The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 18: what you’re looking at

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

enn ncn ncn r ccna n ncn nner ns ssssssesse 4 THE MYSTERIES OF THE COURT. But at length they parted : yes—they parted— Clara being compelled to tear herself away from Louisa’s embrace ;—and while the former hurried on to overtake the maid-servant who had pro- ceeded in advance with her box, the younger sister sped to her own chamber where she fell upon her knees and besought heaven to shield the loved one who had just gone forth as it were upon the wide world for the first time ! The coach office in Canterbury was reached— the box containing Clara’s necessaries was placed on the roof of the vehicle—and the young lady, having taken her place inside, bade the maid- servant good-bye. Away rolled the coach: the outskirts of Canterbury were soon gained—and Clara kept her tearful eyes fixed upon the co- lossal tower of the cathedral until it faded from her view. Then, as the last familiar object which marked her dwelling-place was thus lost in the distance, she felt as if an immeasurable gulf had suddenly yawned between herself and the home which she had just left—and her tears flowed freely. But her fellow-travellers, who happened to be kind-hearted and worthy people, proffered their consolations:—and one of them began to expatiate so enthusiastically upon the wonders, the bustle, and the gaiety of London, that Clara forgot her grief in the interest with which she listened to his remarks. It was not until late in the evening that the coach entered London: and altho ugh the dim oil- lamps afforded but an imperfect view of the streets through which the vehicle passed in its Progress towards Gracechurch Street, vet Clara was delighted, astonished, and bewildered by the endless maze of buildings which it thus threaded. At length, having crossed old London Bridge, the coach stopped at the Cross Keys inn, where the young lady, by the advice of her com- municative fellow-traveller, resolved to pass the night. Early in the morning she rose—dressed herself, with the utmost care, in her best apparel—and, having partaken of breakfast, procured a hack- ney-coach to convey her to the West End. The driver was instructed to proceed to Mr. Beckford’s, No. 20, Hanover Square: and while threading all the various streets through which it was ne- cessary to pass, Clara had an opportunity of judging how far the descriptions she had heard and read of London were based upon truth. In some respects she was disappointed—but in others she was more than satisfied :—and altogether she could not conceal from herself the fact that she was well pleased at having had an excuse to visit the metropolis. Now and then, as she was roll- ing along in the hackney-coach, her heart swelled and her bosom heaved as she thought of her afflicted aunt and her loving sister: but the next moment some brilliant equipage dashing by, or & handsome edifice, or a superb shop would at- tract her gaze—and thus was her mind diverted from unpleasant reflections. The hackney-coach entered Hanover Square eens eects asaysstvetasuspsasashssesseutnattbressemassieunisissnemnstuneiaens and stopped at the number which Clara had men- tioned. The driver knocked at the door—and a powdered lacquey came forth. But to the young lady’s mingled astonishment and dismay, the servant declared that no such person as Mr. Beckford was known at the house, which indeed was the mansion of Sir Archibald Malvern, a baronet. Clara was bewildered and knew not what to think. She was certain, beyond all pos- sibility of mistake, that the draughts which her- self and Louisa had jointly drawn for the last eighteen months, were addressed to Mr. Beck- ford, No. 20, Hanover Square; and yet he was unknown at the place! The lacquey, observing that she was perplexed, added to her confusion by volunteering the assurance that he knew the name of every family in the Square, and that there was no house in the occupancy of a Mr. Beckford. Clara inquired whether any letters addressed to Mr. Beckford had ever been re- ceived at No. 20: but to this query the man unhesitatinely returned a negative, The young lady was utterly at a loss what course to pursue or what conjecture to form. But feeling the absolute necessity of sifting the matter to the very bottom, she begged the ser- vant to obtain for her a few minutes’ interview with Sir Archibald Malvern. 'To this request the man replied that his master was not at home— that he had been absent for some weeks—and that it appeared quite uncertain when he would return: then, after a pause, he added that Sir Archibald’s son, Mr. Valentine Malvern, was within and would no doubt see the young lady. Clara at once accepted this proposition; and the lacquey introduced her into the house. Scarcely had she waited a couple of minutes in the splendidly-furnished room to which she was shown, when a tall, slender, handsome young gentleman, about two-and-twenty years of age, made his appearance. A profound melancholy shaded his countenance; and when he spoke his voice, naturally full of masculine melody, was marked by the accents of a deep sorrow. Altogether, his appearance and his manners were calculated to inspire a sincere feeling of interest and excite emotions of true sympathy in his behalf. This young gentleman was Valentine Malvern; and he had already heard from the domestic the nature of the inquiries which Clara had been making. But he was unable to relieve her of a single tittle of the grievous embarrassment in which she found herself placed : for the name of Beckford was entirely unknown to him. Al- though extremely polite, and indeed kindly courteous, towards Clara, Valentine was never- theless so much absorbed in his own sorrows, whatever they were, that he did not seek to protract his interview with her;—and she had too much good taste to remain any longer than was necessary. She accordingly took her leave: but Valentine insisted upon handing her into the vehicle—and it struck her that he regarded COCO: SCO