Great Britain -- History -- Civil War, 1642-1649 -- Fiction
Had she been his daughter and his mistress both in one, he could not
have treated her with greater respect or tenderness. Of course he set
about relieving her at once, but this was by no means such an easy
matter as Dorothy had expected. For the key of the chair was in the
black cabinet; the black cabinet was secured with one of lord Herbert's
marvellous locks; the key of that lock was in lord Herbert's pocket, and
lord Herbert was either in bed at Chepstow or Monmouth or Usk or
Caerlyon, or on horseback somewhere else, nobody in Raglan knew where.
But Caspar lost no time in unavailing moan. He proceeded at once to
light a fire on his forge hearth, and in the course of a few minutes had
fashioned a pick-lock, by means of which, after several trials and
alterations, at length came the welcome sound of the yielding bolts, and
Dorothy rose from the terrible chair. But so benumbed were all her limbs
that she escaped being relocked in it only by the quick interposition of
Caspar's arms. He led her about like a child, until at length she found
them sufficiently restored to adventure the journey to her chamber, and
thither she slowly crept. Few of the household were yet astir, and she
met no one. When she was covered up in bed, then first she knew how cold
she was, and felt as if she should never be warm again.
At last she fell asleep, and slept long and soundly. Her maid went to
call her, but finding it difficult to wake her, left her asleep, and did
not return until breakfast was over. Then finding her still asleep she
became a little anxious, and meeting mistress Amanda, told her she was
afraid mistress Dorothy was ill. But mistress Amanda was herself sleepy
and cross, and gave her a sharp answer, whereupon the girl went to lady
Broughton. She, however, being on her way to morning mass, for it was
Sunday, told her to let mistress Dorothy have her sleep out.
The noise of horses' hoofs upon the paving of the stone court roused
her, and then in came the sounds of the organ from the chapel. She rose
confounded, and hurrying to the window drew back the curtain. The same
moment lord Herbert walked from the hall into the fountain-court in
riding dress, followed by some forty or fifty officers, the noise of
whose armour and feet and voices dispelled at once the dim Sabbath
feeling that hung vapour-like about the place. They gathered around the
white horse, leaning or sitting on the marble basin, some talking in
eager groups, others folding their arms in silence, listening, or lost
heedless in their own thoughts, while their leader entered the staircase
door at the right-hand corner of the western gate, the nearest way to
his wife's apartment of the building.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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