The Lady of Loyalty House: A Novel

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McCarthy Justin Huntly. The Lady of Loyalty House: A Novel

PROLOGUE

I. THE STRANGER AT THE GATES

II. HARBY

III. MY LORD THE LADY

IV. THE LEAGUER OF HARBY

V. A MONSTROUS REGIMENT

VI. HOW WILL ALL END?

VII. MISTRESS AND MAN

VIII. THE ENVOY

IX. HOW THE SIEGE WAS RAISED

X. PRISONER OF WAR

XI. AT BAY

XII. A USE FOR A PRISONER

XIII. A GILDED CAGE

XIV. A PASSAGE AT ARMS

XV. MY LADY’S PLEASAUNCE

XVI. A PURITAN APPRAISED

XVII. SET A KNAVE TO CATCH A KNAVE

XVIII. SERVING THE KING

XIX. SIR BLAISE PAYS HIS RESPECTS

XX. SIR BLAISE PAYS HIS PENALTY

XXI. A PUZZLING PURITAN

XXII. MASTER PAUL AND MASTER PETER

XXIII. A DAY PASSES

XXIV. A HIGH COURT OF JUSTICE

XXV. ROMEO AND JULIET

XXVI. RESURRECTION

XXVII. THE KING’S IMAGE

XXVIII. LOVER AND LOVER

XXIX. THE KING MAKES A FRIEND

XXX. RUFUS PROPOSES

XXXI. HALFMAN DISPOSES

EPILOGUE

Отрывок из книги

In the October of 1642 there came to Cambridge a man from over-seas. He was travelling backward, after the interval of a generation, through the stages of his youth. From his landing at the port whence he had sailed so many years before in chase of fortune he came to London, where he had bustled and thundered as a stage-player. Here he found a new drama playing in a theatre that took a capital city for its cockpit. He observed, sinister and diverted, for a while, and, being an adaptable man, shifted his southern-colored garments, over-blue, over-red, over-yellow in their seafaring way, for the sombre gray surcharged with solemn black. A translated man, if not a changed man, he journeyed to the university town of his stormy student hours, and there the black in his habit deepened at the expense of the gray. In the quadrangle of Sidney Sussex College he meditated much on the changes that had come about since the days when Sidney Sussex had expelled him, very peremptorily, from her gates. The college herself had altered greatly since his day. The fair court that Ralph Symons had constructed had now its complement in the fair new court of Francis Clerke. The enlargement of his mother-college was not so marvellous to him, however, as the enlargement of one among her sons. A fellow-commoner of his time had, like himself, come again to Cambridge, arriving thither by a different road. This fellow-commoner was now the member in Parliament for Cambridge, had buckled a soldier’s baldric over a farmer’s coat, had carried things with a high hand in the ancient collegiate city, had made himself greatly liked by these, greatly disliked by those.

Musing philosophically, but also observing shrewdly and inquiring as pertinaciously as dexterously, our traveller made himself familiar with places of public resort, sat in taverns where he tasted ale more soberly than was his use or his pleasure, listened, patently devout, to godly exhortations, and implicated himself by an interested silence in strenuous political opinions. From all this he learned much that amazed, much that amused him, but what interested him most of all had to do with the third stage of his retrospective pilgrimage. If he had not been bound for Harby eventually, what came to his ears by chance would have spurred him thither, ever keen as he was to behold the vivid, the theatrical in life. Women had always delighted him, if they had often damned him, and there was a woman’s name on rumor’s many tongues when rumor talked of Harby. So it came to be that he rode sooner than he had proposed, and far harder than he had proposed, through green, level Cambridgeshire, through green, hilly Oxfordshire, with Harby for his goal. Chameleon-like, he changed hues on the way, shifting, with the help of his wallet, back into a gaudier garb less likely to be frowned on in regions kindly to the King.

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This order was obeyed indifferently and tamely enough by all save the egregious Mrs. Satchell, who delivered so lusty a thrust with her weapon that Halfman was obliged to skip back briskly to avoid bringing his breast acquainted with her steel.

“Nay, woman, warily!” he shouted, half laughing, half angry. “Play your play more tamely. I am no rascally Roundhead.”

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