The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 173: what you’re looking at

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

EE SS I CO A SO ES a — ——— — ——— ————— ———————— —— —— ———— — —— — THE MYSTERIES OF THE COURT. On the following morning Purvis, the steward, accompanied Christian in a ramble through the grounds, ‘The old man had never been married, and had no relations on the face of the earth—at least not to his knowledge. He possessed a kindly disposition, and easily attached himself to any one whom he had reason to esteem. He had already taken a fancy to Christian—was pleased with the youth’s manners—and gratified by the attention with which his garrulity was listened to. Leaning on our young hero’s arm, he walked with him through the grounds, pointing out particular spots of interest. He then led him along the road by the side of which the Duke’s corpse was dis- covered; and he indicated the very pond on the edge of which the unfortunate nobleman had been thus found, with his face downward, one of his hands in the water, and the dagger sticking in his back. Christian shuddered; and the steward per- ceived that he thus trembled with horror. “The country-people in these parts,” said old Purvis, “ will not, if they can avoid it, pass this spot after dusk. They say, Mr. Ashton, that a strange unearthly shape has been seen moving round about the pond—and that the low howlings of a dog have been heard. Of course I don’t believe it myself: I am not superstitious ; and yet if ever the dead did walk, the murder of the poor Duke was horrible enough to make his restless spirit return to the scene of so foul an assas- sination.” The old man and our young hero retraced their way slowly towards the mansion,—on approaching which they perceived the Hon. Mr. Stanhope walking with the Duchess in the grounds. Chris- tian glanced towards the steward, to see whether the spectacle produced any effect upon him: but Purvis, suspecting no evil, took it quite as a matter of course; and therefore Christian made no re- mark. Jt was about half-past ten in the evening, that our hero retired to his chamber somewhat fatigued —as he had rambled about, either with the old steward or else alone, for the greater portion of the day. He was beginning to undress himself, when he heard the door gently open; and the Duke of Marchmont made his appearance. “Ah! I am just in time,” saia his Grace, closing the door behind him, “ to prevent you from getting to bed. I want you todo mea little service to- night. What it is I will explain presently. In about an hour I will return. Light your fire—I see that itis laid in the grate—and amuse your- self with a book till I come back to you.” Having thus spoken, the Duke of Marchmont retired; and Christian could mot help associating the as yet unexplained service with the box con- taining the counterpart dresses. He lighted the fire: he had now no longer the least inclination for sleep—he was anxious to ascertain the next step that was to be taken in the conspiracy wherein the Duke was embarked, but which he himself was secretly studying, in connexion with Redcliffe, to frustrate. He took up a volume, and whiled away the time until close upon midnight,—when the door again opened and the Duke of March- mont made his appearance. His Grace was en- veloped in a cloak and had his hat on: it was therefore evident he was going out somewhere. “ Now, my young friend,” he said, patting — nt eet ge ee a rr ae re re te re eee eee 167 | Christian familiarly on the back, and speaking to him alsoin a more familiar manner than he had ever yet adopted towards his young secretary, “you are to do me the service [ require. I see that I can trust you in everything—as indeed I ought to be enabled to do; for a secretary, you know, is always a confidential person, and from whom an employer is not disposed to keep things secret. Besides, you displayed so much discretion in the way you managed the little business I en- trusted to you previous to my departure from London, that comparatively trifling though it were, the result has been to win for you my esteem, I think I told you, Christian,” continued the Duke of Marchmont, now affecting to speak in a care- less off-hand manner, “that the box contains cer- tain little presents which I am anxious to make; and they are for the principal tenants’ wives and daughters on my estates. I mean to surprise some of them, so that they sha’n’t know from whom the things come. It is a freak of mine— and I haye my own way of carrying it out. Do you understand °” “ Yes, my lord,” answered Christian, preserving his countenance as changeless as possible. “It is for your Grace to give your orders, and I am ready to obey them.” “You are going a little distance with me,” proceeded Marchmont; “and I must trouble you to bring the box along with you. It is not very heavy. Indeed it only contains gown-pieces of silk and muslin—a few shawls, caps, and cambric pocket-handkerchiefs—and those kind of trifles that Madame Angelique can supply as tastefully as she can richer and costlier things.” Christian knew that Marchmont was giving utterance to as complete a tissue of falsehoods ag ever were unblushingly poured forth. He how- ever said not a word; but hastily putting on an upper coat and his hat, shouldered the box,— having previously torn off the label in compliance with a hint to that effect on the part of his Grace. The Duke extinguished the candle that was burn- ing in the room, whence he led the way, and con- ducted Christian to the private staircase in another part of the spacious building. This they descended: the Duke opened the door at the bottom, by means of a-key which he had about him; and they issued forth into the grounds. The night was dark and windy. No moon was visible on the face of heaven—no stars were twink- ling: but sombre clouds were flying fast high over head. The skeleton branches of the trees were dimly perceptible through the obscurity: the ever green shrubs, dotting the garden at frequent intervals, looked like human shapes. Through the grounds the Duke led the way in silence,—Christian carrying the box; and they soon entered upon that very road along which Mr. Purvis, the old steward, had conducted our hero in the morning, and by the side of which was the pond where the fatal tragedy was enacted. “The night is bitter cold,” said the Duke, at length breaking silence. “The wind is high too You seem to stagger beneath the box ?” “ Not at all, my lord,’ answered Ashton. “ But how strangely the wind moans! It really seems as if it were the voice of the dead—or rather of the dying.” * Nonsense |” ejaculated Marchmont: “ the wind S 6)(0)(0) CO)