دانلود رمان انگلیسی “طلوعی نو برای دختران آسیابان”، بخش اول از میراث لاک‌وود

Crash! The sound of breaking glass echoed in the stillness of the night. Startled, Verity Lockwood let the book she was reading fall from her hands, and swinging her long, slender legs over the side of the bed, she perched on the edge, uncertain as to what she should do. The sound had come from below, and with her breathing pent and her ears pricked, she waited and listened, flinching when she heard the dull thuds of heavy objects hitting hard surfaces. A glance at the clock on the mantelpiece told her it was a quarter after midnight. Had the house been broken into by robbers? Her limbs trembling, Verity crossed the bedroom floor, her feet making no sound on the thick carpet and her palm moist against the doorknob as she turned it. Inching the door ajar, she peered cautiously into the gloom on the landing then, widening the gap, she crept out to the head of the stairs and, leaning against the balustrade, she listened. The noises had ceased, the silence thickening round her. Earlier in the week, she had returned to live with her father at Far View House in Almondbury, the house where she had been born twenty-one years ago and that had intermittently been her home in between boarding school and the homes of different relatives. For the past five years, she had been residing with her aunt in Leeds, and now, feeling like a stranger in the known yet unfamiliar surroundings, she waited and listened, deliberating on what to do next. The single oil lamp in the hallway glowed eerily and Verity’s shadow performed a grotesque dance as she slowly descended the wide, sweeping staircase. In front of her, the solid oak front door was fast shut: no sign of a forced entry. Breathing a sigh of relief and wondering if she had imagined the noises, she stepped forward, the flagstones cold against her bare feet. Then, from behind the drawing-room door, she heard the sound of someone moving and almost leapt out of her skin as a strangled roar split the night. No longer afraid of robbers, she still had to steel herself before finding enough courage to open the door. ‘Father! What are you doing?’ Verity stared, shocked at the disarray. Scattered about the overturned side tables were the remains of a porcelain salver and a carved wooden cigar box, its lid askew and its contents littering the rug. Next to it, its head parted from its body, was a bronze figurine of Queen Victoria. In the hearth were the shattered remains of a large, crystal decanter. Jebediah Lockwood swayed on his feet, brandy slopping from the glass in his hand. Blearily, his eyes focused on his daughter, his expression a mixture of puzzlement and surprise as though he was trying to register who she was. His lips curled into a sneer and his florid face rutted into a malevolent glare. ‘What be thee doin’ here, tha grett, gawky witch?’ he snarled. ‘Bugger off back to bed an’ leave me in peace.’ Smarting at the insult, Verity stood her ground. ‘You’ve had too much to drink, Father. It’s you who needs to go to your bed.’ Verity’s sharp retort took Jeb by surprise. He hadn’t expected her to defy him.