The Virtuous Cyprian. Nicola Cornick
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Название: The Virtuous Cyprian

Автор: Nicola Cornick

Издательство: HarperCollins

Жанр: Книги о войне

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СКАЧАТЬ me for a little while! That way it looks as though I’m really interested in living in the house. After all,’ she added, tactlessly, ‘no one even knows you exist, so they would not suspect!’

      Lucille felt as though she was struggling in a quicksand. ‘But cannot your lawyer represent your interests? After all, he was the one who told you of your claim to Cookes in the first place. Would he not be the most appropriate person—’

      Susanna was shaking her head stubbornly. ‘But my lawyer is in Holborn! I need someone in Suffolk! I need you, Lucille!’

      ‘But, Susanna,’ Lucille said helplessly, ‘the deception…It is fraud, after all! And if they were to realise—’

      Susanna curled her lip. ‘Lud, you always were so pious, Luce! No one would guess! The only person you could possibly meet is old Josselyn, the agent, and even he has probably tired of trying to disprove my claim and will leave you alone! I thought you might like a chance to look at Cookes,’ she added slyly. ‘It is full of dusty old tomes that would no doubt be fascinating to you. For myself, I cannot bear bookish things, but I know that you are the most complete bluestocking.’

      There was another silence whilst Lucille struggled against an inner compulsion. ‘It wouldn’t work,’ she said, more forcefully this time. ‘Why, we do not even look alike!’

      Superficially, this was true. Lucille felt her twin’s gaze skim her with faintly malicious consideration. She knew what she must look like to Susanna’s sophisticated eyes: a country dowd in an old dress, angular where Susanna was generously curved, her silver fair hair several shades paler and drawn back in a disfiguring bun. They had the same sapphire blue eyes, but whilst Susanna made flirtatious use of hers, Lucille’s were customarily hidden behind her reading glasses. Lucille’s complexion was porcelain pale, without any of the cosmetic aids which Susanna so artfully employed—powder and rouge for the cheeks, carmine for the lips, kohl for the eyes…The effect was spectacular and could only serve to underline the differences between them.

      It was three years since Lucille had seen her sister, and she felt that Susanna had not changed in either appearance or attitude. It was typical of Susanna to arrive without warning, demanding that her sister embark on some harebrained escapade just to oblige her. Lucille, forever cast in the role of the sensible twin, had tried to restrain her sister’s wilder schemes in their youth, but to little avail. Susanna was headstrong and obstinate, and had not improved with age. Lucille could still remember the horror she had felt when Susanna had announced defiantly that, their adoptive father’s death having left them destitute, she would try her luck among the demi-monde in London. She had been quite determined and neither her sister’s reasoned arguments nor the shocked disgust of their remaining family had swayed her. That had been nine years ago, and who was to say that she had been wrong? Lucille thought, with faint irony. Susanna had never been troubled by the moral dimension of her choice and materialistically she had done very well for herself.

      Susanna got to her feet with the fluid grace that was one of her trademarks, and crossed to her sister’s side, pulling her to her feet. They regarded their reflections in the parlour mirror, one a pale shadow of the rich colour of the other.

      ‘You could be made to look like me,’ Susanna said, slowly. ‘’Tis only a matter of clothes and cosmetics, and no one at Dillingham has seen me properly—why, I’ve told you, no one but Seagrave’s agents have called in a week! So you see…’ she gave Lucille a calculating sideways look ‘…you need consult nothing but your own inclination! It would not be for long, and I daresay you could do with a holiday from this prison!’

      Lucille jumped, shaken, for her sister had hit upon the one truth which Lucille did not wish to acknowledge. Over the past few months, Lucille had been aware of an increasing need to escape the claustrophobic confines and predictable routines of the school. She needed time to read, study, walk and be on her own, but she had had nowhere to go. In some ways the genteel world of the school, the endless classes of little girls, the restricted horizons of all the teachers, was indeed the prison Susanna described.

      Susanna was virtually all the family Lucille possessed and Susanna had made it clear long ago that her antecedents were not an asset in her chosen course in life, and she would be obliged to her twin if she did not broadcast their relationship. This suited Lucille, who could see that it would not be to her advantage to claim sistership with one of the most infamous Cyprians in London. The parents of her pupils would be outraged—or believe that she was cast in the same mould. It was a strange twist of fate that had cast two sisters adrift in the world for one to turn into a bluestocking and the other a courtesan.

      Lucille sighed. She had no illusions that Susanna wanted to use her, but more than half of her was crying out to her to seize the chance Susanna was offering. The prospect of spending some time in the house where their father had lived and worked held a curious appeal for her. But an impersonation was both foolhardy and immoral, the voice of her conscience told her severely. But it would not be for long, temptation countered defensively, and she would not really be doing anything wrong…

      ‘How long do you think you would be away for?’ she asked cautiously, and was rewarded by a vivid smile from Susanna, who sensed that her battle was already won.

      ‘No more than a week or two,’ she said carelessly, resuming her languid pose on the sofa. ‘And you would need to do no more than occupy the house. I do not imagine that anyone will call—doubtless it will all be a dead bore, but then you must be accustomed to such tedium far more than I!’ Her disparaging look encompassed the faded respectability of the school parlour. ‘Lud, how I detest this shabby-genteel place!’ With a chameleon change of mood, she smiled on her sister once more. ‘Oh, say you will do it, Lucille! You would so enjoy a change of scene!’

      Lucille bit her lip at her sister’s shamelessness. Unfortunately Susanna was right. Whilst the idea of the impersonation appalled her, the lure of Cookes definitely held a strange charm.

      ‘All right, Susanna,’ she said wryly. ‘No doubt I shall live to regret it, but I will help you.’

      Susanna glanced at the ugly clock on the parlour mantelpiece. Now that she had got what she wanted she did not wish to linger. ‘Lord, I must be going or that old gorgon will be turning me out of doors!’ She turned eagerly to her sister and clasped her hands. ‘Oh, thank you, Luce! I’ll send for you soon!’

      She let her sister go and scooped up her fur stole and jewelled reticule. ‘You must not worry that you will have to deal with anyone I know,’ she added carelessly, with one hand on the doorknob. ‘No one of my acquaintance would be seen dead in the country!’

      ‘And the Earl of Seagrave?’ Lucille asked suddenly. ‘He is the owner of Cookes, is he not? There is no likelihood of him coming down to Suffolk?’

      Susanna stared. ‘Seagrave? Upon my word, what an extraordinary idea! He has no interest in the case, I assure you! Why, Seagrave employs an army of agents and lawyers in order to avoid having to involve himself in his estates!’

      Lucille turned away so that her sister could not see her face, and made a business of collecting up the cups and saucers. ‘Do you know him, Susanna? What manner of man is he?’

      Had Susanna had more interest in the motivation and feelings of others, this enquiry might have struck her as odd coming from her bookish sister. However, she seldom thought beyond her own wishes and needs. She wrinkled up her nose, frowning with the unaccustomed mental effort of trying to sum up someone’s character.

      ‘He is a charming man,’ she said, at length, ‘handsome, rich, generous…Lud, I don’t know! He does not belong to my set—he is too high in the instep for me! But СКАЧАТЬ