Read Online Jewel of the Thames (A Portia Adams Adventure) by Angela Misri - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Angela Misri
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to suck in all the knowledge and experience this room had to offer?
I already had the keen observational mind (or so I flattered myself). I simply needed to add to this the knowledge of crimes and law that was readily available around me in the books on the shelves and the daily newspapers I read every single day.
I followed stories from stunning crime to eventual solution, making my own notes and cutting out articles to paste into my notebooks. When a crime went unsolved for weeks, I would badger Brian Dawes for details, determined to prove myself worthy of my newly discovered ancestral heritage. If I did that, maybe I could stop thinking about my mother and the years she spent alone after losing my father and then her mother. Even when she remarried, she spent most of her time with me, her new husband quickly returning to his old habits of drinking and gambling after their marriage. Maybe some distance from thinking about my mother’s motivations would allow me to better understand her. By walking in her father’s footsteps for a while I might, through a different route, come to understand why she didn’t pursue their relationship, even after discovering who he was.
“Mrs. Jones?” I asked one evening as we sat in front of my fireplace.
“ Mmm?” she replied, shaking herself awake from her light slumber in the wingback chair next to mine.
“ Was there something wrong with Dr. Watson?” I asked, leaning forward so that my elbows were on my knees. “And by wrong, I don’t mean physically. I mean was there something about him that would make my mother not want to reach out to him?”
Mrs. Jones looked taken aback for a moment. “John Watson was a gentleman, Portia, a doctor with a spotless reputation and a kindness I have described to you in detail. I’m not sure where you could be getting this idea from that there was something wrong with him.”
I leaned back, a little frustrated. “There has to be a reason my mother chose not to get in contact with him once her mother died.”
She shrugged, leaning toward the fireplace with the poker. “As I’ve said before, speculating about your mother’s motivations is a waste of time. I think it’s far more important to focus on you, and now, than on her back then.”
“Do you think she felt rejected?” I asked, wrapping my arms around myself at the thought. “That maybe my grandfather didn’t want her. Or didn’t want us?”
Mrs. Jones sighed loudly, drawing my attention back to her face. “See, this is exactly what I was talking about — this obsession with dwelling on people who are dead and gone, and whose actions are now irrelevant…”
She trailed off and I started to feel a little foolish. Maybe I was dwelling in the past. Maybe my new guardian was right.
“ I would hate for this obsession to become a driving force in your life, Portia,” she continued, adjusting herself more comfortably in her chair. “Is it the study of law that is reminding you so much of Watson? Or is it these rooms? Because the college has a very convenient dormitory if you prefer. It is very early in your education, you know. We have plenty of time to reconsider your focus. There is, I believe, a program in literature — you do so love to read. Or botany?”
My head snapped up at that. “Oh, no, ma’am, that is entirely unnecessary. Honestly, I am so thankful that you are providing me the financial ability to attend the college, and I am perfectly happy to be living here. Really I am.”
She waved her hands in that way she had, the palms soft and wrinkly even in the firelight. “Don’t be silly, my girl, I only seek to provide you with options, not directives. If this is what you want to do, to be a lawyer, to work in the legal field, I am with you. But I suggest that you focus your attention on that present situation lest it be distracted by ghosts from the past. We have both, after all, been witness to your dips into depression…”
She was right in that,
I already had the keen observational mind (or so I flattered myself). I simply needed to add to this the knowledge of crimes and law that was readily available around me in the books on the shelves and the daily newspapers I read every single day.
I followed stories from stunning crime to eventual solution, making my own notes and cutting out articles to paste into my notebooks. When a crime went unsolved for weeks, I would badger Brian Dawes for details, determined to prove myself worthy of my newly discovered ancestral heritage. If I did that, maybe I could stop thinking about my mother and the years she spent alone after losing my father and then her mother. Even when she remarried, she spent most of her time with me, her new husband quickly returning to his old habits of drinking and gambling after their marriage. Maybe some distance from thinking about my mother’s motivations would allow me to better understand her. By walking in her father’s footsteps for a while I might, through a different route, come to understand why she didn’t pursue their relationship, even after discovering who he was.
“Mrs. Jones?” I asked one evening as we sat in front of my fireplace.
“ Mmm?” she replied, shaking herself awake from her light slumber in the wingback chair next to mine.
“ Was there something wrong with Dr. Watson?” I asked, leaning forward so that my elbows were on my knees. “And by wrong, I don’t mean physically. I mean was there something about him that would make my mother not want to reach out to him?”
Mrs. Jones looked taken aback for a moment. “John Watson was a gentleman, Portia, a doctor with a spotless reputation and a kindness I have described to you in detail. I’m not sure where you could be getting this idea from that there was something wrong with him.”
I leaned back, a little frustrated. “There has to be a reason my mother chose not to get in contact with him once her mother died.”
She shrugged, leaning toward the fireplace with the poker. “As I’ve said before, speculating about your mother’s motivations is a waste of time. I think it’s far more important to focus on you, and now, than on her back then.”
“Do you think she felt rejected?” I asked, wrapping my arms around myself at the thought. “That maybe my grandfather didn’t want her. Or didn’t want us?”
Mrs. Jones sighed loudly, drawing my attention back to her face. “See, this is exactly what I was talking about — this obsession with dwelling on people who are dead and gone, and whose actions are now irrelevant…”
She trailed off and I started to feel a little foolish. Maybe I was dwelling in the past. Maybe my new guardian was right.
“ I would hate for this obsession to become a driving force in your life, Portia,” she continued, adjusting herself more comfortably in her chair. “Is it the study of law that is reminding you so much of Watson? Or is it these rooms? Because the college has a very convenient dormitory if you prefer. It is very early in your education, you know. We have plenty of time to reconsider your focus. There is, I believe, a program in literature — you do so love to read. Or botany?”
My head snapped up at that. “Oh, no, ma’am, that is entirely unnecessary. Honestly, I am so thankful that you are providing me the financial ability to attend the college, and I am perfectly happy to be living here. Really I am.”
She waved her hands in that way she had, the palms soft and wrinkly even in the firelight. “Don’t be silly, my girl, I only seek to provide you with options, not directives. If this is what you want to do, to be a lawyer, to work in the legal field, I am with you. But I suggest that you focus your attention on that present situation lest it be distracted by ghosts from the past. We have both, after all, been witness to your dips into depression…”
She was right in that,
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