Christina Hollis Read Online Free PDF

flooded the room with summer sunlight. Through their flawed and rippling glass Madeleine could make out a sea of grass beyond, interrupted only by an island bed of colourful flowers.
    Then she noticed the books around her. From corner to corner, floor to ceiling the walls were corrugated with the deep mahogany or russet-red spines of books.
    Together with the high corniced room and sunlight streaming through the reverent silence, it made Madeleine think of church. She had stood in their porches and wondered at the sumptuous interiors many times, but had got no further. Nuns were always on hand to shoo her sort out into the rain again, but Madeleine had at least seen the beauty within.
    Adamson escorted her to a striped sofa standing beside a grand, empty fireplace. He waited for Madeleine to settle herself beside his mother. Mistress Constance took her hand and patted it reassuringly, which made her son at least attempt a smile.
    Sombre in dark coat and breeches, he stood silhouetted before the windows. Sunshafts streaked through the darkness of his hair as he inclined his head to speak.
    ‘I am afraid that matters run on apace, mademoiselle. Sadly it seems Paris is no longer safe for either residents or visitors. The mob even had the bare-faced audacity to break into the monastery of St Lazare last night!’
    Mistress Constance tutted at his words and squeezed Madeleine’s hand. Adamson’s eyes were hooded with some deep emotion, and Madeleine did not like it. He cleared his throat and continued.
    ‘They loaded up over fifty carts full of grain and flour, taking them off into the night.’
    ‘It had been hoarded to keep prices high.’
    Madeleine spoke the words with icy disdain. Regarding her for a moment, Adamson raised his eyebrows before speaking again.
    ‘Indeed, mademoiselle. And what, if anything, could you know about it?’
    Madeleine looked to Mistress Constance and smiled, conscious that red-hot revolution could hardly be thrown into the face of such a considerate hostess.
    ‘Begging your pardon, Mistress Constance, but I fear I must disagree with your son.’
    The older woman smiled. She looked across at the tall, severe form of Adamson, outlined against the brightly lit window. ‘Be my guest, my dear! But be wary—his views are always most inflammatory!’
    ‘Sir...’ Madeleine began, uncertain now despite her earlier anger. ‘Bread has cost nine sous for as long as anyone can remember. Just lately the poor of this city have seen the price rise to ten—twelve—and now fifteen sous a loaf. Each day the prices are a little higher, so their wages must be stretched a little further. They have had enough. They are finally saying “no more”.’
    To her amazement, Mistress Constance was murmuring in agreement. With this moral support, Madeleine continued. ‘Prices are forced up by places such as the monastery St Lazare hoarding grain and flour. They control the supply to suit themselves. They are wicked,’ she finished defiantly.
    Adamson folded his arms and looked at her. ‘You seem to know a great deal of this city’s politics, for a newcomer.’
    Madeleine was not to be put out. ‘It is common knowledge about the city. Do you think honest citizens would choose to run riot through the streets? When it is that or starvation they have no choice, sir.’
    Adamson allowed himself a smile. He was resplendent in expensive clothes, and Madeleine despised him for never having known what a hard day’s work meant.
    Even if he saw the poison in her eyes, Adamson replied with nothing less than good manners. ‘Have the people never heard of reason and negotiation, then, mademoiselle?’
    ‘Large, hungry families do not breed diplomats, sir.’
    ‘Touché, mademoiselle.’
    His smile fading to a wry grimace, Adamson moved to a small side-table set with a decanter and glasses. Pouring out three measures of wine, he handed the ladies a glass each, and took one for himself.
    Madeleine drained her glass before