The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 346: what you’re looking at

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

GREE Gemepees 0 we ee =—E THE MYSTERIES OF THE COURT. Hawkshaw had behaved to him—how accident had positively and literilly helped him in his tale by sending the Squire at the moment to the scene of the crime—and how the inquest had passed off favourably. This intelligence, which her ladyship had not previously heard, was most welcome to her; and she was also rejoiced that circumstances should thus have partially smitten down the bar- riers which had lately existed between Hawkshaw and the Saxondale family. Not that it was to be supposed the Squire would repeat his visits, now that she was once more at the castle: but, at all events, in him she felt assured, from what she now heard, that they possessed a vindicator, should suspicion venture to breathe the surmise that per- haps, after all, Edmund’s wife had not come fairly by her death. The hour for retiring arrived; and Lady Saxon- dale saw by the ghastly look which Edmund's countenance now wore, that he was afraid of the horrors of the coming night. She said all she could to strengthen his mind: she bade him re- member that no human tongue save his and hers could proclaim the secret; and that if he had nothing to fear at the hands of living beings, it was pure idiotic imbecility to give way to super- stitious apprehensions. Edmund was encouraged : but when he again found himself alone in his chamber—when his valet was dismissed—and he, disapparelled, was about to enter his couch—he was seized with such a sudden consternation that he could not have been more terrified if a veritable spectre had sprung up before him. Even as he hastened to leap into his bed, he dreaded lest his -foot should be caught by the cold hand of death protruded from beneath it. And now did he in- deed enter on another frightful ordeal—an ordeal of hours of mental anguish and hideous imaginings —frightful waking fancies alternating with the dreams of fitful and broken slumbors, wherein the wild cries of dying agony thrilling over the Trent, the ghastly countenance which had been upturned from the cold waters towards him, and all the circumstances of the horrible tragedy were pain- fully, poiruantly, vividly revived, And there was that young nobleman, bearing a proud title—pos- seased of wealth—couched upon down—environed by velvet and eatin draperies—in a magnificently furnished room,—there he was, in a state of mind to be envied only by any wretch whose guilt wae discovered and who was about to expiate it on the seaffold. But if this were not the reality of Ed- mund’s position, he at least experienced all its horrors in his dreams: for again did he behold the tribunal of justice engaged in » trial for murder, where he figured as the principal—again did he behold the dark and ominous scaffold, with all the appalling paraphernalia of death, and him- self the criminal about to die! When the cold wintry sent its dull glimmering light in at the casements, it found the oung man more ghastly, more haggard than ore; and as he looked at himsclf in the mirror, he recoiled with dismay and affright, so changed had he become. When his valet entered to assist in the morning-toilet, the man could not prevent himself from showing how much he was shocked at his master’s appearance: but still he suspected not that it was guilty horror, instead of the im- mensity of woe, which had thus stamped its terrific 343 traces on Edrnund’s countenance. On descending to the breakfast-parlour, he found his mother already there; and the instant they were alone, Lady Saxondale said, “You have passed a bad night, Edmund.” “ Mother,” he answered, “a few more such nights as these will either send me to a mad-house, or else hurry me to the grave. Ah! I can under- stand how it is that people’s hair have turned white in a single night—a statement at which I have often been wont to laugh!” “ Edmund, I will not reproach you,” answered Lady Saxondale: “I will not tell you that this is an unmanly cowardice: but I will conjure you to exercise greater control over your feelings. You must do it! At present, those about us give you credit for a natural grief: but grief, the sincerest and the severest, becomes toned down; and if you assume not such a demeanour, suspicions will arise. Bear this in your mind—and let it serve to arm you with i “Tt must, it must!” murmured Edmund. “ 'Yes—I see that you are right.” Several days passed; and it appeared as if the counsel given by Lady Saxondale, was not entirely thrown away upon Edmund. But then he had discovered the means of defying the horrors of the night—or rather of rendering himself unconscious of them. He drank deeply. Lady Saxondale saw it —permitted it—even encouraged it; and when, more than half intoxicated, he went to his bed at night, she attended him to the door of his chamber, —whispering to the valet, “that grief had made sad havoc with his unfortunate master.” We should observe that before the lid of the coffin containing Adelaide’s remains, was screwed down, Lady Saxondale and Edmund proceeded to- gether to the chamber where the corpse lay, osten- sibly for the purpose of bestowing « last look on those remains. But this was a piece of mockery in perfect keeping with all the other horrible pro ceedings that were known only unto their owm hearts. When alone together in that room, they did not so much as approach the coffin; Edmund could not even bring himself to throw a single glance at it: but when they came forth again, it was with their kerchiefs to their eyes, as if they were both deeply moved. The funeral took place with considerable pomp, all the domestics following as mourners, and Ed- mund at their head. The ceremony was over; and Lady Saxondale thought that now the tomb had closed above the one object who was so great a barrier to her complete domination, she had effectually ensured her triumph. But yet she felt and she knew that her power was not consolidated. Somers had not yet been disposed of: Lord Harold Staunton had hitherto found no oppor- tunity of carrying out her instructions. This cir- cumstance caused her much uneasiness: for that woman was possessed of a secret which, if once told, would bring utter ruin down upon the head of this patrician lady who had already consum- mated so many crimes in order to attain her ends. She must go to London to see Lord Harold again —to devise with him some plan to be immediately executed, if that which he had already suggested should prove impossible. was uncasy, a8 we have said—but only uneasy: she was not dispirited —much less did she despair. The blow eo recently COLL (C DOO CS (GO)