THE MYSTERIOUS BOUDOIR.
Accustomed to study human nature, Dr. X---- had acquired peculiar
sagacity in judging of character. Notwithstanding the address with which
Lady Delacour concealed the real motives for her apparently thoughtless
conduct, he quickly discovered that the hatred of Mrs. Luttridge was her
ruling passion. Above nine years of continual warfare had exasperated
the tempers of both parties, and no opportunities of manifesting their
mutual antipathy were ever neglected. Extravagantly as Lady Delacour
loved admiration, the highest possible degree of positive praise was
insipid to her taste, if it did not imply some superiority over the
woman whom she considered as a perpetual rival.
Now it had been said by the coachmaker, that Mrs. Luttridge would sport
a most elegant new vis-à-vis on the king’s birthday. Lady Delacour
was immediately ambitious to outshine her in equipage; and it was this
paltry ambition that made her condescend to all the meanness of the
transaction by which she obtained Miss Portman’s draft, and Clarence
Hervey’s two hundred guineas. The great, the important day, at length
arrived--her ladyship’s triumph in the morning at the drawing-room
was complete. Mrs. Luttridge’s dress, Mrs. Luttridge’s vis-à-vis, Mrs.
Luttridge’s horses were nothing, absolutely nothing, in comparison with
Lady Delacour’s: her ladyship enjoyed the full exultation of vanity; and
at night she went in high spirits to the ball.
“Oh, my dearest Belinda,” said she, as she left her dressing-room, “how
terrible a thing it is that you cannot go with me!--None of the joys of
this life are without alloy!--‘Twould be too much to see in one night
Mrs. Luttridge’s mortification, and my Belinda’s triumph. Adieu!
my love: we shall live to see another birthday, it is to be hoped.
Marriott, my drops. Oh, I have taken them.”
Belinda, after her ladyship’s departure, retired to the library. Her
time passed so agreeably during Lady Delacour’s absence, that she was
surprised when she heard the clock strike twelve.
“Is it possible,” thought she, “that I have spent two hours by myself
in a library without being tired of my existence?--How different are my
feelings now from what they would have been in the same circumstances
six months ago!--I should then have thought the loss of a birthnight
ball a mighty trial of temper. It is singular, that my having spent
a winter with one of the most dissipated women in England should have
sobered my mind so completely. If I had never seen the utmost extent
of the pleasures of the world, as they are called, my imagination might
have misled me to the end of my life; but now I can judge from my own
experience, and I am convinced that the life of a fine lady would never
make me happy. Dr. X---- told me, the other day, that he thinks me
formed for something better, and he is incapable of flattery.”
The idea of Clarence Hervey was so intimately connected with that of his
friend, that Miss Portman could seldom separate them in her imagination;
and she was just beginning to reflect upon the manner in which Clarence
looked, whilst he declared to Sir Philip Baddely, that he would never
give up Dr. X----, when she was startled by the entrance of Marriott.
“Oh, Miss Portman, what shall we do? what shall we do?-My lady! my poor
lady!” cried she.
“What is the matter?” said Belinda.
“The horses--the young horses!--Oh, I wish my lady had never seen them.
Oh, my lady, my poor lady, what will become of her?”
It was some minutes before Belinda could obtain from Marriott any
intelligible account of what had happened.
“All I know, ma’am, is what James has just told me,” said Marriott. “My
lady gave the coachman orders upon no account to let Mrs. Luttridge’s
carriage get before hers. Mrs. Luttridge’s coachman would not give up
the point either. My lady’s horses were young and ill broke, they tell
me, and there was no managing of them no ways. The carriages got somehow
across one another, and my lady was overturned, and all smashed to
atoms. Oh, ma’am,” continued Marriott, “if it had not been for Mr.
Hervey, they say, my lady would never have been got out of the crowd
alive. He’s bringing her home in his own carriage, God bless him!”
“But is Lady Delacour hurt?” cried Belinda.
“She _must_,--to be sure, she must, ma’am,” cried Marriott, putting her
hand upon her bosom. “But let her be ever so much hurt, my lady will
keep it to herself: the footmen swear she did not give a scream, not a
single scream; so it’s their opinion she was no ways hurt--but that,
I know, can’t be--and, indeed, they are thinking so much about the
carriage, that they can’t give one any rational account of any thing;
and, as for myself, I’m sure I’m in such a flutter. Lord knows, I
advised my lady not to go with the young horses, no later than--”
“Hark!” cried Belinda, “here they are.” She ran down stairs instantly.
The first object that she saw was Lady Delacour in convulsions--the
street-door was open--the hall was crowded with servants. Belinda made
her way through them, and, in a calm voice, requested that Lady Delacour
might immediately be brought to her own dressing-room, and that she
should there be left to Marriott’s care and hers. Mr. Hervey assisted in
carrying Lady Delacour--she came to her senses as they were taking her
up stairs. “Set me down, set me down,” she exclaimed: “I am not hurt--I
am quite well,--Where’s Marriott? Where’s Miss Portman?”
“Here we are--you shall be carried quite safely--trust to me,” said
Belinda, in a firm tone, “and do not struggle.”
Lady Delacour submitted: she was in agonizing pain, but her fortitude
was so great that she never uttered a groan. It was the constraint which
she had put upon herself, by endeavouring not to scream, which threw her
into convulsions. “She is hurt--I am sure she is hurt, though she will
not acknowledge it,” cried Clarence Hervey. “My ankle is sprained,
that’s all,” said Lady Delacour--“lay me on this sofa, and leave me to
Belinda.”
“What’s all this?” cried Lord Delacour, staggering into the room: he was
much intoxicated, and in this condition had just come home, as they were
carrying Lady Delacour up stairs: he could not be made to understand the
truth, but as soon as he heard Clarence Hervey’s voice, he insisted upon
going up to _his wife’s_ dressing-room. It was a very unusual thing, but
neither Champfort nor any one else could restrain him, the moment that
he had formed this idea; he forced his way into the room.
“What’s all this?--Colonel Lawless!” said he, addressing himself to
Clarence Hervey, whom, in the confusion of his mind, he mistook for the
colonel, the first object of his jealousy. “Colonel Lawless,” cried his
lordship, “you are a villain. I always knew it.”
“Softly!--she’s in great pain, my lord,” said Belinda, catching Lord
Delacour’s arm, just as he was going to strike Clarence Hervey. She led
him to the sofa where Lady Delacour lay, and uncovering her ankle, which
was much swelled, showed it to him. His lordship, who was a humane man,
was somewhat moved by this appeal to his remaining senses, and he began
roaring as loud as he possibly could for arquebusade.
Lady Delacour rested her head upon the back of the sofa, her hands moved
with convulsive twitches--she was perfectly silent. Marriott was in a
great bustle, running backwards and forwards for she knew not what,
and continually repeating, “I wish nobody would come in here but Miss
Portman and me. My lady says nobody must come in. Lord bless me! my lord
here too!”
“Have you any arquebusade, Marriott? Arquebusade, for your lady,
directly!” cried his lordship, following her to the door of the boudoir,
where she was going for some drops.
“Oh, my lord, you can’t come in, I assure you, my lord, there’s nothing
here, my lord, nothing of the sort,” said Marriott, setting her back
against the door. Her terror and embarrassment instantly recalled all
the jealous suspicions of Lord Delacour. “Woman!” cried he, “I _will_
see whom you have in this room!--You have some one concealed there, and
I _will_ go in.” Then with brutal oaths he dragged Marriott from the
door, and snatched the key from her struggling hand.
Lady Delacour started up, and gave a scream of agony. “My lord!--Lord
Delacour,” cried Belinda, springing forward, “hear me.”
Lord Delacour stopped short. “Tell me, then,” cried Lord Delacour,
“is not a lover of Lady Delacour’s concealed there?” “No!--No!--No!”
answered Belinda. “Then a lover of Miss Portman?” said Lord Delacour.
“Gad! we have hit it now, I believe.”
“Believe whatever you please, my lord,” said Belinda, hastily, “but give
me the key.”
Clarence Hervey drew the key from Lord Delacour’s hand, gave it to Miss
Portman without looking at her, and immediately withdrew. Lord Delacour
followed him with a sort of drunken laugh; and no one remained in the
room but Marriott, Belinda, and Lady Delacour. Marriott was so much
_fluttered_, as she said, that she could do nothing. Miss Portman locked
the room door, and began to undress Lady Delacour, who lay motionless.
“Are we by ourselves?” said Lady Delacour, opening her eyes.
“Yes--are you much hurt?” said Belinda. “Oh, you are a charming girl!”
said Lady Delacour. “Who would have thought you had so much presence of
mind and courage--have you the key safe?” “Here it is,” said Belinda,
producing it; and she repeated her question, “Are you much hurt?” “I am
not in pain now,” said Lady Delacour, “but I _have_ suffered terribly.
If I could get rid of all this finery, if you could put me to bed, I
could sleep perhaps.”
Whilst Belinda was undressing Lady Delacour, she shrieked several times;
but between every interval of pain she repeated, “I shall be better
to-morrow.” As soon as she was in bed, she desired Marriott to give
her double her usual quantity of laudanum; for that all the inclination
which she had felt to sleep was gone, and that she could not endure the
shooting pains that she felt in her breast.
“Leave me alone with your lady, Marriott,” said Miss Portman, taking
the bottle of laudanum from her trembling hand, “and go to bed; for I am
sure you are not able to sit up any longer.”
As she spoke, she took Marriott into the adjoining dressing-room. “Oh,
dear Miss Portman,” said Marriott, who was sincerely attached to her
lady, and who at this instant forgot all her jealousies, and all her
love of power, “I’ll do any thing you ask me; but pray let me stay in
the room, though I know I’m quite helpless. It will be too much for you
to be here all night by yourself. The convulsions may take my lady.
What shrieks she gives every now and then!--and nobody knows what’s the
matter but ourselves; and every body in the house is asking me why a
surgeon is not sent for, if my lady is so much hurt. Oh, I can’t answer
for it to my conscience, to have kept the matter secret so long; for to
be sure a physician, if had in time, might have saved my lady--but now
nothing can save her!” And here Marriott burst into tears.
“Why don’t you give me the laudanum?” cried Lady Delacour, in a loud
peremptory voice; “Give it to me instantly.”--“No,” said Miss Portman,
firmly.--“Hear me, Lady Delacour--you must allow me to judge, for you
know that you are not in a condition to judge for yourself, or rather
you must allow me to send for a physician, who may judge for us both.”
“A physician!” cried Lady Delacour, “Never--never. I charge you let
no physician be sent for. Remember your promise: you _cannot_ betray
me--you _will_ not betray me.”
“No,” said Belinda, “of that I have given sufficient proof--but you will
betray yourself: it is already known by your servants that you have
been hurt by the overturn of your carriage; if you do not let either a
surgeon or physician see you it will excite surprise and suspicion.
It is not in your power, when violent pain seizes you, to refrain
from---------”
“It is,” interrupted Lady Delacour; “not another scream shall you
hear--only do not, do not, my dear Belinda, send for a physician.”
“You will throw yourself again into convulsions,” said Belinda.
“Marriott, you see, has lost all command of herself--I shall not have
strength to manage you---perhaps I may lose my presence of mind--I
cannot answer for myself--your husband may desire to see you.”
“No danger of that,” said Lady Delacour: “tell him my ankle is
sprained--tell him I am bruised all over--tell him any thing you
will--he will not trouble himself any more about me--he will forget all
that passed to-night by the time he is sober. Oh! give me the laudanum,
dearest Belinda, and say no more about physicians.”
It was in vain to reason with Lady Delacour. Belinda attempted to
persuade her: “For my sake, dear Lady Delacour,” said she, “let me send
for Dr. X----; he is a man of honour, your secret will be perfectly
safe with him.”
“He will tell it to Clarence Hervey,” said Lady Delacour: “of all men
living, I would not send for Dr. X----; I will not see him if he
comes.”
“Then,” said Belinda, calmly, but with a fixed determination of
countenance, “I must leave you to-morrow morning--I must return to
Bath.”
“Leave me! remember your promise.”
“Circumstances have occurred, about which I have made no promise,” said
Belinda; “I must leave you, unless you will now give me your permission
to send for Dr. X----.”
Lady Delacour hesitated. “You see,” continued Belinda, “that I am in
earnest: when I am gone, you will have no friend left; when I am gone,
your secret will inevitably be discovered; for without me, Marriott will
not have sufficient strength of mind to keep it.”
“Do you think we might trust Dr. X----?” said Lady Delacour.
“I am sure you may trust him,” said Belinda, with energy; “I will pledge
my life upon his honour.”
“Then send for him, since it must be so,” said Lady Delacour.
No sooner had the words passed Lady Delacour’s lips than Belinda flew
to execute her orders. Marriott recovered her senses when she heard that
her ladyship had consented to send for a physician; but she declared
that she could not conceive how any thing less than the power of magic
could have brought her lady to such a determination.
Belinda had scarcely despatched a servant for Dr. X----, when Lady
Delacour repented of the permission she had given, and all that could
be said to pacify only irritated her temper. She became delirious;
Belinda’s presence of mind never forsook her, she remained quietly
beside the bed waiting for the arrival of Dr. X----, and she absolutely
refused admittance to the servants, who, drawn by their lady’s
outrageous cries, continually came to her door with offers of
assistance.
About four o’clock the doctor arrived, and Miss Portman was relieved
from some of her anxiety. He assured her that there was no immediate
danger, and he promised that the secret which she had entrusted to him
should be faithfully kept. He remained with her some hours, till Lady
Delacour became more quiet and fell asleep, exhausted with delirious
exertions.--“I think I may now leave you,” said Dr. X----; but as he was
going through the dressing-room, Belinda stopped him.--“Now that I have
time to think of myself,” said she, “let me consult you as my friend: I
am not used to act entirely for myself, and I shall be most grateful if
you will assist me with your advice. I hate all mysteries, but I feel
myself bound in honour to keep the secret with which Lady Delacour
has entrusted me. Last night I was so circumstanced, that I could not
extricate her ladyship without exposing myself to--to suspicion.”
Miss Portman then related all that had passed about the mysterious door,
which Lord Delacour, in his fit of drunken jealousy, had insisted upon
breaking open.
“Mr. Hervey,” continued Belinda, “was present when all this happened--he
seemed much surprised: I should be sorry that he should remain in an
error which might be fatal to my reputation--you know a woman ought
not even to be suspected; yet how to remove this suspicion I know not,
because I cannot enter into any explanation, without betraying Lady
Delacour--she has, I know, a peculiar dread of Mr. Hervey’s discovering
the truth.”
“And is it possible,” cried Dr. X----, “that any woman should be so
meanly selfish, as thus to expose the reputation of her friend merely to
preserve her own vanity from mortification?”
“Hush--don’t speak so loud,” said Belinda, “you will awaken her; and at
present she is certainly more an object of pity than of indignation.--If
you will have the goodness to come with me, I will take you by a back
staircase up to the _mysterious boudoir_. I am not too proud to give
positive proofs of my speaking truth; the key of that room now lies on
Lady Delacour’s bed--it was that which she grasped in her hand during
her delirium--she has now let it fall--it opens both the doors of the
boudoir--you shall see,” added Miss Portman, with a smile, “that I am
not afraid to let you unlock either of them.”
“As a polite man,” said Dr. X----, “I believe that I should
absolutely refuse to take any external evidence of a lady’s truth; but
demonstration is unanswerable even by enemies, and I will not sacrifice
your interests to the foppery of my politeness--so I am ready to follow
you. The curiosity of the servants may have been excited by last night’s
disturbance, and I see no method so certain as that which you propose of
preventing busy rumour. That goddess (let Ovid say what he pleases) was
born and bred in a kitchen, or a servants’ hall.--But,” continued
Dr. X----, “my dear Miss Portman, you will put a stop to a number
of charming stories by this prudence of yours--a romance called the
Mysterious Boudoir, of nine volumes at least, might be written on this
subject, if you would only condescend to act like almost all other
heroines, that is to say, without common sense.”
The doctor now followed Belinda, and satisfied himself by ocular
demonstration, that this cabinet was the retirement of disease, and not
of pleasure.
It was about eight o’clock in the morning when Dr. X---- got home; he
found Clarence Hervey waiting for him. Clarence seemed to be in great
agitation, though he endeavoured, with all the power which he possessed
over himself, to suppress his emotion.
“You have been to see Lady Delacour,” said he, calmly: “is she much
hurt?--It was a terrible accident.”
“She has been much hurt,” said Dr. X----, “and she has been for some
hours delirious; but ask me no more questions now, for I am asleep, and
must go to bed, unless you have any thing to say that can waken me: you
look as if some great misfortune had befallen you; what is the matter?”
“Oh, my dear friend,” said Hervey, taking his hand, “do not jest with
me; I am not able to bear your raillery in my present temper--in one
word, I fear that Belinda is unworthy of my esteem: I can tell you no
more, except that I am more miserable than I thought any woman could
make me.”
“You are in a prodigious hurry to be miserable,” said Dr. X----. “Upon
my word I think you would make a mighty pretty hero in a novel; you take
things very properly for granted, and, stretched out upon that sofa, you
act the distracted lover vastly well--and to complete the matter, you
cannot tell me why you are more miserable than ever man or hero was
before. I must tell you, then, that you have still more cause for
jealousy than you suspect. Ay, start--every jealous man starts at the
sound of the word jealousy--a certain symptom this of the disease.”
“You mistake me,” cried Clarence Hervey; “no man is less disposed to
jealousy than I am--but----”
“But your mistress--no, not your mistress, for you have never yet
declared to her your attachment--but the lady you admire will not let a
drunken man unlock a door, and you immediately suppose--”
“She has mentioned the circumstance to you!” exclaimed Hervey, in a
joyful tone: “then she _must_ be innocent.”
“Admirable reasoning!--I was going to have told you just now, if you
would have suffered me to speak connectedly, that you have more reason
for jealousy than you suspect, for Miss Portman has actually unlocked
for me--for me! look at me--the door, the mysterious door--and whilst I
live, and whilst she lives, we can neither of us ever tell you the cause
of the mystery. All I can tell you is, that no lover is in the case,
upon my honour--and now, if you should ever mistake curiosity in your
own mind for jealousy, expect no pity from me.”
“I should deserve none,” said Clarence Hervey; “you have made me the
happiest of men.”
“The happiest of men!--No, no; keep that superlative exclamation for
a future occasion. But now you behave like a reasonable creature, you
deserve to hear the praises of your Belinda--I am so much charmed with
her, that I wish--”
“When can I see her?” interrupted Hervey; “I’ll go to her this instant.”
“Gently,” said Dr. X----, “you forget what time of the day it is--you
forget that Miss Portman has been up all night--that Lady Delacour is
extremely ill--and that this would be the most unseasonable opportunity
you could possibly choose for your visit.”
To this observation Clarence Hervey assented; but he immediately seized
a pen from the doctor’s writing table, and began a letter to Belinda.
The doctor threw himself upon the sofa, saying, “Waken me when you want
me,” and in a few minutes he was fast asleep.
“Doctor, upon second thoughts,” said Clarence, rising suddenly, and
tearing his letter down the middle, “I cannot write to her yet--I forgot
the reformation of Lady Delacour: how soon do you think she will be
well? Besides, I have another reason for not writing to Belinda at
present--you must know, my dear doctor, that I have, or had, another
mistress.”
“Another mistress, indeed!” cried Dr. X----, trying to waken himself.
“Good Heavens! I do believe you’ve been asleep.”
“I do believe I have.”
“But is it possible that you could fall sound asleep in that time?”
“Very possible,” said the doctor: “what is there so extraordinary in
a man’s falling asleep? Men are apt to sleep sometime within the
four-and-twenty hours, unless they have half-a-dozen mistresses to keep
them awake, as you seem to have, my good friend.”
A servant now came into the room with a letter, that had just arrived
express from the country for Dr. X----.
“This is another affair,” cried he, rousing himself.
The letter required the doctor’s immediate attendance. He shook hands
with Clarence Hervey: “My dear friend, I am really concerned that I
cannot stay to hear the history of your six mistresses; but you see that
this is an affair of life and death.”
“Farewell,” said Clarence: “I have not six, I have only three goddesses;
even if you count Lady Delacour for one. But I really wanted your advice
in good earnest.”
“If your case be desperate, you can write, cannot you? Direct to me at
Horton-hall, Cambridge. In the mean time, as far as general rules go, I
can give you my advice gratis, in the formula of an old Scotch song----
“‘Tis good to be merry and wise,
‘Tis good to be honest and true,
‘Tis good to be off with the old love
Before you be on with the new.’”