The Lion's Daughter Read Online Free PDF

two
visits: one long stay in Venice while Sir Gerald was away, seeking a
villa in southern Italy, and one brief visit a few days before Lady
Brentmor died. From innocent remarks Percival made — in
between extolling his uncle's endless virtues — Varian
guessed that Jason Brentmor had been more than a brother-in-law to
Diana.
    Varian
could hardly blame her for infidelity to a husband like Sir Gerald.
Nor was he shocked that the lover was her brother-in-law. On the
contrary, the news was welcome. Varian had suspected her life was
unhappy, even apart from her illness. He felt an odd relief that
someone had made her happy for a while.
    “Well,
I'm delighted you had a chance to meet this splendid uncle,”
Varian said when the tale was done. “However, it grows late,
and you ought to make an early bedtime if we're to tour the Church of
St. Nicholas tomorrow.” Varian had his own tour planned for
this night: a leisurely exploration of the charms of a certain
dark-eyed lady he'd encountered at the Castle of Bari.
    “But
I haven't told you the terrible thing I did,” Percival said,
his green eyes downcast.
    “I
am hardly the father confessor,” Varian answered with a tinge
of impatience. “So long as you don't dissect your various
specimens upon the table at mealtimes, or fill my bed with your
rocks, your sins are of little moment —”
    “I
gave him the black queen,” Percival said in a choked voice. “By
accident, I mean. But if Papa finds out he'll — he'll
send me to school in India. He's threatened that hundreds of times,
but Mama wouldn't let him.”
    Varian
had risen, preparatory to carrying Percival over his shoulder to bed
if need be. Now he sat back down. After endless searching, the black
queen had finally been presumed
    stolen,
and Sir Gerald had mentioned offering a thousand pounds for its
return. Varian could not believe his ears. He gazed at Percival with
narrowed eyes. “You what!”
    “I
meant to give Uncle Jason my rock — the
one with the green streaks and the little knobby—”
    “The
rock's unique characteristics do not appear pertinent,” Varian
interrupted.
    “I
beg your pardon, sir. Quite right. They're not — well,
not at present, I agree. The fact is, we were in the study. How we
got there is not pertinent either, I believe?” Percival asked,
looking up hopefully.
    “Not
at present.”
    “Well,
that's a relief, because —”
    “Percival.”
    “Yes,
sir, indeed. To put it as succinctly as possible: I bumped into the
chess table and knocked some pieces over. In my agitated state — for
Papa would be most —” He caught Var-ian's eyes and went
on hurriedly, “Well, I must have wrapped the black queen in
Uncle Jason's handkerchief by mistake, because later I found the rock
was still in my pocket. When Papa told us the queen was gone, I knew
what had happened. But I couldn't tell him, could I?”
    If
the queen was in Jason's possession, then it was in Albania by now,
hopelessly beyond the reach of a penniless nobleman.
    “I
suppose not.” Varian rose once more. “I'm sure you're
emotionally drained by this confession, Percival, and most anxious to
rest.”
    Percival
gazed at him consideringly. “Actually, now I've confessed, I
feel obliged to do something.”
    “Yes.
Go to bed.”
    “What
I mean is, we could get her back. That is to say, she is worth a thousand quid to Papa
and” — he
flung his arm eastward — ”she's
right over there, you know.”
    “ 'Over there' is the Ottoman Empire.
Don't be absurd, Percival. Unless your uncle chooses to return it,
the queen is gone for good.”
    “It
takes only a day or two to sail there,” Percival said. “Uncle
Jason lives right on the coast. We wouldn't have to go into the country. Simply stop at the
port, as scores of ships do every day, from everywhere.”
    “We?”
Varian repeated. “If you think I'm hiring a vessel to travel to Albania with
a twelve-year-old boy, his father's sole heir —”
    “Papa
would pay you