Последний отзыв
отлично написал
По всем вопросам обращайтесь на: info@litportal.ru
(©) 2003-2025.
✖
The Master of the Ceremonies
Настройки чтения
Размер шрифта
Высота строк
Поля
Claire was white as ashes now, as she caught Mrs Barclay’s hands and kissed them.
“No, no, my dear; not my hands. There, go, and heaven bless you. We’ll help you through it, never fear.”
She folded Claire in her arms for a moment, and then hurried with her downstairs, and let her out.
“One moment, my dear,” she whispered, detaining her, to thrust her purse in her hand. “Stop for nothing. Bring her here; drag her if she says she will not come. Say anything, but bring her here.”
“Ah!” sighed Mrs Barclay, as she watched Claire disappear down the street, and then closed the door. “Now for Jo-si-ah.”
Volume Three – Chapter Five.
The Master of the Ceremonies is Stung
Josiah Barclay was in his business room when his wife returned, panting and wiping her eyes, and he gave her one of his grim looks.
“Well, old woman, I was right, wasn’t I?”
“No, Jo-si-ah.”
“Then you didn’t get it all out of her?”
“Oh, yes, everything, dear. She told me all, and it is that wicked – wicked little woman, May.”
She told him all that had passed, and he stood and stared at her, blowing out his cheeks, and then looking his hardest.
“Let me see,” he said, when she had done speaking. “May Burnett is, of course, my own child by my first wife.”
“Jo-si-ah! Why, you never had no first wife.”
“Nonsense, woman.”
“Nonsense, Jo-si-ah! Do you mean to tell me – now, how can you? Why, we’ve been married over thirty years, and that wicked little hussy isn’t above twenty. How can you talk such stuff?”
“You set me going,” he said grimly. “You talked as if May Burnett must be my own flesh and blood.”
“I didn’t, Jo-si-ah. What do you mean?”
“Why you want me to mix myself up in this miserable scandal over a wretched, frivolous, heartless wench, spend my hard-earned money, and let you go off on a sort of wild goose chase with her and Claire Denville. I thought you had found out that she really was my own flesh and blood.”
Mrs Barclay wiped her eyes, and indulged in one of her laughs – a blancmange sort of laugh – as she sat back in the chair vibrating and undulating all over, while her husband watched her with the most uncompromising of aspects till she rose.
“What a man you are,” she said at last. “But there, don’t let’s waste time. You will help us, dear, won’t you?”
“Us?”
“Yes; us, Josiah. Don’t you think what I have proposed is the best?”
“Well, yes,” he said slowly. “I do not think I could suggest anything better.”
“I am glad,” she said. “Then send Joseph at once, and take three seats for London.”
“You mean to go, then?”
“Yes, dear, of course.”
“And what’s to become of me?”
“You will stop and see Mr Burnett, and this Mr Gravani, and poor Mr Denville, and settle the matter the best way you can.”
“For May Burnett’s sake?”
“No, dear: for mine and poor Claire Denville’s; and look here, Jo-si-ah, you just beg her pardon, sir.”
“If I do I’ll be – ”
“Hush! Stop, sir. I don’t mean to her. Now, just you own that you have misjudged her.”
“Humph! Well, perhaps I have.”
“That’s right, dear; and you will do your best now, won’t you?”
“I tell you what, woman; I’ve read about men being fooled by their wives and turned round the thumb; but the way you turn me round beats everything I ever did read.”
“Yes,” she said, nestling to his side. “I like turning you round my thumb, dear; and let’s always go on to the end just the same, Jo-si-ah; and you’ll let me try to do some good.”
“Humph!” ejaculated Barclay, in his grimmest manner. “But, don’t you see, old lady, that this May Burnett is a worthless sort of baggage?”
“I can’t see anything, dear, only that poor Claire Denville, whom I love very much, is in great trouble, and that we are wasting time.”
“Wasting love, you mean,” cried Barclay. “If you’ve got so much love to spare, why don’t you pour it on my devoted head, to wash away some of the hate which people bestow upon me?”
“Jo-si-ah dear! Please.”
“All right,” he said grimly. “I’ll do it, old lady. Let’s see; the coach goes at half-past eleven. You’ve plenty of time. I’ll send Joseph. But tell me, where are you going?”
“To the Bell, in Holborn, dear, for the first day. Then I shall take apartments somewhere till it is all settled.”
“But the expense, woman?”
“I’ve plenty of jewels, dear. Shall I sell something?”
“Yes, you’d better!” he said grimly. “There, I suppose you must do as you like.”
She nodded and kissed him affectionately, while he seemed to look less firm in the pleasant light shed by her eyes as he handed her the keys of his cash-box.
“Now then, dear,” she said, “business. Bless us! Who’s that?”
There was a sharp rolling knock at the door, and they stood listening.
Другие электронные книги автора George Fenn
Последний отзыв
отлично написал