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The Stars My Destination ( Tiger! Tiger! ) :: Bester Alfred
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«I did a daringthing, Father. I watched the attack from the garden.»
«My dear! Alone?»
«No. With Fourmyle.»
A heavy pounding began to shake the front door which Presteign had closed.
«What's that?»
«Looters,» Presteign answered calmly. «Don't be alarmed, Olivia. They won't get in.» He stepped to a table on which he had laid out an assortment of weapons as neatly as a game of patience. «There's no danger, my love.» He tried to distract her. «You were telling me about Fourmyle. . . .»
«Oh, yes. We watched together . . . describing the bombing to each other.»
«Unchaperoned? That wasn't discreet, Olivia.»
«I know. I know. I behaved disgracefully. He seemed so big, so sure of himself, that I gave him the Lady Hauteur treatment. You remember Miss Post, my governess, who was so dignified and aloof that I called her Lady Hauteur? I acted like Miss Post. He was furious, father. That's why he came looking for me in the garden.»
«And you permitted him to remain? I'm shocked, dear.»
«I am too. I think I was half out of my mind with excitement. What's he like, father? Tell me. What's he look like to you?»
«He is big. Tall, very dark, rather enigmatic. Like a Borgia. He seems to alternate between assurance and savagery.»
«Ah, he is savage, then? I could see it myself. He glows with danger. Most people just shimmer . . . he looks like a lightning bolt. It's terribly fascinating.»
«My dear,» Presteign remonstrated gently. «Unmarried females are too modest to talk like that. It would displease me, my love, if you were to form a romantic attachment for a parvenu like Fourmyle of Ceres.»
The Presteign staff jaunted into the reception hall, cooks, waitresses, footmen, pages, coachmen, valets, maids. All were shaken and hang-dog after their flight from death.
«You have deserted your posts. It will be remembered,» Presteign said coldly. «My safety and honor are again in your hands. Guard them. Lady Olivia and I will retire.»
He took his daughter's arm and led her up the stairs, savagely protective of his ice-pure princess. «Blood and money,» Presteign murmured.
«What, father?»
«I was thinking of a family vice, Olivia. I was thanking the Deity that you have not inherited it.»
«What vice is that?»
«There's no need for you to know. It's one that Fourmyle shares.»
«Ah, he's wicked? I knew it. Like a Borgia, you said. A wicked Borgia with black eyes and lines in his face. That must account for the pattern.
«I did a daringthing, Father. I watched the attack from the garden.»
«My dear! Alone?»
«No. With Fourmyle.»
A heavy pounding began to shake the front door which Presteign had closed.
«What's that?»
«Looters,» Presteign answered calmly. «Don't be alarmed, Olivia. They won't get in.» He stepped to a table on which he had laid out an assortment of weapons as neatly as a game of patience. «There's no danger, my love.» He tried to distract her. «You were telling me about Fourmyle. . . .»
«Oh, yes. We watched together . . . describing the bombing to each other.»
«Unchaperoned? That wasn't discreet, Olivia.»
«I know. I know. I behaved disgracefully. He seemed so big, so sure of himself, that I gave him the Lady Hauteur treatment. You remember Miss Post, my governess, who was so dignified and aloof that I called her Lady Hauteur? I acted like Miss Post. He was furious, father. That's why he came looking for me in the garden.»
«And you permitted him to remain? I'm shocked, dear.»
«I am too. I think I was half out of my mind with excitement. What's he like, father? Tell me. What's he look like to you?»
«He is big. Tall, very dark, rather enigmatic. Like a Borgia. He seems to alternate between assurance and savagery.»
«Ah, he is savage, then? I could see it myself. He glows with danger. Most people just shimmer . . . he looks like a lightning bolt. It's terribly fascinating.»
«My dear,» Presteign remonstrated gently. «Unmarried females are too modest to talk like that. It would displease me, my love, if you were to form a romantic attachment for a parvenu like Fourmyle of Ceres.»
The Presteign staff jaunted into the reception hall, cooks, waitresses, footmen, pages, coachmen, valets, maids. All were shaken and hang-dog after their flight from death.
«You have deserted your posts. It will be remembered,» Presteign said coldly. «My safety and honor are again in your hands. Guard them. Lady Olivia and I will retire.»
He took his daughter's arm and led her up the stairs, savagely protective of his ice-pure princess. «Blood and money,» Presteign murmured.
«What, father?»
«I was thinking of a family vice, Olivia. I was thanking the Deity that you have not inherited it.»
«What vice is that?»
«There's no need for you to know. It's one that Fourmyle shares.»
«Ah, he's wicked? I knew it. Like a Borgia, you said. A wicked Borgia with black eyes and lines in his face. That must account for the pattern.