"Tom Purdom-A Proper Place To Live" - читать интересную книгу автора (Purdom Tom)

spending enjoying myself."
"Then let's shake on it, sir, like two gentlemen. And let me give you something in writing, too -- like a
good businessman should."
A solid grip pressed on Mr. Tyler's right hand. Paper and a pen emerged from Sir Harold's pockets.
Words appeared on the paper. Sir Harold appended his neat, unremarkable signature at the end and Mr.
Tyler found himself clutching the pen and affixing his own name beside it.
"I'll take this to my solicitors and have them send you two good copies," Sir Harold said. "You'll have
them by this evening, along with three hundred pounds to seal the bargain."
Lady Millicent extended her hand and presented Mr. Tyler with a card engraved with the address of
one of her charities. "I would appreciate it very much if you would call on me at this address," Lady
Millicent said. "We have some pressing problems which could use the attention of a gentleman with your
skills. I can assure you every lady there would appreciate any effort you can bring to bear on our
affairs."
Mr. Tyler pushed himself out of his chair as if he were wearing clothes stuffed with lead. He stared at
his two guests with eyes that looked a little glazed and unfocused and Sir Harold leaned on his stick and
waited politely.
"Could you see your way to making that five hundred pounds, Sir Harold? If you don't mind. I'll be
buying Nellie some new clothes, for one thing."
"Of course. Think nothing of it."
"I have my own things made at Madame Russell's," Lady Millicent said. "On Plumtree Street. I'll be
happy to tell her your daughter is coming if you would care to look at her offerings."
"In fact," Sir Harold said. "we could even drop your young lady off there right now. And make
arrangements to have her returned when she's finished. Don't you think we could manage that, Millicent?
Eh?"
"What a marvelous idea, Harold. Of course."
***


Tea had taken its place in the music room, Lady Millicent was seated at the harpsichord, and the
children of widows whose husbands had been employed in the tea trade were gorging on cakes and
chocolate in an upstairs location while they awaited the belated arrival of their reading teacher. "I really
couldn't have handled it without you, Millicent," Sir Harold said. "You were superb, my dear. Absolutely
superb."
"Thank you, Harold."
"And there's even time for you to play for a few minutes before you go upstairs, eh? You should be
able to fit in something from that notebook Mr. Bach wrote for his wife, shouldn't you?"
"Of course. Harold. Would you care for the second partita? Or would you prefer the first?"
"Whatever you like, my dear. Whatever you like."
The muffled rumble of carts and wagons reached them through the curtains. Birds twittered and
shrilled in the garden. Lady Millicent rested her fingers on the keyboard with her hands slightly arched
and her elbows, wrists and hands level, just as Monsieur Couperin recommended, and the first notes of
the second partita replaced the faint neighing of a horse and the subdued oaths of an impeccably
considerate carter.
"There is nothing like the influence of a Lady," Sir Harold said.
"Or a gentleman, Harold. Or a gentleman."
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