# Ethel Churchill/Chapter 62

CHAPTER XXVII.
AN INTERVIEW.
Why, life must mock itself to mark how small Are the distinctions of its various pride. 'Tis strange how we delight in the unreal; The fanciful and the fantastic make One half our triumphs. Not in mighty things— The glorious offerings of our mind to fate— Do we ask homage to our vanities, One half so much as from the false and vain: The petty trifles that the social world Has fancied into grandeur.
When a woman has once made up her mind to be imprudent, she is very imprudent indeed; she is quite ingenious in contriving occasions. Thanks to her age, and the interest of old friends of the family, Mrs. Churchill had escaped without punishment for her amateur treason; and now, whether emboldened by an impunity which she most ​untruly set down to the account of fear, or whether the late excitement made her present quiet insipid,—it would be difficult to say; but she was in a fret and fever to further prove, what she called, her devotion to the House of Stuart.
Lord Marchmont would have expatiated for months to come on his own prudence in refusing her admission into his house, could he have heard only a tithe of her daily discourse. Fortunately, two servants she had brought with her, were devotedly attached to their mistress; and the others only entering her apartments at rare intervals, did not understand her mystic allusions; and she now, more than ever, affected to veil her meaning under the mysterious phraseology so much adopted by the Jacobites.
One morning Ethel was surprised by a summons, unusually early, to her grandmother's room. She found her in the greatest bustle: two of the maids unpacking a multitude of trunks; while she walked up and down, now telling them where such a satin was to be ​found, and then reading a letter which she held in her hand. As soon as Ethel came in, she took her hand, and, without speaking, led her to the closet adjoining.
"I have," said she, "most important intelligence to communicate."
Her listener turned pale: could it be possible that Mr. Trevanion had come to London?
Mrs. Churchill, however, continued, without noticing her agitation:—"I have this morning received an answer from her Grace of Buckingham. She appoints to-day for a private interview. The daughter of a king duly appreciates my humble services to her house."
"My dear madam!" exclaimed Ethel, "do you think it will be quite prudent, under your present circumstances, to visit a person, whose Jacobite predilections are so well known as those of the Duchess of Buckingham?"
"I am not aware," returned her grandmother, drawing up herself to her full height, "what act you have ever observed in my whole life, that authorises you to suppose I ​should allow prudence to interfere with duty? You will be ready to accompany me by twelve o'clock to-day."
Ethel knew that further remonstrance was useless; and, therefore, quietly offered her services to arrange the multitudinous wardrobe which was being unpacked.
Mrs. Churchill, always particular about her dress, was this morning more so than ever. Still, it must be confessed, that when the sad-coloured satin was arranged in rich folds, and the Mechlin lace (it was a little fortune in itself) hung to her satisfaction, she looked as perfect a specimen of an old lady as England could have produced.
The chairs came at the appointed hour, and Ethel could not but be amused at the glimpses she had of the park along which they were carried; although haunted by misgivings as to the judiciousness of their destination. They were set down in a hall of large dimensions, hung round with portraits, and filled with servants, who had more the air of guards. Two attendants marshalled them up-stairs, ​where they were received by two gentlemen ushers, who conducted them along a spacious gallery into an antechamber, where they were received by her grace's chamberlain. He sent in a page, richly dressed; and, after a message, mysteriously whispered in his ear, announced that her grace was ready to receive her guests. Two attendants, in court dresses, flung open the folding-doors of the room in which the duchess awaited their arrival. It was a long, high chamber: on the one side there were a number of narrow windows, whose curtains of crimson damask swept the floor, and gave a rich and subdued colour to the light that struggled through their massive folds; on the other side were pictures in huge gilded frames, each with a crown on the top; for they were all family portraits of the Stuarts. At the end of the room was a canopy, surmounted by a ducal coronet. Below was a full-length of James II., at whose feet was a sort of throne, on which the duchess was placed. Six ladies, splendidly attired, were on either side, all standing; indeed, an arm-chair, placed near ​the throne, was the only seat to be seen in the room.
The duchess received them with a gracious inclination of the head; and, after signing to Mrs. Churchill to take the arm-chair, she extended her hand for Ethel to kiss. Silence was then broken by inquiring how Mrs. Churchill bore the fatigue of the journey?
"I never felt it," replied the old lady, who was elated with all the dignity of a martyr; "there are times when the mind forgets the body."
Ethel could not help smiling when she recollected how her grandmother had slept or grumbled the whole journey in her very comfortable carriage.
"We are not ignorant of your devotion," returned the duchess, with a very solemn air, suddenly checking herself, as if afraid of say ing too much. But it is difficult to sustain conversation in such a high and forced tone, and neither party got further than a few stately sentences.
Ethel employed the time in observing the ​duchess. She could trace no likeness to the portrait by which she was seated; she was far handsomer, having retained, at least, the traces of her former beauty. She had fine high features: her eyes were rather small, and close to the nose, but bright and piercing; and the general severity of her aspect vanished under the influence of a very pleasant smile. She wore black; and, as the cumbrous drapery fell around her stately figure, contrasting with the dead paleness of her face (she had not worn rouge for years), there was something about her which gave more the idea of a picture than of a human being.
Apparently both the hostess and guest grew tired of maintaining the dignity of conspiracy; for, suddenly, the duchess rose and requested Mrs. Churchill's presence in her closet, and left Ethel, much longer than she liked, to be entertained by her ladies in waiting.
The duchess and Mrs. Churchill had known each other as girls; and it may be doubted whether they had not found some subject of conversation more amusing than even the ​downfal of the House of Hanover. At last a little page made his appearance, and stated, that Miss Churchill's company was requested by her grace. She followed her little guide through a number of galleries till she found herself in a large bed-chamber, by whose fireplace both Mrs. Churchill and the duchess were seated.
"I sent for you, my dear," said her grandmother, "that you might be as favoured as myself."
Both ladies rose with a mysterious air: and her grace, first carefully looking round, and then locking her door, touched a spring in the wall. The panel flew back, and discovered a small secret chamber, hung with purple velvet, and lighted by one large lamp.
"It burns night and day," said her grace, entering, followed by her companions. The duchess then drew a curtain aside, which concealed a portrait of the Pretender. She dropped on her knee, and her example was followed by Mrs. Churchill, and also by Ethel, who consoled herself by thinking that if it was ​an act of treason, she could not help it. Perhaps there was most treason in the interest with which she gazed on the handsome and melancholy countenance of the prince, that wore the expression of sadness peculiar to his fated race.
"It is a hard fate," thought she, "to be exiled from so noble a heritage as England."
On a little stand, in the middle, was a large basket, filled with white roses; the duchess took one and gave it to her young companion. They left the chamber in silence; and, after seeing that the panel was properly secured,—
"I have got another portrait to shew you," said her grace, in a tone from which every thing but deep sadness had vanished: "alas! ours is an ill-fated house!"
They followed her into another chamber, hung with black; and, beneath a sombre canopy, mocked by the ducal coronet above, was the portrait of her son—the young duke recently deceased. He was more like the Stuarts than his mother; but it was a soft, fair likeness. The same sad and sombre ​expression was united with almost feminine beauty. It was of a kind too fragile for lasting. The large blue eyes seemed full of light; but the lips were feverish, and the rich colour on the cheek, hectic.
"He was my only boy," said the duchess; and Ethel saw that the curved mouth was tremulous with suppressed emotion; and the eyes filled for a moment with unshed tears. After this, she had not even the inclination to smile at what her grace said was the occupation of her leisure hours. She undrew a curtain, and there were two wax-work figures, arrayed in robes of state, glittering with tissue and embroidery. "They are destined, when finished, for Westminster Abbey," added his mother, with all her former stateliness.
They then adjourned to the reception-room: the duchess resumed her seat under the canopy; the damsels in waiting ranged themselves on either side; and a page brought in a massive gold salver, with chocolate, seed-cake, and canary. The refreshments over, they took their leave, were ushered in great form to their ​chairs, and arrived in safety at home; Ethel, at all events, completely tired.
But the events of the day were not over. News had arrived in London that Mr. Trevanion had effected his escape. This, coupled with Mrs. Churchill's indiscreet visit, led to more severe measures. She was placed under confinement, though allowed to remain in her own house, on account of her age; but menaced with a fine, which would, if exacted, bring beggary along with it.