his feelings for his cousin. Should he just ignore her? Avoid her? Pretend she didn't exist? What should he do with these unnecessary feelings? And not a soul must know of his secret, his downfall! And certainly not his mother.

There was a knock at the door.

– Come in," said the master of the room indifferently.

The door opened, and Emily came in: she was beautiful, that dark-haired maid.

– You? What do you want? – Anthony frowned slightly.

– Good afternoon, Mr. . Cranford," she said with a smile, and took a step towards the sofa, but Anthony stopped her with an impatient gesture that made her feel slightly embarrassed and put her back against the door. – I came to see how you were feeling, and to see if I could bring some lunch to your chambers. You were not seen at breakfast today.

– I have no need of food. You may go now," Anthony said indifferently, and fixed his eyes once more on his book.

– But, may I… You ordered me not to come to you last night, and I would like to know what was the reason…" Emily began in the firm, sweet tone she used to flirt with her mistress's son.

– Remember for the future: the fact that you spend nights with me doesn't make you think you're someone I have to answer to! – Anthony was angry: his mistress suddenly thought she could ask him such questions?

The maid only smiled slyly.

– You are right, Mr. Cranford, I think I am a little conceited. But shall I come to your chambers tonight?

– No. I shall be busy," said her lover. – But the day after tomorrow I shall see you at the usual time. Now go and don't bother me any more with your silly questions.

From Mr. . Cranford's cold tone, she knew that the moment was not the right one for flirting, and she was right: Anthony was in a bad temper and angry with himself for falling in love with his penniless cousin against his better judgement. Emily left her lover's chambers and went to iron her mistress's dresses. The maid smiled: she was young, beautiful, cunning, and the mistress of a real aristocrat who was good in bed and gave her expensive trinkets (which Emily carefully hid in her mattress. What more could a simple maid want? Trying not to be seen by anyone, the girl came to her lover's house at midnight and left at three in the morning, because at four she had to prepare for Lady Cranford's awakening. Emily had almost no time to moan, but was content with her lot, and, not being distinguished by modesty, wished to spend her time in bed with the young and handsome Mr. . Cranford. But this secret liaison was not known to anyone: the lovers jealously kept their secret.

"Anthony is only mine. He doesn't know it yet, but I won't let anyone take him away from me. Even when he marries, I will remain his mistress and bear him many children," thought the cunning girl, walking on the marble floor almost noiselessly.