ALLAN GIVES HIS WORD
Mr. Atterby-Smith proved on acquaintance to be even worse than unfond
fancy painted him. He was a gentleman in a way and of good family
whereof the real name was Atterby, the Smith having been added to
secure a moderate fortune left to him on that condition. His connection
with Lord Ragnall was not close and through the mother’s side. For the
rest he lived in some south-coast watering-place and fancied himself a
sportsman because he had on various occasions hired a Scottish moor or
deer forest. Evidently he had never done anything nor earned a shilling
during all his life and was bringing his family up to follow in his
useless footsteps. The chief note of his character was that intolerable
vanity which so often marks men who have nothing whatsoever about which
to be vain. Also he had a great idea of his rights and what was due to
him, which he appeared to consider included, upon what ground I could
not in the least understand, the reversal of all the Ragnall properties
and wealth. I do not think I need say any more about him, except that
he bored me to extinction, especially after his fourth glass of port.
Perhaps, however, the son was worse, for he asked questions without
number and when at last I was reduced to silence, lectured me about
shooting. Yes, this callow youth who was at Sandhurst, instructed me,
Allan Quatermain, how to kill elephants, he who had never seen an
elephant except when he fed it with buns at the Zoo. At last Mr. Smith,
who to Scroope’s great amusement had taken the end of the table and
assumed the position of host, gave the signal to move and we adjourned
to the drawing-room.
I don’t know what had happened but there we found the atmosphere
distinctly stormy. The ample Mrs. Smith sat in a chair fanning herself,
which caused the barbaric ornaments she wore to clank upon her fat arm.
Upon either side of her, pale and indeterminate, stood Polly and Dolly
each pretending to read a book. Somehow the three of them reminded me
of a coat-of-arms seen in a nightmare, British Matron _sejant_ with
Modesty and Virtue as supporters. Opposite, on the other side of the
fire and evidently very angry, stood Lady Ragnall, _regardant_.
“Do I understand you to say, Luna,” I heard Mrs. A.-S. ask in resonant
tones as I entered the room, “that you actually played the part of a
heathen goddess among these savages, clad in a transparent bed-robe?”
“Yes, Mrs. Atterby-Smith,” replied Lady Ragnall, “and a nightcap of
feathers. I will put it on for you if you won’t be shocked. Or perhaps
one of your daughters——”
“Oh!” said both the young ladies together, “please be quiet. Here come
the gentlemen.”
After this there was a heavy silence broken only by the stifled giggles
in the background of Mrs. Scroope and the canon’s fluffy-headed wife,
who to do her justice had some fun in her. Thank goodness the evening,
or rather that part of it did not last long, since presently Mrs.
Atterby-Smith, after studying me for a long while with a cold eye, rose
majestically and swept off to bed followed by her offspring.
Afterwards I ascertained from Mrs. Scroope that Lady Ragnall had been
amusing herself by taking away my character in every possible manner
for the benefit of her connections, who were left with a general
impression that I was the chief of a native tribe somewhere in Central
Africa where I dwelt in light attire surrounded by the usual
accessories. No wonder, therefore, that Mrs. A.-S. thought it best to
remove her “Twin Pets,” as she called them, out of my ravening reach.
Then the Scroopes went away, having arranged for me to lunch with them
on the morrow, an invitation that I hastily accepted, though I heard
Lady Ragnall mutter—“Mean!” beneath her breath. With them departed the
canon and his wife and the curate, being, as they said, “early birds
with duties to perform.” After this Lady Ragnall paid me out by going
to bed, having instructed Moxley to show us to the smoking room,
“where,” she whispered as she said good night, “I hope you will enjoy
yourself.”
Over the rest of the night I draw a veil. For a solid hour and
three-quarters did I sit in that room between this dreadful pair, being
alternately questioned and lectured. At length I could stand it no
longer and while pretending to help myself to whiskey and soda, slipped
through the door and fled upstairs.
I arrived late to breakfast purposely and found that I was wise, for
Lady Ragnall was absent upstairs, recovering from “a headache.” Mr.
A.-Smith was also suffering from a headache downstairs, the result of
champagne, port and whisky mixed, and all his family seemed to have
pains in their tempers. Having ascertained that they were going to the
church in the park, I departed to one two miles away and thence walked
straight on to the Scroopes’ where I had a very pleasant time,
remaining till five in the afternoon. I returned to tea at the Castle
where I found Lady Ragnall so cross that I went to church again, to the
six o’clock service this time, only getting back in time to dress for
dinner. Here I was paid out for I had to take in Mrs. Atterby-Smith.
Oh! what a meal was that. We sat for the most part in solemn silence
broken only by requests to pass the salt. I observed with satisfaction,
however, that things were growing lively at the other end of the table
where A.-Smith _père_ was drinking a good deal too much wine. At last I
heard him say,
“We had hoped to spend a few days with you, my dear Luna. But as you
tell us that your engagements make this impossible”—and he paused to
drink some port, whereon Lady Ragnall remarked inconsequently,
“I assure you the ten o’clock train is far the best and I have ordered
the carriage at half-past nine, which is not very early.”
“As your engagements make this impossible,” he repeated, “we would ask
for the opportunity of a little family conclave with you to-night.”
Here all of them turned and glowered at me.
“Certainly,” said Lady Ragnall, “‘the sooner ‘tis over the sooner to
sleep.’ Mr. Quatermain, I am sure, will excuse us, will you not? I have
had the museum lit up for you, Mr. Quatermain. You may find some
Egyptian things there that will interest you.”
“Oh, with pleasure!” I murmured, and fled away.
I spent a very instructive two hours in the museum, studying various
Egyptian antiquities including a couple of mummies which rather
terrified me. They looked so very corpse-like standing there in their
wrappings. One was that of a lady who was a “Singer of Amen,” I
remember. I wondered where she was singing now and what song. Presently
I came to a glass case which riveted my attention, for above it was a
label bearing the following words: “Two Papyri given to Lady Ragnall by
the priests of the Kendah Tribe in Africa.” Within were the papyri
unrolled and beneath each of the documents, its translation, so far as
they could be translated for they were somewhat broken. No. 1, which
was dated, “In the first year of Peroa,” appeared to be the official
appointment of the Royal Lady Amada, to be the prophetess to the temple
of Isis and Horus the Child, which was also called Amada, and situated
on the east bank of the Nile above Thebes. Evidently this was the same
temple of which Lady Ragnall had written to me in her letter, where her
husband had met his death by accident, a coincidence which made me
start when I remembered how and where the document had come into her
hands and what kind of office she filled at the time.
The second papyrus, or rather its translation, contained a most
comprehensive curse upon any man who ventured to interfere with the
personal sanctity of this same Royal Lady of Amada, who, apparently in
virtue of her office, was doomed to perpetual celibacy like the vestal
virgins. I do not remember all the terms of the curse, but I know that
it invoked the vengeance of Isis the Mother, Lady of the Moon, and
Horus the Child upon anyone who should dare such a desecration, and in
so many words doomed him to death by violence “far from his own country
where first he had looked on Ra,” (i.e. the sun) and also to certain
spiritual sufferings afterwards.
The document gave me the idea that it was composed in troubled days to
protect that particularly sacred person, the Prophetess of Isis whose
cult, as I have since learned, was rising in Egypt at the time, from
threatened danger, perhaps at the hands of some foreign man. It
occurred to me even that this Princess, for evidently she was a
descendant of kings, had been appointed to a most sacred office for
that very purpose. Men who shrink from little will often fear to incur
the direct curse of widely venerated gods in order to obtain their
desires, even if they be not their own gods. Such were my conclusions
about this curious and ancient writing which I regret I cannot give in
full as I neglected to copy it at the time.
I may add that it seemed extremely strange to me that it and the other
which dealt with a particular temple in Egypt should have passed into
Lady Ragnall’s hands over two thousand years later in a distant part of
Africa, and that subsequently her husband should have been killed in
her presence whilst excavating the very temple to which they referred,
whence too in all probability they were taken. Moreover, oddly enough
Lady Ragnall had herself for a while filled the rôle of Isis in a
shrine whereof these two papyri had been part of the sacred
appurtenances for unknown ages, and one of her official titles there
was Prophetess and Lady of the Moon, whose symbol she wore upon her
breast.
Although I have always recognized that there are a great many more
things in the world than are dreamt of in our philosophy, I say with
truth and confidence that I am not a superstitious man. Yet I confess
that these papers and the circumstances connected with them, made me
feel afraid.
Also they made me wish that I had not come to Ragnall Castle.
Well, the Atterby-Smiths had so far effectually put a stop to any talk
of such matters and even if Lady Ragnall should succeed in getting rid
of them by that morning train, as to which I was doubtful, there
remained but a single day of my visit during which it ought not to be
hard to stave off the subject. Thus I reflected, standing face to face
with those mummies, till presently I observed that the Singer of Amen
who wore a staring, gold mask, seemed to be watching me with her oblong
painted eyes. To my fancy a sardonic smile gathered in them and spread
to the mouth.
“That’s what _you_ think,” this smile seemed to say, “as once before
you thought that Fate could be escaped. Wait and see, my friend. Wait
and see!”
“Not in this room any way,” I remarked aloud, and departed in a hurry
down the passage which led to the main staircase.
Before I reached its end a remarkable sight caused me to halt in the
shadow. The Atterby-Smith family were going to bed _en bloc_. They
marched in single file up the great stair, each of them carrying a hand
candle. Papa led and young Hopeful brought up the rear. Their
countenances were full of war, even the twins looked like angry lambs,
but something written on them informed me that they had suffered defeat
recent and grievous. So they vanished up the stairway and out of my ken
for ever.
When they had gone I started again and ran straight into Lady Ragnall.
If her guests had been angry, it was clear that _she_ was furious,
almost weeping with rage, indeed. Moreover, she turned and rent me.
“You are a wretch,” she said, “to run away and leave me all day long
with those horrible people. Well, they will never come here again, for
I have told them that if they do the servants have orders to shut the
door in their faces.”
Not knowing what to say I remarked that I had spent a most instructive
evening in the museum, which seemed to make her angrier than ever. At
any rate she whisked off without even saying “good night” and left me
standing there. Afterwards I learned that the A.-S.‘s had calmly
informed Lady Ragnall that she had stolen their property and demanded
that “as an act of justice” she should make a will leaving everything
she possessed to them, and meanwhile furnish them with an allowance of
£4,000 a year. What I did not learn were the exact terms of her answer.
Next morning Alfred, when he called me, brought me a note from his
mistress which I fully expected would contain a request that I should
depart by the same train as her other guests. Its real contents,
however, were very different.
“MY DEAR FRIEND,” it ran, “I am so ashamed of myself and so sorry for
my rudeness last night, for which I deeply apologise. If you knew all
that I had gone through at the hands of those dreadful mendicants, you
would forgive me.—L.R.”
“P.S.—I have ordered breakfast at 10. Don’t go down much before, for
your own sake.”
Somewhat relieved in my mind, for I thought she was really angry with
me, not altogether without cause, I rose, dressed and set to work to
write some letters. While I was doing so I heard the wheels of a
carriage beneath and opening my window, saw the Atterby-Smith family in
the act of departing in the Castle bus. Smith himself seemed to be
still enraged, but the others looked depressed. Indeed I heard the wife
of his bosom say to him,
“Calm yourself, my dear. Remember that Providence knows what is best
for us and that beggars on horseback are always unjust and ungrateful.”
To which her spouse replied,
“Hold your infernal tongue, will you,” and then began to rate the
servants about the luggage.
Well, off they went. Glaring through the door of the bus, Mr. Smith
caught sight of me leaning out of the window, seeing which I waved my
hand to him in adieu. His only reply to this courtesy was to shake his
fist, though whether at me or at the Castle and its inhabitants in
general, I neither know nor care.
When I was quite sure that they had gone and were not coming back again
to find something they had forgotten, I went downstairs and surprised a
conclave between the butler, Moxley, and his satellites, reinforced by
Lady Ragnall’s maid and two other female servants.
“Gratuities!” Moxley was exclaiming, which I thought a fine word for
tips, “not a smell of them! His gratuities were—‘Damn your eyes, you
fat bottle-washer,’ being his name for butler. _My_ eyes, mind you,
Ann, not Alfred’s or William’s, and that because he had tumbled over
his own rugs. Gentleman! Why, I name him a hog with his litter.”
“Hogs don’t have litters, Mr. Moxley,” observed Ann smartly.
“Well, young woman, if there weren’t no hogs, there’d be no litters, so
there! However, he won’t root about in this castle no more, for I
happened to catch a word or two of what passed between him and her
Ladyship last night. He said straight out that she was making love to
that little Mr. Quatermain who wanted her money, and probably not for
the first time as they had forgathered in Africa. A gentleman, mind
you, Ann, who although peculiar, I like, and who, the keeper Charles
tells me, is the best shot in the whole world.”
“And what did she say to that?” asked Ann.
“What did she say? What didn’t she say, that’s the question. It was
just as though all the furniture in the room got up and went for them
Smiths. Well, having heard enough, and more than I wanted, I stepped
off with the tray and next minute out they all come and grab the
bedroom candlesticks. That’s all and there’s her Ladyship’s bell.
Alfred, don’t stand gaping there but go and light the hot-plates.”
So they melted away and I descended from the landing, indignant but
laughing. No wonder that Lady Ragnall lost her temper!
Ten minutes later she arrived in the dining-room, waving a lighted
ribbon that disseminated perfume.
“What on earth are you doing?” I asked.
“Fumigating the house,” she said. “It is unnecessary as I don’t think
they were infectious, but the ceremony has a moral significance—like
incense. Anyway it relieves my feelings.”
Then she laughed and threw the remains of the ribbon into the fire,
adding,
“If you say a word about those people I’ll leave the room.”
I think we had one of the jolliest breakfasts I ever remember. To begin
with we were both hungry since our miseries of the night before had
prevented us from eating any dinner. Indeed she swore that she had
scarcely tasted food since Saturday. Then we had such a lot to talk
about. With short intervals we talked all that day, either in the house
or while walking through the gardens and grounds. Passing through the
latter I came to the spot on the back drive where once I had saved her
from being abducted by Harût and Marût, and as I recognized it, uttered
an exclamation. She asked me why and the end of it was that I told her
all that story which to this moment she had never heard, for Ragnall
had thought well to keep it from her.
She listened intently, then said,
“So I owe you more than I knew. Yet, I’m not sure, for you see I was
abducted after all. Also if I had been taken there, probably George
would never have married me or seen me again, and that might have been
better for him.”
“Why?” I asked. “You were all the world to him.”
“Is any woman ever all the world to a man, Mr. Quatermain?”
I hesitated, expecting some attack.
“Don’t answer,” she went on, “it would be too long and you wouldn’t
convince me who have been in the East. However, he was all the world to
me. Therefore his welfare was what I wished and wish, and I think he
would have had more of it if he had never married me.”
“Why?” I asked again.
“Because I brought him no good luck, did I? I needn’t go through all
the story as you know it. And in the end it was through me that he was
killed in Egypt.”
“Or through the goddess Isis,” I broke in rather nervously.
“Yes, the goddess Isis, a part I have played in my time, or something
like it. And he was killed in the temple of the goddess Isis. And those
papyri of which you read the translations in the museum, which were
given to me in Kendah Land, seem to have come from that same temple.
And—how about the Ivory Child? Isis in the temple evidently held a
child in her arms, but when we found her it had gone. Supposing this
child was the same as that of which I was guardian! It might have been,
since the papyri came from that temple. What do you think?”
“I don’t think anything,” I answered, “except that it is all very odd.
I don’t even understand what Isis and the child Horus represent. They
were not mere images either in Egypt or Kendah Land. There must be an
idea behind them somewhere.”
“Oh! there was. Isis was the universal Mother, Nature herself with all
the powers, seen and unseen, that are hidden in Nature; Love
personified also, although not actually the queen of Love like Hathor,
her sister goddess. The Horus child, whom the old Egyptians called
Heru-Hennu, signified eternal regeneration, eternal youth, eternal
strength and beauty. Also he was the Avenger who overthrew Set, the
Prince of Darkness, and thus in a way opened the Door of Life to men.”
“It seems to me that all religions have much in common,” I said.
“Yes, a great deal. It was easy for the old Egyptians to become
Christian, since for many of them it only meant worshipping Isis and
Horus under new and holier names. But come in, it grows cold.”
We had tea in Lady Ragnall’s boudoir and after it had been taken away
our conversation died. She sat there on the other side of the fire with
a cigarette between her lips, looking at me through the perfumed smoke
till I began to grow uncomfortable and to feel that a crisis of some
sort was at hand. This proved perfectly correct, for it was. Presently
she said,
“We took a long journey once together, Mr. Quatermain, did we not?”
“Undoubtedly,” I answered, and began to talk of it until she cut me
short with a wave of her hand, and went on,
“Well, we are going to take a longer one together after dinner
to-night.”
“What! Where! How!” I exclaimed much alarmed.
“I don’t know where, but as for how—look in that box,” and she pointed
to a little carved Eastern chest made of rose or sandal wood, that
stood upon a table between us.
With a groan I rose and opened it. Inside was another box made of
silver. This I opened also and perceived that within lay bundles of
dried leaves that looked like tobacco, from which floated an enervating
and well-remembered scent that clouded my brain for a moment. Then I
shut down the lids and returned to my seat.
“_Taduki_,” I murmured.
“Yes, _Taduki_, and I believe in perfect order with all its virtue
intact.”
“Virtue!” I exclaimed. “I don’t think there is any virtue about that
hateful and magical herb which I believe grew in the devil’s garden.
Moreover, Lady Ragnall, although there are few things in the world that
I would refuse you, I tell you at once that nothing will induce me to
have anything more to do with it.”
She laughed softly and asked why not.
“Because I find life so full of perplexities and memories that I have
no wish to make acquaintance with any more, such as I am sure lie hid
by the thousand in that box.”
“If so, don’t you think that they might clear up some of those which
surround you to-day?”
“No, for in such things there is no finality, since whatever one saw
would also require explanation.”
“Don’t let us argue,” she replied. “It is tiring and I daresay we shall
need all our strength to-night.”
I looked at her speechless. Why could she not take No for an answer? As
usual she read my thought and replied to it.
“Why did not Adam refuse the apple that Eve offered him?” she inquired
musingly. “Or rather why did he eat it after many refusals and learn
the secret of good and evil, to the great gain of the world which
thenceforward became acquainted with the dignity of labour?”
“Because the woman tempted him,” I snapped.
“Quite so. It has always been her business in life and always will be.
Well, I am tempting you now, and not in vain.”
“Do you remember who was tempting the woman?”
“Certainly. Also that he was a good school-master since he caused the
thirst for knowledge to overcome fear and thus laid the
foundation-stone of all human progress. That allegory may be read two
ways, as one of a rise from ignorance instead of a fall from
innocence.”
“You are too clever for me with your perverted notions. Also, you said
we were not to argue. I have therefore only to repeat that I will not
eat your apple, or rather, breathe your _Taduki_.”
“Adam over again,” she replied, shaking her head. “The same old
beginning and the same old end, because you see at last you will do
exactly what Adam did.”
Here she rose and standing over me, looked me straight in the eyes with
the curious result that all my will power seemed to evaporate. Then she
sat down again, laughing softly, and remarked as though to herself,
“Who would have thought that Allan Quatermain was a moral coward!”
“Coward,” I repeated. “Coward!”
“Yes, that’s the right word. At least you were a minute ago. Now
courage has come back to you. Why, it’s almost time to dress for
dinner, but before you go, listen. I have some power over you, my
friend, as you have some power over me, for I tell you frankly if you
wished me very much to do anything, I should have to do it; and the
same applies conversely. Now, to-night we are, as I believe, going to
open a great gate and to see wonderful things, glorious things that
will thrill us for the rest of our lives, and perhaps suggest to us
what is coming after death. You will not fail me, will you?” she
continued in a pleading voice. “If you do I must try alone since no one
else will serve, and then I _know_—how I cannot say—that I shall be
exposed to great danger. Yes, I think that I shall lose my mind once
more and never find it again this side the grave. You would not have
that happen to me, would you, just because you shrink from digging up
old memories?”
“Of course not,” I stammered. “I should never forgive myself.”
“Yes, of course not. There was really no need for me to ask you. Then
you promise you will do all I wish?” and once more she looked at me,
adding, “Don’t be ashamed, for you remember that I have been in touch
with hidden things and am not quite as other women are. You will
recollect I told you that which I have never breathed to any other
living soul, years ago on that night when first we met.”
“I promise,” I answered and was about to add something, I forget what,
when she cut me short, saying,
“That’s enough, for I know your word is rather better than your bond.
Now dress as quickly as you can or the dinner will be spoiled.”