"Phyllis_A._Whitney_-_Feather_On_The_Moon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Whitney Phyllis A)

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FEATHER ON THE MOON
By the time we landed in Seattle it was late afternoon, and I had just enough time to board a small plane for the halfhour flight to Victoria. We flew over water dotted with wooded islands that would have been interesting to see, if only I could have kept my mind quiet and my heart from thudding.
Mrs. Aries had told me on the phone that her car would meet me, and as I waited in the small airport building a darkhaired, muscular man, probably in his late thirties, approached to ask if I was Mrs. Thorne. An impressive pirate's mustache drooped on each side of his mouth, but I couldn't see his eyes because of smoky dark glasses. He wore a gray uniform and chauffeur's cap, and while his manner was courteous, there seemed a slight flourish to his movements. I had the curious sense that he might be performing the role of chauffeur. He touched his cap, told me his name was Kirk, and took over capably with my bags as he led the way outdoors.
The air of mid-September seemed wonderfully clean and fresh, and the grounds about the airport displayed colorful plantings and emerald spreads of lawn. Mountains on Vancouver Island were visible to the west; the Gulf Islands to the east.
"This way, Mrs. Thorne." Kirk gestured toward an elderly gray Mercedes that was probably a valuable antique. Once or twice he had given me a direct look that was out of character for this "role" he played, and I began to be curious about him.
"Have you been with Mrs. Aries for long?" I asked as he opened the door of the car for me.
He answered cryptically, "Long enough," and I must have looked surprised, for he grinned and touched his cap again in an apology that wasn't entirely genuine.
"Sorry, madam. I haven't really been on this job for all that long. Only about six weeks, so I'm still learning."
His manner might be just short of impertinent, yet it was
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PHYLLIS A. WHITNEY
somehow engaging. As though he played a good-natured joke.
"An actor out of work?" I guessed.
He started to laugh and then restrained himself. "You're way off, Mrs. Thorne. But I'm an expert driver, and that's all Mr. Dillow has required."
He waited for me to get into the back seat, and I settled into leather luxury while he went around to store my bags in the trunk.
The well-paved highway to Victoria cut inland, with traffic coming toward us from the city, heading out to suburban homes after work. At times, tall stands of fir or cedar followed the road, so that I had the sense of a north country. The airport was surrounded by farms-market gardens for the city.
Perhaps Kirk could be a source of information about the house I was to visit, and I tried a question.
"This is my first visit to Victoria, and I'm not acquainted with Radburn House. Who is Mr. Dillow?"
The chauffeur answered readily. "He manages the house, and I guess he's been in the service of the family for years. He's more than a butler. He's secretary, housekeeper, sometimes nurse-name it, and that's what Elbert Dillow does. Since Mrs. Aries had her stroke, he runs everything."
I hadn't known she'd had a stroke. On the telephone Corinthea Aries had sounded vigorous and very much in charge.
"She's recovered, hasn't she?"
"Some, I suppose. I don't see much of her, except to take her for a drive once in a while, but she seems to be a pretty powerful lady, even in a wheelchair."
"Who else makes up the family?" I asked.
He didn't seem to mind my questions, and as he answered he kept his attention properly on the road. "There's just the old man left, it seems. Mrs. Aries's younger brother. Which
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FEATHER ON THE MOON
doesn't make him very young. Mr. Dillow claims he's a little daft and they hide him away up on the third floor."
"And there's no one else in the house?"
"You said, family." His tone changed and I sensed hesitation. "Right now there's a visiting magician and his wife and
child."
"Visiting magician?"
Kirk, whose last name I had yet to learn, experienced a sudden attack of propriety. "Mr. Dillow and Mrs. Aries had better answer your questions. I'm too new on the job, madam."
Thus reproved, I kept still for a time, though propriety was not my governing virtue. I didn't need to ask whether the child was a boy or a girl, or how old she was. I knew. But that her "father" was a magician sounded somehow both ominous and promising. The word had an itinerant, circusy ring-people who might easily snatch a child and disappear.
After a time Kirk spoke again. "We're in Victoria now, Mrs. Thorne, and since the sun's going down the lights will be on. We'll drive along Government Street, so you'll catch the nighttime view. There-look ahead-you can see the Parliament Buildings."
The sight was dramatic. A wide spread of stone buildings, all etched in light, stood against the darkening sky. The tall central dome, and every smaller dome, column, window, all glowed with dots of gold-like a stage set.
Kirk took on the role of guide. "The Victorian architect who designed those buildings-Francis Rattenbury-was mixed up in a sex and drug scandal and went off to England, where he was murdered by his wife's lover. Pretty colorful stuff! Look over there across the corner of the Inner Harbor, Mrs. Thorne-that's another grandiose Rattenbury creation. The Empress Hotel."
These tidbits were delivered in what managed to be a mock-respectful tone. As though Kirk knew himself out-oforder, and enjoyed stepping over lines.
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PHYLLIS A. WHITNEY
The hotel, set at a right angle to the Parliament Buildings, was immensely impressive-massive, sturdy, foursquare, its front covered with ivy.
"The Empress dates back to early in the century. When you go sightseeing, you'll visit it and catch a glimpse of the way things used to be in the days when retired British colonists came here from India."
Sections of slate rose steeply, with rows of peaked windows, and corner towers with their own vertical roofs. All the front of the hotel shone in the glow of spotlights, and the central facade gleamed a warm amber. Tall letters above the door spelled EMPRESS in white lights that were large enough to read as we drove along.
The lights of all the buildings were reflected in harbor waters, multiplying the effect.
My interest was passing, only momentary. I wasn't here for sightseeing, and what lay outside this car couldn't matter to me for long. In a little while we would arrive at Radburn House, and after that there could be a meeting at any time with the child who might be my daughter. But I mustn't anticipate arid make up imaginary scripts. It was better, for now, to talk to the man who was driving me.
"Are you from Victoria?"
"I'm from all over," he told me lightly.
Obviously, he wasn't going to talk about himself. I was silent again as we left the central buildings of the city behind, following a long street where rows of lighted houses stood side by side, fronted and separated by gardens. The street climbed and the car wound its way toward the top of a hill that must command a splendid view in the daytime. Houses and streets were left behind as the car's headlights picked out a winding drive that climbed toward a structure commanding the hilltop.
"Here we are," Kirk said, and I looked out to see the house that was to figure in my life for a longer period than I expected.
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