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THE CURSE OF CARNE'S HOLD
A Tale of Adventure
BY G. A. HENTY
AUTHOR OF "ALL BUT LOST," "GABRIEL ALLEN, M.P.," ETC., ETC.
_NEW EDITION_
LONDON
GRIFFITH FARRAN & CO.
NEWBERY HOUSE, 39, CHARING CROSS ROAD
_The Right of Translation and Reproduction is reserved._
[Illustration: "_'Hold tight, Mary,' he said, as he cut down a native who
was springing upon him from the bushes._"]
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I. HOW THE CURSE BEGAN 5
CHAPTER II. MARGARET CARNE 21
CHAPTER III. TWO QUARRELS 39
CHAPTER IV. A TERRIBLE DISCOVERY 58
CHAPTER V. THE INQUEST 75
CHAPTER VI. RUTH POWLETT 96
CHAPTER VII. THE VERDICT 112
CHAPTER VIII. ENLISTED 128
CHAPTER IX. THE OUTBREAK 147
CHAPTER X. A SUCCESSFUL DEFENCE 165
CHAPTER XI. ATTACK ON A WAGGON-TRAIN 183
CHAPTER XII. IN THE AMATOLAS 202
CHAPTER XIII. THE RESCUE 219
CHAPTER XIV. RONALD IS OFFERED A COMMISSION 238
CHAPTER XV. A PARTING 256
CHAPTER XVI. SEARCHING FOR A CLUE 273
CHAPTER XVII. RUTH POWLETT CONFESSES 290
CHAPTER XVIII. GEORGE FORESTER'S DEATH 307
CHAPTER XIX. THE FIRE AT CARNE'S HOLD 324
CHAPTER XX. CLEARED AT LAST 340
THE
CURSE OF CARNE'S HOLD
CHAPTER I.
HOW THE CURSE BEGAN.
There was nothing about Carne's Hold that would have suggested to the
mind of the passing stranger that a curse lay upon it. Houses to which
an evil history is attached lie almost uniformly in low and damp
situations. They are embedded in trees; their appearance is gloomy and
melancholy; the vegetation grows rank around them, the drive is
overgrown with weeds and mosses, and lichens cling to the walls. Carne's
Hold possessed none of these features. It stood high up on the slope of
a hill, looking down into the valley of the Dare, with the pretty
village of Carnesford nestling among its orchards, and the bright stream
sparkling in the sunshine.
There was nothing either gloomy or forbidding about its architecture,
and the family now simply called their abode The Carnes; the term "Hold"
that the country people applied to it was indeed a misnomer, for the
bombardiers of Essex had battered the walls of the old fortified house,
and had called in the aid of fire to finish the work of destruction.
The whole of the present structure was therefore subsequent to that
date; it had been added to and altered many times, and each of its
owners had followed out his own fancies in utter disregard of those of
his predecessors; consequently the house represented a medley of diverse
styles, and, although doubtless an architectural monstrosity, was
picturesque and pleasing to the eye of men ignorant of the canons of
Art.
There were no large trees near it, though a clump rose a few hundred
yards behind it, and took away the effect of bareness it would otherwise
have had. The garden was well kept, and bright with flowers, and it was
clear that no blighting influence hung over them, nor, it would be
thought, over the girl, who, with a straw hat swinging in one hand, and
a basket, moved among them. But the country people for six miles round
firmly believed that a curse lay on Carne's Hold, and even among the
county families no one would have been willing to give a daughter in
marriage to an owner of the place.
Carnesford, now a good-sized village, had once been a tiny hamlet, an
appanage of Carne's Hold, but it had long since grown out of leading
strings, and though it still regarded The Carnes with something of its
old feudal feeling, it now furnished no suit or service unless paid for
so doing. Carnesford had grown but little of late years, and had no
tendency to increase. There was work enough in the neighbourhood for
such of its inhabitants as wanted to work, and in summer a cart went
daily with fruit and garden produce to Plymouth, which lay about twenty
miles away, the coast road dipping down into the valley, and crossing
the bridge over the Dare at Carnesford, and then climbing the hill again
to the right of The Hold.
Artists would sometimes stop for a week or two to sketch the quaint
old-fashioned houses in the main street, and especially the mill of
Hiram Powlett, which seemed to have changed in no way since the days
when its owner held it on the tenure of grinding such corn as the owners
of The Hold required for the use of themselves and their retainers.
Often, too, in the season, a fisherman would descend from the coach as
it stopped to change horses at the "Carne's Arms" and would take up his
quarters there, for there was rare fishing in the Dare, both in the deep
still pool above the mill and for three or four miles higher up, while
sea-trout were nowhere to be found plumper and stronger than in the
stretch of water between Carnesford and Dareport, two miles away.
Here, where the Dare ran into the sea, was a fishing village as yet
untouched, and almost unknown even to wandering tourists, and offering
indeed no accommodation whatever to the stranger beyond what he might,
perchance, obtain in the fishermen's cottages.
The one drawback to Carnesford, as its visitors declared, was the rain.
It certainly rained often, but the villagers scarcely noticed it. It was
to the rain, they knew, that they owed the bright green of the valley
and the luxuriousness of their garden crops, which always fetched the
top price in Plymouth market; and they were so accustomed to the soft
mist brought up by the south-west wind from over the sea that they never
noticed whether it was raining or not.
Strangers, however, were less patient, and a young man who was standing
at the door of the "Carne's Arms," just as the evening was closing in at
the end of a day in the beginning of October, 1850, looked gloomily out
at the weather. "I do not mind when I am fishing," he muttered to
himself; "but when one has once changed into dry clothes one does not
want to be a prisoner here every evening. Another day like this, and I
shall pack up my traps and get back again on board."
He turned and went back into the house, and, entering the bar, took his
seat in the little sanctum behind it; for he had been staying in the
house for a week, and was now a privileged personage. It was a snug
little room; some logs were blazing on the hearth, for although the
weather was not cold, it was damp enough to make a fire pleasant. Three
of the landlord's particular cronies were seated there: Hiram Powlett,
the miller; and Jacob Carey, the blacksmith; and old Reuben Claphurst,
who had been the village clerk until his voice became so thin and
uncertain a treble that the vicar was obliged to find a successor for
him.
"Sit down, Mr. Gulston," the landlord said, as his guest entered. "Fine
day it has been for fishing, and a nice basket you have brought in."
"It's been well enough for fishing, landlord, but I would rather put up
with a lighter basket, and have a little pleasanter weather."
The sentiment evidently caused surprise, which Jacob Carey was the first
to give expression to.
"You don't say, now, that you call this unpleasant weather, sir? Now I
call this about as good weather as we could expect in the first week of
October--warm and soft, and in every way seasonable."
"It may be all that," the guest said, as he lit his pipe; "but I own I
don't care about having the rain trickling down my neck from
breakfast-time to dark."
"Our fishermen about here look on a little rain as good for sport,"
Hiram Powlett remarked.
"No doubt it is; but I am afraid I am not much of a sportsman. I used to
be fond of fishing when I was a lad, and thought I should like to try my
hand at it again, but I am afraid I am not as patient as I was. I don't
think sea life is a good school for that sort of thing."
"I fancied now that you might be a sailor, Mr. Gulston, though I didn't
make so bold as to ask. Somehow or other there was something about your
way that made me think you was bred up to the sea. I was not sure about
it, for I can't recollect as ever we have had a sailor gentleman staying
here for the fishing before."
"No," Mr. Gulston laughed, "I don't think we often take to the rod.
Baiting a six-inch hook at the end of a sea-line for a shark is about
the extent to which we usually indulge; though sometimes when we are at
anchor the youngsters get the lines overboard and catch a few fish. Yes,
I am a sailor, and belong, worse luck, to the flagship at Plymouth. By
the way," he went on, turning to Jacob Carey, "you said last night, just
as you were going out, something about the curse of Carne's Hold. That's
the house up upon the hill, isn't it? What is the curse, and who said
it?"
"It is nothing sir, it's only foolishness," the landlord said, hastily.
"Jacob meant nothing by it."
"It ain't foolishness, John Beaumont, and you know it--and, for that,
every one knows it. Foolishness indeed! Here's Reuben Claphurst can tell
you if it's nonsense; he knows all about it if any one does."
"I don't think it ought to be spoken of before strangers," Hiram Powlett
put in.
"Why not?" the smith asked, sturdily. "There isn't a man on the
country-side but knows all about it. There can be no harm in telling
what every one knows. Though the Carnes be your landlords, John
Beaumont, as long as you pay the rent you ain't beholden to them; and as
for you, Hiram, why every one knows as your great-grandfather bought the
rights of the mill from them, and your folk have had it ever since.
Besides, there ain't nothing but what is true in it, and if the Squire
were here himself, he couldn't say no to that."
"Well, well, Jacob, there's something in what you say," the landlord
said, in the tone of a man convinced against his will; but, indeed, now
that he had done what he considered his duty by making a protest, he had
no objection to the story being told. "Maybe you are right; and, though
I should not like it said as the affairs of the Carnes were gossiped
about here, still, as Mr. Gulston might, now that he has heard about the
curse on the family, ask questions and hear all sorts of lies from those
as don't know as much about it as we do, and especially as Reuben
Claphurst here does, maybe it were better he should get the rights of
the story from him."
"That being so," the sailor said, "perhaps you will give us the yarn,
Mr. Claphurst, for I own that you have quite excited my curiosity as to
this mysterious curse."
The old clerk, who had told the story scores of times, and rather prided
himself on his telling, was nothing loth to begin.
"There is something mysterious about it, sir, as you say; so I have
always maintained, and so I shall maintain. There be some as will have
it as it's a curse on the family for the wickedness of old Sir Edgar. So
it be, surelie, but not in the way they mean. Having been one of the
officers of the church here for over forty year, and knowing the mind of
the old parson, ay, and of him who was before him, I always take my
stand on this. It was a curse, sure enough, but not in the way as they
wants to make out. It wouldn't do to say as the curse of that Spanish
woman had nowt to do with it, seeing as we has authority that curses
does sometimes work themselves out; but there ain't no proof to my mind,
and to the mind of the parsons as I have served under, that what they
call the curse of Carne's Hold ain't a matter of misfortune, and not, as
folks about here mostly think, a kind of judgment brought on them by
that foreign, heathen woman. Of course, I don't expect other people to
see it in that light."
This was in answer to a grunt of dissent on the part of the blacksmith.
"They ain't all had my advantages, and looks at it as their fathers and
grandfathers did before them. Anyhow, there is the curse, and a bitter
curse it has been for the Carnes, as you will say, sir, when you have
heard my story.
"You must know that in the old times the Carnes owned all the land for
miles and miles round, and Sir Marmaduke fitted out three ships at his
own expense to fight under Howard and Blake against the Spaniards.
"It was in his time the first slice was cut off the property, for he
went up to Court, and held his own among the best of them, and made as
brave a show, they say, as any of the nobles there. His son took after
him, and another slice, though not a big one, went; but it was under Sir
Edgar, who came next, that bad times fell upon Carne's Hold. When the
troubles began he went out for the King with every man he could raise in
the country round, and they say as there was no man struck harder or
heavier for King Charles than he did. He might have got off, as many
another one did, if he would have given it up when it was clear the
cause was lost; but whenever there was a rising anywhere he was off to
join it, till at last house and land and all were confiscated, and he
had to fly abroad.
"How he lived there no one exactly knows. Some said as he fought with
the Spaniards against the Moors; others, and I think they were not far
from the mark, that he went out to the Spanish Main, and joined a band
of lawless men, and lived a pirate's life there. No one knows about
that. I don't think any one, even in those days, did know anything,
except that when he came back with King Charles he brought with him a
Spanish wife. There were many tales about her. Some said that she had
been a nun, and that he had carried her off from a convent in Spain, but
the general belief was--and as there were a good many Devonshire lads
who fought with the rovers on the Spanish Main, it's likely that the
report was true--that she had been the wife of some Spanish Don, whose
ship had been captured by the pirates.
"She was beautiful, there was no doubt about that. Such a beauty, they
say, as was never seen before or since in this part. But they say that
from the first she had a wild, hunted look about her, as if she had
either something on her conscience, or had gone through some terrible
time that had well-nigh shaken her reason. She had a baby some months
old with her when she arrived, and a nurse was engaged from the village,
for strangely enough, as every one thought at the time, Sir Edgar had
brought back no attendant either for himself or his lady.
"No sooner was he back, and had got possession of his estates, being in
that more lucky than many another who fought for the Crown, than he set
to work to rebuild The Hold; living for the time in a few rooms that
were patched up and made habitable in the old building. Whatever he had
been doing while he was abroad, there was no doubt whatever that he had
brought back with him plenty of money, for he had a host of masons and
carpenters over from Plymouth, and spared no expense in having things
according to his fancy. All this time he had not introduced his wife to
the county. Of course, his old neighbours had called and had seen her as
well as him, but he had said at once that until the new house was fit to
receive visitors he did not wish to enter society, especially as his
wife was entirely ignorant of the English tongue.
"Even in those days there were tales brought down to the village by the
servants who had been hired from here, that Sir Edgar and his wife did
not get on well together. They all agreed that she seemed unhappy, and
would sit for hours brooding, seeming to have no care or love for her
little boy, which set folk more against her, since it seemed natural
that even a heathen woman should care for her child.
"They said, too, there were often fierce quarrels between Sir Edgar and
her, but as they always talked in her tongue, no one knew what they were
about. When the new house was finished they moved into it, and the ruins
of the old Hold were levelled to the ground. People thought then that
Sir Edgar would naturally open the house to the county, and, indeed,
some entertainments were given, but whether it was that they believed
the stories to his disadvantage, or that they shrank from the strange
hostess, who, they say, always looked on these occasions stately and
cold, and who spoke no word of their language, the country gentry
gradually fell away, and Carne's Hold was left pretty much to its
owners.
"Soon afterwards another child was born. There were, of course, more
servants now, and more state, but Lady Carne was as much alone as ever.
Whether she was determined to learn no word of English, or whether he
was determined that she should not, she at any rate made no attempt to
acquire her husband's language, and many said that it was a shame he did
not get her a nurse and a maid who could speak her tongue; for in the
days of Charles there were foreigners enough in England, and there could
have been no difficulty in procuring her an attendant of her own
religion and race.
"They quarrelled more than ever; but the servants were all of opinion
that whatever it was about it was her doing more than his. It was her
voice to be heard rising in passionate tones, while he said but little,
and they all agreed he was polite and courteous in his manner to her. As
for her, she would walk for hours by herself up and down the terrace,
talking aloud to herself, sometimes wringing her hands and throwing her
arms wildly about. At this time there began to be a report among the
country round that Lady Carne was out of her mind.
"She was more alone than ever now, for Sir Edgar had taken to making
journeys up to town and remaining for weeks at a time, and there was a
whisper that he played heavily and unluckily. So things went on until
the third child was born, and a fortnight afterwards a servant from The
Hold rode through the village late at night on his way for the doctor,
and stopped a moment to tell the news that there was a terrible scene up
at The Hold, for that during a momentary absence of the nurse, Lady
Carne had stabbed her child to death, and when he came away she was
raving wildly, the efforts of Sir Edgar and two of the servants hardly
sufficing to hold her.
"After that no one except the inmates of The Hold ever saw its mistress
again; the windows in one of the wings were barred, and two strange
women were brought down from London and waited and attended on the poor
lady. There were but few other servants there, for most of the girls
from about here soon left, saying that the screams and cries that rang
at times through the house were so terrible that they could not bear
them; but, indeed, there was but small occasion for servants, for Sir
Edgar was almost always away. One night one of the girls who had stayed
on and had been spending the evening with her friends, went home late,
and just as she reached the house she saw a white figure appear at one
of the barred windows.
"In a moment the figure began crying and screaming, and to the girl's
surprise many of her words were English, which she must have picked up
without any one knowing it. The girl always declared that her language
made her blood run cold, and was full of oaths, such as rough sailor-men
use, and which, no doubt, she had picked up on ship-board; and then she
poured curses upon the Carnes, her husband, the house, and her
descendants. The girl was so panic-stricken that she remained silent
till, in a minute or two, two other women appeared at the window, and by
main force tore Lady Carne from her hold upon the bars.
"A few days afterwards she died, and it is mostly believed by her own
hand, though this was never known. None of the servants, except her own
attendants, ever entered the room, and the doctor never opened his lips
on the subject. Doubtless he was well paid to keep silence. Anyhow, her
death was not Sir Edgar's work, for he was away at the time, and only
returned upon the day after her death. So, sir, that is how the curse
came to be laid on Carne's Hold."
"It is a terrible story," Mr. Gulston said, when the old clerk ceased;
"a terrible story. It is likely enough that the rumour was true, and
that he carried her off, after capturing the vessel and killing her
husband, and perhaps all the rest of them, and that she had never
recovered from the shock. Was there ever any question as to whether they
had been married?"
"There was a question about it--a good deal of question; and at Sir
Edgar's death the next heir, who was a distant cousin, set up a claim,
but the lawyer produced two documents Sir Edgar had given him. One was
signed by a Jack Priest, who had, it was said, been one of the crew on
board Sir Edgar's ship, certifying that he had duly and lawfully married
Sir Edgar Carne and Donna Inez Martos; and there was another from a
Spanish priest, belonging to a church at Porto Rico, certifying that he
had married the same pair according to Catholic rites, appending a note
saying that he did so although the husband was a heretic, being
compelled and enforced by armed men, the town being in the possession of
a force from two ships that had entered the harbour the night before.
As, therefore, the pair had been married according to the rites of both
Churches, and the Carnes had powerful friends at Court, the matter
dropped, and the title has never since been disputed. As to Sir Edgar
himself, he fortunately only lived four years after his wife's death.
Had he lived much longer, there would have been no estate left to
dispute. As it was, he gambled away half its wide acres."
"And how has the curse worked?" Mr. Gulston asked.
"In the natural way, sir. As I was saying before it has just been in the
natural way, and whatever people may say, there is nothing, as I have
heard the old parson lay down many a time, to show that that poor
creature's wild ravings had aught to do with what followed. The taint in
the blood of Sir Edgar's Spanish wife was naturally inherited by her
descendants. Her son showed no signs of it, at least as far as I have
heard, until he was married and his wife had borne him three sons. Then
it burst out. He drew his sword and killed a servant who had given him
some imaginary offence, and then, springing at his wife, who had thrown
herself upon him, he would have strangled her had not the servants run
in and torn him off her. He, too, ended his days in confinement. His
sons showed no signs of the fatal taint.
"The eldest married in London, for none of the gentry of Devonshire
would have given their daughter in marriage to a Carne. The others
entered the army; one was killed in the Low Countries, the youngest
obtained the rank of general and married and settled in London. The son
of the eldest boy succeeded his father, but died a bachelor. He was a
man of strange, moody habits, and many did not hesitate to say that he
was as mad as his grandfather had been. He was found dead in his
library, with a gun just discharged lying beside him. Whether it had
exploded accidentally, or whether he had taken his life, none could say.
"His uncle, the General, came down and took possession, and for a time
it seemed as if the curse of the Carnes had died out, and indeed no
further tragedies have taken place in the family, but several of its
members have been unlike other men, suffering from fits of morose gloom
or violent passion. The father of Reginald, the present Squire, was of a
bright and jovial character, and during the thirty years that he was
possessor of The Hold was so popular in this part of the country that
the old stories have been almost forgotten, and it is generally believed
that the curse of the Carnes has died out."
"The present owner," Mr. Gulston asked; "what sort of a man is he?"
"I don't know nothing about him," the old man replied; "he is since my
time."
"He is about eight-and-twenty," the landlord said. "Some folks say one
thing about him, some another; I says nothing. He certainly ain't like
his father, who, as he rode through the village, had a word for every
one; while the young Squire looks as if he was thinking so much that he
didn't even know that the village stood here. The servants of The Hold
speak well of him--he seems kind and thoughtful when he is in the
humour, but he is often silent and dull, and it is not many men who
would be dull with Miss Margaret. She is one of the brightest and
highest spirited young ladies in the county. There's no one but has a
good word for her. I think the Squire studies harder than is good for
him. They say he is always reading, and he doesn't hunt or shoot; and
natural enough when a man shuts himself up and takes no exercise to
speak of, he gets out of sorts and dull like; anyhow, there's nothing
wrong about him. He's just as sane and sensible as you and I."
After waiting for two days longer and finding the wet weather continue,
Mr. Gulston packed up his rods and fishing tackle and returned to
Plymouth. He had learned little more about the family at The Hold,
beyond the fact that Mrs. Mervyn, who inhabited a house standing half a
mile further up the valley, was the aunt of Reginald and Margaret Carne,
she having been a sister of the late possessor of The Hold. In her youth
she had been, people said, the counterpart of her niece, and it was not
therefore wonderful that Clithero Mervyn had, in spite of the advice of
his friends and the reputation of the Carnes, taken what was considered
in the county the hazardous step of making her his wife.
This step he had never repented, for she had, like her brother, been one
of the most popular persons in that part of the county, and a universal
favourite. The Mervyn estate had years before formed part of that of the
Carnes, but had been separated from it in the time of Sir Edgar's
grandson, who had been as fond of London life and as keen a gambler as
his ancestor.
The day before he started, as he was standing at the door of the hotel,
Reginald Carne and his sister had ridden past; they seemed to care no
more for the weather than did the people of the village, and were
laughing and talking gaily as they passed, and Charles Gulston thought
to himself that he had never in all his travels seen a brighter and
prettier face than that of the girl.
[Illustration: "_Charles Gulston thought he had never seen a prettier
and brighter face than that of the girl._"]
He thought often of the face that day, but he was not given to romance,
and when he had once returned to his active duties as first lieutenant
of H.M.S. _Tenebreuse_, he thought no more on the subject until three
weeks later his captain handed him a note, saying:
"Here, Gulston, this is more in your line than mine. It's an invitation
to a ball, for myself and some of my officers, from Mrs. Mervyn. I have
met her twice at the Admiral's, and she is a very charming woman, but as
her place is more than twenty miles away and a long distance from a
railway station, I certainly do not feel disposed to make the journey.
They are, I believe, a good county family. She has two pretty daughters
and a son--a captain in the Borderers, who came into garrison about a
month ago; so I have no doubt the soldiers will put in a strong
appearance."
"I know the place, sir," Gulston said; "it's not far from Carnesford,
the village where I was away fishing the other day, and as I heard a
good deal about them I think I will take advantage of the invitation. I
dare say Mr. Lucas will be glad to go too, if you can spare him."
"Certainly, any of them you like, Gulston, but don't take any of the
midshipmen; you see Mrs. Mervyn has invited my officers, but as the
soldiers are likely to show up in strength, I don't suppose she wants
too many of us."
"We have an invitation to a ball, doctor," Lieutenant Gulston said after
leaving the captain, to their ship's doctor, "for the 20th, at a Mrs.
Mervyn's. The captain says we had better not go more than three.
Personally I rather want to go. So Hilton of course must remain on
board, and Lucas can go. I know you like these things, although you are
not a dancing man. As a rule it goes sorely against my conscience taking
such a useless person as one of our representatives; but upon the
present occasion it does not matter, as there is a son of the house in
the Borderers; and, of course, they will put in an appearance in
strength."
"A man can make himself very useful at a ball, even if he doesn't
dance, Gulston," the doctor said. "Young fellows always think chits of
girls are the only section of the female sex who should be thought of.
Who is going to look after their mothers, if there are only boys
present? The conversation of a sensible man like myself is quite as
great a treat to the chaperones as is the pleasure of hopping about the
room with you to the girls. The conceit and selfishness of you lads
surprise me more and more, there are literally no bounds to them. How
far is this place off?"
"It's about twenty miles by road, or about fifteen by train, and eight
or nine to drive afterwards. I happen to know about the place, as it's
close to the village where I was fishing a fortnight ago."
"Then I think the chaperones will have to do without me, Gulston. I am
fond of studying human nature, but if that involves staying up all night
and coming back in the morning, the special section of human nature
there presented must go unstudied."
"I have been thinking that one can manage without that, doctor. There is
a very snug little inn where I was stopping in the village, less than a
mile from the house. I propose that we go over in the afternoon, dine at
the inn, and dress there. Then we can get a trap to take us up to the
Mervyns', and can either walk or drive down again after it is over, or
come back by train with the others, according to the hour and how we
feel when the ball is over."
"Well, that alters the case, lad, and under those conditions I will be
one of the party."