The Nest of the Sparrowhawk: A Romance of the XVIIth CenturyOrczy, Emmuska Orczy, Baroness
History
The Nest of the Sparrowhawk: A Romance of the XVIIth Century
Orczy, Emmuska Orczy, Baroness
Great Britain -- History -- Commonwealth and Protectorate, 1649-1660 -- Fiction; Historical fiction
But now as they advanced, the silence seemed more broken: a distinct hum
as of many voices was soon perceptible, and anon a shrill laugh,
followed by another more deep in tone, and echoed by others which
presently died away in the distance.
By the time the two men had reached the second floor landing these many
noises had become more accentuated, also more distinct; still muffled
and subdued as if proceeding from behind heavy doors, but nevertheless
obvious as the voices of men and women in lively converse.
The newcomers gave the distinctive raps prescribed by their first
mentor, on the thick panels of a solid oak door on their left.
The next moment the door itself was thrown open from within; a flood of
light burst forth upon the gloomy landing from the room beyond, the
babel of many voices became loud and clear, and as the two men stood for
a moment beneath the lintel a veritable chorus of many exclamations
greeted them from every side.
"Walterton! begad!"
"And Overbury, too!"
"How late ye come!"
"We thought ye'd fallen a victim to Noll's myrmidons!"
It was of a truth a gay and merry company that stood, and moved,
chatted and laughed, within the narrow confines of that small
second-floor room in the gloomy house in Bath Street.
The walls themselves were dingy and bare, washed down with some grayish
color, which had long since been defaced by the grime and dust of
London. Thick curtains of a nondescript hue fell in straight folds
before each window, and facing these there was another door--double
paneled--which apparently led to an inner room.
But the place itself was brilliantly illuminated with many wax candles
set in chandeliers. These stood on the several small tables which were
dotted about the room.
These tables--covered with green baize, and a number of chairs of
various shapes and doubtful solidity were the only furniture of the
room, but in an arched recess in the wall a plaster figure holding a
cornucopia, from whence fell in thick profusion the plaster presentments
of the fruits of this earth, stood on an elevated pedestal, which had
been draped with crimson velvet.
The goddess of Fortune, with a broken nose and a paucity of fingers,
dominated the brilliant assembly, from the height of her crimson throne.
Her head had been crowned with a tall peaked modish beaver hat, from
which a purple feather rakishly swept over the goddess's left ear. An
ardent devotee had deposited a copper coin in her extended, thumbless
hand, whilst another had fixed a row of candle stumps at her feet.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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