MRS. TRUAX TALKS.
OCTOBER 7, 1791.
[Illustration: T]
This morning I was exceedingly startled by one of my guests suddenly
asking me before several of the others, if my inn had a ghost.
"A ghost!" I cried, for the moment quite aghast.
"Yes," was the reply; "it has the look of a house which could boast of
such a luxury. Don't you think so, Mr. Westgate?"
This is a newcomer who had just been introduced.
"Well," observed the latter, "as I have seen only this room, and as this
room is anything but ghostlike at the present moment, I hardly consider
myself competent to judge."
"But the exterior! Surely you noticed the exterior. Such a rambling old
structure; such a beetling top to it, as if it had settled down here to
brood over a mysterious past. I never see it, especially at twilight,
that I don't wonder what lies so heavily upon its conscience. Is it a
crime? There would be nothing strange about it if it was. Such old
houses rarely have a clean past."
It was nonchalantly said, but it sank deep into my heart. Not that I
felt that he had any motive in saying it--I knew the young scapegrace
too well--but that I was conscious from his first word of two eyes
burning on my face, which robbed me of all self-possession, though I
think I sat without movement, and only paled the slightest in the world.
"A house that dates back to a time when the white men and the red fought
every inch of the territory on which it stands would be an anomaly if it
did not have some drops of blood upon it," I ventured to say, as soon as
I could command my emotions.
"True," broke in a low, slow voice--that of Madame Letellier. "Do you
know of any especial tragedy that makes the house memorable?"
I turned and gave her a look before replying. She was seated in the
shadows of a remote corner, and had so withdrawn herself behind her
daughter that I could see nothing of her face. But her hands were
visible, and from the force with which she held them clasped in her lap
I perceived that the subject we were discussing possessed a greater
interest for her than for any one else in the room. "She has heard
something of the tragedy connected with this house," was my inward
comment, as I prepared to answer her.
"There is one," I began, and paused. Something of the instinct of the
cat with the mouse had entered into me. I felt like playing with her
suspense, cruel as it may seem.
"Oh, tell us!" broke in the daughter, a sudden flush of interest
suffusing for a moment her white cheek. "That is, if it is not too
horrible. I never like horrible stories; they frighten me. And as for a
ghost--if I thought you kept such a creature about your house, I should
leave it at once."
"We have no ghosts," I answered, with a gravity that struck even myself
unpleasantly, it was in such contrast to her mellow and playful tones.
"Ghosts are commonplace. We countenance nothing commonplace here."
"Good!" broke in a voice from the crowd of young men. "The house is
above such follies. It must have some wonderful secret, then. What is
it, Mrs. Truax? Do you own a banshee? Have you a--"
"Mamma, you hurt me!"
The cry was involuntary. Madame had caught her daughter by the hand and
was probably unaware what passion she had put into her clasp.
Mademoiselle Letellier blushed again at the sound of her own voice, and
prayed her mother's pardon with the most engaging of smiles. As she did
so, I caught a glimpse of that mother's face. It was white as death.
"Decidedly, she knows more than she ought to," thought I. "And yet she
wants to know more. Why?"
"The Happy-Go-Lucky Inn," I observed, as soon as the flutter caused by
this incident had subsided, "is no more haunted by a banshee than by a
ghost. But that is not saying it should not be. It is old enough, it is
respectable enough; it has traditions enough. I could tell you tales of
its owners, and incidents connected with the coming and going of the
innumerable guests who have frequented it both before and during the
revolution, that would keep you here till morning. But the one story I
will tell must suffice. We should lose our character of mystery if I
told you all. Besides, how could I tell all? Who could ever tell the
complete story of such a house as this?"
"Hear! hear!" cried another young man.
"Years ago--" I stopped again, wickedly stopped. "Madame, will you not
come forward where it is lighter?"
"I thank you," Madame Letellier responded.
She rose deliberately and came forward, tall, mute and commanding. She
sat down in the light; she looked me in the face; she robbed me even of
my doubts. I felt my heart turn over in my breast and wondered.
"You do not proceed," she murmured.
"Pardon me," said I; and assuming a nonchalance I was far from feeling,
I commenced again. I had played with her fears. I would play with them
further. I would see how much she could bear. I resumed:
"Years ago, when I was younger and had been mistress of this place but a
short time, there entered this place one evening, at nightfall, a young
couple. Did you speak, madame? Excuse me, it was your daughter, then?"
"Yes," chimed in the latter, coming forward and taking her stand by the
mother, greatly to the delight of the young gentlemen present, who asked
for nothing better than an opportunity to gaze upon her modest but
exquisite face. "Yes; it was I. I am interested, that is all."
I began to hate my role, but went on stolidly.
"They were a handsome pair, and I felt an interest in them at once. But
this interest immeasurably heightened when the young man, almost before
the door had closed upon them, drew me apart and said: 'Madame, we are
an unhappy couple. We have been married just four hours.'"
Here I paused for breath, and to take a good look at madame.
She was fixed as a stone, but her eyes were burning. Evidently she
expected the relation of a story which she knew. I would disappoint her.
I would cause in her first a shock of relief, and then I would reawaken
her fears and probe her very soul. Slowly, and as if it were a matter of
course, I proceeded to say:
"It was a run-away match, and as the young husband remarked, 'a great
disappointment to my wife's father, who is an English general and a
great man. My wife loves me, and will never allow herself to be torn
from me; but she is not of age, and her father is but a few minutes'
ride behind us. Will you let us come in? We dare not risk the encounter
on the road; he would shoot me down like a dog, and that would kill my
young wife. If we see him here, he may take pity on our love, and--'
"He needed to say no more. My own compassion had been excited, as much
by her countenance as by his words, and I threw open the doors of this
very room.
"'Go in,' said I, 'I have a woman's heart, and cannot bear to see young
people in distress. When the general comes--'
"'We shall hear him,' cried the girl; 'he has half a dozen horsemen with
him. We saw them when we were on the brow of the hill.'
"'Take comfort, then,' I cried, as I closed the door, and went to see
after the solitary horse which had brought them to this place.
"But before I could provide the meal with which I meant to strengthen
them for the scene that must presently ensue, I heard the anticipated
clattering of hoofs, and simultaneously with it, the unclosing of this
door and the cry of the young wife to her husband:
"'I cannot bear it. At his first words I should fall in a faint; and how
could I resist him then? No; let me fly; let me hide myself; and when he
comes in, swear that you are here alone; that you brought no bride; that
she left you at the altar--anything to baffle his rage and give us
time.' And the young thing sprang out before me, and lifting her hands,
prayed with great wide-open eyes that I would assist the lie, and swear
to her father, when he came in, that her husband had ridden up alone.
"I was not as old then as I am now, I say, and I was very tender toward
youthful lovers. Though I thought the scheme a wild one and totally
impracticable, she so governed me by her looks and tones that I promised
to do what she asked, saying, however, that if she hid herself she must
do it well, for if she were found my reputation for reliability would be
ruined. And standing there where you see that jog in the wall, she
promised, and giving just one look of love to her companion, who stood
white but firm on the threshold, she sped from our sight down the hall.
"A moment later the general's foot was where hers had been, and the
general's voice was filling the house, asking for his daughter.
"'She is not here,' came from the young man in firm and stern accents.
'You have been pleased to think she was with me all these miles, but you
will not find her. You can search if you please. I have nothing to say
against that. But it will be time wasted.'
"'We will see about that. The girl is here, is she not?' the father
asked, turning to me.
"'No,' was my firm reply; 'she is not.'
"I do not know how I managed the lie, but I did. Something in the young
man's aspect had nerved me. I began to think she would not be found,
though I could see no good reason for this conclusion.
"'Scatter!' he now shouted to his followers. 'Search the house well. Do
not leave a nook or cranny unpenetrated. I am not General B---- for
nothing.' And turning to me, he added: 'You have brought this on
yourself by a lie. I saw my daughter in this fellow's arms as they
passed over the ridge of the hill. She is here, and in half an hour
will be in my hands.'
"But the clock on the staircase struck not only the half hour, but the
hour, and yet, though every room and corridor, the cellar and the
garret, were searched, no token was found of the young wife's presence.
Meanwhile the husband stood like a statue on the threshold, waiting with
what seemed to me a strange certitude for the return of the father from
his fruitless search.
"'Has she escaped from one of the windows?' I asked, moved myself to a
strange curiosity.
"He looked at me, but made no reply.
"'It is dark; it is late. If the general chooses to remain here
to-night--'
"'He will not find her,' was the reply.
"I was frightened--I know not why, but I was frightened. The young man
had a supernatural air. I began to think of demon lovers, and was glad
when the general finally appeared, storming and raving.
"'It is a conspiracy!' was his cry. 'You are all in league to deceive
me. Where is my daughter, Mrs. Truax? I ask you because you have a
character to lose.'
"'It is impossible for me to tell you,' was my reply. 'If she was to be
found in my house, you must have found her. As you have not, there is
but one conclusion to draw. She is not within these walls.'
"'She is not outside of them. I set a watch in the beginning, at the
four corners of the house. None of my men have seen so much as a flutter
of her dress. She is here, I say, and I ask you to give her up.'
"'This I am perfectly willing to do,' I rejoined, 'but I do not know
where to find her. Let that but once be done, and I shall not stand in
the way of your rights.'
"'Very well,' he cried. 'I will not search further to-night; but
to-morrow--' A meaning gesture finished his sentence; he turned to the
young man. 'As for you,' he cried, 'you will remain here. Unpleasant as
it may be for us both, we will keep each other's company till morning. I
do not insist upon conversation.' And without waiting for a reply, the
sturdy old soldier took up his station in the doorway, by which action
he not only shut the young man in, but gave himself a position of
vantage from which he could survey the main hall and the most prominent
passages.
"The rest were under charge of his followers, whom he had stationed all
through the house, just as if it were in a state of siege. One guarded
the east door and another the west, and on each landing of the staircase
a sentinel stood, silent but alert, like a pair of living statues.
"I did not sleep that night; the mystery of the whole affair would have
kept me awake even if my indignation had let me rest. I sat in the
kitchen with my girls, and when the morning came, I joined the general
again with offers of a breakfast.
"But he would eat nothing till he had gone through the house again; nor
would he, in fact, eat here at all; for his second search ended as
vainly as his first, and he was by this time so wroth, not only at the
failure to recover his child, but at the loss which his dignity had
suffered by this failure, that he had no sooner reached this spot, and
found the young husband still standing where he had left him, than with
a smothered execration, leveled not only at him, but the whole house, he
strode out through the doorway, and finding his horse ready saddled in
front, mounted and rode away, followed by all his troop.
"And now comes the strangest part of the tale.
"He was no sooner gone, and the dust from his horse's hoofs lost in the
distance, than I turned to the young husband, and cried:
"'And now where is she? Let us have her here at once. She must be
hungry, and she must be cold. Bring her, my good sir.'
"'I do not know where she is. We must be patient. She will return
herself as soon as she thinks it safe.'
"I could not believe my ears.
"'You do not know where she is?' I repeated. 'How could you be so
self-possessed through all these hours and all this maddened searching
if you did not know she was safe?'
"'I did know she was safe. She swore to me before she set foot on your
doorstep that she could so hide herself in these walls that no one could
ever find her till she chose to reveal herself; and I believed her, and
felt secure.'
"I did not know what to say.
"'But she is a stranger,' I murmured. 'What does she know about my
house?'
"'She is a stranger to you,' he retorted, 'but she may not be a stranger
to the house. How long have you lived here?'
"I could not say long. It was at the most but a year; so I merely shook
my head, but I felt strangely nonplussed.
"This feeling, however, soon gave way to one much more serious as the
moments fled by and presently the hours, and she did not come. We tried
to curb our impatience, tried to believe that her delay was only owing
to extra caution; but as morning waxed to noon, alarm took the place of
satisfaction in our breasts, and we began to search the house ourselves,
calling her name up and down the halls and through the empty rooms, till
it seemed as if the very walls must open and reveal us the being so
frantically desired.
"'She is not in the house,' I now asserted to the almost frenzied
bridegroom. 'Our lies have come back upon our heads, and it is in the
river we must look for her.'
"But he would not agree with me in this, and repeated again and again:
'She said she would hide here. She would not deceive me, nor would she
have sought death alone. Leave me to look for her another hour. I must,
I can, I will find her yet!'
"But he never did. After that last fond look with which she turned down
that very hall you see before you, we saw her no more; and if my house
owns no ghost and never echoes to the sound of a banshee's warning, it
is not because it does not own a mystery which is certainly thrilling
enough to give us either."
"Oh!" cried out several voices, as I ceased, "is that all? And what
became of the poor bridegroom? And did the father ever come back? And
haven't you ever really found out where the poor thing went to? And do
you think she died?"
For reply I rose. I had never taken my eye off madame, and the strain
upon us both had been terrible; but I let my glance wander now, and
smiling genially into the eager faces which had crowded around me, I
remarked:
"I never spoil a good story by too many explanations. You have heard all
you will from me to-night. So do not question me further. Am I not
right, madame?"
"Perfectly," came in her even tones. "And I am sure we are all very much
obliged to you."
I bowed and slipped away into the background. I was worn out.
An hour later I was passing through the hall above on my way to my own
room. As I passed madame's door, I saw it open, and before I had taken
three steps away I felt her soft hand on my arm.
"Your pardon, Mrs. Truax," were her words; "but my daughter has been
peculiarly affected by the story you related to us below. She says it is
worse than any ghost story, and that she cannot rid herself of the
picture of the young wife flitting out of sight down the hall. I am
really afraid it has produced a very bad effect upon her, and that she
will not sleep. Is it--was it a true story, Mrs. Truax, or were you
merely weaving fancies out of a too fertile brain?"
I smiled, for she was smiling, and shook my head, looking directly into
her eyes.
"Your daughter need not lose her sleep," I said, "on account of any
story of mine. I saw they wanted something blood-curdling, so I made up
a tale to please them. It was all imagination, madame; all imagination.
I should not have told it if it had been otherwise. I think too much of
my house."
"And you had nothing to found it upon? Just drew upon your fancy?"
I smiled. Her light tone did not deceive me as to the anxiety underlying
all this; but it was not in my plan to betray my powers of penetration.
I preferred that she should think me her dupe.
"Oh," I returned, as ingenuously as if I had never had a suspicious
thought, "I do not find it difficult to weave a tale. Of course such a
story could not be true. Why, I should be afraid to stay in the inn
myself if it were. I could never abide anything mysterious. Everything
with me must be as open as the day."
"And with me," she laughed; but there was a false note in her mirth,
though I did not appear to notice it. "I did not suppose the story was
real, but I thought you must have some old tradition to found it upon;
some old wife's tale or some secret history which is a part and parcel
of the house, and came to you with it."
But I shook my head, still smiling, and answered, quite at my ease:
"No old wife's tale that I have ever heard amounts to much. I can make
up a better story any day than those which come down with a house like
this. It was all the work of my imagination, I assure you. I tried to
please them, and I hope I did it."
Her face changed at once. It was as if a black veil had been drawn away
from it.
"My daughter will be so relieved," she affirmed. "I don't mind such
lugubrious tales myself, but she is young and sensitive, and so
tender-hearted. I am sure I thank you, Mrs. Truax, for your
consideration, and beg leave to wish you a good-night."
I returned her civility, and we passed into our several rooms. Would I
could know with what thoughts, for my own were as much a mystery to me
as were hers.
* * * * *
OCTOBER 9, 1791.
Madame never addresses her daughter by her first name. Consequently we
do not know it. This is a matter of surprise to the whole house, and
many are the conjectures uttered by the young men as to what it can be.
I have no especial curiosity about it--I would much rather know the
mother's, and yet I frequently wonder; for it seems unnatural for a
mother always to address her child as mademoiselle. Is she her mother?
I sometimes think she is not. If the interest in the oak parlor is what
I think it is, then she cannot be, for what mother would wish to bring
peril to her child? And peril lies at the bottom of all interest there;
peril to the helpless, the trusting and the ignorant. But is she as
interested there as I thought her? I have observed nothing lately to
assure me of it. Perhaps, after all, I have been mistaken.