The extraordinary confessions of Diana PleaseCapes, Bernard
General
The extraordinary confessions of Diana Please
Capes, Bernard
Femmes fatales -- Fiction; France -- Fiction; Historical fiction; Naples (Kingdom) -- Fiction; Women -- Fiction
“Stop, you sot!” screamed he, “or I’ll nail your ears to the table!”
The fellow ceased dead, and in a moment came staggering out with a
furious face. He was a coarse, blotched ruffian, and as drunk as
David’s sow.
“What, the ’ell,” said he, lurching up his words; “ain’t one song as
good as another in this here bordel, mister?”
Bob struck like Harlequin, and the wretch went down. I had once before
heard the smack of flesh on flesh, and it made my blood jump.
There was a fine uproar: we had all risen to our feet; and in the
midst I observed the girl (we had forgot the creature had a companion)
slip out of the box and away, taking advantage of the confusion to mix
with the crowd. I just saw her white face melt from me, and gave one
gasp, and started in pursuit. My companions called; but I took no
notice, and was lost in a moment.
She was making for the Druid’s Walk, unheeding my cries in her
blindness. But in a little she began to falter, and then to sway, and
I came up with her, and caught her into my arms.
“Patty!” I whispered, frantic, “Patty!”
She looked at me quite dumb and bewildered, the poor thing; and then
sighed, and mechanically put her hair back from her temples.
“Patty!” I urged again, “don’t you know me?”
And at that, all of a sudden she had burst into tears, and was
clinging to me.
“Is it you, Diana?” she sobbed, “really you at last? O, I have so
longed, since we came, and I knew you was here in London! Take me
away; don’t let me be carried back.”
She was near choking me with her arms.
“Hush!” I said. “What have they been doing with you? Pish, child! that
was never--no, no; with all your softness, you couldn’t be such a
fool. Who the deuce was it, then? Now, don’t answer; but come with me
where we can talk.”
We were already being accosted and offered genteel squiring. The child
held to me, terrified, while I laughed, and convoyed her in safety to
the open, where we were lucky to encounter one of my party.
“Is it over?” I asked.
“O, faith!” he answered, quizzing my friend, “the manster’s floored;
and Parseus refreshing himself on Roman panch; and here, by my soul,
’s Andrameda come to give thanks to her presarver.”
“Well,” I said, “Andromeda’s in better hands for the present; so you
must e’en take us where we can talk private, while you mount guard.”
He looked mightily astonished; but, obeying, conducted us to the
farthest limits of the grounds--where was little company but the
keepers, put to restrain interlopers from the fields beyond--and there
set us on a seat, and withdrew. And the moment we were alone, I took
the girl and held her at arm’s length.
She was the same as ever, though her figure grown a thought too full
for perfection, perhaps. But there were the soft, bashful eyes, and
the naïve face, too white under its dark hair, that I loved so well.
“So,” I said, nodding my head, “we meet again, like the town and
country mice. And are you still under her dominion, you little brown
frump?”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account