The foster-sisters : $b A story in the days of Wesley and WhitfieldGuernsey, Lucy Ellen
History
The foster-sisters : $b A story in the days of Wesley and Whitfield
Guernsey, Lucy Ellen
Evangelical Revival -- England -- History -- 18th century -- Fiction; Historical fiction; Young women -- Fiction
Captain Lovelace had been in the box all the evening, and had full
possession of her ladyship's ear and attention. I fancy from words that
I caught, that there was some political intelligence going among them.
I saw that many of the ladies wore white ribbons, and other red; while
a few seemed to have tried to make a compromise between the two.
"What ails you, child?" said my lady somewhat sharply, as the play
being at last concluded, she had time to notice me. "You are as white
as a ghost."
"Lucy has a bad headache, madame!" said Amabel, seeing that I was
trying in vain to speak.
"A headache! Oh that is nothing—and yet it might be the beginning of an
illness too!" added her ladyship. "Where had you been when I met you
this afternoon?"
"To visit a poor sick woman, madame."
"A poor sick woman—very likely she had smallpox or something, and here
you have been sitting with me all this time!" exclaimed her ladyship:
"Who knows what I may have caught."
"The poor woman had nothing infectious," Amabel began, but Lady
Throckmorton cut her short—
"There! Don't talk to me child—Williams, take these young ladies to
Mrs. Thorpe's, and come back for me as quickly as you can; and mind you
open all the glasses of the carriage. There! Good-night."
I hardly know how Williams made a passage for us through the crowd,
but he did somehow, and we were quickly carried to Mrs. Thorpe's door,
which indeed, was not far off. The good woman was up, and opened to
us before the lackey had time to knock. She received us in absolute
silence, and led the way to our room, where she lighted our candles,
and turning round she addressed us with emphasis.
"Young ladies, I excuse you this time, seeing that you were, so to
speak, taken at unawares; but this a thing that must never happen
again; your aunts, who have known me for many years, have seen fit to
place you under my care, and to me, you must be accountable, as much
so, as the youngest apprentice I have. I would not have a young maiden
in my house on any other terms—no! Not if she were the Queen's own
daughter. You know my conditions now, and I expect you to abide by
them."
She bade us a short good-night, and was turning away, when Amabel
made bold to ask her for some drops for my head. She was all sympathy
directly, helped me to undress, and brought me I knew not what of
smelling-salts and Hungary water.
The kindness set me off into the fit of hysterical crying, which had
been impending all the evening. Mrs. Thorpe dosed me with sal volatile,
and sat by me till I fell asleep, to be tormented half the night with
horrible dreams, in which I was alternately a fly, a mouse, and a
persecuted Methodist; and Lady Throckmorton a spider, a fly, and a mad
bull, intent on sending me for a soldier.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER X.
MRS. DEBORAH.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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