Mistress Spitfire: A Plain Account of Certain Episodes in the History of Richard Coope, Gent., and of His Cousin, Mistress Alison French, at the Time of the Revolution, 1642-1644
History
Mistress Spitfire: A Plain Account of Certain Episodes in the History of Richard Coope, Gent., and of His Cousin, Mistress Alison French, at the Time of the Revolution, 1642-1644
Great Britain -- History -- Civil War, 1642-1649 -- Fiction
“Then go, dear Anthony,” I said. “But stay, there are two other
matters--I do not like the notion,” I said, looking about me
with an air of distaste, “of spending my wedding night in this
house--could not we ride to your own house at Foxclough immediately
after the ceremony? I should find that much to be preferred,
cousin.”
“Why,” said he, “’tis a ten mile ride--and the old place is but
poorly furnished--but since you wish it, cousin, I will despatch
one of my men with strict orders to have it prepared for our
reception during the night.”
“And your other man?” said I, “will you leave him here to protect
me?--old Jasper is but a poor guard, and there is no one but
Barbara and myself in the house.”
“Agreed,” said he. “And now I must hasten--egad, the time will go
but slow till I return with the parson, fair coz!”
“Hasten!” said I, “you must fulfil your bargain if you would gain
your prize. Nay,” I said, seeing that he was minded to embrace me,
“lose no time, cousin--I shall be impatient for your return,” and
I gave him a smile as he went out of the door that was intended
to encourage him. I watched him across the kitchen and saw that
he spoke to the two men; then he rode out of the courtyard and I
returned to the parlour, calling Barbara to attend me there. And
we had no sooner entered and closed the door than I swooned, the
excitement of the scene I had just gone through proving too much
for me to bear any longer.
“This will not do,” I said when Barbara had brought me round, and I
sat up feeling somewhat recovered. “There is still much that I must
undertake.” I began to plot and plan afresh, telling old Barbara
sufficient of what was going on to explain my anxiety to her. Truly
I was by that time in a sad condition, for there was first the fear
lest Dick should already be beyond my help, and second, the thought
that my plans should miscarry ere they could be worked out as I
wished. “’Tis a desperate game,” I said to myself, “Heaven help me
to play it to the end and give me success!” And therewith I began
to consider my next movement.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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