"Charles Stross - Merchant princes 03 - The Clan Corporate" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stross Charles)

tongue. She straightened her knees and sighed. "Well? How am I doing?"
"Hmm." The duchess examined her minutely from head to foot, then nodded
slightly. "You're getting better. Well enough to pass tonight. Have a seat."
She gestured at the chair beside her.
Miriam sat down. "As long as nobody asks me to dance," she said ruefully.
"I've got two left feet, it seems." She plucked at her lap. "And as long as I
don't end up being cornered by a drunken backwoods peer who thinks not being
fluent in his language is a sign of an imbecile. And as long as I don't
accidentally mistake some long-lost third cousin seven times removed for the
hat-check clerk and resurrect a two-hundred-year-old blood feud. And as long
as-"
"Dear," the duchess said quietly, "do please shut up."
The countess, who had grown up as Miriam but whom everyone around her but the
duchess habitually called Helge, stopped in mid-flow. "Yes, Mother," she said
meekly. Folding her hands in her lap she breathed out. Then she raised one
eyebrow.
The duchess looked at her for almost a minute, then nodded minutely. "You'll
pass," she said. "With the jewelry, of course. And the posh frock. As long as
you don't let your mouth run away with you." Her cheek twitched. "As long as
you remember to be Helge, not Miriam."
"I feel like I'm acting all the time!" Miriam protested.
"Of course you do." The duchess finally smiled. "Imposter syndrome goes with
the territory." The smile faded. "And I didn't do you any favors in the long
run by hiding you from all this." She gestured around the room. "It becomes
harder to adapt, the older you get."
"Oh, I don't know." Miriam frowned momentarily. "I can deal with disguises and
a new name and background; I can even cope with trying to learn a new
language, it's the sense of permanence that's disconcerting. I grew up an only
child, but Helge has all these-relatives-I didn't grow up with, and they're
real. That's hard to cope with. And you're here, and part of it!" Her frown
returned. "And now this evening's junket. If I thought I could avoid it, I'd
be in my rooms having a stomach cramp all afternoon."
"That would be a Bad Idea." The duchess still had the habit of capitalizing
her speech when she was waxing sarcastic, Miriam noted.
"Yes, I know that. I'm just-there are things I should be doing that are more
important than attending a royal garden party. It's all deeply tedious."
"With an attitude like that you'll go far." Her mother paused. "All the way to
the scaffold if you don't watch your lip, at least in public. Do I need to
explain how sensitive to social niceties your position here is? This is not
America-"
"Yes, well, more's the pity." Miriam shrugged minutely.
"Well, we're stuck with the way things are," the duchess said sharply, then
subsided slightly. "I'm sorry, dear, I don't mean to snap. I'm just worried
for you. The sooner you learn how to mind yourself without mortally offending
anyone by accident the happier I'll be."
"Um." Miriam chewed on the idea for a while. She's stressed, she decided. Is
that all it is, or is there something more? "Well, I'll try. But I came here
to see how you are, not to have a moan on your shoulder. So, how are you?"
"Well, now that you ask . . ." Her mother smiled and waved vaguely at a table
behind her chaise longue. Miriam followed her gesture: two aluminium crutches,