Josiah Stubb: The Siege of Louisbourg by C.W.Lovatt

Author:C.W.Lovatt
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Wild Wolf Publishing
Published: 2014-03-12T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

I awoke to find myself in a large room with heavy curtains of finest velvet drawn over the windows. I lay in a bed of sumptuous comfort, with a mattress and silken coverlet stuffed with expensive goose down, and with surroundings equally as elegant. Yet amid all of this opulence (none of which was recognizable) I believe that it was something so vulgar as the sound of snoring that had lulled me awake.

Blinking myself to full consciousness, I turned my head toward the aggravating noise, at the same time wincing from a sharp pain in my side, warning me to caution.

Through the gloom I beheld the engine of my disturbance, and slowly recognized her as a middle-aged woman slouched asleep in a chair beside the bed. Her head lolled against the back of the chair, her mouth slack and very much agape, issuing that dreadful sound with every breath. As I studied her more closely, it seemed a face that was known to me. When, gradually, and with dawning surprise, I recognized her as the maidservant of the captain’s daughter - the object of my devotion - I came awake with a start, followed instantly by a yelp of pain, caused by my re-discovering the extreme tenderness in my side. I must have cried out more loudly than I had realized, for as the memory of the desperate fight outside the tavern returned, of the knife slicing across my ribs, and the tender expression on that beautiful face as the agony transported me into unconsciousness, the woman abruptly ceased her snoring, and her eyes fluttered open with the shock of one who has just been startled awake.

She sat there, regarding me – and I her – for what seemed a very long time, while her sleep-dulled mind struggled to process information. Then, quite suddenly, her eyes opened very wide indeed.

“The Lord be praised!” She was on her feet in an instant, heading to the door, only to stop and turn in a fluster, as if she had found herself with two duties to perform at once, and knew not which held precedence.

She bobbed a small curtsy, and asked, “Would you care for anything, sir?”

I must have gaped at the unfamiliar manner with which she had addressed me, for after further moments had passed without any reply, her expression grew uncertain, and she repeated, “Sir?”

Her confusion spurred me to answer; but when I opened my mouth to speak, all that would issue forth was a dry croak.

The maid’s countenance (I recalled that her name was Sarah) instantly softened to a maternal sympathy as she clicked her tongue, and said, “Oh, you poor lamb, sir! Mercy! You would think I’d never nursed anyone before, wouldn’t you? Here, I’ll get you something that will help.” So saying, she went to a basin on the nightstand, and pouring water from the pitcher, soaked a cloth, which she used to moisten my lips.

“I would give you a proper drink, sir,” she apologized, “but you might choke lying down, and the coughing could open up your stitches.

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