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He went in his own litter, and carried one of his own coaches with him, and five sumpters, covered with his own sumpter cloths. His retinue were: Mr. Fanshawe, Chief Secretary; Mr. Price, gone before to Lisbon; Mr. Cooper, Gentleman of the Horse; Mr. Bagshawe, Chaplain; Mr. Ashburnham, Mr. Parry, Mr. Creighton, Mr. Eyres, Steward; Mr. Weeden, Mr. Jemmet, Mr.
She had spent, it seemed, two months in Great Britain seven weeks in touring from Stratford to Strathpeffer, and one as paying guest in an old English family near Ledbury, an impoverished, but still stately family, called Bagshawe.
The elder Bagshawe died in 1662, and was buried at Morton Pinckney, in Northamptonshire. How and why he railed at love and marriage it is impossible now to know. Edward Bagshawe the younger published in 1671 an Antidote against Mr. Baxter's Treatise of Love and Marriage. The preaching woman at Somerset House was, in all probability, Mrs. Hannah Trupnel.
I carried with me all my jewels, and the best of my plate, and other precious rarities, all the rest being gone before to Bilbao, with part of my family. All the women went in litters, and the men on horseback. Myself, my son, and four daughters, one gentlewoman, one chambermaid, Mr. Fanshawe, my husband's Secretary; Mr. Price, the Chaplain; Mr. Bagshawe, Mr. Creyton, Mr. White, Mr.
"It's in a crowd like this that she looks so mysterious an Elemental; but whether of Earth, Air, Fire or Water, I shall spend my life trying to discover." The faintest flush possible mounted to that pure ivory-white cheek of hers. She laughed and caught me by the arm. "I must carry you to Lady Bagshawe you're taking her in to dinner. Her husband is Master of the Organ-Grinders' Company "
On Saturday following, being the 16th of November 1666, I sent the body of my dear husband to be laid in my father's vault in Allhallows Church, in Hertford: none accompanied the hearse but seven of his own gentlemen, who had taken care of his body all the way from Madrid to London; being Mr. Fanshawe, Mr. Bagshawe, Mr. Cooper, Mr. Freyer, Mr. Creyton, Mr. Tarret, and Mr. Rooks.
It had been a very hot day, but there it was cool. The man called Bagshawe had been reading The Times on the other side of the room, but then he moved over to me with some trifling question as a prelude to suggesting an acquaintance. I fancy he asked me something About the poll-tax on Kur-guests, and whether it could not be sneaked out of. He was that sort of person.
Soon afterwards we trooped down to dinner, during which I learned more of my inside than I knew before, and more of that of Lady Bagshawe than any of her most fervent adorers in their wildest dreams could have ever hoped to ascertain; during which, also, I endeavoured to convince an unknown, but agreeable lady on my left that I did not play polo, whereat, it seemed, her eight brothers were experts; and that Omar Khayyam was a contemporary not of the Prophet Isaiah, but of William the Conqueror.
Let me come to the 4th of August, 1913, the last day of my absolute ignorance and, I assure you, of my perfect happiness. For the coming of that dear girl only added to it all. On that 4th of August I was sitting in the lounge with a rather odious Englishman called Bagshawe, who had arrived that night, too late for dinner.
Bagshawe in after life joined the King at Oxford, and suffered imprisonment at the hands of his former friends in the King's Bench Prison from 1644 to 1646. Young Sir Harry Yelverton, Lady Ruthin's husband, broke a theological lance with his son, the younger Edward Bagshawe, to vindicate the cause of the Church of England.
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