The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 276: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Sd —_— a —— w~ ees 6 ollie Aunby Gt Ge Oost oo =, «= tion which took place between the resuscitated criminal on the one hand and the Prince and my- self on the other, was fraught with a fearful—a terrible interest. He explained to us in a few rapid but awfully thrilling words how he had been handed over to a surgeon for dissection—how the vital spark had flickered and flamed up again—how he had fled from the abode of the medical man— , and how he had found an asylum in some place which he would not name. Then he informed us that a feeling of morbid curiosity had induced him to revisit the scene of his fatal amour with the self- murdered wife of Sir Richard Stamford,—and he said that, having perceived the startling effect which his appearance in the library had produced upon the Pages, he had sought refuge in the bed- chamber where Lady Stamford had syrrendered up her breath. There it was his intention to re- main until all was quiet in the house, when he proposed to steal forth and take his departure thence. For, well aware of the influence of super- stitious fears upon the mind, he fancied that of all ' the rooms in the Manor that in which the deceased lady died was the very one which would be the last to be used by the inmates of the dwelling. It likewise appeared that when he suddenly heard the door open and persons enter that apartment,— meaning the Prince and myself, escorted by Mrs. Page,—he had only just time to conceal himself in the bath-room; — and when he found that the chamber was to be occupied for the night, he had resolved to come forth and throw himself upon our mercy, Such was the substance of his explana- tions ;—and when they were completed, the Prince commanded him to leave the room at once. Then did a sudden change come over the man’s counte- nance ;—and he said, with a malicious significancy, ‘From the conversation which I have ere now over- heard, I learnt who this lady is,’—pointing to me; —‘and tf I experience harsh treatment at your hands, all England shall know that the Duchess of Devonshire passed the night at Stamford Manor with the Prince of Wales’—This announcement | convineed his Royal Highness in a moment that, for my sake even more than his own, was it re- | quisite to come to terms with the resuscitated Criminal; and the Prince accordingly adopted a More conciliatory tone and demeanour towards ‘him. In fine, he exacted a pledge from his Royal ' Highness that when a suitable opportunity should , Occur, and a sufficient interval should have elapsed for the impression of his crimes to have subsided in the public mind, the Prince would use his in- fluence in the proper quarter to obtain for him a fall pardon. These conditions, which Ramsey | Mposed, were assented to by the Prince ;—and the Tesuscitated then took his departure. We must | Suppose that he escaped without notice or moles- | tation from the house, inasmuch as on the follow- Ing morning no sign nor word on the part of the Pages afforded the least ground for suspecting the Contrary was the case. The Prince’s private travelling-carriage came to fetch us at the hour ‘ommanded on the preceding night;—and thus ended the romantic adventure of Stamford Manor.” There was a long pause, during which the Coun- tess of Desborough remained absorbed in the (lcepest reverie. She was rent by two antagonistic feelings, the one prompting her to disburden her wind without delay of the tremendous secret Press + eee | —see— @« ew Sea! — = —— ae a — = —_ qa ai Gen tepP a> Eee THE MYSTERIES, errant 68 ~Gr a5 CO aE = aap E> ee 263 that lay upon it like a weight of lead—the other urging her to conceal her amour with Ramsey as if it were a flagrant and damning crime which she had committed. But when she thought how sweet —QOh! how sweet it would be to receive sympathy from the lips of a dear and valued friend,—when she likewise reflected that the secret would be perfectly safe in the kecping of that friend,—and when she remembered how often she had felt the pining want of a confidant mto whose bosom she could pour forth the flood of her woes now so painfully pent-up in her overcharged breast,—she resolved to hesitate no longer. “My dear Georgiana,” she said, taking the hand of the Duchess, in whose countenance she looked with a mingled expression of shame and affliction, wounded pride and despair,—* you will pity me— Oh! you will pity me, when you learn the sad truth which I have now to reveal. Your narrative was romantic and stranve: mine is fraught with a wild and terrible interest. For it was in this house that Philip Ramsey found an asylum—and I—my God! —I became his victim? Now do you comprehend me ?”” : And the corrugated eye-brows, quivering lips, and convulsing bosom of the wretched Lady Des- borough evinced the most ineffable anguish. “Great heavens! is this possible ?” exclaimed the Duchess, totally unprepared for so tremendous a revelation. “It is possible !—it has happened !—it is true!” cried the Countess, In a voice of despair ;—“ and what is worse—Oh! ten thousand times worse— my husband is acquainted with the whole hideous circumstances !”’ ‘ Unhappy Eleanor!” exclaimed the Duchess: then, throwing her arms round her friend’s neck, the generoas-hearted Georgiana said all she could to comfort her. ‘Ah! I was not wrong when I trusted in your friendship,” sobbed the Countess, as she wept bit- terly upon the bosom of the Duchess. “I knew that you would not despise me for my misfortune —that you would not loathe me on account of this crowning infamy which has become my wretched, wretched fate! No—no—you can feel for me— you can sympathise with me—you can console me! The secret of my married life was already revealed to you; and you were aware that I was pure and chaste in body, though my imagination was foul and corrupt with the cravings, and longings, and furious desires that were devouring me. Then came that man,—came at a time when all the fiercest wants of my nature had been aggravated into the famished yearnings of the strongest sen- suality, by the tantalising and unaccomplished wooings of the Prince. The man came, I say,— came under a fictitious name, and with a plausible tale of suffering, and friendlessness, and sorrow upon his tongue. I pitied him:—he became our guest—we were thrown much together—and you can judge, because you have seen him, whether his masculine beauty was not well—too well calcn- lated to win my heart. In a short time—yes, even in a few days—I loved him to madness—to distrac- tion; and I surrendered myself full willingly—Oh! ° too willingly to his arms. For a brief space did this delicious dream of paradise endure—and then it was suddenly dissipated by the rudest storm that ever broke with appalling violence upon the calm still- (C DOO SS i(GQ mn