Read Online Quarantine: A Novel by John Smolens - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: John Smolens
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high-spirited and reluctant to heed, until the gardener took hold of the bridle. With great difficulty, Samuel dismounted,
one boot remaining caught in the stirrup, causing him to hop on
his other leg. Miranda grabbed his heel and pulled it out of the stirrup; free of the horse, Samuel lost his balance and threw his 60
q u a r a n t i n e
arms around his grandmother for support. There was applause
from staff, who had gathered at the front windows of the house.
“Dearest,” Samuel said, as he tried to kiss her cheek. He was
sweating heavily from the ride, and his high collar pinched under his soft jowls.
She pushed him away. “It’s too bloody hot for this,” she said.
“What on earth are you doing, arriving unannounced?”
“I thought you would be pleased.” He turned and bowed
toward the house, as though acknowledging an audience. “I had
the worst time getting here.”
“Fortunately, your father isn’t home.” She picked up her skirts
and started back through the gate. Samuel tried to keep up but
was having difficulty as he limped along behind her. “He’s been
infuriated by all your letters demanding more and more money.
Have you gambled it all away?”
“I’m afraid I have hit on a bad streak. So I sailed from France
to the West Indies, where it was my good fortune to find the
Miranda preparing for the journey home. I have been confined to a small cabin for days, and then so many of the crew fell ill that when we arrived the ship was placed under quarantine. Early this morning before sunrise, I managed to bribe a sailor, who lowered a small boat. I tried to row upriver to the wharves, but the current was so strong.”
“On the Merrimack one must be mindful of the tides.”
“Yes, well it was quite hopeless, and I was afraid of being
swept downriver and out to sea, until a fisherman towed me into
Ring’s Island. From there I had to take the ferry across, and then, exhausted, I obtained the services of this animal from Staley’s
Livery. I had expected to arrive in a coach—”
“Enough, child. You’re home, at least.”
“So you’ve missed me?”
“Hardly given you a thought,” Miranda said. But the fact was
she had missed him—inexplicable, really, but then he was her only grandchild. He watched her carefully for some breakdown in her
61
j o h n s m o l e n s
demeanor. She turned to the gardener, who was holding the gate
open. “See that this pathetic horse is returned.”
She led her grandson into the house. The staff had collected
in the front hall, and the women curtsied while the men bowed.
Miranda shouted, “Enough! Back to your chores. Hurry!”
“But at least bring me something to drink,” Samuel said. “I’m
fairly parched.”
They went into the dining room, where Samuel sat in a chair
and struggled to get his riding boots off.
Finally, she called out, “Cedella!”
The maid rushed into the room and assisted Samuel; the first
boot came off with little effort, but the second wouldn’t budge, and he howled. “Easy!” he cried.
Cedella turned her back to Samuel, leaned over, and took
hold of the boot. He placed his right foot on her backside and
pushed with his leg. There was a moment when they seemed
tensely joined in the most intimate fashion, and then he screamed as his bent leg thrust forward, propelling the girl across the room, where her forehead struck the mahogany highboy. She fell to
her knees, stunned, and then collapsed on the f loor, clutching
the boot to her chest.
Miranda sighed with exasperation. “Look what you’ve done.”
“It appears she’s unconscious.” Samuel carefully peeled off his
white silk stocking. “How inconvenient.”
“Really, Samuel. When you were a child, you were constantly
breaking things, expensive things, valued things. Vases, and that crystal bowl my mother had brought over from England.” She
sighed again, though it didn’t have the desired effect. Samuel was regarding the
one boot remaining caught in the stirrup, causing him to hop on
his other leg. Miranda grabbed his heel and pulled it out of the stirrup; free of the horse, Samuel lost his balance and threw his 60
q u a r a n t i n e
arms around his grandmother for support. There was applause
from staff, who had gathered at the front windows of the house.
“Dearest,” Samuel said, as he tried to kiss her cheek. He was
sweating heavily from the ride, and his high collar pinched under his soft jowls.
She pushed him away. “It’s too bloody hot for this,” she said.
“What on earth are you doing, arriving unannounced?”
“I thought you would be pleased.” He turned and bowed
toward the house, as though acknowledging an audience. “I had
the worst time getting here.”
“Fortunately, your father isn’t home.” She picked up her skirts
and started back through the gate. Samuel tried to keep up but
was having difficulty as he limped along behind her. “He’s been
infuriated by all your letters demanding more and more money.
Have you gambled it all away?”
“I’m afraid I have hit on a bad streak. So I sailed from France
to the West Indies, where it was my good fortune to find the
Miranda preparing for the journey home. I have been confined to a small cabin for days, and then so many of the crew fell ill that when we arrived the ship was placed under quarantine. Early this morning before sunrise, I managed to bribe a sailor, who lowered a small boat. I tried to row upriver to the wharves, but the current was so strong.”
“On the Merrimack one must be mindful of the tides.”
“Yes, well it was quite hopeless, and I was afraid of being
swept downriver and out to sea, until a fisherman towed me into
Ring’s Island. From there I had to take the ferry across, and then, exhausted, I obtained the services of this animal from Staley’s
Livery. I had expected to arrive in a coach—”
“Enough, child. You’re home, at least.”
“So you’ve missed me?”
“Hardly given you a thought,” Miranda said. But the fact was
she had missed him—inexplicable, really, but then he was her only grandchild. He watched her carefully for some breakdown in her
61
j o h n s m o l e n s
demeanor. She turned to the gardener, who was holding the gate
open. “See that this pathetic horse is returned.”
She led her grandson into the house. The staff had collected
in the front hall, and the women curtsied while the men bowed.
Miranda shouted, “Enough! Back to your chores. Hurry!”
“But at least bring me something to drink,” Samuel said. “I’m
fairly parched.”
They went into the dining room, where Samuel sat in a chair
and struggled to get his riding boots off.
Finally, she called out, “Cedella!”
The maid rushed into the room and assisted Samuel; the first
boot came off with little effort, but the second wouldn’t budge, and he howled. “Easy!” he cried.
Cedella turned her back to Samuel, leaned over, and took
hold of the boot. He placed his right foot on her backside and
pushed with his leg. There was a moment when they seemed
tensely joined in the most intimate fashion, and then he screamed as his bent leg thrust forward, propelling the girl across the room, where her forehead struck the mahogany highboy. She fell to
her knees, stunned, and then collapsed on the f loor, clutching
the boot to her chest.
Miranda sighed with exasperation. “Look what you’ve done.”
“It appears she’s unconscious.” Samuel carefully peeled off his
white silk stocking. “How inconvenient.”
“Really, Samuel. When you were a child, you were constantly
breaking things, expensive things, valued things. Vases, and that crystal bowl my mother had brought over from England.” She
sighed again, though it didn’t have the desired effect. Samuel was regarding the
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