Great Britain -- History -- Charles II, 1660-1685 -- Fiction; Historical fiction
The village of Crandlemar was indignant that he had allowed to
exist for so long a time the privilege of the monastery. And these
exceptions, with a hint of some foul murder committed at the castle,
reached the nobles roundabout and stirred up a general demur. Beside,
it was whispered in the shire-moot that the woman about to be espoused
by him was a rank Papist and had already placed popish pictures about
the Chapel that was contiguous to the castle. This was all that
possibly could be said against her, as she was known to be most
gracious to the poor Protestants in and about Crandlemar; giving
equally to both factions with a lavish hand. But these matters were
all brought up to militate against his lordship.
Lord Cedric was already feeling the first thrusts of his enemy,
Misfortune; for 'twas very evident that his Grace of Ellswold was
near his death. Warming-pans were of no avail. He grew very cold; his
extremities were as ice; while the attendants of his bed-chamber were
as red as cooked lobsters from the natural heat of the midsummer's day
and the steaming flannels that were brought in at short intervals.
Her Grace walked back and forth outside his door continually, Lord
Cedric joining her at times.
The Castle seemed inured to quiet by his Grace's long illness; but now
there fell a subtle silence that presaged the coming of an unwholesome
visitant. In a room apart lay Adrian Cantemir, weak and sick, but
cursing every breath he drew; excited at times to actual madness, and
saying,--Why had he come a minute too late? Why had he not followed
his own inclinations and broken away from the gambling table at the
inn an hour earlier? such thoughts making him absolutely furious.
He had arrived some time after dark at Crandlemar village, and,
putting up at the hostelry, he resolved to pay his visit to the castle
early on the morrow. He was now beginning to feel that he was destined
to gain his point, or why had he so far thwarted Lord Cedric, and why
had he escaped the anger of the monks by a well worded and quickly
manufactured tale, and even gained their help by it, when they found
him bound in the passage, left so by Buckingham. So he had felt
somewhat at ease, but love and ambition were strong and stirred him to
leave wine and cards and ride out into the open; and, unwitting it may
be, to the castle gates. He travelled without groom; so fastening his
horse, he entered the avenue a-foot, soon reaching the dark pile of
stone which appeared in absolute darkness. Aimlessly he left the
avenue and sauntered across the terraces. He had heard a peculiar low
murmuring of voices and drew near only to hear Katherine made the
wife of another man; hardly understanding until the Chaplain gave the
blessing. He knew what Katherine did not; that she was the wife of
Lord Cedric and not Sir Julian. He flung himself with all his fury
upon the bridegroom to no avail, as has been seen.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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