A Brief History of Montmaray by Michelle Cooper Read Free Book Online Page B

All those flashing looks of his, those explosive sighs, those barely reined-in gestures! All those fervent words tumbling from his lips! It’s especially galling when I compare this to the few ‘conversations’ I had with Simon yesterday, the most thrilling of which was as follows:
    Simon: Could you please pass the salt?
    Sophia: [reaches out, knocks over salt cellar] Oh, dear...
    Rebecca: [shrieks, flings spilled salt over left shoulder]
    Sophia: Sorry.
    Simon: [in the kindly tones one would use when addressing a small child or an idiot] Never mind.
    So I can’t say I blame him in the slightest for preferring to argue politics with Veronica than talk with me. In fact, I didn’t even attempt to follow their debate last night. Instead, I gave in to Henry’s pleading and read her two chapters of Johnny Hercules and the Diamond of Azoo-Beeza. This is a dreadful book that Toby sent her, full of man-eating pythons and marauding tribesmen and skeletons with tattered maps clenched between their teeth. Veronica refused to have anything to do with it, arguing that this would encourage Henry to learn to read for herself. I also suspect that if Veronica had picked it up, the historical and geographical inaccuracies would have driven her to distraction by the end of the first page. Veronica doesn’t really see the point of fiction. When I asked her what she’d thought of Pride and Prejudice, she only wondered aloud how anyone could have written a novel set in the first part of the nineteenth century without once mentioning Napoleon.
    Oh! I have just had another thought!
    What if Simon has fallen in love with Veronica? And, rather like Mr Darcy regarding Miss Elizabeth Bennet, hasn’t yet recognised his true feelings for her? Although Veronica’s more like Mr Darcy than Simon is. And actually, Simon’s brow is a bit Rochester-ish. Or even Heathcliff-ian. Well, perhaps Simon has realised how hopeless and doomed his love is (she a princess, he the mere son of a housekeeper) and has decided to mask it with a display of passionate hatred.
    Oh, Sophia. Change the subject.
    So – I am currently sitting at the kitchen table, waiting for the others to return. They’ve taken the gig out to meet the supply ship and Rebecca went because Simon did, so I am left to look after Uncle John. Fortunately, he’s asleep. I’m hoping he stays that way for a bit longer. I need all the peace and quiet I can get in here. Outside, the wind is whipping the royal standard above the gatehouse into a frenzy, and sawing the kitchen shutters back and forth (the latch has snapped off again), and an ominous rattle has started up in Vulcan’s flue. I can hear the Blue Room ghost moaning and shuffling around upstairs, too. I’ve just finished ironing the only dress that still fits me, an apron and some pillowslips. I did ask Veronica if she wanted me to do her blouses while she was gone, but she looked at me as though I’d offered to wash some toast – she can’t understand why I bother with ironing when there’s no one here who cares what we look like...
    Heavens, I nearly died of shock just then! An enormous crash sounded from Uncle John’s room! I whirled around just as the bolt rattled and shot back. Then the door creaked open an inch and a bloodshot eye appeared.
    ‘Where’s Rebecca?’ demanded the eye. Or rather, the mouth below the eye, except I couldn’t see it, what with all the grimy, tangled hair in the way.
    ‘Oh, she’s ... she’s just gone out to meet the supply ship,’ I managed when I was able to breathe again. ‘Can I get you something?’
    The eye blinked. The door wavered on its hinges.
    ‘Why don’t you sit down?’ I said. ‘And I’ll make you a cup of tea.’ I stood up, but he just shook his great, shaggy head at me. His beard straggles halfway down his chest now. Even his eyebrows have grown feral – it’s a wonder he can see at all from beneath them.
    ‘Where’s Rebecca? ’ he said again.
    ‘She won’t be