"House On Parchment Street" - читать интересную книгу автора (McKillip Patricia A)

"Carol?"
"Come in."
Bruce came in. She moved her feet, and he sat down beside her on the window-seat.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm writing a postcard. I can't think of anything to say. Nothing I think of makes any sense. Dear Mother. How are you? I am fine. England is very nice,
only they have problems with ghosts and drainsЧ"
He laughed. He twisted himself around and stared out of the open window, his chin resting on one fist.
"I just wanted to think, and I thought it might be easier to do it out loud."
She nodded. "I've been trying to think, too, only it isn't doing much good."
"What we've got is two ghosts left over from the Civil War period walking through a wall. It doesn't make any sense. The man must be a Puritan. And the girl doesn't look like she isЧshe's too pretty."
"Some Puritans probably were pretty. They couldn't help it."
"You know what I meanЧher hair is in curls, and her dress is the same color as her eyes are, and her shoes have fake roses in them."
Carol's head turned slowly. "Her dress is the same color her eyes are?"
"Cobalt blue. Didn't you notice? We could have a worse-looking ghost to worry aboutЧshe doesn't have fangs or a wart on her nose, and if she appeared by your bed at night you'd only have a mild attack. Anyway, she probably isn't a Puritan. So why are they in the same cellar?"
"They're both waiting for Edward."
"Who is Edward? And where is he? If we can see them, why can't we see Edward?"
"Why should we see either one of them? They've been dead for centuries. What good does it do for ghosts to hang around after they're dead?"
"Maybe they got stuck in time, doing one thing over and over again, like a broken record playing the same thing over and over."
"Well, why can't Father Malory and Uncle Harold see them, if they're stuck? Why does it have to be us?"
"I don't know."
They were silent. Below them, the fishpond was a grey still shadow in the gathering dusk.
Bruce said, "She doesn't say much. I wonder if she knows we're there. There are times when it seems she's looking straight at you, until you remember she's a ghost, and she can't see you Е or can she?" He shook his head. "We'll never figure anything out until we can find out why they go through that wall. I'm tempted to tear it down, except I'd never be able to
explain to Dad if there's nothing behind it. And I don't see what could possibly be there."
"Edward is a Royalist leader. The man with the sword is a Puritan leader. He wants to capture Edward. The girl is trying to help Edward hide."
"Behind a brick wall? And where is Edward? When she says 'Edward. Come,' why doesn't he come?"
"She's talking to us, then. We're supposed to come."
"How?"
Carol puffed her cheeks and sighed. "Maybe Edward was a pirate, and there's a buried treasure behind the wall, and he and the man with the sword fought over it and the girlЕ ."
"YesЧwhat about the girl?"
"I'll think of something. Anyway the man killed Edward, stole the gold, and locked Edward's bones in the treasure-chest, and that's why we never see him."
"Ghosts don't need bones. If they can get out of coffins, they can get out of treasure-chests. And why would a pirate bury a treasure so far inland?"
"I don't know."
"There must have been something behind that wall. But what?"
"Another room?"
"There's no trace of another room. And if there was one, why would they have sealed it off? People don't usually build cellars that extend farther than the house."
"What about a hiding place for Royalist leaders?" He smiled. "We're going round and round, like squirrels in one of those moving tracks they put in cages. It seems logical that Edward was a Royalist leader, and she might be trying to hide him. But I don't know how she did it without knocking the wall down, and there's not much sense in that; you can hide a man more easily than you can hide the evidence that you've knocked down a wall to make a hiding place. And somebody put the wall back upЧif it was ever down. I don't know." He rubbed his eyes. "Let's talk about something else awhile and maybe we'll think of something accidentally."
"All right. Alexander has your picture of the flowers. He said he likes it, but he'll give it back to you if you want it."
In the fading light, she saw his face flush scarlet. He made a sudden movement as if he were going to rise, but instead he sat quietly, staring out the window. He was silent for a long while. She picked up the postcard and frowned at it. She began to write. He stirred finally.
"Did you think of something to say?" "Finally. How do you spell Madame Tussaud?" He spelled it for her. Then he said, "Perhaps you are right. Perhaps the girl was trying to hide Edward from the Puritans and the man with the sword found his hiding placeЕ . Perhaps Edward was someone she lovedЧher brother, orЧno, she's too young to
have a husband. It was someoneЧher brother or a cousin or a friend, that she cared about, and she saw him killed and that's what keeps her coming backЧ her sadness. She keeps living it all over again."
The next day, during breakfast, the drilling began. It was not loud, but its dull, monotonous persistence wore away the tranquility of the morning. Uncle Harold endured it with patience, sipping his tea.
"In any society," he said, "there is bound to be a conflict between the people who want to write history, and those who want to drill drains for soccer players underneath their windows. There must be a happy meeting-point somewhere, but in this case I think I will yield and go work in the Cambridge library."
"Oh, good," Aunt Catherine said. "I'll go with you and do some shopping."
"Dad," said Bruce.
"Yes."
"I wasЧI was wondering. Do you have something I could do to earn money? I need tires for my bike and new paint, and all I've got is nine pence."
Uncle Harold looked at him silently a moment. He put his cup down. "You want to work?"
Bruce flushed. "Yes. Please."
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it to sound that way. I was just wondering this morning what we were going to do for a gardener for the next two weeks, and here you are, practically begging to mow the lawns and clip the hedges once a week."
Bruce grimaced. But he said, "What happened to the gardener?"