The Brading Collection

The Brading Collection Read Online Free PDF Page B

Book: The Brading Collection Read Online Free PDF
Author: Patricia Wentworth
Tags: thriller, Crime, Mystery
elegant feet in pretty, elegant shoes. And then a shapeless incongruity of figure, and the clever, ugly face with its flattened features, big chin, wide mouth, and astonishingly brilliant eyes.
    In that first glance she was reminded of a toad—something about the big hunched body, the forward thrust of the head, the wide mouth and the eyes, not bulging like a toad’s but with something about them, something that reminded her—
    All at once she knew what it was. Words flowed into her mind: “Which like the toad, ugly and venomous, wears yet a precious jewel in his head.” Myra Constantine’s eyes were like the fabulous jewel, full of black fire. A voice that was almost as deep as a man’s said,
    “Well, Milly?” And then, “How do you do, Miss Mainwaring?” She put out a hand that felt square and strong. “I don’t get up, because it is rather a performance. Come and sit down and have a good look at me. I’m an ugly old devil, but I daresay you get tired of painting pretty-pretties. Girls are all too much alike, especially nowadays—clothes, figures and complexions planned, controlled, and mass-produced. Het, ring for tea!” She waved a hand. “My daughter Hester.” Then, with a grimace, “Miss Constantine.”
    Stacy shook hands with a tall, limp woman. There was a look of Lady Minstrell, but no more—older, meek, bullied, without colour or individuality. Stacy gave her a glance, and realized that that was all Hester Constantine would ever get from anyone whilst her mother was in the room. If she had worn scarlet to old Myra’s black, she wouldn’t have been noticed. But it was Myra who flaunted the loose coat of cherry silk over a gay flowered dress. She fixed her brilliant eyes on Stacy.
    “Well, what about it? Are you going to paint me?”
    This was the moment to explain that she simply couldn’t stay, and it was quite impossible to do it. Myra Constantine had asked her in so many words if she was too ugly to paint, and if she came out with “I’ve got to get back to town,” it was as much as to say, “Well, yes, you are.” And it wouldn’t be true. She’d be the most marvellous subject, just as she was, in that red coat, with the fuzz of white hair standing up in a golliwog frill. The artist in Stacy took charge. Her eyes shone as she leaned forward and said in most convincing tones,
    “Oh, may I? I’d love to! You’d be marvellous to paint!”
    Myra Constantine chuckled.
    “That’s the stuff! And now you and me’ll have a talk.” She turned her head for a moment. “Milly, you and Het can go and have your tea in the lounge. Me and Miss Mainwaring’s going to have a talk.”
    The tall, imposing Lady Minstrell came to lay her hand on her mother’s shoulder, and said, “Yes, Mama,” in the voice of an obedient little girl. And then the tea came in and she and her sister went out.
    Mrs. Constantine took charge. It was a substantial tea. When she wasn’t pouring out she was eating with gusto, and whether she was pouring or eating she hardly ever drew breath.
    “Now you just make a good tea. I’ve always liked my tea, and always shall. ‘You may keep your cocktails,’ that’s what I said when they come in. ‘Keep ’em and welcome,’ I said, ‘I’ll stick to a nice cuppa.’ ” She shot a malicious glance at Stacy. “Vulgar old woman, ain’t I? Well, I can talk common, and I can talk fine if I want to.” Voice and manner altered in a flash. “I’m sure you must have had a dreadfully hot journey, Miss Mainwaring. Let us each take one of these small sandwiches and talk about the weather.” She dropped back with a grin. “There—I can talk exactly like the Minstrells if I want to. Milly’s in-laws, you know—perfectly well bred and damnably dull. She’s made herself over to suit. ‘Yes, Mama. No, Mama. Dear Mama, it’s time for your rest.’ ” The mimicry was perfect.
    “Tchah!” said Myra Constantine with violence. And then, “Oh, well, she’s a good
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