"Robin McKinley - Rose Daughter" - читать интересную книгу автора (McKinley Robin)

the house, but even Beauty was too bone-weary to explore it.
 But the house was surprisingly tall for ils small size, and this gave it a curious authority and a
reassuring air of steadfastness. They all sat and stared while the horses, perceiving the end of the road
and a lack of attention in the hands on their reins, dropped their heads and began to nose through the
debris of winter for anything to eat.
It was earliest spring. The sky was blue, the birds sang, the chestnut tree was putting out its first
sticky leafbuds, but the low coarse growth underfoot was malted weeds interspersed with bare muddy
patches, the brown buds crouched on drearily empty branches, and the house had obviously been
derelict for a long time. The clearing it sat in was reverting to woodland, with opportunistic saplings
springing up everywhere; there was a birdтАЩs-nest built into a comer of the front door and an ominous
crown of ragged twigs on one of the chimneys. The two sheds hadnтАЩt a sound wall between them; there
was nowhere to keep the waggon or stable the horses. It was a cheerless homecoming,
Lionheart was the first to jump off the waggon, stride forward, and throw the unlatched door of the
house open, spattering herself with shreds of broken birdтАЩs-nest and fighting off the maleficent embraces
of the long thorny sterns of an overgrown bush just beside the door. Jewe!-tonguc and Beauty followed
her slowly; their father sat dully in the cart. BeautyтАЩs heart sank when Lionheart opened the door so
easily; she had feared the worst when the lawyers had sent her no key, but if the house had been open to
weather and all depredations both animal and human. . . .
тАЬNo leaks,тАЭ said Lionheart, looking towards the ceiling. She climbed the ladder and stuck her head
through the trapdoor. тАЬNor any I can see up here,тАЭ she said, her voice muffled.
тАЬNo rubbish in the comers,тАЭ said Jeweltongue. She walked round the one big downstairs room,
touching the walls. тАЬItтАЩs not running with damp. It doesnтАЩt even smell of damp. Or of mice.тАЭ
Beauty was standing in the middle of the floor, slowly turning in ber place, half watching Jeweltongue
touching the walls, half looking round herself, thinking, It does not smell of mice, nor of damp, but it does
smell of somethingтАФI donтАЩt knowтАФbut itтАЩs a friendly smellтАФnot like a years-closed-up house. Weil,
there may be horrors tomorrowтАФbirdsтАЩ-nests in the chimneys, snakes in the cellarтАФbut. .. And her heart
lifted for die second time since the Duke and Baron had written those final lines, and she remembered
that the first time had been when she discovered the papers saying that they still possessed a little house
called Rose Cottage. Rose Cottage. She had wanted the name to be a good omen.
Lionheart came downstairs again, and the three sisters looked at one another. тАЬItтАЩs perhaps just a bit
small,тАЭ said Lionheart.
тАЬBut itтАЩs ours,тАЭ said Jewehongue, and walked over to Beauty and tucked her hand under her sisterтАЩs
arm.
тАЬThose little leaded windows donтАЩt let in much light,тАЭ said Lionheart.
тАЬThe ceiling is high enough to make the house seem bright and airy,тАЭ said Jeweltongue.
тАЬNone of our furniture will sit straight on this floor,тАЭ said Lionheart.
тАЬNone of the wisps and remnants we now call our furniture is going to sit straight anywhere,тАЭ said
Jeweltongue, тАЬand we can invent a new parlour-game for winter evenings, rolling pennies across the
slopes.тАЭ
Lionheart laughed. тАЬThereтАЩs a baking oven,тАЭ she said, looking at the bigger chimney. тАЬAnd think of
the fun IтАЩll have learning where its hot spots are. The first loaves will have slopes on them like the floor.тАЭ
She looked round again, тАЬAnd weтАЩll never be lonesome because weтАЩll always be under one anotherтАЩs
feet. Not likeтАФnot like the last weeks in the old house.тАЭ
Beauty felt Jeweltongue shudder. тАЬNo. Never like that. Never again.тАЭ
They returned outdoors. Their father had made his way down from the waggon and was standing
under the tree near the front door. тАЬItтАЩs a chestnut,тАЭ he said. тАЬIтАЩve always loved chestnut trees. I was a
champion conker-player when
I was a boy. Chestnut trees are messy, though; they shed all year long. Aside from the sticks little
boys throw up into them to dislodge the conkers.тАЭ And he laughed. It was the first time they had heard
him laugh since the blow fell, months ago in the city.