"Russell,.Sean.-.Darkness.1.-.Beneath.the.Vaunted.Hills.e-txt" - читать интересную книгу автора (Russo Richard Paul)

At the stair head the young woman opened a door and preceded him into the room.
"What in bloody blazes!" Skye stopped abruptly. There were three naval officers slumped so limply on chairs that Skye feared they were dead.
"They are drugged," the young woman said matter-of-factly.
Skye felt an urge to bolt, but he stood, staring, almost dumbfounded, at the scene.
"But why?" His voice came out in a whisper. "Why are they here?"
"To arrest you, I'm afraid," she said. "You see, the young woman you were to meet, Miss Finesworth, was to pretend to be an Entonne spy who had offered her allegiance to Farrland. She would claim that you had come here to give her plans for the cannon, so that Entonne could produce naval guns of their own." She waved a hand at the unconscious officers. "These gentlemen were then to take you away. To gaol, Lord Skye."
"That's . . . that's preposterous. It's . . ."
She crossed to a table and slid a large roll of papers across the smooth surface. "You will recognize these, I think?" she asked, releasing the ribbons that bound them. She spread them quickly open and looked over at Skye.
Not sure why, he went to look.
He let out a long breath. "My drawings of the naval gun. The Admiralty had them."
"Yes, and sheets of specifications. Instructions for casting. Everything one would need to produce cannon."
Skye stepped back stunned to silence. "Who are you?"
"A friend, Lord Skye. Someone who would not see you harmed." She touched his arm gently. "You needn't fear me. Without my intervention you would be on your way to gaol this moment. You have made an enemy, Lord Skye. A formidable and somewhat ruthless enemy. Moncrief, I assume, but perhaps you know already."
"Moncrief!? But he is my friend! I dine with him. I . . ." he blustered into silence.
She stared at him with what appeared to be compassion. "I would be surprised to learn that Moncrief has any friends, Lord Skye. You threaten him in some way. You are a favorite of the King and have His Majesty's ear. Perhaps too much for Moncrief's liking."
Skye leaned on the table. "It is unbelievable. Moncrief would not dare attack me."
"Moncrief dared to attack Entonne, Lord Skye. What is a mere citizen to him? Even one as influential as yourself. After all, he has brought men down before. Powerful men."
"Why have you done this?" Skye asked, stepping away from the table, eyeing this peculiar-looking woman.
"You have many admirers, Lord Skye. We would not see you fall victim to . . . anyone. Trust me when I say this. We are your friends. It is best that you leave now. Tell no one you were here. Is your driver to be trusted?"
Skye nodded.
"Then you should be gone."
Skye nodded again, turning away without further urging. He was not sure what went on here, but escaping this place seemed imperative.
At the bottom of the stairs, he turned to the young woman. "If this all proves to be true, Miss, I will be in your debt."
She nodded. "So it would appear, Lord Skye. But for now . . ." She opened the door for him, and with a quick bow he went out, opening the door to the carriage himself, and sending his surprised driver on.
He slumped back in his seat, a hand over his face. Had he just escaped ruin? It didn't seem possible. Flames, but he should not wait in Avonel to find out.

Chapter Three

Memory is fiction, a narrative we write and rewrite to explain an ever-changing present, a story in which we are the hero, the victim, the wronged or the incomparable lover. And if memory is fiction, what then is history?
-Halden: Essays

The ride to Erasmus' home passed almost entirely in silence, as though Hayes were afraid the driver might overhear them. Erasmus thought that something dire must have happened to frighten the young man so. He looked positively haunted, and this was not helped by the fact that he was rather poorly dressed and smelled of wine-though he appeared perfectly sober.
It came out that Hayes had visited the brothel only because he'd been rescued by friends who were on their way there. They were celebrating the coming marriage of one of their circle. An odd practice, Erasmus thought. Apparently the groom-to-be had been stripped naked and tied to a woman, who was also without clothing, and they would not be released until they had performed the act before the groom's so-called friends. All rather difficult in that they had been tied in such a way as to make consummation almost impossible. Somewhat more entertaining than anything Erasmus had seen, but then his exploration of the brothel had been cut rather short.
They arrived at Erasmus' town home and were let in by his manservant, Stokes, who looked askance at this young vagabond Erasmus had brought home.
After Stokes had found Hayes some clothing and let him clean up, they met in Erasmus' study on the second floor. "I will tell you, Hayes, you look like you've survived the war."
"Do excuse me, Erasmus, I-I appreciate you taking me in like this."
"Yes, well, come and sit by the fire and warm yourself." Erasmus motioned to his servant. "Brandy would seem to be in order. And coffee. Will that answer?" he asked Hayes, who nodded.
Erasmus took the second chair. "I think you should tell me what's happened, Hayes. There will be time for pleasantries later."
The young man nodded, rubbing his hands up and down his thighs as though to bring some feeling into them. He stared into the fire, marshaling his thoughts.
The young Samual that Erasmus remembered was barely detectable in the man seated before him. The good-natured, apple-cheeked child was gone, and in his place was someone leaner and harder. The bones of his face showed through, as though hardship had caused his skeleton to expand and strengthen. This young man looked like he could stand up to some adversity, which no doubt he already had.
"I don't need to acquaint you with my recent family history, Erasmus. Suffice it to say that, since leaving Merton, I've been living in . . . one of the city's more picturesque quarters." Hayes shook his head as though he could not quite credit his memory. "I came home this night to find my rooms had been invaded by . . . well, my neighbors claimed they were navy men. And I was pursued by others and only managed to escape by pure luck." He looked up at Erasmus. "I really had no place to go. No friend good enough to burden with my troubles."
"Don't worry, Samual, you're both safe and welcome. There are one or two advantages to having a brother who's a duke. You haven't any notion of why these men were in your rooms, I take it?"
Hayes shook his head. "None."
"And you're sure they were men from the Admiralty? You saw uniforms?"
"No, but the people in that quarter of the city have an uncanny ability to spot the representatives of the Crown no matter what their dress. If they say they were navy men, I would wager all I have they were right. Not that it would be much of a wager, I'm afraid."
Stokes appeared just then with coffee and brandies. Erasmus wanted to reassure Hayes that his life would not always be thus, but by the time Stokes left, the moment had passed.
"Well, perhaps it is a case of mistaken identity." Erasmus stared at Hayes, who gazed fixedly down into his brandy. The silence was protracted and more than a little awkward.
"It makes little sense to come to me, Samual, and then not trust me," Erasmus said softly.
Hayes shook his head and shifted his gaze to the fire. "I have been racking my brain all evening trying to think of any reason, any reason at all, that the Admiralty would be interested in me. Interested enough to sack my rooms."
"And . . . ?"