"Wilbur Smith - Courtney 03 - Blue Horizon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smith Wilbur)

Van Ritters seemed not to have overheard the exchange. He did not look up from the book that was open on his knee. However, during the puppet show, when the hook-nosed Punch was beating his shrieking wife about the head with a club, Louisa glanced sideways and saw that

Mijnheer was studying the tender swellings beneath her blouse. She felt the blood rush to her cheeks, and drew her shawl more closely around her shoulders.

It was autumn when they sailed on the return journey to Amsterdam. On the first night at sea Gertruda was prostrate with seasickness. Louisa nursed her, and held the basin for her as she retched. At last she fell into a deep sleep and Louisa escaped from the fetid cabin. Longing for a breath of fresh sea air she hurried up the companionway to the deck. She stopped in the hatchway as she spotted the tall, elegant figure of van Ritters standing alone on the quarter-deck. The officers and crew had left the windward rail to him: as the ship's owner this was his prerogative. She would have gone below again immediately but he saw her, and called her to him. "How is my Gertie?"

"She is sleeping, Mijnheer. I am sure she will feel much better in the morning."

At that moment a larger wave lifted the ship's hull and she rolled sharply. Taken off balance Louisa was thrown against him. He put an arm round her shoulders. "I am so sorry, Mijnheer." Her voice was husky. "I slipped." She tried to draw back, but his arm held her firmly. She was confused, unsure what she should do next. She dared not pull away again. He made no move to release her, and then she could hardly credit her senses- she felt his other hand close on her right breast. She gasped and shivered as she felt him roll her tender swollen nipple between his fingers. He was gentle, unlike his daughter had been. He did not hurt her at all. With a terrible burning shame she realized she was enjoying his touch. "I am cold," she whispered.

"Yes," he said. "You must go below before you catch a chill." He released her and turned back to lean on the rail. Sparks streamed from the tip of his cheroot, and blew away on the wind.

When they returned to Huis Brabant, she did not see him again for several weeks. She heard Stals telling Elise that Mijnheer had gone to Paris on business. However, the brief incident on shipboard was never far from her mind. Sometimes she woke in the night and lay awake, burning with shame and remorse as she relived it. She felt that what had happened was her fault. A great man like Mijnheer van Ritters surely could not be to blame. When she thought about it her nipples burned and itched strangely. She felt a great evil in her, and climbed out of her bed to kneel and pray, shivering on the bare

wooden floor. Gertruda called out in the dark, "Louisa, I need the chamber-pot."

With a sense of relief Louisa went to her before she could wet the bed. Over the following weeks the guilt faded, but never quite left her.

Then, one afternoon, Stals came to find her in the nursery. "Mijnheer van Ritters wants to see you. You must go at once. I hope you have not done anything wrong, girl?" As Louisa brushed her hair hurriedly she told Gertruda where she was going.

"Can I come with you?"

"You must finish painting the picture of the boat for me. Try to stay inside the lines, my sc hat I will be back soon."

She knocked on the door of the library, her heart racing wildly. She knew he was going to punish her for what had happened on the ship. He might have her beaten by the grooms, like they had done to the drunken nursemaid. Worse still, he might dismiss her, have her thrown out into the street.

"Come in!" His voice was stern.

She curtsied in the doorway. "You sent for me, Mijnheer."

"Yes, come in, Louisa." She stopped in front of his desk, but he gestured for her to come round and stand beside him. "I want to talk to you about my daughter."

Instead of his usual black coat and lace collar he wore a dressing-robe of heavy Chinese silk that buttoned up the front. From this informal attire and his calm, friendly expression she realized he was not angry with her. She felt a rush of relief. He was not going to punish her. His next words confirmed this. "I was thinking that it might be time for Gertruda to begin riding lessons. You are a good horsewoman. I have seen you helping the grooms to exercise the horses. I want to hear your opinion."

"Oh, yes, Mijnheer. I am sure Gertie would love it. Old Bumble is a gentle gelding..." Happily she started to help him develop the plan. She was standing close to his shoulder. A thick book with a green leather cover was lying on the desk in front of him. Casually he opened it. She could not avoid seeing the exposed page and her voice trailed away. She lifted both hands to her mouth as she looked at the illustration that filled the whole of one folio-sized page. It was obviously the work of a skilled artist. The man in the painting was young and handsome, he lolled back in a leather armchair. A pretty young girl stood in front of him, laughing, and Louisa saw that she might have been her own twin. The girl's large wide-set eyes were cerulean blue,

and she was holding her skirts up to her waist so that the man could see the golden nest between her thighs. The artist had emphasized the pair of swollen lips that pouted at him through the curls.

That was enough to stop her breath, but there was worse far worse. The front flap of the man's breeches was undone, and through the opening thrust a pale shaft with a pink head. The man was holding it lightly between his fingers and seemed to be aiming it at the girl's rosy opening.

Louisa had never seen a man naked. Even though she had listened to the other girls in the servants' quarters discussing it with gusto, she had not expected anything remotely like this. She stared at it in dreadful fascination, unable to tear her eyes away. She felt hot waves of blood rising up her throat and flooding her cheeks. She was consumed with shame and horror.

"I thought the girl looked like you, although not as pretty," said van Ritters quietly. "Don't you agree, my dear?"

"I - I don't know," she whispered. Her legs almost folded under her as she felt Mijnheer van Ritters' hand settle lightly on her bottom. The touch seemed to burn her flesh through the petticoats. He cupped her small round buttock, and she knew she should ask him to stop, or run from the room. But she could not. Stals and Elise had warned her repeatedly that she must obey Mijnheer always. She stood paralysed. She belonged to him, like any of his horses or dogs. She was one of his chattels. She must submit to him without protest, even though she was not sure what he was doing, what he wanted from her.

"Of course, Rembrant has taken some artistic licence when it comes to dimensions." She could not believe that the artist who had painted the figure of God had also painted this picture, yet it was possible: even a famous artist must do what the great man required of him.

"Forgive me, Gentle Jesus," she prayed and shut her eyes tightly so that she did not have to look at that wicked picture. She heard the rustle of stiff silk brocade, and he said, "There, Louisa, this is what it really looks like."