"Russell,.Sean.-.River.Into.Darkness.01.-.Beneath.the.Vaunted.Hills_v1.5" - читать интересную книгу автора (Russo Richard Paul)

УBut who were they?Ф Hayes said, asking a question instead. УRobbers? IЧI have so little to steal.Ф
УIf they were robbers, Mr. Hayes, they were uncommonly well-dressed ones. СGentlemen,Т Tom said, and the old blacksmith saw them, too. СGentlemen,Т he said as well. I donТt know what youТve been up to, Mr. Hayes, but there are men around asking after youЧnavy men. YouТd best be on your way before someone turns you in for the few coins theyТll get. There are enough around that would do it, too, IТm sorry to say.Ф
УIТll talk to them. ThereТs some explanation, IТm sure . . .Ф
The old soldier touched his arm again. УIТm sure you didnТt do whatever it was they think you done, sir, but youТd best go. When authorities come bustinТ down your door, they donТt want to hear no explanations. The gaol is no place for the likes of you, Mr. Hayes. Find the most well-placed friend you have, sir, and go to him. ThatТs your best hopeЧthat and a good barrister. Be off now, before someТun turns you in, as Mrs. Osbourn said. Good luck to you, Mr. Hayes.Ф
A group of burly men appeared around the nearby corner and in the light from a window Hayes saw someone pointing toward him, and he was sure the men he was leading werenТt residents of Paradise Street.
Hayes slipped back into the shadow, making his way along the fronts of the buildings, hugging the wall. He pulled up the collar of his frock coat quickly to hide the white of his shirt and neckcloth. Fifty feet farther he broke into a lope, as quiet as he could, passing ghostlike through the rectangles of stained light.
He dodged down an alley, slowing now for lack of light, feeling his way, his heart pounding and his breath short, though heТd hardly run at all. Fear, he realized. I am running in fear from the authorities. This was how men disappeared into the darkness of the poor quarter.
There were shouts behind him and the sound of men running, then suddenly slowing. A lantern swung into the alley at his back, but it was too far away for the light to touch him.
In a hundred feet he came out into another street and turned left. His instinct was to head for the lighted streetsЧthe safe streetsЧbut the men chasing him were not cutthroats who kept to the dark, and in the streetlights he would be seen more easily.
But still he found himself gravitating that way, moth-like. It was the habit of a lifetime; a desire to escape, to not disappear entirely. He continued to hear the men shouting. Hayes pushed himself on, fighting to catch his breath, not even sure if they were still following himЧafraid to look back.
He was heading toward Brinsley Park, and Spring StreetЧthe beginning of the lighted boulevards. This is madness, he told himself. The darkness was his ally now. The place he thought constantly of escaping, and now it sheltered him. He should cling to it, wrap it around himself, for it was all that protected him.
But if he stayed here, in the twilight quarter, someone would give him awayЧfor he would never be anything but an outsider, here. Not safe in the darkness or the light. Better the light, then. Too many disappeared in the darkness.
Hayes took the risk of pausing before he went out onto the lit street that bordered Brinsley Park. For a moment he stood listening to the sounds down the darkened alley he was about to leave. His pursuers were likely not far behind.
Almost more than hear, Hayes sensed noise down the street, not on top of him but too close. Composing himself, he stepped out onto the lamp-lit street, monitoring his pace so that he would not stand out, yet making the best time he could.
Couples walked at their leisure, especially on the streetТs far side, which is where he wanted to be, as far from his tormentors as he could be. Weaving between carriages and tradesmenТs carts, Hayes strode quickly to the opposite side, realizing that this was a mistakeЧbecause of the size of the park there were no streets leading off from that side of the avenue for a distance equal to several blocks. More than anything, he needed to make as many turns as he could to confound his hunters, and now that wasnТt possible. They might think heТd scrambled over the iron fence into the park, keeping to darkness like any criminal would, but the fence was so high . . .
He pressed on, fighting the urge to look backЧa man who appeared to have pursuers would be noticed, no question of that.
Men and women passed, arm in arm, chatting and laughing. A coach clattered by, a young man leaning out its window, toasting the passersby theatrically; his drunken companions laughed and as one of them tried to fill his glass, a crimson stream of wine splashed over the cobbles.
УHayes?Ф someone called.
Hayes looked about wildly. Bloody blood and flames, someone was announcing his name to everyone on the avenue!
УSamual Hayes?Ф the voice came again; from the carriage, he realized. УDriver! Heave to, man.Ф
Slowing, the carriage veered toward the curb, frightening pedestrians, clearly not in perfect control. Hayes was not sure who had called to him, but he took one look back and made a dash for the still-moving carriage. As he approached, the driver set it off again, laughing inanely, for it was another young gentleman with the reins in hand. Hayes forced himself to sprint, and as the door swung open, he reached out and grabbed the carriage, feeling hands take hold of him and drag him in where he sprawled on the floor.
Half a dozen men his own age looked down at him, grinning. УWhy, Samual Hayes,Ф one of them said, Уhave a drink,Ф and proceeded to pour wine all over HayesТ face.
УHume!Ф Hayes managed, almost choking. He pushed himself up, fending off the bottle.
The young gentlemen were laughing madly.
УAye, have another drink, Hayes.Ф Hume began tilting another bottle toward Hayes, but he managed to push this one away, too.
УFlames, Hume, but you came just in time. I was being chased by footpads.Ф
УOn Spring Street?Ф someone said, clearly certain he was joking.
УYouТd have been better off with the footpads, IТll wager,Ф someone laughed. УWeТre celebrating HumeТs impending demise. Marriage, that is.Ф
Hayes struggled up into a crouch and stared out the rear window. He could see them now, a group of men at the run, but too far back to be distinguished. Too far back to catch them, that was certain.
УBlood and flames,Ф Hume said, twisting around to look out. УYou were serious.Ф
УLetТs go back and give them what-for,Ф someone called out. УIТve a rapier in here somewhere.Ф
УNo!Ф Hayes said quickly. УDrive on.Ф
УHah! Out of the frying pan into the fire, Hayesy. YouТre with us now and our intent is far more wicked than any footpads. Driver,Ф the young man called УThe brothel!Ф
УThe brothel!Ф
УThe brothel!Ф the others took up the cry, and the carriage careened off down the street, only the fragile common sense of horses keeping the gentlemen from disaster.
ЧЧЧл╗ЧЧЧл╗ЧЧЧл╗ЧЧЧ
The anemic light of coach lamps smeared across rain-oiled cobbles and lit the moving flanks of horses without having a noticeable effect on the overwhelming darkness. Avonel of an evening in early spring.
Erasmus Flattery stepped down from the hired coach and, with barely a nod, shook some coins out of his pocket for the driver. This was the address, he was sure. A doorman held an umbrella for him, interrupting a drizzle so fine it seemed more like a cool, falling dew, or the actual substance of darkness dribbling down from the heavens.
УSir . . . ?Ф the doorman said expectantly, and Erasmus realized he was standing there as though unsure he would enterЧlike a young man whoТd lost his nerve. In truth he had always avoided such places, though not on moral grounds. He was not a prude. But brothels were the haunts of foolish young men, and the old attempting to deny the truth of time. Either way it was a house of delusions, and, as such, repugnant to Erasmus. But then, Erasmus had come out of perverse curiosity.
Only the Marchioness of Wicklow could ever have brought off such an event, for who could refuse an invitation from AvonelТs principal hostess? Only a prude or a man who had much to hide, clearly. Any woman who did not attend would unquestionably be admitting that her husband frequented such establishments and that therefore she could not bear to even enter the place herself. No, the Marchioness had weighed things out with a kind of ruthless precision and cruel irony that Erasmus thought had to be admired. Of course, as a bachelor, he was in no danger here. His wife would not be watching, wondering if any of the matronТs comely employees seemed to treat him with just a bit too much familiarity.
So here gathered the cream of Avonel society, pretending to be engaged in something exciting, risquщ, and watching each other like predators. Erasmus thought that the Marchioness had gone a long way to expose the truth of Avonel society this evening. He, for one, was almost certain he could smell the sweat.
Erasmus was escorted quickly up the short walk and into a well-lit lobby. Smiling young women relieved him of cloak and hat, gloves and cane.
УLady WicklowТs party,Ф he said, and one young woman turned to the matron who approached and, still smiling, repeated his disclaimer.
The matron was a cheerful-looking woman whose age could not be disguised behind even the layers of makeup she had applied. Erasmus thought that if you took away the makeup, she would look far more like the competent wife of a particularly boring, country squire than the proprietress of such an establishment. She should have been serving tea and exaggerating the accomplishments of her children.
УMrs. Trocket at your service. And you are . . . ?Ф she asked as she curtsied, surprising Erasmus with a bright look of both intelligence and humor.
УErasmus Flattery, maТam.Ф
Her face changed as she heard the name, and though she held a list of guests, it was immediately forgotten. УAh, Mr. Flattery. It is a great pleasure, IТm sure.Ф
She motioned for him to escort her, clearly pleased to have a member of such an important family visit her establishment. The name, Erasmus thought, did occasionally prove usefulЧwhen it wasnТt a curse.
УWell, youТll find weТve created a place of refined entertainments for the discerning gentlemenЧand ladyЧfor we do not cater to gentlemen alone. Not at all.Ф
All of the УladiesФ Erasmus could see were clearly in the employ of the able Mrs. Trocket, and they smiled at him less than coyly as he passed. One blew him a kiss. They wore gowns that one would not see in most Avonel homes, that was certain, and several seemed to have forgotten their gowns and wore only the most exotic Entonne lingerie. He tried not to stare, but they really were the most fetching creatures. And they laughed with the gentlemen present, flirting in the most open manner. Erasmus thought suddenly that the place was a bit too warm.