The Courtship of Morrice Buckler: A Romance — John Shaqi
The Courtship of Morrice Buckler: A RomanceMason, A. E. W. (Alfred Edward Woodley)
History
The Courtship of Morrice Buckler: A Romance
Mason, A. E. W. (Alfred Edward Woodley)
Great Britain -- History -- James II, 1685-1688 -- Fiction; Historical fiction
By this time we had got to Elmscott's house. He drew a key from his
pocket and mounted the steps thoughtfully, and I after him. On the
last step, however, he turned, and laying a hand upon my shoulder, as
I stood below him, said, with a very solemn gravity: "There is God's
hand in all this. He doth not intend you should go. In His great
wisdom He doth not intend it. He would punish the guilty, and He would
spare you who are innocent."
"But what harm can come to me?" I cried, with a laugh; though, indeed,
the laugh was hollow as the echo of an empty house.
"That lies in the dark," said he. "But 'tis no common aid Julian
Harnwood asks from you. He has friends enough in England. Why should
he send to Holland when his time's so short?" And then he added with
more insistent earnestness: "Don't go, lad! If any one could avail,
'twould be Marston. He has power in Bristol. And you see, he bides
quietly in London."
"But methinks he was never well-disposed to Julian," said I,
remembering certain half-forgotten phrases of my friend. "He looked
but sourly on the marriage."
"Very well," said he, with a shrug of the shoulders. "Must make your
own bed;" and he opened the door, and led me through the hall and into
a garden at the back. At the far end of this the stables were built,
and we crossed to them. "The rascals are still asleep," he remarked,
and proceeded to waken them with much clanging of the bell and shouts
of abuse. In a while we heard a heavy step stumbling down the stair.
"I had meant to have a fine laugh at you over this," said Elmscott,
with a rueful smile. "But I have no heart for it now that I know your
errand."
An ostler, still blinking and drowsy, opened the door. He rubbed his
eyes at the sight of his master.
"Don't stand gaping, you fish!" cried my cousin. "Whom else did you
expect to see? Show us to the stables."
The fellow led us silently into the stables. A long row of boxes stood
against the wall, all neatly littered with straw, but to my
astonishment and dismay, so far as I could see, not one of them held a
horse.
"She's at the end, sir," said the groom; and we walked down the length
of the boxes, and halted before the last.
"Get up, lass!" and after a few pokes the animal rose stiffly from its
bed. For a moment I well-nigh cried from sheer mortification. Never in
all my comings and goings since have I seen such a parody of Nature,
not even in the booths of a country fair. 'Twas of a piebald colour,
and stood very high, with long thin legs. Its knees were, moreover,
broken. It had a neck of extraordinary length, and a huge, absurd head
which swung pendulous at the end of it, and seemed by its weight to
have dragged the beast out of shape, for the line of its back slanted
downwards from its buttocks to its shoulders.
"This is no fair treatment," I exclaimed hotly. "Elmscott, I deserve
better at your hands. 'Tis an untimely jest, and you might well have
spared yourself the pleasure of it."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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