eBooks - Fantasy - Fantasy - Amanda Hemingway - The Poisoned Crown
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RIPPLES "Define the Irish Question between 1800 and 1917," Nathan read aloud. "If we knew the question," his mother said, "we might be able to work out the answer." "I don't think that'll satisfy Mr. Selkirk," Nathan said, sighing. He pushed his history essay aside and replaced it with a plate of buttered toast with honey and cinnamon, a recipe of his uncle's. The honey had oozed just the right distance through the toast and he bit into it with enthusiasm, if a little absentmindedly. His mother noted his abstraction and knew or guessed the reason, but was prudent enough to say nothing. He was fifteen now, too told to press for confidences. She only hoped, if there was trouble, he would tell her in the end. The summer had been long and uneventful, a summer of normal teenage preoccupations: success (and failure) at cricket, doing homework, not doing homework, friends, fads, hormonal angst. They had managed a trip to Italy, looking at palaces and pictures in Florence and then staying with Nathan's classmate Ned Gable and his family in a villa in Umbria. Annie had feared they would never afford their share of the rental but somehow Uncle Barty had found the money, though he wouldn't accompany them. These days he rarely left the old manor at Thornyhill, deep in the woods. Yet he wasn't really a stay-at-home sort of person. He had told Annie once that he was born in Byzantium before the fall of the Roman Empire, which, she worked out, made him about fifteen hundred years old. He called himself Bartlemy Goodman, though it was probably not his name. She might have thought him mad or unusually eccentric if she hadn't known him so well and seen wh... |
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eBooks - Titles - Authors - Fantasy - Fantasy - Amanda Hemingway - The Poisoned Crown