|
|
|
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
and the scent of tropical blossoms. Your father blamed you for her death.
It was many years ago.
Donal reined Boreas close and covered her hand with his. Then why do you punish yourself for being
human?
Cordelia snatched her hand away, dizzy with shock. Desdemona nickered. Cordelia looked up to find
that they had reached the riverbank, where Theodora had already spread out a blanket beneath a
spreading ash. The timing could not have been more fortunate. Cordelia let Desdemona have her head,
and the mare carried her toward the blessed sanctuary of the river and her cousin s company. She
dismounted beside the water.
Donal slid from Boreas s back and loosed the stallion to join the mare, watching as Cordelia feigned a
single-minded fascination with a cluster of flowers growing on the riverbank. She had been strongly
affected by his questions, and he could hardly blame her. His own heart was pounding out a tattoo like a
shaman s drum. He had pushed too close to Cordelia s hidden pain, and his own.
Fool, he thought. What good comes of your prying? You ve done nothing but added to her unhappiness.
She undoubtedly wishes you in perdition, or at least a thousand miles from Gloucestershire.
Just as he wished himself away, in some lost and unpeopled place where this morass of human emotions
had no power to entrap him.
He left Cordelia to recover her composure and joined Theodora on the blanket, making certain that his
voice was quite steady before he spoke.
You have chosen a perfect spot, Theodora, he said with a slight bow.
She smiled and offered him a plate. How was your ride?
Very pleasant. The untruth came too easily for comfort, and he was certain that Theodora saw through
it.
I hope you like cucumber sandwiches, she said, sparing him further questions. If you will fetch the
wine from the river, you may have some of Cook s famous Madeira cake.
Donal did as Theodora asked. He and Cordelia avoided each other by unspoken agreement, and soon
the three of them had settled down to the generous repast.
Cordelia gave her full attention to her meal, eating with exaggerated daintiness. Theodora watched both
of them under her dark lashes. Donal was under no illusion that she had failed to note the intensity of his
exchanges with Cordelia. He suspected that the older woman was near bursting at the seams with
speculation, but she knew well how to keep her thoughts to herself.
The facade of peaceful normality continued as the cousins spoke in desultory tones of the latest fashion in
bodice sleeves and the making of aromatic sachets. One might have assumed that Cordelia had never
ventured beyond the confines of a typical Englishwoman s narrow sphere. It seemed that was what she
would have the world believe.
I have heard that Shapford has been taken for the summer, Theodora said, waking Donal from his half
doze. Some foreign countess& Russian, I believe. Have you any news of her, Delia?
Cordelia arched a brow in surprise. This is the first I have heard of it, she said. Russian, you say? That
is one country Sir Geoffrey and I never visited. We shall call on her once she has had a chance to settle
in.
I should enjoy it, Theodora said. But we must be boring Dr. Fleming with all this talk of women s
affairs.
Donal blinked in the dappled shade and sat up. Theodora reclined comfortably against the ash s trunk,
her dove-gray skirts billowing about her like a mass of undisciplined rain clouds. Far from being relaxed
by the pleasant warmth and the lazy drone of bees in the meadow, Cordelia sat stiffly upright as if some
old governess were examining her for the tiniest lapse in conduct.
I brought my volume of Tennyson s poetry with me, Theodora said, removing a pair of spectacles from
a small case in her reticule. Shall I read?
By all means, Donal said.
Theodora opened the well-thumbed book. Have you a favorite?
My familiarity with Tennyson is not all it might be. You choose.
She frowned over her spectacles and selected a page. I believe you will like this one, she said.
Oh blackbird! sing me something well:
While all the neighbors shoot thee round,
I keep smooth plats of fruitful ground,
Where thou mayst warble, eat, and dwell.
She continued reading, lending pathos to the poet s complaint that the blackbird, though given the
freedom to roam the range of lawn and park, refused to sing.
Take warning! he that will not sing
While yon sun prospers in the blue,
Shall sing for want, ere leaves are new,
Caught in the frozen palms of Spring.
Theodora set the book in her lap and met Donal s gaze. Is it not evocative? she asked.
Donal could see Cordelia out of the corner of his eye. She showed no sign of having connected the titular
bird with herself, and yet Donal couldn t help but believe that Theodora had deliberately chosen that
particular poem for a reason. Like the blackbird, Cordelia was capable of music that she would or could
not share with the world, for all her works of charity. She kept her truest song locked within her heart.
Shall I read another? Theodora asked. She turned the pages. The Lotos-Eaters.
Courage! he said, and pointed toward the land,
This mounting wave will roll us shoreward soon.
In the afternoon they came unto a land
In which it seemed always afternoon.
All round the coast the languid air did swoon,
Breathing like one that hath a weary dream.
Full-faced above the valley stood the moon;
And like a downward smoke, the slender stream
Along the cliff to fall and pause and fall did seem.
Donal recognized the story of Odysseus and his crew s visit to the exotic land of the Lotos-eaters, where
his crew ate of seductive fruit. After they had partaken of the gift,
They sat them down upon the yellow sand,
Between the sun and moon upon the shore;
And sweet it was to dream of Fatherland,
Of child, and wife, and slave; but evermore
Most weary seem d the sea, weary the oar,
Weary the wandering fields of barren foam.
Then some one said, We will return no more;
And all at once they sang, Our island home
Is far beyond the wave; we will no longer roam.
Theodora closed the book and folded up her spectacles. Donal shifted uncomfortably. Unless Cordelia
had told her, she could have no idea that he intended to leave England, his island home, once he was
finished with his work at Edgecott. Was it toward Cordelia to whom the poem was directed? If so, it
was a secret message that Donal did not yet understand.
Theodora obviously had no intention of addressing his silent questions. She began to gather the scraps of
their luncheon, repacking the utensils and plates into their basket. Cordelia got up to saddle Desdemona,
and Donal followed to assist her.
There was a brittleness to Cordelia s motions, a tension that told Donal he wasn t alone in his reaction to
the poems. He tightened the mare s girth strap without speaking and called Boreas. The stallion bobbed
his head.
I know, Donal said, scratching the horse between his ears. You ve been still too long.
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pldoc.pisz.plpdf.pisz.plkwiatpolny.htw.pl
|
|
| Cytat |
Dobre pomysły nie mają przeszłości, mają tylko przyszłość. Robert Mallet
De minimis - o najmniejszych rzeczach.
Dobroć jest ważniejsza niż mądrość, a uznanie tej prawdy to pierwszy krok do mądrości. Theodore Isaac Rubin
Dobro to tylko to, co szlachetne, zło to tylko to, co haniebne.
Dla człowieka nie tylko świat otaczający jest zagadką; jest on nią sam dla siebie. I z obu tajemnic bardziej dręczącą wydaje się ta druga. Antoni Kępiński (1918-1972)
|
|
