A few bits of coloured paper have nothing in their manufacture more inimical to the great cause, than any other trifles which serve to alienate the mind from its most important concerns. This is Stanley’s opinion. Adieu, mon ami,
Ever your faithful friend
F. Douglas.
LETTER XLV.
Emily Douglas to Julia Sandford.
Turin.
Oh, my dearest Julia, in what words shall I describe the horror and consternation in which we have been thrown by the awful event mentioned to your aunt in Alfred Stanley’s last letter? A week has passed since the dreadful catastrophe, and I have not slept since, so great is the shock that it produced. The particulars are as I will now endeavour to detail them.
On the evening of this day se’nnight we were returning, a numerous party, from a walk in the direction of Rivoli, when passing by a large house removed at a little distance from the outskirts of this town, and separated from the road by a thick plantation, we were violently startled by the noise of a pistol-shot, followed by a shriek so piercing, that I shall never cease to remember its shrillness. Mr. Otway, Fanny, Charles Falkland, and I, were foremost, and reached the spot whence these affrighting sounds proceeded before the rest came up; and scarcely had we arrived opposite the door, ere a frantic figure rushed from it, and fell down at our feet! Charles and Mr. Otway raised her from the earth, but she was pale as death, and quite insensible. I ran eagerly to a stream which was just by, and filling the crown of my straw hat with water, was hastening back, when I perceived that she was supported by a young and beautiful woman in deep mourning, who was recognized at the first glance by Fanny to be the Madame de Lisle, of whom I told you in a former letter. The object of our anxiety remained motionless, while the gentlemen, who were now joined by Alfred, George, and Frederick, flew into the house, where all was confusion: servants running to and fro; some of whom were employed in placing the body of a young man, who had just blown his brains out, on a bed. It was growing dark, and the shade of the trees rendered it impossible to see any thing clearly; but on Frederick’s return from the house, where some of the people had told him that the lady who had fainted was wife to Monsieur le Marchand, who was a negociant from Bourdeaux, and had destroyed himself in consequence, they supposed of bad news contained in a letter which he had received on that day, he pressed forward to take her in his arms for the purpose of laying her on a mattrass which he had had brought out; and no sooner did the light fall directly on her corpse-like features, than Frederick exclaimed, “Good God! Adelaide Crayton! She is the very image of her portrait in Grosvenor Square!” The agitation produced by this discovery is more easily imagined than described. Adelaide, for she was indeed our unfortunate cousin, was removed; and as she was raised up a locket fell upon the ground, which contained hair, with a coronet and the letter C. in diamonds. This ornament confirmed my brother’s belief; but she was silent, her pulse appeared to cease, and the livid paleness of her countenance, gave reason to imagine that her spirit would not revive. Oh! who amongst us had heart to wish that her eyes should open again on such a scene? Yet open they did, at last, but it was only to utter another shriek, and look wildly round for an instant, after which, half uttering the name of La Tour, she relapsed into the same inanimate state from which she had but just awakened. We had sent for a surgeon, who was now conducted to the mattrass on which Adelaide lay by a young woman, who, on being questioned, I found was La Tour, and femme de chambre to my poor cousin. In reply to my inquiries, she told me, with very little feeling, that Le Marchand was a feigned name, that Lord Crayton, after killing Signior Castelli, was obliged to fly; that his extravagance knew no bounds, and that he played enormously high; that an hour before the fatal act of suicide he saw a person pass the windows of the room in which he sat, whom he recognized as a Milan man to whom he owed a large sum of money; and irritated by finding that he was no longer concealed, he resolved on the desperate deed which was hardly resolved on ere it was perpetrated. His pistols were charged, and in the presence of his wife he put one of them to his mouth, and was dead in an instant! I said something expressive of pity for the survivor, and was not a little shocked by La Tour’s reply, “Ma’amselle, ne vous mettez pas en peine, madame se consolera bientôt.”
I turned from this woman with abhorrence, just as Mr. Otway, who had been employed in examining the servants, came back to the place where we were surrounding Adelaide, and trying every method for her recovery. Madame de Lisle was kneeling at my side, and engaged in rubbing one of poor Adelaide’s hands, when Mr. Otway changed colour as his eyes met her’s. He seemed on the point of speaking, but repressed whatever he was going to say; and I concluded that he had mistaken her for one of us in the confusion of the moment. At length the surgeon succeeded in recalling poor Lady Crayton’s senses, and she was carried to her bed, where Frederick and I resolved to watch by her during the night. George Bentley and Charles Falkland insisted on remaining below stairs, and Mr. Otway took charge of Charlotte and Fanny, whom he hurried home to apprize mamma of the events of the evening. They found her so far prepared for the dreadful intelligence, that she knew through Mr. Stanley, whom we begged to hasten to our hotel, that a gentleman had shot himself, in consequence of which we were delayed, but she had yet to learn the melancholy particulars of the catastrophe, and that we were endeavouring to be of use to our near relations.