Wingless Bird
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– But now go inside: you've had enough time in the sun and you need to rest. Besides, lunch is coming up. Let me show you out. – Anthony gave her his elbow in a gallant manner.
– You're right: this heat is tiring me. – Vivian put her beautiful white palm on her cousin's shoulder, and the young people walked slowly, chatting animatedly, into the saving shade of Greenhall.
As soon as they entered the hall, they met the lady of the house herself: she had already changed into a new, but once again strict black dress, and was on her way to the kitchen to give orders in person, not through the housekeeper, to buy for tomorrow morning's tea-party chocolates of a new brand, which had appeared in the shops only yesterday. Lady Cranford did not eat chocolate and avoided sweets, wishing to keep her figure slim, but Anthony enjoyed two or three every day.
But her cheekbones sharpened as her gaze fell on Vivian walking with her son, and when she saw her niece's colourful bouquet, she addressed her in an icy, bone-chilling tone:
– 'I see you have put together a marvellous bouquet, Vivian. Especially beautiful are these pink gladioli, which I forbid even my favourite grandchildren to touch.
Chapter 4
Aunt Beatrice looked like a formidable ice statue, and the look in her blue eyes burned her niece with coldness. The girl frantically clutched her bouquet and, lowering her gaze to the flowers, realised with horror what she had done: she had plucked her aunt's gladioluses. And not even one, but (what horror!) as many as three.
"But how could I have known they were forbidden? No one had said a word about it! Not even Anthony! And he saw my bouquet and those unfortunate gladioli! Oh, my God, why should I be punished like this? She was so angry about some flowers! Now she'll hate me!" – Vivian thought with horror.
Panic seized the girl. Her heart hammered like a bird in a cramped cage.
– Auntie, I'm so sorry," she said quietly.
– My cousin Vivian got those gladioluses from me," Anthony interrupted her firmly: he had noticed the change in the face of his beautiful cousin and had rushed to her aid. How could he not have noticed those flowers? He must have been too fond of that fire-haired girl.
– But, Anthony, you are well aware of how much I treasure my gladioluses. – Lady Cranford's face softened: how could she be angry with her son?
– I know, Mother. But they suited my cousin's bouquet, so I thought you would make an exception this time and let Vivian decorate her chambers with them. Perhaps I was mistaken? In that case, I apologise. – Anthony bowed slightly to his mother.
– No, no, you were a gentleman," his mother retorted. A guilty smile played on her lips, and she hastened to mitigate the damage Vivian had done by her unfriendly, cold tone. – 'I'm sorry, my dear, I was mistaken. These gladioli are like children to me. May they make you happy with their colours.
– Thank you, Auntie, you are so generous. – Vivian sat down in a low kneeling position, not daring to look up at her aunt.
'Anthony lied to her to protect me! How sweet that is! He's a real hero!" – she thought involuntarily, full of gratitude to her cousin.
– 'A trifle, my dear. But the table is already set, and you both need a change of dress. You will see why I am so fond of the Southern Balcony," said Lady Cranford amiably, and, rustling her long silk dress, continued on her way to the kitchen.
As soon as the lady of the house was out of sight, Vivian sighed loudly and looked at Anthony.
– Thank you! You have saved me! – She exclaimed quietly, putting her hand on her breast, her heart still unwilling to slow down.
– Don't mention it," smiled her cousin. – I had forgotten how zealous my mother is about her gladioli. But now go to your chambers: you must freshen up. I'll see you in twenty minutes, at lunch. – He suddenly took the girl's hand in his, touched it with his lips, and then released her and went up the stairs, leaving Vivian, flushed as a poppy, to wonder at his action.
In the meantime Lady Cranford had reached the kitchen and, opening the door, was displeased to find almost all the servants of the house gathered round the table where the servants usually ate.
– What is going on here? – She asked in a calm but imperious tone. – Have you nothing else to do but sit here and gossip?
– I'm sorry, ma'am," she said, and the servants hurried out of the kitchen.
How embarrassing! The landlady was not mistaken: she had caught the servants discussing the new guest!
It was Emily's fault: no, oh no! Mr. Brown had not sent her to find Jane! Emily had decided to find her herself to tell her and others about the new miss, and Jane had been eager to share her impressions and sing Miss Vivian's dithyrambs: she is so beautiful! She is so kind! There is no one in the world better than she!
– She's a beauty like no one the world has ever seen! – Emily put in. – Let that French rat now tremble with terror!
"French rat" Greenhall servants called the first beauty of the high society of London – Mademoiselle Lucie de Croix. How dare this maiden come to England and turn the heads of English aristocrats while her native country and a shameless upstart are at war against the English monarchy!
But Lady Cranford came in and spoilt all the fun, with only the cook and Jane left in the kitchen.
– Buy a couple of pounds of the new brand of chocolates. They're said to have a very good flavour," Lady Cranford said. – And you, Jane, go and see Miss Cowell: she needs your help.
Jane made a silent curtsy and hurried to her new miss.
– Gertrude, you know how much I appreciate your culinary skills," the landlady said in a displeased tone to the cook. – But if I catch you and anyone else idling and gossiping, I'll have Mr. Brown calculate that person this very day. And tell that to the others. I hope it won't happen again.
– It won't, ma'am!" exclaimed Gertrude, the cook, frightened by her mistress's icy tone; she had no wish to lose her warm position.
Satisfied with the answer, Lady Cranford made her way to the South Balcony.
"Perhaps this Vivian is not so bad. Her bouquet was so modest… She could have brought a whole bunch of my flowers to her chambers," she thought as she went on her way: the last letter from her late sister, begging Beatrice to look after her daughter's future, had softened her heart. But the lady's lips were pressed into a thin line: "But Anthony… I don't like his behaviour: I must speak to him. And with her. Especially her. Let her not even think of making him fall in love with her”