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Sharpes Escape :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 46 из 283And I wondered, senhor ," she took a kettle off the shelf, "whether you have news of the French."
"The French are pigs," Ferragus said, "which is all you need to know, so make your tea and make some for me too."
Sarah put down the candle, opened the stove and fed kindling onto the embers. When the kindling was blazing she put more wood onto the fire. By the time the fire was properly burning there were other servants busy around the house, opening shutters and sweeping the corridors, but none came into the kitchen where Sarah hesitated before filling the kettle. The water in the big vat was bloodstained. "I'll draw some from the well," she said.
Ferragus watched her through the open door. Miss Sarah Fry was a symbol of his brother's aspirations. To Major Ferreira and his wife an English governess was as prized a possession as fine porcelain or crystal chandeliers or gilt furniture. Sarah proclaimed their good taste, but Ferragus regarded her as a priggish waste of his brother's money. A typical, snobbish Englishwoman, he reckoned, and what would she turn Tomas and Maria into? Little stuck-up copies of herself? Tomas did not need manners or to know English; he needed to know how to defend himself. And Maria? Her mother could teach her manners, and so long as she was pretty, what else mattered? That was Ferragus's view, anyway, but he had also noticed, ever since Miss Fry had come to his brother's house, that she was pretty, more than just pretty, beautiful. Fair-skinned, fair-haired, blue-eyed, tall, elegant. "How old are you?" he asked as she came back to the kitchen.
"Is it any business of yours, senhor ?" Sarah asked briskly.
Ferragus smiled. "My brother sent me here to protect you all. I like to know what I'm protecting."
"I'm twenty-two, senhor ." Sarah set the kettle on the stove, then stood the big brown English teapot close by so that the china would warm. She took down the tin caddy, then had nothing to do because the pot was still cold and the kettle would take long minutes to boil on the newly awakened fire so, abhorring idleness, she began polishing some spoons.
"Are Tomas and Maria learning properly?" Ferragus addressed her back.
"When they apply themselves," Sarah said briskly. "Tomas tells me you hit him."
"Of course I hit him," Sarah said, "I am his governess."
"But you don't hit Maria?"
"Maria does not use bad language," Sarah said, "and I detest bad language."
"Tomas will be a man," Ferragus said, "so he will need bad language.
"The French are pigs," Ferragus said, "which is all you need to know, so make your tea and make some for me too."
Sarah put down the candle, opened the stove and fed kindling onto the embers. When the kindling was blazing she put more wood onto the fire. By the time the fire was properly burning there were other servants busy around the house, opening shutters and sweeping the corridors, but none came into the kitchen where Sarah hesitated before filling the kettle. The water in the big vat was bloodstained. "I'll draw some from the well," she said.
Ferragus watched her through the open door. Miss Sarah Fry was a symbol of his brother's aspirations. To Major Ferreira and his wife an English governess was as prized a possession as fine porcelain or crystal chandeliers or gilt furniture. Sarah proclaimed their good taste, but Ferragus regarded her as a priggish waste of his brother's money. A typical, snobbish Englishwoman, he reckoned, and what would she turn Tomas and Maria into? Little stuck-up copies of herself? Tomas did not need manners or to know English; he needed to know how to defend himself. And Maria? Her mother could teach her manners, and so long as she was pretty, what else mattered? That was Ferragus's view, anyway, but he had also noticed, ever since Miss Fry had come to his brother's house, that she was pretty, more than just pretty, beautiful. Fair-skinned, fair-haired, blue-eyed, tall, elegant. "How old are you?" he asked as she came back to the kitchen.
"Is it any business of yours, senhor ?" Sarah asked briskly.
Ferragus smiled. "My brother sent me here to protect you all. I like to know what I'm protecting."
"I'm twenty-two, senhor ." Sarah set the kettle on the stove, then stood the big brown English teapot close by so that the china would warm. She took down the tin caddy, then had nothing to do because the pot was still cold and the kettle would take long minutes to boil on the newly awakened fire so, abhorring idleness, she began polishing some spoons.
"Are Tomas and Maria learning properly?" Ferragus addressed her back.
"When they apply themselves," Sarah said briskly. "Tomas tells me you hit him."
"Of course I hit him," Sarah said, "I am his governess."
"But you don't hit Maria?"
"Maria does not use bad language," Sarah said, "and I detest bad language."
"Tomas will be a man," Ferragus said, "so he will need bad language.