THE HOUSE FULL OF GHOSTS.
Charles had really no idea where he was going. Although he knew that
Hornby had been playing with Lord Welter, yet he thought, from what
Hornby had said, that he would not bring him into collision with him;
and indeed he did not--only taking Charles with him as a reserve in case
of accidents, for he thoroughly distrusted his lordship.
At half-past six in the evening Hornby rode slowly away, followed by
Charles. He had told Charles that he should dine in St. John's Wood at
seven, and should ride there, and Charles was to wait with the horses.
But it was nearly seven, and yet Hornby loitered, and seemed
undetermined. It was a wild, gusty evening, threatening rain. There were
very few people abroad, and those who were rode or walked rapidly. And
yet Hornby dawdled irresolutely, as though his determination were hardly
strong enough yet.
At first he rode quite away from his destination, but by degrees his
horse's head got changed into the right direction; then he made another
détour, but a shorter one; at last he put spurs to his horse, and rode
resolutely up the short carriage-drive before the door, and giving the
reins to Charles, walked firmly in.
Charles put up the horses and went into the servants' hall, or the room
which answered that end in the rather small house of Lord Welter. No
one was there. All the servants were busy with the dinner and Charles
was left unnoticed.
By-and-by a page, noticing a strange servant in passing the door,
brought him some beer, and a volume of the Newgate Calendar. This young
gentleman called his attention to the print of a lady cutting up the
body of her husband with a chopper, assisted by a young Jew, who was
depicted "walking off with a leg," like one of the Fans (the use of
which seems to be, to cool the warm imagination of other travellers into
proper limits), while the woman was preparing for another effort. After
having recommended Charles to read the letterpress thereof, as he would
find it tolerably spicy, he departed, and left him alone.
The dinner was got over in time; and after a time there was silence in
the house--a silence so great that Charles rose and left the room. He
soon found his way to another; but all was dark and silent, though it
was not more than half-past nine.
He stood in the dark passage, wondering where to go, and determined to
turn back to the room from which he had come. There was a light there,
at all events.
There was a light, and the Newgate Calendar. The wild wind, that had
eddied and whirled the dust at the street corners, and swept across the
park all day, had gone down, and the rain had come on. He could hear it
drip, drip, outside; it was very melancholy. Confound the Newgate
Calendar!
He was in a very queer house, he knew. What did Hornby mean by asking
him the night before whether or no he could fight, and whether he would
stick to him? Drip, drip; otherwise a dead silence. Charles's heart
began to beat a little faster.
Where were all the servants? He had heard plenty of them half an hour
ago. He had heard a French cook swearing at English kitchen-girls, and
had heard plenty of other voices; and now--the silence of the grave. Or
of Christie and Manson's on Saturday evening; or of the Southern Indian
Ocean in a calm at midnight; or of anything else you like; similes are
cheap.
He remembered now that Hornby had said, "Come and lie in the hall as if
asleep; no one will notice you." He determined to do so. But where was
it? His candle was flickering in its socket, and as he tried to move it,
it went out.
He could scarcely keep from muttering on oath, but he did. His situation
was very uncomfortable. He did not know in what house he was--only that
he was in a quarter of the town in which there were not a few uncommonly
queer houses. He determined to grope his way to the light.
He felt his way out of the room and along a passage. The darkness was
intense, and the silence perfect. Suddenly a dull red light gleamed in
his eyes, and made him start. It was the light of the kitchen fire. A
cricket would have been company, but there was none.
He continued to advance cautiously. Soon a ghostly square of very dim
grey light on his left showed him where was a long narrow window. It was
barred with iron bars. He was just thinking of this, and how very queer
it was, when he uttered a loud oath, and came crashing down. He had
fallen upstairs.
He had made noise enough to waken the seven sleepers; but those
gentlemen did not seem to be in the neighbourhood, or, at all events, if
awakened gave no sign of it. Dead silence. He sat on the bottom stair
and rubbed his shins, and in spite of a strong suspicion that he had got
into a scrape, laughed to himself at the absurdity of his position.
"Would it be worth while, I wonder," he said to himself, "to go back to
the kitchen and get the poker? I'd better not, I suppose. It would be so
deuced awkward to be caught in the dark with a poker in your hand. Being
on the premises for the purpose of committing a felony--that is what
they would say; and then they would be sure to say that you were the
companion of thieves, and had been convicted before. No. Under this
staircase, in the nature of things, is the housemaid's cupboard. What
should I find there as a weapon of defence? A dust-pan. A great deal
might be done with a dust-pan, mind you, at close quarters. How would it
do to arrange all her paraphernalia on the stairs, and cry fire, so that
mine enemies, rushing forth, might stumble and fall, and be taken
unawares? But that would be acting on the offensive, and I have no safe
grounds for pitching into any one yet."
Though Charles tried to comfort himself by talking nonsense, he was very
uncomfortable. Staying where he was, was intolerable; and he hardly
dared to ascend into the upper regions unbidden. Besides, he had fully
persuaded himself that a disturbance was imminent, and, though a brave
man, did not like to precipitate it. He had mistaken the character of
the house he was in. At last, taking heart, he turned and felt his way
upstairs. He came before a door through the keyhole of which the light
streamed strongly; he was deliberating whether to open it or not, when a
shadow crossed it, though he heard no noise, but a minute after the
distant sound of a closing door. He could stand it no longer. He opened
the door, and advanced into a blaze of light.
He entered a beautiful flagged hall, frescoed and gilded. There were
vases of flowers round the walls, and strips of Indian matting on the
pavement. It was lit by a single chandelier, which was reflected in four
great pier-glasses reaching to the ground, in which Charles's top-boots
and brown face were re-duplicated most startlingly. The _tout ensemble_
was very beautiful; but what struck Charles was the bad taste of having
an entrance-hall decorated like a drawing-room. "That is just the sort
of thing they do in these places," he thought.
There were only two hats on the entrance table; one of which he was
rejoiced to recognise as that of his most respected master. "May the
deuce take his silly noddle for bringing me to such a place!" thought
Charles.
This was evidently the front hall spoken of by Hornby; and he remembered
his advice to pretend to go to sleep. So he lay down on three
hall-chairs, and put his hat over his eyes.
Hall-chairs are hard; and, although Charles had just been laughing at
the proprietor of the house for being so lavish in his decorations, he
now wished that he had carried out his system a little further, and had
cushions to his chairs. But no; the chairs were _de rigueur_, with
crests on the back of them. Charles did not notice whose.
If a man pretends to go to sleep, and, like the Marchioness with her
orange-peel and water, "makes believe very much," he may sometimes
succeed in going to sleep in good earnest. Charles imitated the thing so
well, that in five minutes he was as fast off as a top.
Till a night or two before this, Charles had never dreamt of Ravenshoe
since he had left it. When the first sharp sting of his trouble was in
his soul, his mind had refused to go back further than to the events of
a day or so before. He had dreamt long silly dreams of his master, or
his fellow-servants, or his horses, but always, all through the night,
with a dread on him of waking in the dark. But, as his mind began to
settle and his pain got dulled, he began to dream about Ravenshoe, and
Oxford, and Shrewsbury again; and he no longer dreaded the waking as he
did, for the reality of his life was no longer hideous to him. With the
fatal "plasticity" of his nature, he had lowered himself, body and soul,
to the level of it.
But to-night, as he slept on these chairs, he dreamt of Ravenshoe, and
of Cuthbert, and of Ellen. And he woke, and she was standing within ten
feet of him, under the chandelier.
He was awake in an instant, but he lay as still as a mouse, staring at
her. She had not noticed him, but was standing in profound thought.
Found, and so soon! His sister! How lovely she was, standing, dressed in
light pearl grey, like some beautiful ghost, with her speaking eyes
fixed on nothing. She moved now, but so lightly that her footfall was
barely heard upon the matting. Then she turned and noticed him. She did
not seem surprised at seeing a groom stretched out asleep on the
chairs--she was used to that sort of thing, probably--but she turned
away, gliding through a door at the further end of the hall, and was
gone.
Charles's heart was leaping and beating madly, but he heard another door
open, and lay still.
Adelaide came out of a door opposite to the one into which Ellen had
passed. Charles was not surprised. He was beyond surprise. But, when he
saw her and Ellen in the same house, in one instant, with the quickness
of lightning, he understood it all. It was Welter had tempted Ellen from
Ravenshoe! Fool! fool! he might have prevented it once if he had only
guessed.
If he had any doubt as to where he was now, it was soon dispelled. Lord
Welter came rapidly out of the door after Adelaide, and called her in a
whisper, "Adelaide."
"Well," she said, turning round sharply.
"Come back, do you hear?" said Lord Welter. "Where the deuce are you
going?"
"To my own room."
"Come back, I tell you," said Lord Welter, savagely, in a low voice.
"You are going to spoil everything with your confounded airs."
"I shall not come back. I am not going to act as a decoy-duck to that
man, or any other man. Let me go, Welter."
Lord Welter was very near having to let her go with a vengeance. Charles
was ready for a spring, but watched, and waited his time. Lord Welter
had only caught her firmly by the wrist to detain her. He was not
hurting her.
"Look you here, my Lady Welter," he said slowly and distinctly. "Listen
to what I've got to say, and don't try the shadow of a tantrum with me,
for I won't have it for one moment. I don't mind your chaff and nonsense
in public; it blinds people, it is racy and attracts people; but in
private I am master, do you hear? Master. You know you are afraid of me,
and have good cause to be, by Jove. You are shaking now. Go back to that
room."
"I won't, I won't, I won't. Not without you, Welter. How can you use me
so cruelly, Welter? Oh, Welter, how can you be such a villain?"
"You conceited fool," said Lord Welter, contemptuously. "Do you think he
wants to make love to you?"
"You know he does, Welter; you know it," said Adelaide, passionately.
Lord Welter laughed good-naturedly. (He could be good-natured.) He drew
her towards him and kissed her. "My poor little girl," he said, "if I
thought that, I would break his neck. But it is utterly wide of the
truth. Look here, Adelaide; you are as safe from insult as my wife as
you were at Ranford. What you are not safe from is my own temper. Let us
be friends in private and not squabble so much, eh? You are a good,
shrewd, clever wife to me. Do keep your tongue quiet. Come in and mark
what follows."
They had not noticed Charles, though he had been so sure that they
would, that he had got his face down on the chair, covered with his
arms, feigning sleep. When they went into the room again, Charles caught
hold of a coat which was on the back of a chair, and, curling himself
up, put it over him. He would listen, listen, listen for every word. He
had a right to listen now.
In a minute a bell rang twice. Almost at the same moment some one came
out of the door through which Lord Welter had passed, and stood silent.
In about two minutes another door opened, and some one else came into
the hall.
A woman's voice--Ellen's--said, "Oh, are you come again?"
A man's voice--Lieutenant Hornby's--said in answer, "You see I am. I got
Lady Welter to ring her bell twice for you, and then to stay in that
room, so that I might have an interview with you."
"I am obliged to her ladyship. She must have been surprised that I was
the object of attraction. She fancied herself so."
"She was surprised. And she was more so, when I told her what my real
object was."
"Indeed," said Ellen, bitterly. "But her ladyship's surprise does not
appear to have prevented her from assisting you."
"On the contrary," said Hornby, "she wished me God speed--her own
words."
"Sir, you are a gentleman. Don't disgrace yourself and me--if I can be
disgraced--by quoting that woman's blasphemy before me. Sir, you have
had your answer. I shall go."
"Ellen, you must stay. I have got this interview with you to-night, to
ask you to be my wife. I love you as I believe woman was never loved
before, and I ask you to be my wife."
"You madman! you madman!"
"I am no madman. I was a madman when I spoke to you before; I pray your
forgiveness for that. You must forget that. I say that I love you as a
woman was never loved before. Shall I say something more, Ellen?"
"Say on."
"You love me."
"I love you as man was never loved before; and I swear to you that I
hope I may lie stiff and cold in my unhonoured coffin, before I'll ruin
the man I love by tying him to such a wretch as myself."
"Ellen, Ellen, don't say that. Don't take such vows, which you will not
dare to break afterwards. Think, you may regain all that you have lost,
and marry a man who loves you--ah, so dearly!--and whom you love too."
"Ay; there's the rub. If I did not love you, I would marry you
to-morrow. Regain all I have lost, say you? Bring my mother to life
again, for instance, or walk among other women again as an honest one?
You talk nonsense, Mr. Hornby--nonsense. I am going."
"Ellen! Ellen! Why do you stay in this house? Think once again."
"I shall never leave thinking; but my determination is the same. I tell
you, as a desperate woman like me dare tell you, that I love you far too
well to ruin your prospects, and I love my own soul too well ever to
make another false step. I stayed in this house because I loved to see
you now and then, and hear your voice; but now I shall leave it."
"See me once more, Ellen--only once more!"
"I will see you once more. I will tear my heart once more, if you wish
it. You have deserved all I can do for you, God knows. Come here the day
after to-morrow; but come without hope, mind. A woman who has been
through what I have can trust herself. Do you know that I am a
Catholic?"
"No."
"I am. Would you turn Catholic if I were to marry you?"
God forgive poor Hornby! He said, "Yes." What will not men say at such
times?
"Did I not say you were a madman? Do you think I would ruin you in the
next world, as well as in this? Go away, sir; and, when your children
are round you, humbly bless God's mercy for saving you, body and soul,
this night."
"I shall see you again?"
"Come here the day after to-morrow; but come without hope."
She passed through the door, and left him standing alone. Charles rose
from his lair, and, coming up to him, laid his hand on his shoulder.
"You have heard all this," said poor Hornby.
"Every word," said Charles. "I had a right to listen, you know. She is
my sister."
"Your sister?"
Then Charles told him all. Hornby had heard enough from Lord Welter to
understand it.
"Your sister! Can you help me, Horton? Surely she will hear reason from
you. Will you persuade her to listen to me?"
"No," said Charles. "She was right. You are mad. I will not help you do
an act which you would bitterly repent all your life. You must forget
her. She and I are disgraced, and must get away somewhere, and hide our
shame together."
What Hornby would have answered, no man can tell; for at this moment
Adelaide came out of the room, and passed quickly across the hall,
saying good night to him as she passed. She did not recognise Charles,
or seem surprised at seeing Hornby talking to his groom. Nobody who had
lived in Lord Welter's house a day or two was surprised at anything.
But Charles, speaking to Hornby more as if he were master than servant,
said, "Wait here;" and, stepping quickly from him, went into the room
where Lord Welter sat alone, and shut the door. Hornby heard it locked
behind him, and waited in the hall, listening intensely, for what was to
follow.
"There'll be a row directly," said Hornby to himself; "and that
chivalrous fool, Charles, has locked himself in. I wish Welter did not
send all his servants out of the house at night. There'll be murder done
here some day."
He listened and heard voices, low as yet--so low that he could hear the
dripping of the rain outside. Drip--drip! The suspense was intolerable.
When would they be at one another's throats?