Great Britain -- History -- William and Mary, 1689-1702 -- Fiction; Historical fiction
"Go out! Go out!" he cried, interrupting me in a fury. "And dinners?
And taverns? And you would be easier! D'ye know, Mr. Price, I have my
doubts about you! Ay, I have!" he continued, leering at me with his
big, cunning eyes; and now thrusting his face close to mine, now
drawing it back again. "Are you for selling us, I wonder? Mind you, if
that is your thought, two can play at that game, and I have writing of
yours. Ay, I have writing of yours, Mr. Price, and for twopence I
would send it where it will hang you. So be careful. Be careful
or--give me that coat."
Wishing that I had the courage to strike him in the back, praying that
the next word he said might choke him, hating him with a dumb hatred,
the blacker for its impotence, and for the menial services he made me
do him, I gave him the long-skirted plum-coloured coat to which he
pointed, and saw him clothe his lank ungainly figure in it, and top
all with his freshly curled wig. He bade me tie his points and fasten
on his sword; and this being done to his liking--and he was not very
easy to please--he pulled down his ruffles, and walked to and fro,
preening himself and looking a hundred times more ugly and loathsome
for the finery, with which, for the first time, I saw him bedizened.
Preparations so unusual, by awakening my curiosity as to the visitor
in whose honour they were made, diverted me from my own troubles; to
which I had done no more than return when a knock came at the outer
door. Ferguson, in a flush of exultation that went far to show that he
had entertained doubts of the visitor's coming, thrust me into the
next room; a mere closet, ill-lighted by one small window, and bare,
save for a bed-frame. Here he placed me beside the crack he had
mentioned; and whispering in my ear the most fearful threats and
objurgations in case I moved, or proved false to him, he cast a last
look round to assure himself that all was right; then he went back
into his own apartment, where through my Judas-hole I saw him pause.
The girl's departure with the luggage had left the room but meagrely
furnished; whether this and the effect it might have on his visitor's
mind struck him, or he began at the last moment to doubt the prudence
of his enterprise, he stood awhile in the middle of the floor gnawing
his nails, and listening, or perhaps thinking. The drift of his
reflections, however, was soon made clear; for on the visitor's
impatiently repeating his summons, he moved stealthily to one of the
windows--which being set in the mode of garret windows, deep in the
slope of the roof, gave little light--and by piling his cloak in a
heap on the sill, he contrived to obscure some of that little. This
done, and crying softly "Coming! Coming!" he hastened to the door and
opened it, bowing and scraping with an immense show of humility.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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