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Weapons of Mystery

<h2 id="id00675" style="margin-top: 4em">CHAPTER IX</h2> <h5 id="id00676">THE HALL GHOST</h5> Perhaps some of my readers may think I was doing wrong in determining to listen to the proposed conference between Miss Staggles and Voltaire. I do not offer any excuse, however. I felt that if this man was to be fought, it must be by his own weapons; such, at any rate, as I could use. I remembered the terrible influence he had exercised over me, the power of which might not yet be broken. I remembered Miss Forrest too. Evidently this man was a villain, and wanted to make her his wife. To stop such an event, I would devote my life. Something important might be the result of such a conversation. I might hear disclosed the secret of his influence, and thereby discover the means whereby I could be free, and this freedom might, I hoped, make me his master. Anyhow, I went. The dark clouds which swept across the sky hid the pale rays of the moon, and, clothed in black as I was, it would be difficult to see me amongst the dark tall trees. I hurried to the summer-house, for I wished to be there before they arrived. I was successful in this. When I came, all was silent; so I got behind a large tree, which, while it hid me from any one entering the house, enabled me to be within earshot of anything that might be said, especially so as the summer-house was a rustic affair, and the sides by no means thick. Silently I waited for, I should think, half-an-hour; then a woman came alone. Evidently she was cold, for she stamped her feet against the wood floor with great vehemence. Minute after minute passed by, and still there was no third party. Then I heard a low "hist." "You're late," said the woman's voice, which I recognized as Miss Staggles'. "Yes; and we must not stay long." "Why?" "Because I think we are watched." "But why should we be watched? Surely no one perceives that we are suspicious parties?" "I cannot say. I only know I cannot stay long." "Why, again?" "I have much to think about, much to do." "And I have much to tell you." "I can guess it, I think; but I must know. Tell me quickly." He spoke peremptorily, as if he had a right to command, while she did not resent his dictatorial tones. "They've been riding together again to-day." "I guessed it. Bah! what a fool I've been! But there, that may mean nothing." "But it does; it means a great deal." "What?" "I believe that he's asked her to be his wife. In fact, I'm sure he has." "Darkness and death, he has! And she?" "I hardly know; but as sure as we are alive, she likes him." "How do you know this?" "I saw them come in from their ride, and so I guessed that they had become friendly again." "Well?" "Well, I met her in the hall. She looked as happy as a girl could well look. I am a woman, so I began to put two and two together. I determined to listen. I went up-stairs to my room, which, you know, is close to Miss Gray's and Gertrude's. If you had known girls as long as I, you would know that they usually make friends and confidantes of each other. I found this to be true in the present case. Gertrude had not been in their room above five minutes before Miss Gray came to the door and asked to come in. It was immediately opened, and she entered." "And what then?" "I listened." "Just so; I expected that. But what did you hear?" "I could not catch all they said; but I gathered that they had a delightful ride, that Mr. Blake had made a declaration of love to Gertrude." "And her answer?" "I could not catch that; she spoke too low. But I should think it was favourable, for there was a great deal of whispering, and after a while I heard something about that dreadful man being Mr. Blake's enemy." "Ah! How did they know that?" "I gathered that Mr. Blake told her. Look here, Herod Voltaire; you are playing a losing game." "I playing a losing game? Do not fear. I'll win, I'll win, or—or—" Here he paused, as if a thought struck him. "Why don't you get an influence over her, as you did over Blake? Then you could manage easily." "I cannot. I've tried; her nature is not susceptible; besides, even if I got such a power, I could not use it. You cannot force love, and the very nature of the case would make such a thing impossible. Stay! You know Miss Forrest well, don't you, her education, and her disposition?" "I've known her long enough." "Well, tell me whether I am correct in my estimate of her character. If I am, I do not fear. She's very clear-headed, sharp, and clever; a hater of humbug, a despiser of cant." "True enough; but what's this got to do with the matter?" "In spite of this, however," went on Voltaire without heeding Miss Staggles' query, "she has a great deal of romance in her nature; has a strong love for mystery, so much so that she is in some things a trifle superstitious." "I can't say as to that, but I should think you are correct." "Then she's a young lady of very strong likes and dislikes, but at bottom is of a very affectionate nature." "Affectionate to nearly every one but me," muttered Miss Staggles. "She is intensely proud—" "As Lucifer!" interrupted Miss Staggles. "This is her great weakness," went on Voltaire. "Her pride will overcome her judgment, and because of it she will do things for which she will afterwards be sorry. Is this true?" "True to the letter. You must be a wizard, Herod Voltaire, or you couldn't have summed up her disposition so correctly." "Her sense of honour is very great. She would sacrifice her happiness to do what was thought to be honourable." "I believe she would." "Then my path is marked out," said he, savagely. From that time I could catch nothing of what was said, although they conversed for five minutes at least. But it was in whispers, so low that I could not catch a word. Presently they got up and went away, while I, with aching head and fast-beating heart, tried to think what to do. Everything was mystery. I could not see a step before me. Why should Miss Staggles be so willing to help Herod Voltaire, and what were the designs in his mind? What was his purpose in getting at a correct estimate of Miss Forrest's character? I went to the house pondering these things in my mind, and, arriving there, heard the hall clock strike the quarter, from which I knew it was a quarter past six. We were to dine at seven that day, and, as I did not usually make an elaborate toilette, I knew I had plenty of time. I felt I could not go in for a few minutes; my brain seemed on fire. I turned to take a walk towards the park gates, when I heard a footstep, and turning, saw Simon Slowden. "Can you give me ten minutes before dinner, sur?" he said. "I dare say," I said. He led me into the room in which we had spoken together before. "There's something wrong, yer honour," he said in a low voice. "How do you know?" "Why, that 'ere Egyptian hev bin doggin' me all day. He's got a hinklin' as how we're tryin' to match 'em, and reckons as how I'm yer friend. Besides, to-day when I see you ride hoff with the young lady, I thinks to myself, 'There's no knowin' what time he'll be back.' I know what 'tis, yer honour; hi've bin in the arms o' Wenus myself, and knows as 'ow a hour slips away like a minnit. So as there wur no tellin' if you would get to the summer-house to-night at five o'clock, I thought I'd just toddle up myself. But 'twas no go. I sees they two willains a-talkin' together, and when that 'ere Woltaire went off by himself, the other took it 'pon him to keep wi' me. I tried to git 'im off, but 'twas no use; he stuck to me like a limpet to a rock." "Perhaps it was all fancy, Simon." "No fancy in me, but a lot o' judgment. Fact, sur, I've begun to think for the fust time as 'ow some things in the Bible ain't true. In the Psalms of Solomon it reads, 'Resist the devil and he'll go away howlin'.' Well, I've resisted that 'ere devil, and he wouldn't go away till he'd knowed as how he'd played his little game;" and Simon looked very solemn indeed. "Is that all, Simon?" "All, yer honour. 'Tisn't much, you think; but to me it looks mighty suspicious, as I said to my sweetheart when I see her a-huggin' and kissin' the coachman." I went away laughing, but my heart was still heavy. Try as I would, I could not dispel the fancy that soon something terrible would happen. During dinner Kaffar made himself very disagreeable. This was somewhat unusual, as he was generally very bland and polite, but to-night he was so cantankerous that I fancied he must have been drinking. To me he was especially insulting, and went so far as to hint that I, unlike other Englishmen, was a coward; that I hadn't courage to resist a man manfully, but would act towards an enemy in a cunning, serpent-like way. This was not the first occasion on which he had sought to pick a quarrel with me, and I felt like resenting it. I desisted, however, as there were ladies present, and went on quietly talking to my neighbour as if he hadn't spoken. This roused his ire more, while I saw that Voltaire watched me with his light glittering eye, as if expecting a scene. After dinner, this being New Year's Day, we passed a more than usually merry time. Stories were told, old ballads were sung, while Roger de Coverley was danced in downright earnest by most of those who were present. By midnight, however, the old hall was silent; each of us had repaired to his room, and most, I expect, were quietly asleep, when a terrible scream was heard, after which there were shouts for help and hysterical cries. The sounds seemed to come from the direction of the servants' hall, and, quickly putting on some clothes, I hurried thither. I soon found that the noise had roused the whole household, and so, when I arrived, I found a number of the guests had gathered together. On looking into the room, I saw that the housekeeper was lying in a swoon, one of the servants was in hysterics, while Simon Slowden, who was in the room, and the page boy looked as white as sheets, and were trembling evidently with fear. "What does this mean?" asked Tom Temple, a little angrily. At this the housekeeper became conscious and said in a hoarse whisper, "Is she gone?" "What? Who do you mean?" asked Tom. "The hall lady," she said fearfully. "We are all friends here," said Tom, and I thought I detected an amount of anxiety in his voice. This appeared to assure the housekeeper, who got up and tried to collect her thoughts. We all waited anxiously for her to speak. "I have stayed up late, Mr. Temple," she said to Tom, "in order to arrange somewhat for the party you propose giving on Thursday. The work had got behind, and so I asked two or three of the servants to assist me." She stopped here, as if at a loss how to proceed. "Go on, Mrs. Richards; we want to know all. Surely there must be something terrible to cause you all to arouse us in this way." "I'll tell you as well as I can," said the housekeeper, "but I can hardly bear to think about it. Twas about one o'clock, and we were all very busy, when we heard a noise in the corridor outside the door. Naturally we turned to look, when the door opened and something entered." "Well, what? Some servant walking in her sleep?" "No, sir," said Mrs. Richards in awful tones. "It looked like a woman, very tall, and she had a long white shroud around her, and on it were spots of blood. In her hand she carried a long knife, which was also covered with blood, while the hand which held it was red. She came closer to us," she went on with a shudder, "and then stopped, lifting the terrible knife in the air. I cannot remember any more, for I was so terribly frightened. I gave an awful scream, and then I suppose I fainted." This story was told with many interruptions, many pauses, many cries, and I saw that the faces of those around were blanched with fear. "Do you know what it did, Simon," said Tom, turning to that worthy, "after it lifted its knife in the air?" "She went away with a wail like," said Simon, slowly; "she opened the door and went out. An' then I tried to go to the door, and when I got there, there was nothin'." "That is, you looked into the passage?" Simon nodded. "And what did you think she was like?" "Like the hall ghost, as I've heard so much about," said Simon. "The hall ghost!" cried the ladies, hysterically. "What does that mean, Mr. Temple?" I do not think Tom should have encouraged their superstition by telling them, but he did. He was excited, and scarcely knew what was best to do. "They say that, like other old houses, Temple Hall has its ghost," he said; "that she usually appears on New Year's night. If the year is to be good to those within at the time, she comes with flowers and dressed in gay attire; if bad, she is clothed in black; if there's to be death for any one, she wears a shroud. But it's all nonsense, you know," said Tom, uneasily. "And she's come in a shroud," said the servant who had been in hysterics, "and there was spots of blood upon it, and that means that the one who dies will be murdered; and there was a knife in her hand, and that means that 'twill be done by a knife." It would be impossible to describe the effect this girl's words made. She made the ghost very real to many, and the calamity which she was supposed to foretell seemed certain to come to pass. I looked at Gertrude Forrest and Ethel Gray, who, wrapped in their dressing-gowns, stood side by side, and I saw that both of them were terribly moved. Voltaire and Kaffar were both there, but they uttered no word. They, too, seemed to believe in the reality of the apparition. After a great deal of questioning on the part of the lady guests, and many soothing replies on the part of the men, something like quietness was at length restored, and many of the braver ones began to return to their rooms, until Tom and I were left alone in the servants' hall. We again questioned the servants, but with the same result, and then we went quietly up-stairs. Arriving at the landing, we saw Miss Forrest and Miss Gray leaving Mrs. Temple at the door of her room. Tom hurried to Miss Gray, and took her by the hand, while I, nothing loth, spoke to Miss Forrest. "There's surely some trick in this," I said to her. I felt her hand tremble in mine as she spoke. "I do not know. It seems terribly real, and I have heard of such strange things." "But you are not afraid? If you are, I shall be up all night, and will be so happy to help you." I thought I felt a gentle pressure of her hand, but I was not sure; but I know that her look made me very happy as she, together with Edith Gray, entered her room a few minutes after. When they had gone, I said to Tom, "I am not going to bed to-night." "No?" said Tom. "Well, I'll stay up with you." "This ghost affair is nonsense, Tom. I hope you will not find any valuables gone to-morrow." "Real or not," said Tom, gaily, "I'm glad it came." "How's that?" "It gave me nerve to pop the question," he replied. "I told my little girl just now—for she is mine now—that she wanted a strong man to protect such a weak little darling." "And she?" "She said that she knew of no one, whom she liked, that cared enough for her to protect her. So I told her I did, and then—well, what followed was perfectly satisfactory." I congratulated him on his audacity, and then we spent the night in wandering about the first floor of the house, trying to find the ghost, but in vain; and when the morning came, and we all tried to laugh at the ghost, I felt that there was a deep, sinister meaning in it all, and wondered what the end would be. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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