"Avram Davidson - What Strange Stars And Skies" - читать интересную книгу автора (Davidson Avram)

What Strange Stars And Skies
by Avram Davidson
This story copyright 1963 by Avram Davidson. Reprinted by permission of Grania Davis. This copy was
created for Jean Hardy's personal use. All other rights are reserved. Thank you for honoring the
copyright.

Published by Seattle Book Company, www.seattlebook.com.

* * *


The terrible affair of Dame Phillipa Garreck, which struck horror in all who knew of her noble life and
mysterious disappearance, arose in large measure from inordinate confidence in her fellow-creatures--
particularly such of them as she might, from time to time, in those nocturnal wanderings which so alarmed
her family and friends, encounter in circumstances more than commonly distressed. This great-hearted
and misfortunate woman would be, we may be sure, the first to deplore any lessening of philanthropy,
any diminution of charity or even of charitable feeling, resultant from her own dreadfully sudden and all
but inexplicable fate; yet, one feels, such a result is inevitable. I am not aware that Dame Phillipa ever
made use of any heraldic devices or mottoes, but, had she done so, "Do what is right, come what may,"
would have been eminently appropriate.
It is not any especial sense of competency on my part which has caused me to resolve that a record of
the matter should and must be made. Miss Mothermer, Dame Phillipa's faithful secretary-companion, to
say nothing of her cousin, Lord FitzMorris Banstock, would each-- under ordinary circumstances-- be
far more capable than I of delineating the events in question. But the circumstances, of course, are as far
from being "ordinary" as they can possibly be. Miss Mothermer has for the past six months, next Monday
fortnight been in seclusion at Doctor Hardesty's establishment near Sutton Ho; and, whilst I can state
quite certainly the falsehood of the rumour that her affairs have been placed in charge of the Master in
Lunacy, nevertheless, Doctor Hardesty is adamant that the few visitors she is permitted to receive must
make no reference whatsoever to the affair of last Guy Fawkes Day, the man with the false nose, or the
unspeakably evil Eurasian, Motilal Smith. As for Lord FitzMorris Banstock, though I am aware that he
has the heart of a lion and nerves of steel, his extreme shyness (in no small measure the result of his
unfortunate physical condition) must advertise to all who know him the unlikelihood of his undertaking the
task. It falls to me, therefore, and no one else, to proceed forthwith in setting down the chronicle of those
untoward and unhappy events.
Visitors to Argyll Court, which abuts onto Primrose Alley (one of that maze of noisome passages off
the Commercial Road which the zeal and conscience of the London County Council cannot much longer
suffer to remain untouched), visitors to Argyll Court will have noticed the large sign board affixed to the
left-hand door as one enters. Reading, "If The Lord Will, His Word Shall Be Preached Here Each Lord's
Day At Seven O'Clock In The Evening. All Welcome," it gives notice of the Sabbath activities of Major
Bohun, whose weekdays are devoted to his sacred labours with The Strict Antinomian Tram-Car and
Omnibus Tract Society (the name of which appears on a small brass plate under the sign). Had the major
been present that Fifth of November, a different story it would be which I have to tell; but he had gone to
attend at an Anti-Papistical sermon and prayer-meeting holden to mark the day at the Putney
Tabernacle.
The foetid reek of the Court, which has overwhelmed more than one less delicately bred than Dame
Phillipa, bears-- besides the effluvia of unwashed beds and bodies emanating from the so-called
Seaman's Lodging-House of Evan-bach Llewellyn, the rotting refuse of the back part of a cookshop of
the lowest sort, bad drains, and the putrid doors of Sampson Stone's wool-pullery-- the tainted breath of
the filthy Thames itself, whose clotted waters ebb and flow not far off.
 On many an evening when the lowering sun burned dully in the dirty sky and the soiled swans squatted