A Dangerous Undertaking. Mary Nichols

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ because there aren’t any servants except Mistress Clark, and she don’t sleep in.’ She laughed suddenly. ‘She don’t approve of Henry’s goings-on, as she calls them, but she stays on account of she knew the old master.’

      ‘My mother’s father?’

      ‘Yes; I suppose it would have been Henry’s brother. He was a few years older than Henry. Before that, of course, there was your great-grandfather. Henry don’t talk about them.’

      ‘Is there no one else in the family?’

      ‘Not that I know of, but then I ain’t known Henry that long.’ She paused, looking round the room. ‘It’s a bit dusty. It ain’t one of the rooms we use often.’

      ‘Do you entertain much, Mistress Capitain?’ Margaret asked, going over to the wash-stand and noticing the scum on the top of the water in the jug.

      Nellie threw back her head and laughed. ‘Bless you, I ain’t Henry’s wife.’

      Margaret was shocked to the core. She was not blind to some of the things that went on in the less salubrious parts of London; she knew men took mistresses and some wives took lovers, but she had never expected to find it happening in her own family, nor in the family home away from the capital. She sat down heavily on the bed, sending up a cloud of dust.

      ‘Don’t look so stricken,’ Nellie said. ‘Henry and me, well, we’re just good friends. I came down here ’cos I needed to get away for a bit, understand?’

      Margaret didn’t and she said so.

      ‘Never mind,’ the girl said, and laughed again. ‘You’re like a fish out of water, here, ain’t you?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘I’d find somewhere else to go, if I were you.’ It was said almost kindly. ‘Later on, or mayhap tomorrow, there’s a whole lot more coming.’

      ‘More like you?’ It was out before Margaret could stop it.

      ‘Yes, only worse. Men and women—they’re coming to gamble and… Well, you know.’

      Margaret shuddered. Her mother could not possibly have known it would be like this when she’d told her to come here. Now where was she to go? For a fleeting moment she thought of Charles Mellison and his friend, Lord Pargeter, looking for a wife who would be prepared to live in this outlandish place. She had heard that fen people were all slightly mad, and she was beginning to believe it. What could she do? She lifted her chin. ‘Perhaps you should be the one to leave,’ she said. ‘After all, you have no ties here… .’

      It was a silly thing to say and she realised it as soon as Nellie began to laugh. She was still laughing as she went back downstairs, leaving Margaret alone in the grubby bedroom.

      It was a corner room, having windows on two sides which would have made it a pleasant bedchamber if it had been clean. It had a bed, a dressing-table and a cupboard, standing on a carpet so faded as to be colourless. She did not unpack, but went to the window and looked out on a landscape so bleak that she didn’t know how anyone could like it. She saw nothing but acres and acres of flat land, some of it meadow, some of it ploughed, intersected by dykes, whose banks were higher than the surrounding land. From the other window the view was of water, with clumps of frost-blackened sedge and reeds. A rowing-boat rocked on its moorings beside the landing-stage. Overhead, in the great bowl of the sky, a heron flew. But her mother had loved her childhood here and had spoken of the special magic of the fen country—its glorious sunsets and red dawns, its plentiful wildlife, fish and fowl, its close-knit communities and hardy, superstitious people. What she had never told Margaret was why she had left and why she had never been back. As she stood at the window, a little of the atmosphere communicated itself to her and for the first time she began to understand.

      But that did not mean she wanted to stay. Her uncle evidently did not want her and she was certainly not impressed with him, but what else was there for her to do? She had no money to return to London. Suddenly she found herself thinking again of Charles Mellison, who had suggested she should marry, and his long-legged, handsome companion, who was looking for a wife. She did not want either of them to be given the opportunity of crowing over her. She smiled and turned from the window; she would just have to make the best of the situation. Straightening her shoulders, she returned downstairs and made her way to the kitchen, intending to ask for mops and buckets to clean her room.

       CHAPTER TWO

      MISTRESS CLARK was thin and dark, reminding Margaret of a scavenging crow as she darted about the kitchen picking up utensils and bowls. She was muttering to herself, but stopped suddenly when she saw Margaret. ‘Miss Felicity!’ The bowl she had in her hand dropped to the floor and shattered. Margaret bent to pick up the pieces.

      ‘It’s a judgement, that’s what it is,’ the woman went on, crossing herself. ‘I knew it would all end in tears; I told you so.’

      ‘I’m not Felicity, Mistress Clark. I’m her daughter, Margaret.’

      The cook let out her breath in a long sigh. ‘My, you gave me a fright, mistress. The image of your poor mother, you are.’

      ‘My mother is dead.’

      ‘And you thought you would come back home, did you?’

      ‘It was Mama’s last wish. I’m sure she didn’t know it would be like…’ She paused, lifting her arm to indicate the house. ‘Like this.’

      ‘No, she wouldn’t. She was only a young girl when she left home. I told her; I told her it would end in misery…’

      ‘Mama wasn’t unhappy, Mistress Clark. She and my father were very happy until he died and then we managed very well, she and I.’

      ‘Well, I’m glad to hear it. But you aren’t thinking of staying here, are you? This is an evil place and that one…’ She pointed with a wooden spoon at the wall dividing the kitchen from the rest of the house. ‘That one is the devil. Get out. Get out before he drags you under his wicked spell. He’ll——’

      She was interrupted by a bellow from the corridor outside, and the door was thrown open to reveal Henry Capitain, more tousled than ever. ‘Are you going to stand there gossiping all day? I want my dinner.’

      ‘It’s coming,’ the cook said, but there was no servility in her tone. ‘Do you think I’ve got ten pairs of hands?’

      ‘And you mind your manners, or you’ll be out on your ear.’

      Her answer was a laugh of derision.

      He ignored it and turned to Margaret. ‘Get back where you belong. Seeing’s you’re here, you can be my hostess. You can’t be any worse at it than Nellie. Come on, now, we’ve company.’

      Margaret followed him back to the drawing-room, where she found three men and three women who had arrived while she had been talking to the cook. They were all so grotesquely painted that it was impossible to tell what their features were like, and they wore huge wigs which disguised the colour of their hair. The men’s clothes were as vivid as the women’s, in pinks and purples, greens and mauves. They reminded Margaret of a flock of parrots.

      ‘Margaret, СКАЧАТЬ