Gunfire! Dearest Catherine, Gunfire within the walls of my own Woodville Park. As the sparks rained down from the Muskets in a manner reminiscent of the most intemperate of April showers, my first thoughts were of my husband. Though surrounded, as I was, by malfeasants I had little hope of returning to him; but as his wife I was obliged to allay his fears that I had expired and persuade him to flee.
“Henry. I am obliged to allay your fears of my expiration and persuade you to flee!”
As I vociferated I was aware of my poor Housekeeper, Mrs D’arcey, falling to the ground in the grip of a nervous seizure of magnificent proportions. I feared that not even her robust constitution could tolerate such scandalising stupefaction. I was full of anxious concern for my poor servant, for she is the most loyal of creatures; indeed you know as well as I how many times the good woman has made an additional place at dinner on the shortest of notice and with very little objection. I turned and ran, as fast as my gown would allow, towards the unfortunate lady who was strewn across the floor with a shocking want of dignity. Yet before I could reach her, one of the vagabonds fired a shot with calamitous accuracy and brought down a gloriously elaborate chandelier. I threw myself to the ground and covered my visage, in a manner most insulting to my standing, to best avoid the shards of broken of crystal that soared through the air as the ornate candelabrum shattered. It fell with a deafening sound, far better suited to a large tree as it is felled, the candles were snuffed and we were thrown into impenetrable darkness.