The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 348: what you’re looking at

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

= OA EI a A ES ES A i A a en ~~ eer eee oe ee eee ES CL ea THE MYSTERIES OF THE COURT. a a ei ccs cccCccCc 5c zs é ccc cc cccaarccccacaaAacaaaaataaaaatcsccmaacasacaacaal Shat Ariadne’s feelings were now drawn to snch an extreme tension, that it appeared as if her brain must burst and her heart-strings snap. She had no difficulty in discovering, from the preceding dis- course, who Mr. Stimson was. He was evidently the undertaker. But the vile bypocrisy of that woman, the housekeeper—the false version she gave of the circumstances of Ariadae’s arrival at the mansion—the assumed sympathy and commis- eration with which she sought to play her part in the presence of the undertaker,—all this added to the pgignancy and painfulness of the scene. But then the discourse itself—to hear herself styled a. corpee—then the remark that her flesh was colour- less as wax;—and lastly the observation — the frightfal observation, relative to the worms soon preying upon her—Oh! all this was the most ex- quisite refinement of ineffable agonies ! But this crucifixion of the feelings was not yet passed through. She felt the undertaker place his rule upon her to measure her length for the coffin ; and ashe heard him mutter to himself, in a low under tone, the exact measurement of feet and inches as he thus took it. Good God! how within herself she battled—Oh! how she battled for the power of sending forth one long loud thrilling shriek !—how she strove—heaven alone cana teil how she strove— to force a vent for the transcending agony of her feelings! But no: all her efforts were vain and useless. The spell—the awfal spell was upon her: and still like a marble woman was she animated with a soul of fire. “And so you say, ma'am,” observed Mr. Stim- gon, speaking in a low voice that was well suitable for the chamber of death, but yet with something more of a business tone than hitherto,—“ and so, ma’am, it is to be a wery decent faneral—not over expensive, but respectable” “Just so,” responded the housekeeper. “ His lordship has entrusted the whole management to me; and I think, Mr. Stimson,” she added in a significant tone, “that you and I can make every- thing comfortable between us” “Oh! to be sure,” responded the undertaker, * Come, ma’am, tell me candidly how high you dare go: and then I can tell you how much profit you and me can sheer betwixt us.” “Well, I don’t think his lordship would mind sixty or seventy guineas.” “Wery good,” observed Mr. Stimson, with a low hollow chackle which appeared to {ssue from 8 coffin or a vault: “let's say seventy-five guineas, and then we can divide thirty betwixt us. That will make fifteen for your sheer.” “ Agreed,” said the housekeeper: “bat you must send in a regular preper bill, because the Marquis sometimes takes it toto his head to look over his accounts.” “ Don’t be afeard, ma'am. I will put down fifteen guineas for a brick grave, and it shan’t be no brick grave at all. Then, how many do you think will attend the funeral?” « I don't know who will attend it: tHe Marquis, I suppose—Sir Douglas Huntingdon—just for ap- pearance’ sake—and that’s all.” “Well, we can put down ten mourners,” ob- served Stimson; “’cause why, the bill must be made out to look respectable. Ten mourners— that will be a guinea each for hat-band and gloves, aod a guinea each aa the use of mourning cloaks ; ao there we have twenty guineas at once. Fifteen, as already said, for the brick grave, makes thirty- five. Coffin, fifteen—makes fifty: shell, five gui- néas—and use of pai), five guineas—there's sixty. Hearse and mourning coaches, ten guinecas—that's seventy: and ten of my chaps, half a guinea each —there’s five guiness: and that makes up the seventy-five.” “Well, you really are one of the cleverest gen- tlemen I ever met with,” said the housekeeper, with a subdued laugh. “Bat after all, fifteen guineas a-piece is very little to get out of this business.” “ Well,” observed Mr. Stimson, “ I'll manage to add five to your sheer. Let me see—I said fifteen guineas for the coffin: of course I meant a first- rate oaken one; but I tell you what I'll do—l’ll give a common one, painted and grained to look like oak—and that’s the way I'll do it. The poor gal there won't be none the wiser.” * Ah! you dear clever fellow,” chuckled the housekeeper in a subdued tone: “a man of your talent, Mr. Stimson, ought to have been Prime Minister, instead of an andertaker.” ‘¢ Well, ma’am, I think 1 have got a little talent,” returned Mr. Stimson, with a eomplacent manner : “but lam wery well satisfied with my wocation, and don’t know that I should improve it particular by achange. But I think we have done here all that is required now ?” “One word,” said the housekeeper: “ when shall the faneral take place ” “Suppose we say this day week suggested the undertaker. “The corpse is a nice fresh ’un,” he continued, laying his great heavy rough hand upon Ariadne’s cheek, “and won’t spile. Besides, it will look better to take plenty of time for the funeral; ‘cause why, we are to pretend to have a brick grave and a oak coffio.” “Then let us say this day week,” rejoined the housekeeper: and she thereupon quitted the room, accompanied by Mr. Stimson. Ariadne was once more alone. Alone indeed: but, good heavens! with what hideous, horrible, excruciating thoughts—thoughts that swept like fiery arrows through her brain, conjuring up images from the charnel-house and the grave! Like ghastly spectres treading to the solemn measure of a dirge, did they pass in array before her mental vision. Yes—for she was treated as one that was dead—laid out as a corpee—and had just been an ear-witness to the arrangements devised for her own funeral! She had felt the rule of the under. taker taking her measure for a coffia ; and she had felt likewise his rough hand laid upon her cheek with the cold brutal indifference of one who is ac- customed to handle the dead! And then that woman, who had affected so mach sympathy in her behalf, was now actually trafficking in her supposed death — trafficking for profit to be derived from the funeral of her whose fate she pretended to deplore. And then that cold-blooded, heartless, hypocritical scoundrel—the undertaker himeelf—he also was making a market of the dead: he also was prac- tising the slimy ways of the money-grabber in re- spect to the supreme and moat solemn rites of mortality and of the Christian feith. All these circumstences—al these reflections— combined to aggravate, if possible, the horror which previously filled Ariadne’s soul: and she COM ELOOO® Ss — Se |