The Emma Harte 7-Book Collection: A Woman of Substance, Hold the Dream, To Be the Best, Emma’s Secret, Unexpected Blessings, Just Rewards, Breaking the Rules. Barbara Taylor BradfordЧитать онлайн книгу.
retreated quietly without another glance. Adam noticed that she had not had to correct herself from curtsying.
A few moments later, Adam strode into the morning room, his manner brisk, his face composed. As he entered the room he collided with one of the fragile tables. He grabbed it, along with the Meissen shepherdess that reclined on its surface, just before both crashed to the floor, and as he righted them he swore under his breath with mingled irritation and frustration.
Glancing at the butler, who was standing by the sideboard waiting to serve them breakfast, he said in a quiet voice, ‘Please remove this table later, Murgatroyd. Find another place for it. I don’t care where, just get it out of the way. I’m always tripping over it.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Murgatroyd said, arranging the lids on the numerous silver chafing dishes.
Adam sat down and regarded his two children, who were already seated. ‘Good morning,’ he said pleasantly. Gerald made a mumbled response, but Edwin pushed his chair back, stood up swiftly, and came to Adam’s chair. He kissed him lightly on the cheek and said with the sunniest of smiles, ‘Good morning, Father.’
Adam returned his younger son’s smile and patted his shoulder affectionately. His disillusionment with his life and his marriage was equalled only by his disappointment in his children, although he did have a genuine fondness for Edwin, who was the nicer of the two. He also bore a striking physical resemblance to his father.
‘How are you, old chap?’ Adam asked gently. ‘Feeling better, I hope.’ Observing Edwin’s pale face, he went on quickly, ‘But we have to get some colour into those cheeks, Edwin. I think you should go riding this afternoon, or at least take a walk on the moors. Blow the cobwebs away. Right?’
‘Yes, Father,’ Edwin said, sitting down and shaking out his linen serviette carefully. ‘I wanted to go out yesterday, but Mother said it was too cold for me.’ His face, surprisingly mature for a fifteen-year-old, lit up in anticipation. ‘Shall I tell Mother you said I could go out today?’
‘Don’t worry about that, Edwin. I will tell your mother myself,’ Adam answered crisply, thinking that Adele would turn the boy into a hypochondriac like herself if he did not watch her. Adam now felt he had been remiss of late, in neglecting Edwin as he had. He resolved to keep a tighter rein on him and remove the boy from his mother’s sickly and sickening influence.
Murgatroyd meanwhile had carried a silver platter to the table. He was standing by Adam’s side and he presented the kipper to him with an ostentatious flourish. ‘It looks right delicious, Squire. I’m sure yer’ll enjoy it. Shall I serve it now, sir?’
Adam gave his assent and repressed a feeling of rising nausea as he looked at the platter. The strong odour of the smoked fish made his stomach lurch, and he regretted the port he had drunk so conscientiously the night before. While Murgatroyd served the fish, Adam picked up the silver teapot and poured himself a cup of tea, adding sugar and milk absently, hoping desperately the tea would quell his biliousness into submission. He turned to Murgatroyd. ‘Thank you. The boys can serve themselves this morning, since you are short of help. You can go about your other duties, Murgatroyd.’
‘Thank yer, Squire.’ The butler returned the platter to the sideboard and backed out of the room. Gerald scraped back his ornate Victorian chair unceremoniously and rushed to the sideboard, followed more slowly and sedately by Edwin.
When they returned to the table Adam stared with enormous distaste at the large portions of food piled upon Gerald’s plate, and the nausea swamped through him again, so that he felt faint and slightly dizzy. Why, the boy had become a positive glutton. He decided to have a word with Gerald privately later. His seventeen-year-old son was far too gross, and his appearance, in combination with his crude and raucous manner, affronted Adam whenever he set eyes on him. For Gerald’s body was a mass of blubber, totally devoid of any sharp contrasts or hard angles, a roly-poly body thickly covered with layer upon layer of fat, as dense as a whale’s. A dollop of lard, thought Adam grimly. He corrected himself. A mountain of lard. He winced.
‘How are you progressing at the mill, Gerald? It is still going well?’ Adam waited impatiently as his elder son masticated his food laboriously, eventually swallowing it in one gulp after what seemed like an interminable time to Adam.
Gerald wiped his epicene mouth on his serviette unhurriedly, and said finally, ‘Yes, it is Father. Wilson is very pleased with my progress. He says I have a real aptitude for the wool business, and I’m enjoying it. He says there’s no sense keeping me on the mill floor, learning all the different processes. He thinks I know enough and he’s moving me into his office today.’ Gerald’s round ruddy face was bland enough, but his dark brown eyes betrayed a shifty cunning.
‘That is good news, Gerald. I’m delighted,’ Adam said, although he was not especially surprised. Gerald had always been predisposed to entering the business and he had tremendous energy and a capacity for hard work, in spite of all that monstrous weight he carried around. He was also exceedingly avaricious, which Adam found deplorable. In fact, he had lately come to believe that money was Gerald’s most consuming passion, even taking precedence over food. He considered both to be regrettable.
Adam cleared his throat and continued thoughtfully, ‘I shall be talking to Wilson myself later. I intend to stop at the mill on my way to Leeds. I have quite a few appointments to keep there today, before I meet your Aunt Olivia’s train. You do know she is coming to stay with us for several months, don’t you?’
‘Yes, Father,’ Gerald said, patently uninterested in his aunt’s arrival. He attacked the remainder of his breakfast with renewed and unrestrained vigour.
But Edwin’s face immediately lost the forlorn look which had so recently washed over it. ‘I’m so glad Aunt Olivia is coming to stay, Father,’ he announced excitedly. ‘She’s a real sport!’
Adam smiled. He picked up The Times, which was folded next to his plate, and opened it, the pages rustling as he began to read the day’s news.
Silence descended upon the room. The only sounds were the crackling of the logs, the faintly hissing gas jets, and the gentle tinkling of silver against china as the boys ate their breakfasts. They knew better than to chatter needlessly when their father was engrossed in The Times. This presented no problems since Gerald had little in common with Edwin, who had long been alienated from him.
‘A damnable mess! A damnable mess!’ Adam suddenly exploded behind his paper, his voice echoing around the room and breaking the silence. Unaccustomed to seeing their father angry, or hearing him raise his voice, his sons stared at him in startled surprise.
Finally Edwin ventured a question. ‘What’s wrong, Father? Has something in the paper disturbed you?’ he asked.
‘The Free Trade Question! Parliament has only just reassembled and they are already off to a running start with that one. It’s going to be a damnable mess, you mark my words. It will bring Balfour down, I am sure. And his government. Maybe not now but certainly in the not too distant future, if this ridiculous nonsense continues.’
Edwin cleared his throat. His light grey-blue eyes, so like his father’s, were alive with intelligence in his gentle face. He said, ‘Yes, I think you are absolutely right, Father. I read in yesterday’s paper that Winston Churchill is strongly opposed to the Free Trade Bill, and you know how shrewd he is. He is fighting it hard and I am sure it will be a troublesome time for the government, just as you say.’
Adam’s surprise was apparent. ‘I didn’t know you were interested in politics, Edwin. This is something new, isn’t it?’
Edwin opened his mouth to speak, but Gerald sniggered and interjected scornfully. ‘Churchill! Who cares what he thinks? He’s only Member for Oldham anyway. A Lancashire mill town. If he follows in his father’s footsteps his political career will be as short-lived as Lord Randolph’s. Churchill is a braggart and a flash