Andrew Golding: A Tale of the Great Plague — John Shaqi
Andrew Golding: A Tale of the Great PlagueKeeling, Anne E.
General
Andrew Golding: A Tale of the Great Plague
Keeling, Anne E.
Plague -- England -- London -- Fiction
Think, however, that the troubles that now lie upon us might not have
been ours had not our father died when he did, which was the cause of
our being taken into the house of our mother's sister, Mrs. Margaret
Golding;--a happy thing we then thought it, that she would receive us,
for we were in great straits;--so I will begin my history at that sad
period.
Our father, William Dacre, was indeed a gentleman, born to a competent
estate, and married into an honest stock and to some fortune, but his
fair prospects were all blighted and our mother's money well-nigh wasted
before he died. To his great loss, he stood steadily for the king
against the Parliament all through the late Rebellion, as he would ever
call it; and, our mother's people being very stiff on the other side,
and she dying while we were little children, we were sundered from them
while our father lived. He took such care of us as he could, striving to
breed us up like gentlewomen; sometimes we lived with him in London
lodgings, sometimes were left at his manor-house of Milthorpe; but the
last two years of his life were very uneasy to him and to us.
For when the young king, Charles the Second, was brought in again, five
years agone, our father was drawn up to Court by some I will not name,
who tempted him with hopes of preferments and rewards to recompense his
loyalty. He wasted his means much through the ill counsel of these false
friends, but obtained no fruit of their promises, and at last he died
suddenly; whether broken-hearted or not I leave to the judgment of God,
and to the consciences of the men who for their own ends had betrayed
him into those vain expectations. At that time Althea was barely
nineteen, and I a little past sixteen; we had no brother nor other
sister.
We were then at Milthorpe; and thither our father was brought to be
buried. That was a black time for us. Though lately we had been kept
apart from our father, we loved him dearly, and we knew of no other
friend and protector. And when the funeral was over we could not tell
which way to turn; for we found our father's land must needs pass to the
next male heir, Mr. John Dacre, our distant cousin. He, I know not how,
had contrived to thrive where our father had decayed, and had gotten a
good share of favour at the new Court.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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