Master of His Fate: The gripping new Victorian epic from the author of A Woman of Substance. Barbara Taylor BradfordЧитать онлайн книгу.
href="#ulink_4d89dd3e-b7dd-52ca-8d53-9a80490bed62">ELEVEN
James Lionel Falconer was now seventeen and a striking young man, not only because of his chiselled good looks, fair complexion and deep blue eyes, but because of his height. He was just under six feet.
None of the other Falconers was as tall, and, in fact, most people in general were much shorter than him.
Aside from these physical assets, he was naturally charming, had a congenial nature, and was also thoughtful to others, and kind. He owed these latter traits to his grandmother, Esther, who had taught him a lot of things when he was young. She had made sure he had excellent manners and behaved with politeness and decorum at all times. And to everyone, whoever the person was.
As she looked across the Falconers’ kitchen at him, Esther felt a swell of pride. There was no one quite like James that she knew of, anyway, and that included the children of her employers, Lady Agatha and the Honourable Mister, as her husband called Arthur Montague. To Esther, her grandson was quite unique, but then they had tried to give him the best of everything to ensure that he could follow his dream. James was as ambitious and driven as ever, and looked to the future with great hope. Esther did not worry. He was going places. It had been ordained.
As if he was aware she was staring at him, James swung his head and smiled at her. ‘Uncle Harry’s doing very well here, Grans. He’s the best chef around.’
‘I know that,’ Esther answered, laughter in her voice. ‘I taught him, you know.’
Harry said, ‘That’s why I will be forever grateful to you, Ma. For putting me on the right track when I was a little boy. And one day I’ll have my own restaurant, you’ll see.’
‘You’re not doing so badly now, Harry,’ Esther pointed out. ‘You have a very nice little café in Marylebone, and it’s been successful ever since you started making snacks to go with the coffee.’
Harry nodded. ‘It’s still really only a coffee shop, though; not really a café, even.’
‘The right time will come,’ Esther said, and looked down at the fine cotton shirt she was making for James, and plied her needle once more.
Rossi, now fifteen, was sitting beside her doing exactly the same thing. She said, ‘I agree with Grandma. I know we’ll enjoy the supper tonight. Everything smells delicious, Uncle Harry.’
He waved the wooden spoon in the air, laughing. He was intent on a pot on the range. ‘Thanks, Rossi,’ he answered without turning his head, concentrating on the food on the stove, stirring the pot.
Harry, with James as helper, was preparing supper at his brother Matt’s house in Camden. It had become a ritual in the summer: Saturday night supper for the entire family cooked by Harry.
July, August and September were the months that Lady Agatha, her husband and two younger children were on their annual sojourn in France, and sometimes Italy. Their absence meant that Philip and Esther were free to join them.
It was looked upon as a special family affair; the supper gave them a chance to catch up on things and enjoy each other’s company. George, the middle brother, usually arrived a bit late; he was working on a newspaper these days and often had to do Saturday duty. But he always made it in time for the second course.
After looking in the oven, peering at the leg of lamb, basting it, Harry asked James to start making the mint sauce. ‘And mind you chop the mint very fine,’ he added, glancing at his nephew. ‘Then you can start preparing the base for the gravy, please. The ingredients are next to that basin over there.’
A moment later, Maude walked into the kitchen, thinking how welcoming it looked with the fire blazing up the chimney, but the light in general was a bit dim.
She had gone upstairs to change and had put on what she called ‘my best dress’, which she had made herself. The colour was unusual, a deep lilac that was almost mauve. Tailored and stylish, it fell to her ankles and had long sleeves. A cream lace shawl-style collar and cuffs gave the silk dress a certain elegance.
Maude had swept her dark glossy hair up in a twist, and on the crown a pile of curls was held in place by tortoiseshell combs. Her wedding ring was her only piece of jewellery. She was thinner these days, still prone to winter colds, like the nasty one she had suffered some years back, which had scared them all, but healthy.
Esther nodded in approval, and exclaimed, ‘Maude, here you are at last, and it was well worth the wait. You do look lovely, my dear.’
‘Thank you,’ Maude said, moving gracefully into the large kitchen. She headed for a chest of drawers, took out a box of Swan Vesta matches and went to the gas lamps on the walls. These she lit, one after the other.
‘That’s better. I can now see you all,’ she announced. The kitchen had instantly taken on a rosy glow as the lamps flickered brightly.
‘It was growing dim in here,’ Harry told her. ‘Come and see my leg of lamb. Gorgeous, ain’t it?’
Maude joined him, looked into the oven, and agreed with him that she had never seen one better.
For once Esther ignored Harry’s use of slang; she had been correcting his speech for years, often to no avail, and had now given up. She was more concerned about his life in general. He was already thirty-one, and there was no sign of a woman in his life. She wished he would meet someone, start courting and eventually marry. She wanted her two other sons to be settled, and the sooner the better. As for George, who was thirty-three, he seemed to be married to his newspaper.
There’s nothing I can do about any of it, Esther thought, a sigh escaping. She stuck the needle into the fine cotton shirt carefully, folded it neatly, and then put it in a linen bag at her feet. Standing, she took the bag into the parlour across the hall. Observing her grandmother, Rossi did the same, and followed her.
‘We had better light the gas lamps,’ Rossi said, as she entered the small sitting room. ‘It’s gloomy in here.’
‘Yes, I’ll do that,’ Esther answered, and found the matches. Instantly the parlour looked more welcoming with the gaslights burning, and the two of them returned to the kitchen.
Rossi made for a cupboard, took out two white tablecloths, and her mother helped her to spread them on the long oak table. Once they were in place, Rossi, Maude and Esther went to the china cupboard and began to take out plates and dishes. Within a short time, they had set ten places at the table, added glasses and cutlery. They put candlesticks down the middle of the table, and added the white candles.
‘Ten of us again?’ Esther murmured, turning to Rossi.
‘Yes. Denny Holden will be arriving shortly. You see, he just loves our suppers. He says he has never seen anything like them, or tasted such delicious food. He’s from a small family, Grandma, and I know he loves to be amongst boisterous us. Anyway, he and James have been close friends for years, working together on the stalls.’
Maude said, ‘There’s not a boy I know in these parts who’s nicer than Denny. It cheers him up to join us. His mother’s a bit poorly at the moment.’
Esther nodded. ‘I like Denny. He’s very polite and … well … rather reserved. In any case, it’s always rewarding to do someone a good turn. I like his father. Jack’s a decent man.’
Almost on cue, there was a knock on the door. Rossi ran to open it, to find Denny standing on the doorstep. She gave him a quick once-over and smiled inwardly. He had undoubtedly made a huge effort to dress appropriately, and was wearing a dark suit, a white shirt and a tie. The suit looked stylish, of the moment.
‘You look very smart,’ she whispered as she drew him into the house.
‘It’s a new suit,’ he whispered back. ‘Pa bought it for me at one of those shops which sells suits put together like this. I think they’re called ready-made.’
When they walked into the kitchen together, James waved, then hurried over to Denny, greeted him