Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. Peveril of the Peak by Walter Scott (sci fi books to read .txt) 📖
- Author: Walter Scott
Book online «Peveril of the Peak by Walter Scott (sci fi books to read .txt) 📖». Author Walter Scott
“You should have acted on it,” answered Christian. “The fool suffered himself to be choused out of his secret, and prayed you to see that my lord’s messenger got not to the Duchess with some despatches which he sent up from Derbyshire, betraying our mystery.”
The Duke was now alarmed, and rang the bell hastily. Jerningham appeared. “Where is the letter I had from Master Chiffinch some hours since?”
“If it be not amongst those your Grace has before you, I know nothing of it,” said Jerningham. “I saw none such arrive.”
“You lie, you rascal,” said Buckingham; “have you a right to remember better than I do?”
“If your Grace will forgive me reminding you, you have scarce opened a letter this week,” said his gentleman.
“Did you ever hear such a provoking rascal?” said the Duke. “He might be a witness in the Plot. He has knocked my character for regularity entirely on the head with his damned counter-evidence.”
“Your Grace’s talent and capacity will at least remain unimpeached,” said Christian; “and it is those that must serve yourself and your friends. If I might advise, you will hasten to Court, and lay some foundation for the impression we wish to make. If your Grace can take the first word, and throw out a hint to crossbite Saville, it will be well. But above all, keep the King’s ear employed, which no one can do so well as you. Leave Chiffinch to fill his heart with a proper object. Another thing is, there is a blockhead of an old Cavalier, who must needs be a bustler in the Countess of Derby’s behalf—he is fast in hold, with the whole tribe of witnesses at his haunches.”
“Nay, then, take him, Topham.”
“Topham has taken him already, my lord,” said Christian; “and there is, besides, a young gallant, a son of the said Knight, who was bred in the household of the Countess of Derby, and who has brought letters from her to the Provincial of the Jesuits, and others in London.”
“What are their names?” said the Duke dryly.
“Sir Geoffrey Peveril of Martindale Castle, in Derbyshire, and his son Julian.”
“What! Peveril of the Peak?” said the Duke,—“a stout old Cavalier as ever swore an oath.—A Worcester-man, too—and, in truth, a man of all work, when blows were going. I will not consent to his ruin, Christian. These fellows must be flogged of such false scents—flogged in every sense, they must, and will be, when the nation comes to its eyesight again.”
“It is of more than the last importance, in the meantime, to the furtherance of our plan,” said Christian, “that your Grace should stand for a space between them and the King’s favour. The youth hath influence with the maiden, which we should find scarce favourable to our views; besides, her father holds him as high as he can any one who is no such puritanic fool as himself.”
“Well, most Christian Christian,” said the Duke, “I have heard your commands at length. I will endeavour to stop the earths under the throne, that neither the lord, knight, nor squire in question, shall find it possible to burrow there. For the fair one, I must leave Chiffinch and you to manage her introduction to her high destinies, since I am not to be trusted. Adieu, most Christian Christian.”
He fixed his eyes on him, and then exclaimed, as he shut the door of the apartment,—“Most profligate and damnable villain! And what provokes me most of all, is the knave’s composed insolence. Your Grace will do this—and your Grace will condescend to do that—A pretty puppet I should be, to play the second part, or rather the third, in such a scheme! No, they shall all walk according to my purpose, or I will cross them. I will find this girl out in spite of them, and judge if their scheme is likely to be successful. If so, she shall be mine—mine entirely, before she becomes the King’s; and I will command her who is to guide Charles.—Jerningham” (his gentleman entered), “cause Christian to be dogged where-ever he goes, for the next four-and-twenty hours, and find out where he visits a female newly come to town.—You smile, you knave?”
“I did but suspect a fresh rival to Araminta and the little Countess,” said Jerningham.
“Away to your business, knave,” said the Duke, “and let me think of mine.—To subdue a Puritan in Esse—a King’s favourite in Posse—the very muster of western beauties—that is point first. The impudence of this Manx mongrel to be corrected—the pride of Madame la Duchesse to be pulled down—and important state intrigue to be farthered, or baffled, as circumstances render most to my own honour and glory—I wished for business but now, and I have got enough of it. But Buckingham will keep his own steerage-way through shoal and through weather.”
CHAPTER XXIX ——Mark you this, Bassanio— The devil can quote Scripture for his purpose. —MERCHANT OF VENICE.
After leaving the proud mansion of the Duke of Buckingham, Christian, full of the deep and treacherous schemes which he meditated, hastened to the city, where, in a decent inn, kept by a person of his own persuasion, he had been unexpectedly summoned to meet with Ralph Bridgenorth of Moultrassie. He was not disappointed—the Major had arrived that morning, and anxiously expected him. The usual gloom of his countenance was darkened into a yet deeper shade of anxiety, which was scarcely relieved, even while, in answer to his inquiry after his daughter, Christian gave the most favourable account of her health and spirits, naturally and unaffectedly intermingled with such praises of her beauty and her disposition, as were likely to be most grateful to a father’s ear.
But Christian had too much cunning to expatiate on this theme, however soothing. He stopped short exactly at the point where, as an affectionate relative, he might be supposed to have said enough. “The lady,” he said, “with whom he had placed Alice, was delighted with her aspect and manners, and undertook to be responsible for her health and happiness. He had not, he said, deserved so little confidence at the hand of his brother, Bridgenorth, as that the Major should, contrary to his purpose, and to the plan which they had adjusted together, have hurried up from the country, as if his own presence were necessary for Alice’s protection.”
“Brother Christian,” said Bridgenorth in reply, “I must see my child—I must see this person with whom she is entrusted.”
“To what purpose?” answered Christian. “Have you not often confessed that the over excess of the carnal affection which you have entertained for your daughter, hath been a snare to you?—Have you not, more than once, been on the point of resigning those great designs which should place righteousness as a counsellor beside the throne, because you desired to gratify your daughter’s girlish passion for this
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