Great Britain -- History -- Charles II, 1660-1685 -- Fiction; Historical fiction
"I find naught here of bread or butter, Mistress Penwick; we will have
to seek elsewhere!"
"And thou wilt not have far to seek, my lord; my whey sits freshly
made upon the cellaret in yonder closet adjoining; if thou wilt be so
kind as to bring it hither, Janet will provide me with bread," and
Katherine looked triumphant.
"I would first learn whom I follow. Who hath so cavalierly concocted
it for thee at this late hour? Where is the person, my lady?"
"One who is in the habit of following thy orders; but at mine he hath
made it; 'twas Tompkins." Her voice rung with so much of truth, his
Lordship was satisfied and looked at her with a lighter heart; then,
as she pointed toward the door--a mute command for him to bring the
whey--he frowned and drew back and spoke,--
"Hiary will bring it thee, for 'tis said a hand put forth by an angry
heart doth curdle that it toucheth and--I am of no mind to be either
kind or courteous." At these words, the colour that had come into
Katherine's face a moment before, left it.
As Hiary turned to do his lord's bidding, a door opened and Tompkins
entered with a lighted candle and large basket. Seeing the unexpected,
coughed to hide his confusion; indeed he knew not which way to turn,
when his Lordship walked to his side and raised the cover of the
basket and looked within.
"It appears that 'twas a feast thou wert preparing;--everything
suitable for a full meal. Here is fowl and cheese and mutton tarsal
and bread and ale,--Egad! we shall not want now, shall we, Mistress
Penwick? Set the table, Tompkins!"
"Ah!" came in an asperate tone from the now trembling and frightened
maid. His Lordship heard it and saw her turn white and tremble. Slowly
he walked to the hearthstone, eyeing her askance, then he swept his
brow where the cold perspiration lay in beads;--then turned to her
again with a world of love for her in his eyes and a great crushing
self-pity; and the menials looked away from the abject misery they
beheld in their lord's face; Tompkins fumbled nervously with his
burden, daring not to look up; Janet leant forward, intent, pained,
sorrowing, scanning the two countenances she loved best on earth. His
Lordship stretched forth his arms and with a great sob that broke upon
that one word "Kate," he took a step forward and essayed again to
speak, but the words would not come. Then with a great effort he
seemed to fling all tenderness from him and spoke most harshly,--
"Where hast thou hid thy lover, Mistress Penwick, tell me where he
is!" She drew herself up quickly to her full height and smiled, for
this was one thing and she had thought another, and the reality was
better than her fancy. And she said, as she drew a long, relieved
breath,--
"He is safe, my lord!"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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