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Are you here: Protection

At a young age, Myfanwy Granville suffered great misfortune, but she humbly accepted her lot. However, fate had completely different plans for her. But will the headstrong princess agree with what fate has in store for her? Josephine Thorndike is deeply unhappy in her marriage, because, having submitted to the will of her father, she was forced to marry a man she barely knew. But she does not despair and believes that her dream of true love will definitely come true. But maybe happiness is much closer? You just have to look closely... Growing flowers is a complex art. After all, some of them are capricious, others, on the contrary, are unpretentious. And only a few know how to hear the language of flowers. People call them gardeners...

A series: Fifty Shades of Magic

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The given introductory fragment of the book Flowers are always silent (Yasya Belaya, 2016) provided by our book partner - the company liters.

Chapter 2. Lines of your story...

London, Hampstead, 1878

- Oh, how unhappy I am! - drawled Josie Thorndyke, wringing her hands and leaning back in her chair.

Richard Thorndike adjusted his glasses, put down the newspaper and looked at his wife with a mocking glance.

– My angel, you are in a suspiciously good mood today.

- You find? – she continued to gaze at the ceiling, decorated with elegant frescoes with idyllic scenes from the life of shepherdesses.

- Of course. You don't call me a monster. Don't make a scene. Don't threaten to take your own life. So I’m wondering, what happened to you?

“I must have developed hypochondria from constant nervous tension,” Josie suggested in a colorless voice and cleared her throat for convincing.

“Oh, there it is,” Richard said with feigned concern. “But I keep wondering why you have such a lovely complexion.” And this, it turns out, is hypochondria. Next time you will need to tell Vardis to add it to the list of symptoms.

“I wouldn’t laugh if I were you,” Josie pouted, and her lips, I must admit, were very seductive. “Claudine, by the way, told me, and they told her at the market that the worst influenza is now raging in London. Anyone who becomes infected with it will certainly die. And I feel that I am also sick and will soon die. That's why I say I'm unhappy. After all, I'm still too young to die.

– Oh yes, it would be an irreparable loss!

-Cruel and heartless! You should cry and pray to God to take your life instead of mine!

She pouted even more, and tears sparkled in her eyes. Richard lowered his head and covered his face with his palm so that his young wife would not notice his smile.

“Don’t you really feel sorry for me?” Not even a little bit? Oh, how unhappy I am!

Richard suppressed a smile, walked up behind his wife’s chair, unceremoniously grabbed her under the arms, pulled her out of the cozy cocoon of blankets and placed her on the floor. Despite the lunch hour, she was still wearing a thin shirt and a frivolous peignoir. Long dark brown hair scattered in disarray over her fragile shoulders.

He turned Josie sharply towards him and pulled the ribbons of her negligee.

“What... what are you doing?..” young Mrs. Thorndyke was indignant, trying to escape from her husband’s embrace.

- I'm going to rid you of influenza. This is such a terrible disease that you simply cannot neglect preventive procedures.

The silver silk of the peignoir slid down along the chiseled curves of her figure. With one hand Richard gently squeezed Josie’s graceful wrist, with the other he wrapped his arms around her thin waist, drawing her closer to him. Josie arched towards him, and her lips parted, which Richard did not fail to take advantage of, digging into them with a passionate, burning kiss.

Once she was able to breathe, Josie immediately rose up.

-What are you allowing yourself to do?! Now is the day! They can come in here at any moment!

- And what? - Richard whispered in her ear, before biting him, - they will only see that I kiss my lovely wife. Is this forbidden?.. - he moved to the neck and went down to the collarbone.

- Ah... You kiss me wrong...

“Tell me, my angel, how I should… kiss you, and I’ll fix it right away...” his voice was interrupted by barely restrained passion.

“This is too reprehensible... Too seductive... Ah...” she pulled off his glasses, once again surprised by the extraordinary blue of his eyes and eyelashes that were too long for a man, ran her fingers through his thick coal-black hair and eagerly returned the kiss...

Soon they moved onto the ottoman and began hastily ridding each other of the remaining clothes. He invaded her roughly, sharply, immediately plunging into her entire length. She didn’t object, she just arched and wailed like a beggar on the porch: “Lord!.. Oh God!..” He moved quickly and furiously, and Josie moaned loudly and rushed about the ottoman, crumpling the satin coverlet. She no longer cared that someone might come in and see...

When it was all over, she lay there without a thought in her head and ruffled his usually so impeccable hairstyle. Richard's thin, long fingers wrote signs on her body that were only known to him.

“I told you before that I don’t love you...

– Oh yes, repeatedly and in the most direct terms.

“So,” she said lazily, “now I hate you.” And it's not a joke. My hatred would be enough to blow up the world.

- What did I do to deserve this? – he muttered pseudo-offendedly, inserting three fingers into her at once.

Josie screamed and her eyes flew open.

“It hurts,” she whined, moving forward and pushing herself onto them. He sped up his movements, causing her to whimper.

- So what? – he reminded, leaning down and biting her pink nipple.

“You... you... ah... you... cruel, ferocious... you are an animal.” Merciless monster! – she shouted, raising herself on her elbows and spreading her legs wider. A few more strokes and she came with loud screams. Almost losing consciousness, she fell into his arms. He took her hand and ran his tongue along the soft satin of her wrist.

– Josie, my joy, answer me one sacramental question: if you don’t like everything that happens between us intimately, why don’t you ask me to change tactics? Be more gentle? Why do you encourage, moan and ask not to stop?..

She sighed, somewhat shakily, as the tip of his tongue circled the captivating circle of her nipple again.

“You see, Richard,” she said, positioning herself so that it would be more convenient for him to caress, “in my mind I understand that all this is wrong, reprehensible and dirty... And a decent lady should burn with shame that this happened to her... And I burn, and I cry and hate you for this shame... I swear to myself one night I will stab you in the chest with a knife... I'm going crazy with humiliation and resentment... But when you touch me... Ah... I... I... I don't want to be a lady at all... Please don't stop “,” she whined.

But he just sighed heavily and pulled away. Several seconds passed in silence. Richard fumbled for his glasses and placed them on his nose, as if they were restoring common sense.

– Josie, how can I earn your love? - he said seriously and even sadly.

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. - Maybe if you did something romantic, I would think...

– How romantic? – he asked, picking up clothes scattered on the floor. She watched him from under half-lowered eyelashes. Flexible, slender, lean, and moves like a predator, strong and confident.

- Something crazy and scandalous...

“Josie, weren’t you the one who lectured me about decency just now?” - He pulled on his trousers and threw on his shirt...

- You did not understand. “She stood up, shook her head, her hair rushed down like a waterfall, and her husband’s eyes flashed with delight. “Scandalous does not mean reprehensible.”

- I really do not understand. “He sat down next to him, she immediately climbed onto his lap and curled up into a ball...

- You see, during the day you are so ordinary, even boring... And at night you are unbridled, unceremonious, rude.

– Would you like it the other way around?

- No, I would like you not to sit with these books and your sad friends during the day, but to entertain me...

– Oh, my angel, I cannot give up scientific activity even for this...

“You see, you’re a bore after all...” She rubbed her nose against his palm and felt with pleasure how a trembling ran through his body.

“Okay,” he surrendered to the mercy of the winner, “let’s return to where we left off – to the scandalous, but not offensive...

- For example, I could have been kidnapped by robbers, and a hero would have saved me...

Richard adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat.

– And the role of the hero, as I understand it, is not assigned to me?

“Well, of course,” she said in the tone in which the basics are explained to a small child. - A hero should be young and beautiful, and you should be old and ugly!

Richard choked.

“I’m only thirty-two,” he timidly reminded.

- Exactly, as many as thirty-two. And you are a bespectacled person. And also, you stutter if you are very worried, like that time when you asked for my hand...

“And after that you call me cruel and merciless?” – he asked, narrowing his eyes.

- Oh... you are simply unbearable... I’m telling you this... And by the way, I’m cold, they could dress me, otherwise you’re just undressing me...

– What should you do if you lack not only basic taste, but also a sense of proportion, so you have to get rid of unnecessary things...

“You are an evil person,” she was offended, but still allowed him to twist her this way and that so that he could more accurately tie the ribbons of her more than frivolous outfit.

“Of course,” he agreed. – I won’t even argue... But, I must admit, you intrigued me: what role do I have in your romantic adventure? I'm just burning with curiosity.

– Do you have no imagination at all? Why are you being kept at the Royal Academy of Sciences?!

“Indeed, I’m resigning tomorrow, burning all my books and committing an auto-da-fe—why should such worthlessness take a place in the sun.”

“Richard, with you you’ll never know whether you’re joking or really offended!” – she was indignant. He rolled his eyes and mentally asked the heavenly powers to strengthen his spirit and endurance. Josie got a little angry, but still condescended: “You will be the evil leader of the robbers ...”

“Who would doubt it,” he muttered, walking up to the fireplace and leaning on the marble ledge.

“Yes,” Josie walked around the room excitedly. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were burning. “You will tie me to a tree and you will...” she paused, searching for words, “in general, you will violate my innocent body...”

– What about the hero? – Richard reminded.

“That’s why he’s a hero.” He will not only save the unfortunate woman, but will also heal the wounds of her crippled soul...

– And you know, I’m starting to find certain charms in the fate of the main villain. I don't like pathos and powdered sugar.

- Here you go! You will always ruin everything - the villain must repent. And surrender himself into the hands of the executioners.

- Why suddenly?

- Well, of course, he must be punished for the insulted innocence of the heroine...

– This is still debatable.

- Without a doubt! After all, this is my story. Or another one, because you ruined that one!

- All! I'm silent! And all attention!

– In general, there is a beautiful island in the sea. A young and immaculate princess lives on it, whom the locals... what's their name...

– Usually – aborigines...

- Yes... these natives consider the princess a white goddess and pray to her every day... The goddess sits on the throne and commands...

“A very wise ruler,” Richard remarked casually.

Josie furrowed her perfect brows, indicating extreme anger.

- Don't get in early! You will appear again!

- This is encouraging.

– The princess knows that one day a beautiful young man will come for her on a ship with snow-white sails... but... instead... a dragon will attack the island... He grabs the princess and drags her into his lair...

- And why? Does he want to eat her?

“Not at all,” Josie suddenly blushed deeply, “he will chain her to the wall in a high tower and begin... subjecting her... to sweet tortures...”

Richard walked up to her, lifted his face by the chin and looked into her eyes.

– Don’t you think, my love, that the moral accents in your stories are somewhat shifted? “He traced the outline of her lips with his thumb and, leaning over, kissed the very corner.

– Does this bother you? – she was surprised.

“Very,” he responded completely seriously. – Why does a noble hero never get a beautiful heroine?

– A noble hero is a pipe dream. And evil robbers and ferocious dragons are a harsh reality. Dreams rarely come true and, unfortunately, only after reality has happened to a person...

And then Richard frightened her by collapsing at her feet with a groan.

– Josie, dear, beloved! - he cried, showering her fingers with kisses, - what have I done?!

- Richard, what's wrong with you? – his despair was so sincere that Josie was confused. - Why are you doing this? They're just stories!

He shook his head and buried his forehead in her chest.

- Josie, if I give you an island, put you on a pedestal and call you a goddess, can I count on your forgiveness?

“Richard, I have absolutely nothing to forgive you for.” I don't understand why these stories bother you so much?

“You are an innocent child, Josie.” It is difficult for you to imagine the mechanisms through which evil destroys pure souls... Recently you said that you hate me... But I deserve only contempt...

He was shaking, and Josie, frightened and quiet, could only stroke his head, comforting him.

Little by little he calmed down, stood up, hugged her and asked:

– At what latitudes would you like the island?

– In the southern ones... So that strange birds would sing and magnificent flowers grow there...

“I promise that all the paths along which my goddess will walk will be strewn with flowers.”

- Is it true?!

- I swear... And then I will put a knife in your tender hand so that you fulfill your oath.

-Which one? – Josie wrinkled her forehead, remembering.

He smoothed out the wrinkles and kissed her dark curls gently.

“The one where you kill me while I sleep.”

Josie raised her face and looked at her husband. Sparkles of anxiety danced in her gray eyes.

- Why are you doing this?

“Forget it for now...” he asked, “and you know what, your stories turned out to be very interesting and fascinating.” You should write them down.

- ABOUT! – she sang sadly. – You know how much I don’t like to write a lot. I will have calluses from the pen...

Richard smiled, rejoicing at the return of the usual Josie - a spoiled, capricious, little, adored girl.

“Then I have one gift for you.” Would you like to take a walk with me?

- It’s only an hour, I go out for a walk after three...

“Josie, I’m not talking about you, but about you and me.” Will you join me?

“You just have some kind of unhealthy desire to walk the streets with me.” And even this stupid habit of yours to hold my hand when all the couples walk arm in arm...

“My angel, how do you manage to evaporate all my tenderness?!”

– I don’t understand at all what you mean. But boasting about me—and that’s exactly what you’re doing—is sheer childishness. Do you really like everyone to look after us and compare: my beauty and your, so to speak, more than ordinary appearance?

Richard remained silent, clenching his fists. Pretending that he had not heard her tirade, he walked over to the newspaper table and took hold of the bell. A large lady in a starched cap came to the call:

“Claudine, I give you a little over an hour to bathe, comb and dress your mistress.” And please don’t let her do it herself, otherwise you’ll have to spend another hour changing clothes.

– I’m actually here! – Josie protested, but Claudine nodded to the master and dragged her along.

On the way to the bathroom, young Mrs. Thorndike developed plans for revenge - one more insidious than the other.

Current page: 1 (21 pages total) [available reading passage: 14 pages]

Yasya Belaya
Flowers are always silent

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I was born a gardener
seriously angry
I'm tired of all the flowers,
except... Rose...
Rose. Oh!
Gardener. What happened to you?
Rose. In love.
Gardener. In whom?
Rose. Into the tulip.

Child Game

Chapter 1. Roses in my garden

North Wales, Llanrwst1
The most ancient of the currently known virtual states is located in Wales. It arose in 1276, when the king of Wales, Llywelyn III ap Gruffydd, granted the district of Llanrwst the status of a free city. Llywelyn spent his last years on the throne: the British monarch Edward I Longshanks was already preparing a campaign to admonish the army in order to stop the Welsh outrages. And the last king of Wales granted Llanrwst freedom: just a little more and the crown would be taken away, or even with his head. Llywelyn eventually lost his crown (along with his head), and in the confusion of subsequent events, the decision regarding Llanrwst was not canceled. Edward had no time for sorting out the Welsh rescripts; Scotland was separating from him under the strict leadership of William Wallace. Residents of the free district turned out to be extremely patient and remained in this status until 1947. The example of Ireland seems to have inspired them, and the proud Welsh decided not to waste time on trifles. And they submitted a petition to the UN to recognize the independence of the district as a republic. The UN decided that if the British monarchs were in no hurry for seven centuries, then there was nowhere to rush. So Llanrwst remained simply a free city under the British crown - in fact, a virtual entity. However, it does not seem that its residents are in any way burdened by this status.

, 1875

Brahms' "Lullaby" was played in the music salon. The harp and metallophone, merging, gave birth to dream fairies. They hovered in the air, showering people with golden pollen from their rainbow wings. And the music itself seemed like their singing.

The wind threw handfuls of golden leaves out the window, but did not stop there, but, boldly penetrating into people’s territory, picked up the leaves and swirled them around the parquet floor in a carefree autumn dance. And, restless, he fiddled with the thinnest tulle of the curtains and got tangled in his hair.

A girl was crying in the front row.

The golden dust, Paul decided, was what she got the most: scattered throughout her hair and neck, powdering her nose and cheeks, lingering on the tips of her eyelashes. Paul, grinning, thought: I have an advantageous position - both part of the stage and the first rows of the stalls are in full view.

The young man's gaze slid lower, noting that the neat chest of the young mourner rose high... The girl was dressed in a simple blue dress. The lace cape emphasized the youth and grace of the stranger.

Paul looked the young lady in the eyes again. In them, gray-blue, as if icy, diamonds of tears trembled.

– Imagine - she is considered here almost the first beauty! Pfft! – the voice of a portly lady standing nearby in a bright blue dress, fanning herself with a huge fan, sounded outright contempt.

“And you, as I see it,” he began cautiously, “do not agree with such an assessment?”

- Surely! – his interlocutor responded almost indignantly. – Too thin, freckled, movements too nervous and impetuous!

Paul chuckled and, looking at the reddish curls, the narrow trembling shoulders of the person in question, her sharp shoulder blades, bristling under the fabric of the dress, he decided for himself that he had never met anyone more beautiful in his life. But he kept his conclusions to himself. This blue lady, resembling a thundercloud, has no need to know that in the crowded hall of the music salon there was nothing but fabulous music, whirling leaves and a fragile girl crying with delight.

He didn’t even notice where his old counterpart had gone, and shuddered when he heard a man’s voice instead of a woman’s.

“I see you don’t take your eyes off her!” – the plump short man in a striped three-piece had to rise on tiptoes to whisper this to Paul. – The local pearl, Myfanwy Llanrwst, daughter of the ruler. Almost a princess. Are you represented?

Paul shook his head.

“I’ve been in Llanrwst since last night,” he explained. “All I had time to do was rent a hotel and have dinner.” And in the morning, as soon as he woke up, he went for exercise. And then I wandered here: the door is open, the music is flowing, the audience is smart...

- This is one of the princess’s quirks. When an orchestra comes to Llanrwst - and there are always plenty of them here; and other bohemians - poets, musicians, architects - are so fond of it! - so, if someone comes, Myfanwy immediately invites them here, to his salon, and orders them to open the doors and windows so that everyone can hear. He says art is for everyone. An eccentric girl.

“And I find such a quirk charming,” the young man smiled and extended his hand to the stranger: “Paul Granville, at your service.”

“Aaron Sparrow, I’m very glad,” he said cheerfully, returning the handshake. His hands, Paul noticed, were plump and unpleasant. “Listen, are you by any chance one of the Granvilles of Globe Hill?”

- Randomly one of them.

- ABOUT! - Sparrow rejoiced, - it means you were sent to me by fate! I heard that in your area they breed wonderful goats that produce excellent wool.

– Yes, our wool is really excellent! And why do you actually need it? Forgive my tactless curiosity.

- What do you! – Sparrow raised his hands up in a conciliatory gesture. - This is fine. I only applaud curiosity in young people. A rarity in our times: usually young people do not want to hear anything, because they believe that they already know everything. And if you come back to me, I’m a businessman, I buy and sell. So it goes.

“A speculator, to be more precise,” Paul thought, but asked out loud: “What does Llanrwst sell?”

Sparrow chuckled.

– Mostly beauty and harps. The cotton here is also good quality.

The music died down and Princess Myfanwy rose to thank the musicians. A blush played on her tender cheeks, and her eyes were still sparkling with tears.

-What issue are you here for? Tourist?

Paul, absorbed in the contemplation of his golden fairy, did not immediately realize that they were addressing him. But then he caught himself and shook his head:

- No, I have more of a scientific interest...

“Ah,” said Sparrow, slightly disappointed. – But I see that in addition to the scientific, you have now added the personal.

Paul became embarrassed and blushed.

“Come on, I’ll introduce you. I know her father briefly: I run business.” Harps are at a great price in London now.

Paul was even more confused, but he simply had no right to miss such a chance.

“My lady, allow me...” Sparrow rather unceremoniously called out to the daughter of the ruler of Llanrwst, and she turned around. For a moment, her and Paul's eyes met, and the world around her froze.

And then she came up, enveloping him in a delicate floral scent, and extended her hand. Her palm was so narrow and weightless that Paul was even afraid that he might do harm with a handshake.

But the princess warmed him with an encouraging smile, and then said, and her voice sounded like the singing of a harp yesterday - silvery and tender:

“You must kidnap me immediately, and then perhaps I will give you a kiss.”

She said - and blushed deeply. And her eyes seemed to whisper: “I found you.”

And the hearts of the young people at that very moment began to beat in the same rhythm, tapping: fate…

– What are you waiting for? – the princess was slightly offended, seeing Paul’s confusion and embarrassment. - If so, I’ll steal you myself! – she said quietly but clearly, taking his hand and blushing painfully from her own insolence. “Come on,” and she added more confidently and loudly: “You should see them.” They just bloomed yesterday. Roses in my garden...

And he allowed himself to be taken away, knowing for sure that he would follow her even to death...

Northumberland, Globe Hill Castle, 1878

“Myfanwy, you don’t feel sorry for yourself at all!”

Calder Granville draped a fluffy blanket over his sister-in-law's lap.

“You have absolutely no reason to worry,” embarrassed by such concern, the young woman blushed to the roots of her hair. - It’s not cold here at all...

- And that’s why your hands are icy?

He gently shook her narrow palm, very lightly, almost imperceptibly touching the white satin skin. But he immediately let go, sighed and walked back to the desk.

– I see you haven’t sorted the mail?

“Yes, excuse me,” Myfanwy responded quietly, “I’m a little upset that no one writes to me.”

- God! Why are you burying yourself at twenty years old!

Calder looked at her in a way that the woman clearly felt: he was angry and probably wanted to shake her properly, and he lowered his head even lower.

“Alas,” she said, dropping her knitting, “you know: I died back then...

She covered her face with her hands, and her shoulders shook with sobs.

“Forgive me,” Calder almost ran up to her and sat down by the chair. - Sorry... I shouldn't have...

His fingers cramped with the desire to hug, shelter from all troubles, console, lull...

“Oh no, Calder, it’s not your fault,” Myfanwy looked up at him with eyes the color of a rain-washed sky, and the man’s breath caught. – I know that all your actions and words are dictated by concern for me. Really,” she said, squeezing his hand impulsively, “I have done nothing to deserve a friend like you.”

And he allowed himself to press his lips to the blue vein on her wrist. Weightless. Expecting immediate punishment for his insolence. But Myfanwy only smiled, slightly revealing her snow-white, but uneven, sharp teeth.

– You deserve much more! After all, thanks to you, flowers appeared in Glome Hill,” he whispered.

– You speak as if I am a flower fairy!

- In any case, they are very similar. Covered in pollen.

“No one has ever called my freckles that before.”

“So, at least I’m a pioneer in something.”

Calder winked slyly, and Myfanwy laughed quietly. And the sun, entangled in her reddish curls, which stubbornly refused to lie in a strict widow’s bun, and coloring them with bright gold, seemed to confirm her unearthly origin. After laughing, she returned to her needlework, and he got up and went back to his mail.

- But you were mistaken, that no one will write to you. Here is a letter addressed to you. And very respectable,” Calder handed her a vanilla-pink envelope with a giant seal.

- Oh, this is from the priest! Only he can have such a seal... - Myfanwy was embarrassed. “I’m really ashamed of my father’s penchant for such theatrical gestures.”

She hurried to jump up to quickly take the letter, but got tangled in the blanket and, gasping, flew forward.

Calder picked her up and they both froze. Their hearts were beating wildly and in unison. And they couldn't take their eyes off each other.

Finally, Myfanwy, blushing deeply, carefully extricated herself from her brother-in-law’s embrace, stood up and took the unfortunate envelope from his limp fingers.

She read, and Calder admired her, standing in the slanting strip of the sun: even in this dull black dress she was more beautiful than all the dressed-up princesses.

Myfanwy screamed, staggered, and the letter, in a circular motion, dived to the floor. This time there was no need to grab her - she firmly dug her whitened fingers into the back of the chair.

“Father is sick...” she said quietly, pressing her folded palm to her chest and lowering her head, “he’s dying...” she said very quietly and fell down as if knocked down, whining thinly.

Now Calder didn’t hesitate - he rushed to her, sat down next to her, hugged her and whispered, cradling her:

- Do not despair. Let's believe in miracles. But leave immediately! I'll arrange for the crew.

He jerked, intending to get up, but she did not allow him to leave, like a child, she grabbed the collar of her coat and shook her head.

- No. I won't go alone. If something happens, I won’t be able to stand it.

He swallowed, driving away even the thought of such an outcome, and, taking her hand, assured:

-You won't be alone. I'm going with you.

“Thank you…” Myfanwy stopped mid-sentence, and Calder, following her gaze, noticed that his daughter-in-law’s attention was attracted by a note that had jumped out of the same envelope. Myfanwy pulled out the message and began to read. Gradually, the clouds of sadness that had descended on her tender face were broken by a smile. - This is Mouse. He writes to tell me not to take it into my head, because Father, I quote: “... he’s up to something and is doing something strange...” The mouse promised to keep me informed and let me know when things really get bad. So he writes...

“He writes very badly, I must admit,” said Calder, standing up, dusting off his trousers and extending his hand to help her up. - And who is he, this Mouse?

Myfanwy returned to her chair and, sitting down, allowed herself to relax:

“The mouse is my father’s right hand, and at the same time his brains.” He is the chief of the guard, and the first adviser, and the chancellor... But it’s easier to say who he is not. In fact, his name is Glenn Notenheim, and if he had not been at court, the priest would have long ago spent the entire budget of Llanrwst on balls and fireworks.

– But why do you call such a respectable person a strange and offensive, in my opinion, nickname? – Calder winced, making it clear how he felt about this kind of joke.

“I don’t think Glaine can be called respectable.” He’s so thin and awkward, and about your age,” she continued in the same cheerful, high spirits, “and he’s also an albino, and with red eyes!” Looks like a mouse. That's why everyone calls him that. Few people in Llanrwst seem to remember his real name. Yes, he calls himself that too. So no hard feelings.

“I guess I’ll never understand the political structure of Llanrwst,” said Calder, grunting and rustling his papers again. - The mouse is a courtier! What could be worse and more hilarious?

But the question remained unanswered. Myfanwy had barely opened her mouth to object when she was unceremoniously interrupted by the maid running into the living room, shouting:

- My lord, my lord, there! – out of breath from running, she spoke hastily, swallowing her words.

“So, Marion, what happened that you burst in here without knocking or permission?” – Granville asked in an insinuating tone, folding his arms over his chest and assuming an imperturbable look. And I must admit, given his height and width of shoulders, the spectacle turned out to be impressive.

The girl shook all over and was completely at a loss for words. Somehow she managed to blurt out:

- There's this lady... In pink ruffles... She says: your cousin. And you must save her...

“She claims her name is Granville!” What should I tell her now?

- Nothing. Stay here with my lady. And I will go down and drive this impostor away.

“Oh no, Calder, I won’t let you,” the determination on Myfanwy’s gentle face said that she would not give up on her. “Suddenly the poor girl really needs help!” We can't leave her! Paul would never do that!

- Oh yes, of course! Floor! Our Saint Paul! Protector of the orphaned and wretched! – Calder rumbled furiously.

- What are you like! How…unbearable you are! – Myfanwy gasped and, turning on her heels, grabbed Marion’s arm, heading towards the door.

“My lady,” Marion became bolder when she found herself at a safe distance from the owner, “you’re not afraid!” He’s like Dracula: thin, pale, always in black. And he’s all like: wow! I'm coming to drink your blood!

“Come on, dear Marion,” Myfanwy said upset. – Calder is a wonderful person. Only very lonely. And he’s always worried about everyone. Here everyone will become thin and pale. I also wear black, so that means I’m Dracula too?

“No,” Marion shook her head. -You are a prisoner. He has enchanted you and keeps you here in his castle. Waiting for you to wither away. And then he will marry you. Forgive you, but it’s true! – that’s what everyone calls it: the dead bride.

- Lord, Marion, what kind of superstitions are they?

Myfanwy was outraged by the prejudices. Just think: trains already run between cities, airships fly across the sky, there is a telegraph and gas lamps, and people continue to believe in various nonsense! And not ashamed!

After this conversation they went down into the hall. And then Myfanwy was almost blinded by the pink flash that immediately rushed towards her.

- Cousin! Cousin! You are a true angel!

The guest squeezed her palms in hers and shook her. Myfanwy stood on the last step and therefore seemed taller than the uninvited visitor, which gave her a somewhat patronizing look and allowed her to see her relative who had fallen out of the blue. The owner of the incredible pink dress was dazzlingly beautiful: huge blue eyes, golden curls, a thin nose, scarlet lips, porcelain skin, high breasts and a thin waist. It seemed that there was not a single flaw in it.

Myfanwy immediately felt faded and old, a true widow.

“I’m also glad to see you, dear cousin,” she said ceremoniously, as befits adult women, making a curtsey, “but, to my deepest regret, we have not yet been introduced to each other.”

- Oh-oh-oh, cousin, why all these stories and the decorous voice?! I'm Latoya Granville, or you can just say T. Are you Myfanwy? Paul was talking about you. I'll call you Maeve.

“Either you will call the mistress of this castle by her full name and add “milady,” or you will fly back to where you came from.

The coldness in Calder's voice, who came after them, made the hairs on the back of Myfanwy's neck stand up - three years ago, she had received the same unfriendly reception in this house. But while she was gathering her thoughts, choosing words to extinguish the inevitable conflict, Latoya rushed past her like a hurricane and screamed: “Coldy” threw herself on the neck of a man whom even the most loyal servants considered a servant of darkness.

Marion even backed away, muttering prayers, and Myfanwy closed her eyes, just in case.

However, the expected murder did not follow: Calder, only wincing, tore his loving relative away from him and calmly put her on the floor.

“Still, I would prefer that you express your joy less violently and do not shorten my name.” And yet, it’s customary for us to warn about visits in advance: in the castle, you know, there are no guest rooms,” he said emotionlessly.

“Don’t be a bitch, Coldy,” Latoya pouted, ignoring all of the above. “And I will never believe that in such a huge castle there is no room for me,” and innocently batted her long eyelashes.

– Where did you grow up? What kind of terrible speech and manners are this? “I’m not at all sure whether we can let you go further than the threshold: you’ll infect the whole of Glome Hill with your pink nonsense,” Calder said coldly, brushing off invisible specks of dust from his impeccable frock coat and moving away from the eccentric girl. “And there really are no extra rooms in the castle.”

Myfanwy, who was afraid that Latoya's too violent display of feelings would lead to a storm, cheered up. That mischievous girl who three years ago came face to face with the gloomy owner of Glome Hill has awakened in her again. If she were today, would she have survived then? Calder was right - the flowers fade here...

Yes, this castle knows how to drink juices!

“Don’t be angry, Calder, and be polite to your guest,” she said sternly. “Especially since Latoya can easily take over my room—I don’t need one that big.” There is a bathroom and a fireplace.

Calder narrowed his eyes angrily.

“Well, if you don’t care about your health, then I wash my hands of it,” he said calmly, although rage flared in his dark eyes. “But just try to cough and I’ll drive you away.” And I'm not kidding. Have a nice day and let me take my leave.

With these words, he spun on the spot, smearing the air with the hollow of his black frock coat, and left with an offended look. And then both ladies joined hands.

“Don’t be afraid of him,” Myfanwy said peacefully, abandoning the official tone. “And you can call me Maeve as much as you want.” Come on, I'll show you everything.

Myfanwy had one regret: Latoe had nothing to compare it to, which meant she wouldn't see how Glome Hill had changed over the years. One might say that he became a living monument to Paul... And those who sacredly fulfilled this duty of memory spared no effort to make the monastery so beloved by them prettier and prosper... And yet Myfanwy decided to try to describe to her new relative the changes that had occurred.

“Just imagine,” she began, taking Latoya by the arm and leading her up the stairs, “when I arrived here with Paul, there was dust all around, as if no one lived.” And there were no curtains... And no flowers...

– Is it really nothing at all?! – Latoya gasped.

“Absolutely,” Myfanwy confirmed, “just gray, unbleached walls and a piano.” I remember the piano well. It stood in a separate round room and was magnificent.

- You play? – Latoya almost jumped with delight.

– I used to play. Now there is no. Something died in me when Paul died. You know, I actually hate flowers. I’m just planting them... Probably for Calder... And to prove to myself that I still have a soul...

- Yes, it’s sad here. Why are you sitting there with books and conversations? And you don’t give any points?

- What kind of balls are there! I had such a nervous breakdown that I spent a year and a half in bed. I didn't want to live at all. If it weren't for Calder...

She sighed and became quiet. By then they had reached the room, and Myfanwy waved her hand.

- Make yourself comfortable.

“I’ll move into Paul’s old room.”

- And you’re not scared? “What if he... well... appears,” Latoya said in a deathly voice.

“I don’t believe in ghosts,” Myfanwy abruptly stopped her attempt to become mystical. “And then, even if he appears in front of me, I will only be glad: I’m already beginning to forget his features.”

- This is darkness!

- What do you mean?

- Yes, everything is yours! I remember Paul well. The last time he was this happy. He told me everything about you. And about Coldy. How will he introduce you? We had a good laugh then. And then we left - maman got sick and was in a hurry to get water. We arrive - and here we are!

Myfanwy gritted her teeth and clenched her fists: she would not cry in front of this pink and careless girl. Never.

“Sorry, you need to rest from the road,” Lady Granville said, turning away. She bowed slightly and ducked out the door. She rushed, without knowing the way, all the way to Paul’s room, and there she collapsed on the bed and, clutching the bedspread, began to cry as she had not cried for a long time. She pounded, tore her hair and howled, thinly and protractedly, like a wounded dog.

- Floor! Darling! Why do you?! Why?

It's hard to bury yourself alive at twenty years old.

Current page: 1 (book has 28 pages total) [available reading passage: 16 pages]

Flowers are always silent

Flowers are always silent

Yasya Belaya

Flowers are always silent

I was born a gardener, I was seriously angry, I was tired of all the flowers, except... Roses...

Rose: Oh!

Gardener: What happened to you? Rose: In love

Gardener: In whom?

Rose: To the tulip

Child Game

North Wales, Llanrwst , 1875

Brahms' "Lullaby" was played in the music salon. The sounds of a harp and a metallophone, merging, gave birth to dream fairies. They hovered in the air, showering people with golden pollen from their rainbow wings. And the music itself seemed like their singing.

A girl was crying in the front row.

She got the most magic of all, Paul decided. Golden pollen seemed to scatter over her hair and neck, powder her nose and cheeks, and linger on the tips of her eyelashes. Paul, grinning, thought: I have an advantageous position - both part of the stage and the first rows of the stalls are in full view.

The young man's gaze slid lower, noting that the neat chest of the young mourner was heaving excitedly... The girl was dressed in a simple blue dress, a lace cape emphasized her youth and grace.

Paul looked the young lady in the eyes again. In them, gray-blue, as if icy, diamonds of tears trembled.

– Imagine - she is considered here almost the first beauty! Pfft! – the voice of a portly lady standing nearby in a bright blue dress, fanning herself with a huge fan, sounded outright contempt.

“And you, as I see it,” he began cautiously, “do not agree with such an assessment?”

- Surely! – his interlocutor responded almost indignantly. – Too thin, freckled, movements too nervous and impetuous!

Paul chuckled and, looking at the reddish curls, the narrow trembling shoulders of the person in question, her sharp shoulder blades bristling at the fabric of the dress, he decided for himself that he had never met anyone more beautiful in his life. But he kept his conclusions to himself. The lady, because of her indigo-colored dress and wide forms reminiscent of a thundercloud, had no need to know that in the crowded hall of the music salon there was nothing but fabulous music, whirling leaves and a fragile girl crying with delight.

He didn’t even notice where his old counterpart had gone, and shuddered when he heard a man’s voice

Flowers are always silent

instead of female.

– I see you don’t take your eyes off her! – the plump short man in a striped three-piece had to rise on tiptoes to whisper this to Paul. – The local pearl, Myfanwy Llanrwst, daughter of the ruler. Almost a princess. Are you represented?

Paul shook his head.

“And I find such a quirk charming,” the young man smiled and extended his hand to the stranger: “Paul Granville, at your service.”

“Aaron Sparrow, I’m very glad,” he said cheerfully, returning the handshake. His hands, Paul noticed, were plump and unpleasant. - Listen, are you by any chance one of the Granvilles of Globe Hill?

- Randomly one of them.

- ABOUT! - Sparrow rejoiced, - it means you were sent to me by fate! I heard that in your area they breed wonderful goats that produce excellent wool.

– Yes, our wool is really excellent! And why do you actually need it? Forgive my tactless curiosity.

- What do you! – Sparrow raised his hands up in a conciliatory gesture. - This is fine. I only applaud curiosity in young people. A rarity in our times: usually, young people do not want to hear anything, because they believe that they already know everything. And if you come back to me, I’m a businessman, I buy and sell. So it goes.

“A speculator, more precisely,” Paul thought, but asked out loud: “What does Llanrust sell?”

Sparrow chuckled.

– Mainly beauty and harps. The cotton here is also good quality.

The music died down and Princess Myfanwy rose to thank the musicians. A blush played on her tender cheeks, and her eyes were still sparkling with tears.

-What issue are you here for? Tourist?

Paul, absorbed in the contemplation of his golden fairy, did not immediately realize that they were addressing him. But then he caught himself and shook his head:

- No, I have more of a scientific interest...

“Ah,” said Sparrow, slightly disappointed. – But I see that in addition to the scientific, you have now added the personal.

Paul became embarrassed and blushed.

“Come on, I’ll introduce you. I know her father briefly: I run a business.” Harps are at a great price in London now.

Flowers are always silent

Paul was even more confused, but he simply had no right to miss such a chance.

“My lady, allow me...” Sparrow rather unceremoniously called out to the daughter of the ruler of Llanrwst, and she turned around. For a moment, her eyes met with Paul's, and the world around her froze.

And then she came up, enveloping him in a delicate floral scent, and extended her hand. Her palm was narrow and weightless, and Paul was even afraid that he might do harm with a handshake.

But the princess warmed him with an encouraging smile, and then said, and her voice sounded like the singing of a harp yesterday - silvery and tender:

“You must kidnap me immediately, and then perhaps I will give you a kiss.”

She said and blushed deeply. And her eyes seemed to whisper: “I found you.”

And the hearts of the young people at that very moment began to beat in the same rhythm, tapping: fate…

– What are you waiting for? – the princess was slightly offended, seeing Paul’s confusion and embarrassment. - If so, I’ll steal you myself! – she said quietly but clearly, taking his hand and blushing painfully from her own insolence. “Come on,” she added more confidently and louder: “You should see them.” They just bloomed yesterday. Roses in my garden...

And he allowed himself to be taken away, knowing for sure that he would follow her even to death...

Northumberland County, Globe Hill Castle, 1878

“Myfanwy, you don’t feel sorry for yourself at all!”

Calder Granville draped a fluffy blanket over his sister-in-law's lap.

“You have absolutely no reason to worry,” embarrassed by such concern, the young woman blushed to the roots of her hair. - It’s not cold here at all...

- And that’s why your hands are icy?

He gently shook her narrow palm, very lightly, almost imperceptibly touching the white satin skin. But he immediately let go, sighed and went to the desk.

– I see you haven’t sorted the mail?

“Yes, excuse me,” Myfanwy responded quietly, “I’m a little upset that no one writes to me.”

- God! Why are you burying yourself at twenty years old!

Calder looked at her in a way that the woman clearly felt: he was angry and probably wanted to shake her properly, and he lowered his head even lower.

“Alas,” she said, dropping her knitting, “you know: I died back then...

She covered her face with her hands, and her shoulders shook with sobs.

“Forgive me,” Calder almost ran up to her and sat down by the chair. - Sorry... I shouldn't have...

His fingers cramped with the desire to hug, shelter from all troubles, console, lull...

Flowers are always silent

And he allowed himself to press his lips to the blue vein on her wrist. Weightless. Expectations of immediate punishment for insolence. But Myfanwy only smiled, slightly revealing her snow-white, but uneven, sharp teeth.

– You deserve much more! After all, thanks to you, flowers appeared in Glome Hill,” he whispered.

– You speak as if I am a flower fairy!

- In any case, they are very similar. Covered in pollen.

– No one has ever called my freckles that way.

“So, at least I’m a pioneer in something.”

Calder winked slyly, and Myfanwy laughed quietly. And the sun, entangled in her reddish curls, which stubbornly refused to lie in a strict widow’s bun, and painting them with bright gold, seemed to confirm her unearthly origin. After laughing, she returned to her needlework, and he got up and went back to his mail.

- But you were mistaken, that no one will write to you. Here is a letter addressed to you. And very respectable,” Calder handed her a vanilla-pink envelope with a giant seal.

- Oh, this is from the priest! Only he can have such a seal... - Myfanwy was embarrassed. “I’m really ashamed of my father’s penchant for such theatrical gestures.”

She hurried to jump up to quickly take the letter, but got tangled in the blanket and, gasping, flew forward.

Calder picked her up and both froze. Their hearts were beating wildly and in unison. And they couldn't take their eyes off each other.

Finally, Myfanwy, blushing deeply, carefully extricated herself from her brother-in-law’s embrace, stood up and took the unfortunate envelope from his limp fingers.

She read, and Calder admired her, standing in the slanting strip of the sun: even in this dull black dress she was more beautiful than all the dressed-up princesses.

Myfanwy screamed, staggered, and the letter, in a circular motion, dived to the floor. This time there was no need to grab her - she firmly dug her whitened fingers into the back of the chair.

“Father is sick...” she said quietly, pressing her folded palm to her chest and lowering her head, “he’s dying...” she said very quietly, and, as if knocked down, she collapsed, whining thinly.

Now Calder didn’t hesitate - he rushed to her, sat down next to her, hugged her and whispered, cradling her:

- Do not despair. Let's believe in miracles. But leave immediately! I'll arrange for the crew.

He twitched, intending to get up, but she did not allow him to leave, like a child, she grabbed the collar of her coat and shook her head.

- No. I won't go alone. If something happens, I won’t be able to stand it.

He swallowed, driving away even the thought of such an outcome, and, taking her hand, assured:

-You won't be alone. I'm going with you.

“Thank you…” Myfanwy stopped mid-sentence, and Calder, following her gaze, noticed that

Flowers are always silent

The daughter-in-law's attention was attracted by a note that jumped out of the same envelope. Myfanwy pulled out the message and began to read. Gradually, the clouds of sadness that had descended were broken by a smile on her tender face. - This is Mouse. He writes so that I don’t take it into my head to take off, because father, I quote: “... he’s up to something and is doing something strange...”. Mouse promised to keep me posted and let me know when things really got bad. So he writes...

“He writes very badly, I must admit,” said Calder, standing up, dusting off his trousers and extending his hand to help her up. - And who is he, this Mouse?

Myfanwy returned to her chair and, sitting down, allowed herself to relax:

- But why do you call such a respectable person a strange and offensive, in my opinion, nickname? – Calder winced, making it clear how he felt about this kind of joke.