The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 376: what you’re looking at

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

a footman entered; and presenting Oe tee with s| card, said, “This gentleman requests an immediate interview with your “Sir John Marston?’ said Lord Petersfield, who seldom suffered himself to be surprised out of his diplomatic gravity. “Well, let him walk up ;"— and yet he was far from liking this visit. In a few minutes the Baronet made his appear- ance. Hoe: advanced with outstretched hand: but the nobleman received him somewhat coldly, end eyed hina with a certain degree of suspicion. “Many-years have elapsed since you and I met, my lord,” -said the Barenet, gasing upon him as if to mark the extent to whish the ravages of time had gone in respect to the nobleman’s person. “It may be many years, Sir Joba Marston,” eaid Lord Petersfield, with his habitual diplomatic caution; “but I am not prepared to say how many indeed I should not like to venture a conjecture without carefal consideration-——- “Your lordship appears to receive me somewhat coldly,” said the Beronet. “‘No—not culdly,” rejoined Petersfield; “but I am not as yet assured—that is to say, I have not yet had leisure to make up my mind whether you are Sir John Marston or not; and I should not like omnes 6 Latly eaeeee “What nonsense is this, Petersfield?” exclaimed Marston, with a movement of impatience: then as he threw himself upon a seat, he said, “Come, throw off this diplomatic cautiousness and reserve of your’s: for we have to speak upon important business, I can tell you.” . Well, then,” said the diplumatist, “ granting , dropped that you are Sir John Mareston—and considering from the corroborative evidence of your printed card, coupled with your own deliberate averment, that you may be so” “Why, you know I am!” ejaculated Marston, stamping his foot with another paroxysm of im- patience. “ What the devil makes you go on in this rigmarole style? Surely a matter of some six- teen years or 00 has not s0 changed me that you do not recognise me P” . “ Personal is not always a trustworthy credential,” remarked Lord Petersfield. . “ But still, ae I was saying——” “The deuce take what you were saying !” inter- ruptod the Baronet. “I will very soon give you a proof that I am that self-same Sir John Marston— Lady Everton’s brother—with whom you and the present Lord Everton did a certain business.” “Enoush!” said his lordship, now looking anx- loudly around: then rising from his seat, he ad- vanced tu the door—opened it—looked cautiously out—and satisfying himself that there were no eaves- closed it again. “ Now, Sir John Marston, what business has me the hunour—I might perbapes say the pleasure of this visit ?”’ “That very same business to which I have already alluded,” responded the Baronet. “Do you know my lord thet a certain young lady has discovered a “ Eh—what P” ejaculated his lordship, now speak- ing rapidly enough ; and his diplomatic countenance, suddeniy losing all its gravity, became expressive of the utmost agitation. “Do you mean Elisabeth Paton—or the Marebioness of Villebelle—or what- ever eho may call herself?’ ~~ oem oe tr Sg epee stensensgpcnnteeyp-neenen ' THE MYSTERIES OF THE COURT. 365 “I do,” replied Sir John: “and if I be not very | much mistaker, she at the present moment bears the name of Mrs. Chandos.” “You are right, Sir John—you are right. Ledy Saxondale and Marlow both told mo the other day that Frank Paton, whom I placed with her lady- ship, had found a sister in that woman. But do you know-— “I know that she is a female highwayman,” in- terrupted the Barunet. “ It is a most ex that I should be staying at Dover when her adventure at the Admiral’s Head took place. I heard something of it at the time, but little thought that Mrs. Chandos—the heroine of that adventure —and our Elizabeth Paton were one and the same person. I do not read the local newspaper habit- ually; and therefore the account, which gave a full description of her personal appearance, escaped my notice. But yesterday I socidentally 3 lighted upon the particular number of the Dover newspaper con- taining that report; and as I read on, I was struck with the conviction that Elisabeth Paton és Mrs. Chandos.” “ And you are right,” responded Petersfield. “I have been told that she is Frank's sister. But what of it? and what connexion have her misduings with clue—~”? any “Who said that there was a connexion?” inter- . rupted the Baronet. “TI tell you that she does pos- seeaaclue. You know that Villebelle has married Constance Farefield.” ae Let it,” answered Lord Peters- dropped to Ledy Saxondale a hint, many munths ago, that the Marquis had a wife living. Of course I did not say how I knew it: I pretended to have heard some such thing ramoured when I was in Paris—— ’’ “ Well, but you see the marriage has taken place,” continued Sir John Marston. “ Elisabeth released Villebelle ftom all t towards her—from all bonds or ties———that is to say, so far as she was able. I should have stopped the marriage most | effectually, had not Villebelle, when at Dover, whis- pered in my ear a certain name, which convinced me with startling effect that Elizabeth does possess a clue to past events that may prove dangerous enough for us.” “ And that clue P” asked Lord Petersfield, all his diplomatic reserve having given place to intense “The name of Lady Everton was breathed in my ears,” rejoined the Baronet. “ Ah! this is awkward,” said Petersfield. “ But what did you do? what have you done ?”’ “What could I do? I did not then know where Elizabeth was: nor did I know that she and Mra. Chandos were one and the same. I thought of doing a thousand things—of hunting her out—of locking her up in a madhouse, if I found her—or even of making away with her if necessary.” “Sir John Marston!” exclaimed Petersfield, be- coming white as a sheet. “Ah! you may affect horror, my lord,” resumed the Baronet:. “but I was prepared for anything desperate. Yet where was I to search for her? All I knew was that she had recently been to Robson —that’s my attorney, you know—to receive some money I allow her. So I wrote to Robson to ask if -_ _’ *° @@-@8P@tee ewe a a7 ww «=» ea + oo es. = COMM “Indeed, to tell you the truth, I delicately fa NOOK << CO