Great Britain -- History -- Charles I, 1625-1649 -- Fiction; Historical fiction
“Indeed, your ladyship, and so there was, a rioting going on all the
night. I think the citizens of London are gone mad, brawling in the
street at hours when decent folk should be in their beds. ’T is said
that this new Parliament is the cause, but how or why I do not know.”
Although the Earl of Strafford did not quit his chamber until noontide,
he was undoubtedly concerned with affairs that demanded attention from
the greatest minister of State. There were constant runnings to and fro,
messengers despatched and envoys received, with the heavy knocker of
the door constantly a-rap. It was two hours after mid-day when Strafford
sent for his daughter, and she followed his messenger to the library,
where she found her father in his chair beside a table, although he was
equipped for going forth from the house. There had been seated before
him De Courcy, but the young man rose as she entered and greeted her
with one of his down-reaching bows which set her a-quake lest he should
fall forward on his face.
“My child,” said the Earl, “I am about to set out for Parliament, and it
may be late before I return. Yet I think you shall sup with me at seven
if all goes well and debate becomes not too strenuous; but do not wait
in case I should be detained. I counsel you not to leave the house
to-day, for there seem to be many brawlers on the streets. Any shopman
will be pleased to wait upon you and bring samples of his wares, so send
a servant for those you wish to consult. My friend De Courcy, here, begs
the favour of some converse with you, and speaks with my approval.”
Strafford looked keenly at the girl, and her heart thrilled as she
read the unspoken message with quick intuition. He had some use for De
Courcy, and she must be suave and diplomatic. Thus already she was her
father’s ally; an outpost in his vast concerns now committed to her. The
young man saw nothing of this, for he had eyes only for the girl. The
broad rim of his feathered hat was at his smirking lips, and his gaze of
admiration was as unmistakable as it was intent.
“Sir, I shall obey you in all things, and hope to win your
commendation,” said Frances with inclination of the head.
“You are sure of the latter in any case, my child,” replied Strafford,
rising. “And now, De Courcy, I think we understand each other, and I may
rely upon you.”
“To the death, my lord,” cried the young man, with another of his
courtly genuflections.
“Oh, let us hope ’t will not be necessary quite so far as that. I bid
you good-day. To-morrow at this hour I shall look for a report from you.
For the moment, good-bye, my daughter.”
No sooner was the Earl quit of the room, and the door closed behind him,
than De Courcy, with an impetuous movement that startled the girl, flung
himself at her feet. Her first impulse was to step quickly back, but she
checked it and stood her ground.
“Oh, divine Frances!” he cried, “how impatiently I have waited for this
rapt moment, when I might declare to you----”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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