The Young Duchess; or, Memoirs of a Lady of Quality — page 168: what you’re looking at

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

a tr ees SCs Sho SSS SN SSeS | 154 me any questions in reference to those portraits ? Come, speak out !” ‘His lordship, I believe,” said Iithel, “has been dead about fifteen years at least so Miss Crediton gave me to understand a “True,” said her ladyship. ‘That portrait was painted in the very same year that he died. You see that he was in the prime of life—he had just completed his fortieth birthday.” Ethel’s eyes travelled from the portrait of the nobleman to that of the lady. There was a silence of some moments; and then her ladyship whispered in a very low tone in Ethel’s ears, ‘‘ My portrait was taken at the same time. That was fifteen years ago, I repeat. I was then nearly forty-five, and consequently between four and five years older than my husband. I know what you would say. That portrait represents me as a girl of eighteen or twenty!”—she paused, and then added in a tone which was only just audible, ‘I was almost as hideous a wretch then, Ethel, as I am at this present moment !” | Mrs. Trevor started; for she at once compre- hended, from the announcement just made, that Lady Langport must have therefore been in her husband’s lifetime a living lie and cheat as she was now. “TI deceived him—yes, I deceived him,” her ladyship proceeded to say: and it was still in a very low voice that she spoke. Again Ethel started, and turned her looks in- quiringly upon her patroness. ‘““Ah! but the deception was mutual,” rejoined her ladyship,—“‘ yes, mutual! We were both to blame! There was vanity matched against cupidity !—diamond cut diamond! Never was there a more striking illustration of that saying! —You would like to know my history, Ethel ?” ‘“‘T have no undue curiosity. an “Oh, but I am sure you would wish to learn it !—and you shall. Come with me.” Ethel lingered for a moment to draw the drape- ries over the two portraits; and then she accom- panied Lady Langport from the dining-room. Her ladyship led the way up-stairs: Ethel thought that she was about fo pass into one of the drawing-rooms; but instead of doing so, she continued to mount the next staircase. On reach- ing the second landing, Lady Langport did not enter her own chamber as Ethel fancied she was now about to do: but she stopped at the entrance of a passage in another direction, and at the end of which was a door, leading Ethel knew not whither—for when she was shown over the house, this particular door had not been opened,—an in- cident that the young lady had since forgotten. ‘“Go to my dressing-room, dear Ethel,” said ' her patroness, “and. bring me a key which you will find hanging just inside the bureau.” Lady Langport always kept about her own person the keys of the toilet-table and the walnut- wood bureau: she now handed Ethel the latter key—and the young lady hastened to the dress- ing-room to fulfil the request that had been made. She quickly returned, with the particular key for which she had been sent ; and Lady Langport now proceeded to open the door at the extremity of the passage. “Start not, my dear friend, at what you will see,” she said, in a low tone, ag she stood with her fingers upon the handle, Ethel, again shuddering. THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. She then pushed the door open; but in spite of the injunction that had been given, Ethel did start—for the first object which met her eyes was a coffin standing upon tressels. It was in a very small room, and appeared to serve as a sort of lumber-closet; for there were several trunks, pieces of old bedsteads, and other articles of fur- niture there;—but the one conspicuous object was that which so gminously met Ethel’s regards in the manner just described. “Do not be timid nor foolish, my dear friend,” said her ladyship, with a smile wherein a certain degree of solemn moutnfulness mingled with its wonted amiahility. ‘Come in, and shut the door.” Ethel did as she was requested; and then she glanced with a look of shuddering inquiry from the coffin to her patroness. ‘Are we not all mortal, my sweet friend?” asked Lady Langport, in a low mild voice; “and must we not all die sooner or later? Has not some celebrated French aythor remarked that we are all condemned -to death, with reprieves of a longer or shorter date? Well, then, wherefore should we hesitate to look upon the preparations for our own obsequies ?” “What does your ladyship mean?” inquired ‘““ That coffin ? “Is mine. Yes—it is for me, when my mortal career shall have reached its end! And that, dear Ethel,” added her ladyship, now heaving a profound sigh, “cannot in the course of nature be far off. Ah! you think, perhaps, that this sigh indicates a regretfulness to leave the world which is but little consistent with the philosophy of the remarks that I was ere now making. But I will confess that the world has its charms for me ” “ And yet, perhaps,” said Ethel, *‘it is after all as well that we should occasionally—aye, fre- quently, have our attention directed te the solemn certainty of our fate ’ “Tt was not for so moral a purpose,” inter- rupted Lady Langport, “that I caused this coffin to be made secretly, in some low neighbourhood of London, and had if brought here privily in the middle of the night, so that there is not a single domestic in my household who suspects that it is beneath this roof.” ““For what purpose, then,” asked Ethel, “if not for occasional contemplation-———” “‘Cannot you guess, my friend? It is that so soon as I shall be mo mere, my cold corpse may be at once consigned to this long narrow tene- ment, so that there may be no need nor excuse for undertakers to come and measure me 2 ‘Enough! enough!” interrupted Ethel, who was almost shocked at the idea that this woman was suffering her vanity to extend itself even beyond the limits of this life, and cross the threshold of the tomb! ‘Nay, but I have a promise to exact from you, dear Ethel,” said Lady Langport,— a solemn promise! I donot ask you to bind yourself by an oath—because I know that you are all faith- fulness and integrity, and you will keep your word. Promise me, therefore, that if you are with me when I shall be no more, you will keep away from my remains the vultures that would otherwise fasten upon them—that you yourself will lay me out—and that you will with the least possible delay consign me to this cofin-— a COMO TIP PG I Pe I Pn Pts te EF er bar—veen purr amnngrennereror——e Colin