Lady Bell, volume 1 (of 3) : $b A story of last century — John Shaqi
Lady Bell, volume 1 (of 3) : $b A story of last centuryTytler, Sarah
History
Lady Bell, volume 1 (of 3) : $b A story of last century
Tytler, Sarah
Great Britain -- History -- George III, 1760-1820 -- Fiction; Historical fiction
He conducted her into a dreary unfurnished hall on a vast scale, paused
a moment, laid a flabby finger on his forehead, scratched his head under
his wig, spoke to himself, but yet as it sounded in confidence to Lady
Bell. “Curse me if I know where I had better take her first. Mrs. Die is
not to be seen at this hour, or it will be the worse for the person who
sees her. Mrs. Kitty won’t leave Mrs. Die’s room to do the honours; I
think I had better take his niece to the squire himself, though we do
interrupt his game.”
They proceeded up a spacious staircase with the walls in a grimy edition
of the original whitewash,—oak balustrades, but the space between filled
with hempen rope, and the wide steps as innocent of the application of
water as ever were the steps of stairs in any Hotel de Polignac of
Paris, or Strozzi House of Florence. They traversed gusty unmatted
corridors until they reached a room which bore some traces of
habitableness and use.
It was a moderately sized room, panelled and hung with portraits, as
Lady Bell saw when her usher threw open the door after he had knocked.
It was supplied with a carpet, table, and chairs, and had a fire blazing
behind the dogs. Two gentlemen were in the room, sitting at the table
engaged at cards, with wax candles, bottles and glasses at their elbows.
The one who faced Lady Bell as she entered was a facsimile of her
conductor, except that the last was shaggier and dirtier, but not so
bloated and pursy as his fellow. He looked up on the interruption, and,
turning his head a little, so that his side-face could not be seen by
his companion at table, winked warningly to the new-comers. The other
man, whose back was to Lady Bell, wore a velvet coat and had his hair in
powder. He grumbled resentfully before he looked round. “What the plague
do you mean by bringing any one here at this hour, Sneyd?”
“It is your niece, Lady Bell Etheredge, squire. I thought you would like
to see her at once, as Mrs. Die is not to be disturbed after supper,”
answered the squire’s butler, as if he were delivering a carefully
considered speech.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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