THE STONE DRAGON
AND OTHER TRAGIC ROMANCES
THE
STONE DRAGON
AND OTHER TRAGIC
ROMANCES: BY
MURRAY GILCHRIST
AUTHOR OF
‘PASSION THE PLAYTHING’
‘FRANGIPANNI,’ ETC.
[Illustration]
METHUEN AND CO.
18 BURY STREET, W.C.
LONDON
1894
Edinburgh: T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to Her Majesty
Dedicated to George Alfred Garfitt
CONTENTS
PAGE
THE STONE DRAGON, 1
THE MANUSCRIPT OF FRANCIS SHACKERLEY, 38
MIDSUMMER MADNESS, 63
THE LOST MISTRESS, 85
WITCH IN-GRAIN, 100
THE NOBLE COURTESAN, 106
THE WRITINGS OF ALTHEA SWARTHMOOR, 117
THE RETURN, 131
THE BASILISK, 142
DAME INOWSLAD, 154
EXCERPTS FROM PLINY WITHERTON’S JOURNAL: ALSO A
LETTER OF CRYSTALLA’S, 163
MY FRIEND, 175
ROXANA RUNS LUNATICK, 197
THE PAGEANT OF GHOSTS, 202
Certain among the Stories in this volume--‘Witch In-grain,’ ‘The
Writings of Althea Swarthmoor,’ ‘The Return,’ ‘The Basilisk,’ and
others--have appeared in _The National Observer_, by permission of
whose proprietors they are here reprinted.
THE STONE DRAGON
CHAPTER I
My father’s account of his last visit to Furnivaux Castle, which
I found in his journal some years after his death, enlightened me
concerning the cause of his disagreement with my great-aunt Barbara.
In response to an imperious summons he had travelled hurriedly from
the south of France to the remote corner of Westmoreland where her
estate lay; no sooner had he reached the portico than the old woman
confronted him, and began to discuss a new plan for restoring his
shrunken fortunes, by a marriage compact between myself and one of her
great nieces, either Rachel or Mary, both of whom were children in the
house. I was fifteen years old then, Rachel thirteen, and Mary ten. The
ceremony was to take place at once; and I was to travel for some years
before claiming my child-wife.
My father refused indignantly: scarce had his decisive words been
spoken ere Lady Barbara turned away angrily.
‘Fool, is there no changing you?’ she cried.
He understood her peculiarities, and despite his acknowledgment that
she was a gross and materialistic woman, who held no views beyond this
world, and whose chief enjoyment was to interfere mischievously with
the affairs of other folk, his kinship made him treat her with respect.
‘None,’ he replied. ‘My boy shall not be forced into bondage before
he knows what love means. I would rather he begged for his bread than
wronged body and soul.’
She swung round and showed a menacing face. ‘You have refused what I
had set my heart on!’ Her voice softened: ‘’Tis for the love I bear
you, Alston. I want to help you; remember that I am your mother’s
sister. Don’t refuse me.’
‘Aunt,’ he said painfully, ‘it may not be. I cannot sin against my son.’
She came still nearer. ‘Well, so be it,’ she muttered in his ear.
‘Others will suffer for your obstinacy. I know what my project meant;
but you, with your blind gropings after light, will never see. Nay; you
come no further into my house; this is no place for you!’
The door was closed violently, and my father passed along the dark
avenues to the village. He was with me in two days; but, although I
pressed him often (being curious to hear all about Furnivaux, which I
had never seen), he refused to disclose either the cause or the result
of his visit.
Before two years had passed, however, I found myself, by a curious
trick of fortune, in the vicinity of Furnivaux Castle. I had suffered
from an acute attack of brain fever, and when convalescent had been
ordered by the doctor to taste the air of Marlbrok-over-Sands, a
quaint watering-place at the mouth of the Lamber estuary. My father
was engaged at the time in preparing for the press his volume of
_Philosophical Discussions_, and, although he would willingly have
accompanied me, I chose rather to take Jeffreys, a man who had been
his valet in former times, but who held now the posts of confidant,
secretary and checker of the domestic accounts--a faithful old servant
of a type unknown to the present generation.
At first my father was averse to my visiting Marlbrok. He had suggested
Nice or Mentone, fancying that the bustle of foreign life would act
as a tonic; but as he heard of the marvellous strengthening virtues
which, according to Doctor Pulteney, belonged to the Lamber water, he
consented, and after strictly enjoining me not to go within at least a
mile of Furnivaux, travelled with me, and left me with Jeffreys at an
ancient inn.
On the fourth evening of my stay I strolled with Jeffreys to a large
hill whose seaward side is perfectly precipitous, but which is easily
climbed landward by a winding sheep-path. When I had reached the summit
I threw myself on the grass and rested for a while, gazing at the misty
outline of Man; then when my dimmed eyes had cleared I turned and saw
high on the side of a far-distant inland hill an enormous building,
which at first sight appeared on fire, for the westering sun struck
full on the great square windows. A grove of majestic trees gloomed to
the left, and a park besprinkled with herds of deer sloped downward to
the furthermost recess of the estuary.
A shepherd was training a dog near the place where I sat: regardless of
Jeffrey’s deprecations, I called to him, and inquired the name of the
house.
‘Furnivaux Castle, young sir. Lady Barbara Verelst’s place,’ he replied.
‘What?’ I cried. ‘Tell me all about it. Have you ever been there? What
is it like?’
Before he could answer Jeffreys interposed. ‘Come, Master Ralph, it is
growing chill; we shall have Doctor Pulteney here if you take cold.’
But I took no heed of him, and despite his attempted hindrance obtained
all the necessary information concerning the way. An evil desire to
disobey my father filled me: it seemed as if the glamour of the house
had cast a spell over me, and as I was hurried away by Jeffreys, I
resolved to take advantage of him in the early morning, and to visit
Lady Barbara.
I slept little that night, but lay watching the dawn creep over the
sea, and listening to the plaintive chirping of birds. As the cracked
bell of Marlbrok-St.-Mary’s struck six I sprang from my bed, dressed
hurriedly, and after a quiet laugh at the thought of what Jeffreys’
consternation would be when he discovered my absence, I slipped from
the house, and followed the path the shepherd had described.
It led through a long wood of small trees, matted with bracken and
sedge, and crossed by many rivulets that ran down to the sea. There
was much honeysuckle--so sweet that life grew absolutely perfect: I
gathered a large bunch, wherein lay many bees; and chanting extempore
rhymes I hurried onward.
When I reached the terrace of Furnivaux it was nearly breakfast-time.
The hall door, half open, revealed a vista of ancient pictures. As I
knocked there timidly, an ancient serving-man in fawn livery appeared.
Something, perhaps my resemblance to my father, amazed him, and he bade
me enter at once.
‘I wish to see Lady Barbara Verelst,’ I said.
He ushered me into a small, white-panelled room. ‘Her ladyship will be
with you very soon,’ he replied.
Meanwhile I arranged the honeysuckle in a large china dish. As I
was doing this a slight noise disturbed me, and looking up I saw a
white-frocked little girl eyeing me very intently. A black Persian cat
lay in her arms, rubbing its head on her shoulder.
‘_Cousin Mary!_’ I cried.
The child dropped the cat and ran forward to bring her tiny mouth to
mine. But even as she kissed footsteps came, and she drew back alarmed.
I took the honeysuckle and flung it all into her apron, and she, as if
fearing to be seen, made for another door and disappeared.
Then Lady Barbara entered. There was nothing of the patrician in her
appearance. Clad in a plain brown dress with a narrow collar of lace,
she might well have passed for a housekeeper who had no liking for
bright colour. Her face was round and russet, with a broad low forehead
that was covered with an intricate network of wrinkles. Her eyes were
small and sherry-coloured, and her teeth, which (as I heard afterwards)
were natural, glistened like regular pieces of ivory. Altogether she
struck me as a sharp bargain-driving country-woman, with a good deal of
craft, and an underlying vein of sarcastic humour. As she saw me she
courtesied very low.
‘So you are Ralph, or Rafe, as I love best to say it,’ she said. ‘Well,
you are very welcome here, though your father and I got across at our
last meeting. But I suppose he has thought better of my proposal, and
sent you now.’ Here she looked at her watch, a massive gold and crystal
globe that swung from her girdle. ‘The girl is a long time!’ she
exclaimed.
Before I could open my mouth to declare the truth about my father, a
rustling of silks came, and a girl swept through the doorway. She was
about fifteen years old, but might well have passed for twenty. Tall
and slender in figure, and with a face so perfectly, so strangely
lovely, it compelled me to make a simile of a flame resolving at the
lambent crest into a star. She moved towards me, and with no assumption
of modesty, threw her arms around my neck and kissed me. I have no idea
how she was dressed, but as I write comes a recollection of the flower
called ‘crown imperial,’ lying on a web of red-golden hair.
Lady Barbara shrieked in affected dismay. ‘My dear Rachel!’ she
cried, ‘you are forgetting yourself; Rafe is not a little boy--he’s
seventeen--he’s a _man_!’
Rachel Verelst turned to her, uplifting luminous eyes: ‘O aunt,’ she
said, with a sigh of relief, ‘it is most delicious to see a _man_. I
am Miranda--he Ferdinand. Cousin (mincingly), you’re the first man
I’ve seen for two years, except of course the servants, and they don’t
count with such people as your lowly handmaid.’
Something about her--perhaps the fact that her manner was so opposed
to that with which I had endowed my ideal woman--fascinated me at
once. Never before had I seen such radiant beauty: never before had I
known a woman lay herself out so coquettishly to attract attention.
She was unlike anything I had ever dreamed of, and even as I stood I
felt myself become enthralled. There was such admiration, too, in her
glance--admiration of the most flattering kind. All suddenly I sprang
high in self-esteem.
‘A handsome couple,’ the old woman said pointedly. ‘One fair as day:
the other, as Shakespeare says somewhere, black as night. Yes, day and
night! Now pray let me see you walk together to the breakfast-room. I
will waive etiquette for once, and you shall take precedence. Ah, yes,
sir, your arm was given gracefully; I am quite satisfied with your
manner. You are a Verelst, though your name is Eyre.’
With many comments upon the picture we made, she followed us to a small
parlour hung with red velvet, embossed with earl’s coronets in gilt. A
light meal was spread. The aroma of coffee filled the air, and after
the footman had brought in the hot dishes, a gust of fresher sweetness
came as Mary, shyly bedecked with honeysuckle, entered and sat at my
side. Lady Barbara took no heed of her appearance, so bent was she on
her own plans.
‘So your father has really conquered his prejudices,’ she remarked. ‘I
knew all the time that they meant nothing (poor Alston, he was always
feather-brained!), and I did not believe that he would have held out so
long. Well, forgive and forget. It does my heart good to see you and
Rachel at table together; I am almost inclined to sing _Nunc Dimittis_
at once!’
Something in the exultancy of her voice suppressed my avowal that,
overpowered by curiosity and attraction, I had come clandestinely. It
was not from kindness that my tongue refused its office, but rather of
a dread of how she might act.
‘Did he send any message, any writings?’ she inquired sharply.
I shook my head.
‘Ah, the rogue!’ she said. ‘He’s proud of you; he knows that your
presence is enough to explain all. Ay, and a very good recommendation
to my favour! Alston had ever a little of the diplomatist. Again let me
assure you that nobody could be more welcome.’
So the meal passed. Often Rachel turned to me with proudly sweeping
eyes, and brought her face so near mine that I could see my reflection
in each apple. For one so young her wit was brilliant and sharp-edged,
but the vivid outlines of her colouring prevented me from seeing
anything unmaidenly in her demeanour. There was depth mingled with
unstableness in her character; and although against my will I was
allured, I could not help feeling a sort of oppression, as if the air
were becoming too heavily perfumed. Two centuries ago she might have
shone as a king’s mistress. When I looked at her sister, timid, frail,
and shrinking, it was as if a draught of cool air rippled across my
temples.
Once the child essayed to speak. ‘Cousin Rafe,’ she said softly, ‘will
you tell me after breakfast what the world is like. I don’t mean the
country or the little market towns, but those places that one reads
about. Is Venice like Mrs. Radcliffe paints it in the _Mysteries of
Udolpho_?’
Lady Barbara began to laugh rather coarsely. ‘What is the girl raving
about?’ she said, turning contemptuously to Rachel. ‘Does she think
that at my age I’ve nothing better to do than to listen to puerile
descriptions. My dear Rafe, do not trouble with her. Rachel, I wonder
you permit his attention to be distracted.’
Great tears rolled down Mary’s cheeks. I was angered. ‘I like to hear
her talk,’ I said chivalrously.
At this my great-aunt laughed again, but Rachel, with wonderful tact
rose and embraced her sister. If she had not done so I believe that I
should have hated her. Even Lady Barbara was pleased.
‘You are a good girl, Rachel,’ she said, patting her shoulder. ‘Now,
Mary, you must forgive my querulousness.’
She took Rachel’s hand and drew her from the table. As she reached the
door she paused.
‘Rafe,’ she said, ‘can you amuse yourself till noon? Rachel writes my
letters and manages everything for me, so I must take her away. Mary,
make your cousin’s stay here as pleasant as you can: show him all over
the house and gardens--or anywhere so long as he’s entertained. If you
care to ride order the ponies.’
But Mary, as soon as we were alone, led me to the open window. A flight
of stairs descended from here to an old garden where busts and urns
surmounted columns of fluted marble. A spring, prattling over many-hued
stones, crossed the middle of this and deepened into shallow pools that
were edged with irises and flowering rushes.
‘Let us sit beside the dragon at the well-head,’ she said; ‘it is my
favourite dreaming-place, and I will ask you all I want to know. I am
not tiresome to you, Cousin Rafe?’ she added, with downcast eyes.
Our spirits rose. Ere long I was chasing her up and down the maze,
quite forgetful of the gravity of seventeen, and attempting at each
corner to grasp her flying skirts, but ever failing intentionally,
out of compliment to her lightness of foot. Her paleness had quite
disappeared, and as she laughed at me through the legs of the yew
peacocks, she looked like a young nymph. She began to sing hurriedly,
in a silvery voice, in imitation of some gaffer:--
‘When first I went a-waggonin’, a-waggonin’ did go,
I filled my pairients’ hearts full of sorra’, grief, an’ woe;
And many are the hardships that I ha’ since gone thro’.
So sing wo, my lads, sing wo. Drive on, my lads, Yo-ho!
For ye canna drive a waggon when the horses wunna go.’
Every word came clear and distinct. Scarcely, however, had she begun
the second verse than the sound of an approaching vehicle silenced her.
We looked down the avenue, and beheld a trap drawn by a bony white
horse.
It drew up near us. A familiar voice accosted me: ‘Master Ralph.’
To my surprise it was old Jeffreys, very haggard, and with eyes more
sad than reproachful.
‘O Master Ralph,’ he said, ‘come back at once, for God’s sake! There’s
just time enough to catch the boat, if you don’t linger a moment. Word
came this morning that my poor master was dying.’
His voice broke into sobs. Turning hastily to the child who stood
aghast at my side, I gave her one quick kiss, and then sprang up to the
seat, forgetful of all save the great catastrophe.