Читать книгу The Bird has got wings - Анна Морион - Страница 3

– Vivian?

The girl flinched and, like a thief caught red-handed, hurriedly turned round at the voice of her spouse. Her face, in the early morning light, was pale and frightened. After a moment Vivian smiled, and, putting on a warm long dressing gown, went to the bed, but did not sit down, but stopped at some distance, so that Jeremy could not force her back to bed.

– Sleep, my love. It's still only early morning," she said affectionately.

– Then why aren't you in bed? – Jeremy frowned sleepily.

– I can't sleep… I'll go to the library and read a book," Vivian tilted her head to the side and gave her husband a kiss and added: – If Jane arrives before you get up, send her to me. All right, my dear?

– Since when did you become an early bird? – Jeremy narrowed his eyes, but then he smiled and leaned back against the cushions, closing his eyes and adding, "Tell them to build a fire in the library. I don't want you to be cold, my love.

– I'll do it myself. But you sleep, my love, sleep. – Vivian silently came close to the bed, leaned over to her husband's handsome, sleepy face and kissed him on the cheek, which made him smile sweetly.

"How can such darkness hide in such a beautiful body and behind such a pretty face! Mr. Darbinell, my former fiancé, is no match for you in beauty and youth. But, God, if I had known earlier how much I would have to pay for the title of your wife, I would have preferred a husband like that sweaty hog to you," Vivian thought with a bitter smile as she looked at her husband's fine young body. – But, thanks to you, I became rich and popular, my dear… No, I made the right choice. After all, one day you will cool to me, and I will happily turn a blind eye to your cheating and affairs with other women. I just have to be patient. Your passion for me can't last forever."

Trying not to wake her husband, Vivian quietly left the master bedroom and carefully closed the door behind her. Barefoot, with her hair loose and tangled after the fulfilment of the night's conjugal duty, the girl walked slowly down the long corridor, ignoring the cold, uncarpeted floor. The dull light of morning, so early that even the servants were still fast asleep in their beds, illuminated the corridor and made it cold and uninviting.

Wington Hall, this big, beautiful mansion of which she had been head of household for a month now, was a stranger to Vivian. She still could not believe that this place had become her home. Her own home in London. Because she remembered: it all belonged to her husband, and if he wished to divorce her, she would fall back into the horror of poverty and contempt by all. After all, this is how the perfectly well-coordinated mechanism of the society of the rich and aristocrats: you should fall down the social ladder, as your friends stop noticing you, and then even become ex. But what Vivian needed was not the attention and love of society: she needed to remain Jeremy's wife, whatever the cost. Moral anguish and loss of possession of her own body could be endured, she thought, but the death of the man she loved could not. Everything she did, she did for the good of Richard, whom she loved even more than herself, and if to be able to help him she had to weep with disgust and helplessness – the true companions of every night spent with Jeremy, Vivian was ready to bear it for the rest of her life. No grumbling. No complaints.

All Mrs. Wington needed to regain her moral and mental strength was a couple of spare hours spent alone with herself, writing letters or reading a book. In the first weeks of her marriage she had no difficulty in snatching for herself these coveted hours of freedom, for then Jeremy was very delicate in his love for her. Lately, however, her husband had become incredibly jealous and demanded that she be with him at all times, and Vivian had to dodge and invent urgent matters just to hide from Jeremy and withdraw into herself.

"I'll get up like this every morning. I can't get to bed late at night anyway: Jeremy won't let me out of the bedroom or his arms," Vivian thought tiredly. Her eyes were closed from lack of sleep and her body was so weak that she could hardly move from foot to foot, but she did not want to go back to the bedroom, to her husband's captivity. She would rather sleep in an armchair, in the library, on the floor! Not in the same bed as Jeremy. Not after what he'd been doing to her all those too long nights.

Entering the library, which held thousands of books, the head of household of Wington Hall locked the doors securely and lit the fireplace. When the first warm tongues of flame covered the fragrant birch wood, the girl climbed with her feet into one of the large armchairs and sat staring blankly at the bookshelf until a knock at the door and Jane's voice brought her out of her weightless state.

– Miss Vivian! Oh, I mean, Mrs. Wington! – called in a cheerful tone the faithful Jane, who, as before, held the position of personal maid to her now married friend. – 'Your husband has ordered me to call you to breakfast!

"What? Is it breakfast already? But what time is it? – Vivian wondered, and glanced at the large wall clock, which showed eight-thirty-three in the morning. – Time has flown by so fast… But it's a good thing that, unlike my Aunt Beatrice, Jeremy likes to snuggle in bed."

Reluctantly leaving her hiding place, Vivian went to the door and let Jane into the library. She, dressed in her new, freshly pressed uniform, smiled happily and handed Vivian two letters.

– Your mail, Mrs. Wington! – The maid held out the letters to her friend, but when she saw Vivian's tired face and the circles under her eyes, she frowned. – Are you having insomnia again? You look as if you'd been up all night!

'That's precisely what it was, Jane… I don't belong to myself at night… As well as during the day,' Vivian thought, but forced herself to smile softly and reply:

– 'I beg you, in private, call me what you used to call me, Miss Vivian. Yes, insomnia again-I got up incredibly early. I couldn't sleep, so I thought I'd read a good novel," she lied, taking the letters from Jane, and glancing at the sender's address, grinned ironically. – A letter from Anthony… I wonder how he reacted when he found out I'd married his best friend?

– If he did, Miss Vivian," Jane put in. – He's so far away! Up north!

– Of course he found out, silly! – Vivian laughed softly as she unsealed a letter from her cousin. – All births, deaths and marriages are reported in many newspapers, and the Cranfords always get at least three different fresh papers every morning. I think Anthony has learnt of my wedding late, but, my dear, he, and my dear good Aunt Beatrice, must be extremely glad of the news. Especially my aunt-she has been trying so hard to pass me off as old man Darbinell! I hope she is biting her elbows now, knowing that her poor niece has become the wife of a man much richer than herself. – Grinning to herself, the girl ran her eyes over the lines Anthony had written and smiled broadly: "Well, there! I was right! Listen to what my cousin writes! "My dear Viviane, this news, I confess, has astonished me to the very depths of my soul, but this astonishment was a feeling of pleasure, for now, knowing that you have achieved your purpose, I am calm for you and your Richard…"

– Who is Richard, Miss Vivian? – Jane enquired. She went to the fireplace, took the poker and stirred the still smouldering embers. – Shall I get some more wood?

– Who is Richard? – Vivian repeated thoughtfully, biting her lip as she considered whether to tell Jane about Richard.

– Yes, who is he? – The maid asked again, turning to her friend. She was very curious about this mysterious man.

– I hope I shall soon introduce you to him," said Vivian, instead of answering. – But listen to this: "I know that Jeremy does not and probably never will capture your heart, but I know his soul and I assure you that he will be a good spouse, a reliable man and a good father to your future children…" She hesitated and wrinkled her nose.

"Ah, my naive cousin! I don't think you know the man you call your best friend that well! You are convinced that you know his soul, and that it is beautiful, but how wrong you are! And how wrong I was when I thought I could keep him under my thumb! – ran through the girl's mind, and the desire to read this letter full of joy was gone. – No, no, I can't read it! And Jeremy must not see these lines either! If he found out about Richard that way, he would kill me… kill me with his jealousy."

– Put some wood in the fire, Jane," said Vivian quietly, crumpling up the letter.

– As you say, Miss Vivian," she said, but was surprised at the sudden change in her friend's mood. She did not ask any more questions, but simply lighted the fire in the fireplace.

When the flames were dancing their merry dance again, Vivian went to the fireplace and threw a crumpled ball of paper into its hot heart.

– Miss Vivian? Is something wrong? – A worried Jane asked quietly. – Has your cousin written you something hurtful?

– No, Jane… He's happy for me. But my husband mustn't find out about Richard. He will. Later. Not today. – Vivian sighed heavily and hid her face in her hands. – 'But we must go… Jeremy is expecting me for breakfast… .

– We have to get you cleaned up first! – Jane said firmly. – I promise I'll have you dressed and combed in half an hour. You know I can work miracles, don't you?

– I know, darling, I know. – Vivian took her palms away from her face and looked at her maid friend and smiled broadly.

How good it was to have Jane by her side again! Fortunately, Jeremy had not refused his wife's request to take this girl into the house and even pay her double what Lady Cranford paid her.

– How is your mother? I hope she is better? – Vivian asked as the girls walked slowly down the corridor, now brightly lit by the sunlight.

– Much better! Thank you for that! – Shining like a polished coin, Jane replied. – What about your jewellery? Have you bought them back yet?

– My goodness, Jane, how good of you to remind me of that! I had forgotten all about them! – Vivian exclaimed with the palm pressed to her heart. – I shall go for them today!

Half an hour later, as faithful Jane had promised, Vivian was dressed in one of her beautiful morning dresses, and her hair was arranged in a high style. There was no trace left of the girl who barefooted, with her hair loose, and wearing a dressing-gown over her night-dress, had been hiding from her own husband in the darkness of the library. Mrs. Wington, who had taken her place at the table in the bright, large dining-room, looked like a goddess descending from the heights of Olympus to the world of mortals. And Mr. Wington, her husband, dressed in an elegant morning suit, kept his eyes on her, while she smiled at him and kept up their uncomplicated and intimate conversation in an affectionate tone.

– We have been sent invitations again. Three to be exact," said the landlord. – But I have no desire to attend another ball. I'm tired of them.

– Very well, my dear. Let's stay at home and make the most of our time," said his wife, who had also had enough of balls and soirees.

– What post have you received, my love? – Jeremy asked, kissing his wife's white, graceful neck with a possessive look.

– A letter from Anthony. He congratulated us on our marriage and wished us well," Vivian replied briefly, carefully spreading a tiny amount of butter on half a small bun.

– Did he write when he would return to London?

– 'I can't remember, my dear. His niece is still bedridden.

– And the second letter?

"Is he checking my post?" – Vivian was unpleasantly surprised, but dared not say it aloud.

– It's from Casterbridge," she answered in an even tone. – But I haven't opened it yet.

– I want to read it," Jeremy said with a smile.

– I'm sorry, my dear, but I'm not going to let you read my private correspondence," Mrs. Wington said calmly.

– What are you afraid of? – Jeremy narrowed his eyes.

– 'I'm not afraid of anything, my dear. It's just a letter from my father. I think he's asking you for money again.

– If it's a letter from your father, why won't you show it to me? – Mr. Wington insisted again with a smile, but with a cold glint in his eyes.

– 'Because this letter is meant for me and not for you, my love. – Fortunately, Vivian was perfectly in control of herself and did not let her emotions take over. – But, my dear, do you suspect me of something?

– Not at all, my angel. Well, tell your father he won't get more than a thousand pounds this time. What's he already spent what you sent him a little while ago?

– He's trying to rebuild his print shop and needs to buy new equipment. – Vivian nonchalantly continued to butter her bun. – But, my dear, you must not send him money. Not yet. I think he realises he's asking for too much.

– When is he going to visit you and meet your husband? – Jeremy wiped his lips with his napkin and threw it on the empty plate.

– I don't know, he's so busy with his printing business," Vivian smiled back. She brought the bun to her mouth, but stopped suddenly and dropped it on the plate. – 'After breakfast I want to go to Charlotte's. We're going to entertain ourselves by singing.

– 'Not today.

"Stubborn fool. I need to buy back my jewellery!" – screamed the girl inside her, but not a muscle in her face trembled.

– 'Not today, my dear?

– We are going hunting.

Vivian looked at her husband's face with misunderstanding.

He answered her with a shining smile.

– Jeremy, you know how I feel about hunting," Vivian said quietly. There was a deep wrinkle between her eyebrows.

– I'll do the shooting, and all you have to do is enjoy the running of the horse.

– But I don't want to watch you kill innocent animals," she said grimly.

– No one is forcing you to watch it. You can always close your eyes or turn your face away," Jeremy said in a noncommittal tone.

– Please don't insist. Besides, I've already made Charlotte a promise…

– I'm sorry you're going to have to break it.

Jeremy's face was so unruffled and his gaze so intense and burning that Vivian knew she would not be able to buy back her jewellery today. Instead, she would have to fulfil the wish of her hard-hearted husband.

A wish?

No, it was an order.

– Whatever you say, my dear. I'll write her a note.

– Good girl.

Vivian smiled falsely, but her soul was filled with a grave coldness.

If Jeremy was a fine rider, and his fast as the wind, thin-legged Arabian horse obeyed him like a faithful dog, his wife was hardly an able horsewoman.

As a child, when her father still had some wealth, Vivian had received riding lessons and had learnt to be confident in the saddle. But since she was eight years old, she had never been on a horse's back and was now filled with shyness and a slight fear of the swift running of her rather docile but frisky horse. Despite the fact that Vivian was wearing a comfortable riding dress and the high leather boots with a large heel, she felt as if she had never had a single riding lesson. She frantically held the reins in her hands and breathed rapidly, as if she was the one carrying the horse, not the other way round.

The great forest away from London was full of game, and this was where the London hunters were rushing to. The sunlight was drowned in the thick green crowns of tall, mighty trees, so it was quite dark.

The darkness frightened Vivian, made her feel like a bug lost in a vast forest full of rage and death. For that was how she perceived hunting, which her own cousin, as well as her husband, regarded only as a pleasure. Vivian did not want to be here, riding a horse along a barely discernible bushy path, waiting for her husband to find his prey.

Two trained hunting dogs – young, full of vigour and energy greyhounds – were running with the speed of the wind between the trees in front of their owners' horses in pursuit of a rather large red fox. The poor hunted animal began to lose strength, and soon a loud shot rang through the air, causing Vivian to shriek in surprise.

– What a catch! Marcus! Aurelius! You have done well, my friends!" Jeremy laughed happily and started his horse at a jog.

Vivian stopped her horse and looked regretfully at where her husband was pointing his horse: not far away from them, a fox lay a bright spot on the dark, dry ground. Blood was pouring from the side of the dead animal. Jeremy had killed the poor creature with a single shot, which, in itself, was an act of mercy: the victim had died painlessly. But this fact by no means comforted the girl who hated hunting.

Tears came to Vivian's eyes, but she hastily brushed them away with her leather glove: she did not want Jeremy to think her sentimental. The girl had no desire to look at the dead fox more closely, and, from a distance, watched silently as her husband rejoiced in his bloody success.

Jeremy did not hurry up to put the prey into the thick canvas bag tied to the saddle of his horse; he looked from the dead fox to the pale face of his wife and grinned faintly. Vivian's timidity and her open aversion to one of his favourite pastimes had hurt his pride. The young man felt that Vivian should have supported his interests as his meek, caring mother had done for her husband. Turning his horse round, Jeremy steered it to where his beloved wife's horse stood still.

– I never asked you that question, my dear," Jeremy asked with a smile as he neared Vivian. – You say to me, 'My love,' but do you love me?

– What a question! – The husband replied playfully cheerfully, but then her face grew serious: "I confess that when you proposed to me, I had no tender feelings for you, but I knew I would love you. And I did, my love. I love you.

– Prove it to me. – The smile faded from young Wington's face. – Bring me my booty.

Cold goosebumps ran down Vivian's back. She stared at her husband's calm and determined face, unable to find the words to answer.

– But you have dogs for that, my dear," she finally managed to force out of her throat.

– I wish you would do it. Come on, my angel. It's not as scary as you think.

Vivian swallowed but didn't move.

– Jeremy, you know how I feel about hunting…" she began.

– We're not going home, unless you do what I asked," Jeremy interrupted his wife.

Mr. Wington's tone was smooth but firm. He knew what he was saying and was ready to carry out his threat. Vivian felt it with all her being.

Without a word, the girl obediently saddled down and walked slowly towards the dead fox. Her lips trembled with grievance, and her eyes became wet again with tears of pity for the red-haired creature that had recently been running through the forest and enjoying the warm summer days.

As she approached her husband's prey, who was watching her actions with a satisfied smile, Vivian suddenly realised that she was afraid not only of the nights with Jeremy, but of every minute spent with him. It was almost an animal fear. Her body was like a taut arrow that threatened to break at any moment. But the worst thing Mrs. Wington realised was that she had married a tyrant. A man who, in his all-consuming love and passion for her, was jealous of her even to lackeys, and would not let her go alone even to Charlotte.

As she approached the dead fox, Vivian looked at the little furry body, covered with blood, with pity and sorrow in her heart. She wanted to fall to her knees and weep. Sob at the top of her voice. Out of horror. Pity. Hate for herself and the man she'd sold herself to.

– Hurry up, my love. There's a hot dinner waiting for us at home," she heard the soft voice of her husband.

– Yes, darling… Of course," Vivian said, finding the strength to reply.

She sat down beside the dead animal and stroked its head, wanting to comfort it as a mother would her child in the agony of death. Then she glanced at her bright glove, covered with blood, and with a cry of horror she drew back. As she fell on her back, Vivian hurried to her knees and vomited.