The Shadow of Dr Syn - Thorndike Russell (читать книги онлайн бесплатно регистрация .txt) 📗
The great key clanked and turned in the lock, and the heavy door swung open. This noise struck some chord in the fuddled minds of the six prostate men, and slowly six pairs of drugged eyes opened, shut, and opened again. Truth dawned on their stupefied brains. Here was no symbol of the Reign of Terror — Citizen L’Epouvantail, Champion of the Republique and friend of Robespierre, but the calm impersonal strength of English faces, and behind them what was unmistakably the scarlet of military. Standing out from this awe-inspiring group was the tall, spare, black-robed figure of a priest. To them the meaning was clear, the surprise — unpleasant. Six pairs of eyes closed desperately in the vain hope that this was but a dream.
Chapter 18
Aunt Agatha Scares the Scarecrow
She looked back down those years and found that they had not been so lonely after all. She had wanted to give herself to one person, but since this was not to be she had given of herself to many and her reward was great. She had attracted to herself interesting people from all walks of life, and she never lost the love of youth, and therefore kept alive an unfailing instinct for romance. She had sensed this intangible something a few days ago, and felt that very soon both conspirators would seek her out. She was ready for it, and she had a vast knowledge of humanity from which to draw.
Tonight, therefore, she was as excited as if it had been her own romance, and when a gentle tap upon her door broke her reverie, she cringled with anticipation.
Upon her gay invitation, Cicely swept in like a golden cloud, and both ladies regarded each other with approval, exclaiming simultaneously, ‘Lud, how pretty you look.’ At which both burst out laughing at having made the same ordinary remark.
‘For,’ said Cicely, ‘it is the wrong word — you look magnificent,’ which in truth the old lady did.
Her ruffled gown of white and silver brocade, and her high white wig turned her into a Royal figure. Cicely saw that she was wearing her Gordon sash in honour of the occasion, and very little jewellery save for her rings and the dog’s-head brooch.
The old lady stepped back and looked with head on one side at her niece
— Cicely had taken trouble for someone and it had been worth it. The gold of the full dress showed off the warmth of her skin and reflected against the gold lights in her hair. ‘And I vow you look magnificent too, child,’ she smiled back at the radiant girl, noting with satisfaction the eager expectancy in her firm young body and the tender expression in her eyes. Here were the signs she had looked for, and she wondered just how much was going on inside that proud little head, with its sweep of auburn hair and clustered curls.
Cicely smiled back at her and held out the velvet case she carried, saying that she had come in to be shown how to wear the jewels to the best advantage, and would Aunt Agatha put them on for her. She knelt down and the old lady clasped the diamonds round her neck and pinned the stars in her hair. But when it came to ear-rings and brooch Cicely laughingly demurred, with ‘Lud, I dare not wear more, for already Maria is like to scratch my eyes out seeing she’s only wearing Mamma’s second best garnets.’
‘You need no jewels to set you off,’ cried the old lady. ‘And I wonder what gentleman will agree with me on that score. Well nigh all of them, I expect.’ She decided now to tease Cicely. ‘Why there — I knew I had a bit of news. The dear Vicar has returned from Sussex. But of course you will have heard of that already.’
‘Why yes, indeed, ma’am.’ Cicely knew full well what the old Pet was after and determined to surprise her. ‘After our tedious feminine day in Hythe, I was in need of moral support, so I begged Mamma to stop the carriage and let me out, saying that I must walk or run mad. Both foolish creatures told me the wind and spray would play havoc with my hair, and that I should look a fright. But curl or no, I should have run mad had I not seen him before tonight.’ She looked boldly at the old lady and laughed. ‘There, ma’am. Now I’ve said it. Am I not a forward hussy? I saw him at the Vicarage and kissed him too. Oh, tell me what to do, for I shall never love another. And I dare not tell the family, for they do not know him as he really is.’
Cicely had not surprised Aunt Agatha one wit — but she pretended to misunderstand. Which indeed was all in the fun of the game.
‘Your Papa should know him. They were at school together.’
‘Oh, Aunt Agatha, can you imagine dear Papa really knowing anyone? But I suppose ’tis not considered the proper thing to marry one’s father’s college friend.’
‘Fiddlesticks, my love. Pay no attention to what is or what is not considered the thing. You can marry Methuselah if you’re in love with him. Doctor Syn may try to make himself out as old as Methuselah, but he has not succeeded in convincing us, and you are in love with him, aren’t you, my pet?’
Both Cicely and Aunt Agatha knew the answer to that question, but before it could be told there was a knock upon the door and Lisette entered with a message from Lady Caroline to say the dinner guests were all assembled and waiting in the Great Hall for the guest of honour, and Miss Cicely.
The two ladies looked at one another with guilty amusement; then they sped hand in hand along the Gallery towards the head of the stairs. More like two sisters than great-aunt and niece, they laughed gaily as they peeped over the bannisters before descending.
‘I vow we’ve timed our entrance to a nicety,’ whispered Aunt Agatha. ‘Yes, they’re all assembled. I see Maria is doing her best with the Major, garnets or no. Yes — I admit she’s looking well tonight, though I never did care for pink myself. And look at Doctor Syn. Why, nobody could accuse him of being Methuselah now. He looks for all the world like a racehorse waiting to be off. How elegant he is tonight. I never noticed his broad shoulders before. It is because we’re looking down on him no doubt, ’tis tiresome having always to look up. I wish I were as tall as you, child. ’Tis quite delicious keeping them in this suspense.’ The old lady chuckled.
Indeed Doctor Syn was in such suspense that he had quite forgotten to be the parson, and the fact that the old lady was looking down at him did not entirely account for this new vision of his shoulders. For subconsciously he had braced himself to meet this new disturbing element. Standing by the great fire listening with but half an ear to Lady Caroline’s prattle, he caught sight of himself in a long mirror hanging on the opposite wall, and for the first time in many years he almost hated his protective cloth. He wished that he could dress to suit his mood, and his mood being dangerous he would have been better clothed in all Clegg’s daring insolence. He longed to know what these good people would do should he be thus suddenly transformed and appear before them in his scarlet velvet — but above all he wanted her to see him in his swaggering glory, instead of this creeping, churchyard black. He almost cursed himself for his cowardice in not declaring who he was. Then suddenly his mood changed again, and flamboyance leaving him, he felt very small and humble, with but one desire, to run away and hide, lest he should disappoint her after all. Yet this was the man who had but two days before laughed in the face of the Terror and struck cold fear to Robespierre’s heart. And here he stood, all three of him, afraid of one young girl.
Above the chatter round him he became aware of voices and laughter high up in the gallery. He glanced in that direction and then laughed as well, for there they were and he knew what they were doing — peering from the fighting-tops before setting their sails for the attack — like the two naughty pirates that they were. He was no longer afraid, and as they came down the stairs demurely holding each other’s hand, his heart melted. The glorious contrast that they made — the white and silver of the fine old lady and the young girl’s golden warmth against the background of the tapestries — held him enthralled.
