old-world forms of men in strange costumes bowed in courtly style to the
dames by their side. Among all these figures I noticed only one couple
particularly, and I knew them to be bride and bridegroom. The man was
tall and broad, with dark hair and eyes, and a sensual and cruel face.
He seemed, however, to be quite enslaved by the woman by his side, whom
I hardly even now like to think of, there was something to me so
repellent in her presence.
"She was tall and of middle age, and would have been handsome were it
not for a sinister expression in her dark flashing eyes, which was
enhanced by the black eyebrows which met over them.
"She reminded me irresistibly of the effigy on the stone monument in
Craymoor church, which Ella and I named "the wicked woman."
"As I gazed on the strange scene before me I presently became aware of
three other figures which I had not noticed before. They were standing
in a small arched doorway in one corner of the room (where the servants'
bedroom now is) furtively watching the gay company. One was a pale,
careworn woman, apparently of about five-and-thirty, still beautiful,
though haggard and mournful-looking, with blue eyes and a fair
complexion.
"Her hands rested on the shoulders of two children, one a boy and the
other a girl, of about ten and eleven years of age respectively. They
much resembled their mother, and, like her, they were meanly dressed,
though no poverty of attire could hide the nobility of their aspect. I
noticed that the mother's eyes rested chiefly on the face of the tall
stately man before mentioned, who seemed unaware or careless of her
presence; and instinctively I knew him to be the father of her children
and the blighter of her life.
"As I looked and beheld all this, the lights vanished, the company
disappeared, and the room became dark and deserted. No, not quite
deserted, for I presently distinguished, seated on the window-seat by
the old oaken chest, the fair woman and her children again.
"The moonlight now streamed through the window upon the woman's face,
making it appear more ghastly and haggard than before. In her long thin
fingers she was holding up to the light a necklace of large pearls,
curiously interwoven in a diamond pattern, and on this the children's
eyes were fixed.
"She then hung it on the girl's fair neck, who hid it in her bosom. Both
children then twined their arms round their mother and kissed her
repeatedly, while her head sank lower and lower, and the paleness of
death overspread her features.
"This scene faded away as the other had done, and I saw the fair woman
no more.
"Then it seemed to me that many figures passed and repassed before the
window--the wicked woman (as I shall call her to distinguish her),
accompanied by a boy the image of herself, whom I knew to be her son. He
was apparently older than the fair-haired children, who also passed to
and fro, attired as servants, and generally employed in some menial
work.
"At last the wicked woman's son, with haughty gestures, ordered the
other boy to pick up something that lay on the ground, and when he
refused, he raised his cane as though to strike him. Before he could do
so, however, the boy flew at him, and they engaged in a fierce struggle.
"In the midst of this the wicked woman, whom I had learned to dread,
came forward and separated them; after which she pointed imperiously to
the door, and signed to the younger boy to go out.
"He obeyed her mandate, but first threw his arms round his sister in a
last embrace, and she detached the pearl necklace from off her neck and
gave it to him. He then went out, waving a last adieu to her, and I saw
him no more.
"Confused images seemed to crowd before me after this, and I remember
nothing clearly until I beheld an infirm and tottering figure led away
through the arched doorway, in whom I recognized the tall and stately
man I had first seen in company with the wicked woman, but who was now
an old man, apparently being supported to his bed to die. As he passed
out he laid one trembling hand upon the head of the fair girl, now a
blooming woman, and a softer shade came over his face. This the wicked
woman noted, and she marked her disapproval by a vindictive frown.
"She also was older-looking, but age had in no degree softened her
features; on the contrary, they appeared to me to wear a harsher
expression than before.
"In the next scene which came before me, the wicked woman's son was
evidently making love to the girl. Both were standing by the old
window-seat, but her face was resolutely turned away from him, and when
she at last looked at him it was with an expression of uncontrollable
horror and dislike.
"Again this scene changed as those before it had done; the young man was
gone, and only the light of a grated lantern illumined the room, or
rather made darkness visible. The wicked woman was the only occupant of
the laundry; she was kneeling by the oaken chest, trying to raise the
heavy lid. In her left hand she held a piece of parchment, with large
red seals pendent from it. I knew it to be the old man's will which she
was hiding, thus defrauding the just claimants of their rights.
"Her hands trembled, and her whole appearance denoted guilty
trepidation. At length, however, the lid was raised, but just as she was
about to replace the parchment in the chest, a figure glided silently
from a dark corner of the window-seat and confronted her. It was the
fair girl, pale, resolute, and extending her hand to claim the will.
"After the first guilty start, which caused her to drop the parchment
into the chest, the wicked woman hurriedly tried to close the lid. Her
efforts were frustrated, however, by the girl, who leaned with all her
force upon it, keeping it back, and still held out her hand as before.
"There followed a pause, which seemed to me very long, but which could
in reality have only lasted a minute.
"It was broken by the wicked woman, who, hastily casting a glance behind
her into the gloom of the darkened chamber, then seized the girl by the
arm and dragged her with all her force into the chest. It was but the
work of a moment, for the woman was much the more powerful of the two,
and the poor victim was too much taken by surprise to make much
resistance. I saw one despairing look in her face as her murderess
flashed the lantern before it with a hideous gleam of triumph.
"Then the lid was pressed down upon her, and I saw no more, only I felt
an unutterable terror, and tried in vain to scream.
"This was not all the vision, however, for before I had mastered my
terror the scene was superseded by another.
"This time it was twilight, and the wicked woman and her son were
together. The son seemed to be talking eagerly, and grew more and more
excited, while the mother stood still and erect, with a malicious smile
upon her lips. Presently she moved toward the chest with a fell purpose
in her eyes, unlocked it with a key which hung from her girdle, raised
the lid and disclosed the contents.
"I understood it all now: the son was asking for the girl whom he had
loved, and whom on his return home he missed, and the wicked woman,
enraged at hearing for the first time that he had loved her, was
determined to have her revenge.
"He should see her again.
"On beholding the dread contents of the chest, the man staggered back
horrified; then, doubtless comprehending the case, he turned suddenly
upon the murderess, and threw his arm around her, and there ensued a
struggle terrible to witness.
"Her proud triumphant glance of malice was now succeeded by one of
abject fear, and, as his strength began to gain the mastery, of despair.
"His iron frame heaved for a moment with the violence of his efforts,
the next he had forced her down into the chest upon the mouldering body
of her victim. I saw her eyes light up with the terror of death for one
second, and then her screams were stifled forever beneath the massive
lid.
"The horror of this scene was too much for me; I found voice to scream
at last, and I suppose it was my cry which alarmed you all."
When Catherine ceased speaking there was a profound silence for a
minute, which Mr. Fanshawe was the first to break as he said with a
peculiar intonation in his voice, "It is very strange, very
unaccountable," reechoing all our thoughts.
Now it happened that Mr. Fleet, our family lawyer, was among our guests
that Christmas-time, and since the discovery of the chest and bones had
taken a great interest in the whole affair. He now questioned and
cross-questioned Catherine, and seemed quite satisfied with the result.
"This would have made a fine case," said he, "if only it had been a
question of the right of succession, for any lawyer to make out; but
unfortunately the events are too long past to have any bearing upon the
present." (There Mr. Fleet was wrong, though we none of us knew it at
the time.)
We now all launched forth into conjectures and opinions, during which
Catherine lay still and weary upon the sofa. I saw this, and thought it
quite time to put an end to the day's adventures by suggesting a
retirement for the night, and we were soon all dispersed to dream of the
mysterious vision and discovery.
* * * * *
I think we were none of us sorry when morning dawned without any further
tragedy (by _us_, I mean the female part of the establishment).
When I came down to breakfast I found Mr. Fleet very active on the
subject of the night before.
"A surgeon ought to be immediately sent for to pronounce an opinion on
the contents of the chest," he said; and Dr. Driscoll presently came,
and after examining the bones minutely, decided that they were, as we
thought, those of two females, who might have been from one to two
hundred years dead.
Mr. Fleet next offered to decipher the will, for such he imagined the
parchment to be, and he and Mr. Fanshawe were closeted together for some
time.
When they at last appeared again, they looked much interested and
excited, and led me away to inform me of the result of their
examination.
They told me that the document had proved to be a will, but that there
was a circumstance connected with it which greatly added to the mystery
of the whole business. This was the mention of the name of L'Estrange. I
was, of course, as much surprised as they, and heard the will read with
great interest.
I cannot remember the technical terms in which it was expressed. Mr.
Fleet read me the translation he had made, for the original was in old
English; but it was to this effect:
It purported to be the will of Reginald, Viscount St. Aubyn, in which he
bequeathed all his inheritance to his lawful son Francis St.
Aubyn--commonly known by the name of Francis l'Estrange--and to his
heirs forever. It was signed Reginald, Viscount St. Aubyn, and the
witnesses were John Murray and Phoebe Brett, who in the old copy had
each affixed their mark.
Mr. Fleet affirmed that it was a perfectly legal document, but this was
not all it contained.
There was an appendix which our lawyer translated as follows:
"In order to avoid all disputes and doubts which might otherwise arise,
I do hereby declare that my lawful wife was Editha, youngest daughter of
Francis l'Estrange, Baronet, and that the register of our marriage may
be seen in the church of St. Andrew, Haslet. By this marriage we had two
children, a son Francis, and a daughter Catherine, commonly called
Francis and Catherine l'Estrange. And I hereby declare that Agatha
Thornhaugh was not legally married to me as she imagined, my lawful wife
being alive at the time; neither do I leave to her son by her first
husband, Ralph Thornhaugh, any part or share in my inheritance."
Both the will and the writing at the foot of it were dated the 14th of
May, 1668.
This accumulation of mysteries caused me for a time to feel quite
bewildered and unable to think, but Mr. Fleet was in his element.
"Here is a case worth entering into," said he, and he further went on to
state that he had no doubt that the L'Estranges mentioned in the will
were our Catherine's ancestors, the Christian names being similar
rendering it more than probable. She was most likely a direct descendant
of Francis l'Estrange, the heir mentioned in the will, who was no doubt
also the fair-haired boy Catherine had seen in her vision.
The bones were those of his sister, the murdered Catherine l'Estrange,
and of her murderess Agatha Thornhaugh, herself immured by her own son;
but the matter ought not to rest on mere surmise, and the first place to
go to for corroborating evidence was Craymoor church.
The rapidity with which Mr. Fleet came to his conclusions increased my
bewilderment, and I was at a loss to know what evidence he expected to
gain from Craymoor church. He reminded me, however, of Catherine's
statement that "the wicked woman" of her vision resembled the effigy on
the monument there.
Thither, then, the lawyer repaired, accompanied by Mr. Fanshawe and
George. It was thought best to keep the sequel of the story from
Catherine and the others until it was explained more fully, as Mr. Fleet
boldly affirmed it should be. I awaited anxiously the result of their
researches, and they exceeded I think even our good investigator's
hopes.
Not only had they deciphered the inscription round the old monument, but
with leave from the clergyman and the assistance of the sexton they had
disinterred the coffin and found it to be filled with stones.
I am aware that this was rather an illegal proceeding, but as Mr. Fleet
was only acting _en amateur_ and not professionally, he did not stick at
trifles.
The inscription was in Latin, and stated that the tomb was erected in
memory of Agatha, wife of Reginald, Viscount St. Aubyn, who was buried
beneath, and who died on the 31st day of December, 1649--exactly two
hundred years before the day on which Catherine had seen the vision.
I could not help thinking it shocking that the villagers had for two
centuries been worshipping in the presence of a perpetual lie, but Mr.
Fleet thought only of the grand corroboration of his "case." He applied
to Mr. Fanshawe to take the next step, namely, to write to Catherine's
aunt and only living relative, to tell her the whole story, and beg
her to assist in elucidating matters by giving all the information she
could respecting the L'Estrange family.
This was done, and we anxiously awaited the answer. Meantime, all my
guests were clamorous to hear the contents of the will, and I had to
appease them as best I could, by promising that they should know all
soon.
In a few days, old Miss l'Estrange's answer came. She said her brother,
father, and grandfather had all served in India, and that she believed
her great-grandfather, who was a Francis l'Estrange, to have passed most
of his life abroad, there having been a cloud over his early youth. What
this was, however, she could not say. She affirmed that the L'Estranges
had in old times resided in ----shire; and she further stated that her
father's family had consisted of herself and her brother, whose only
child Catherine was.
This was certainly not much information, but it was enough for our
purpose. We no longer remained in doubt as to the truth of Mr. Fleet's
version of the story, and when he himself told it to all our
family-party one evening, every one agreed that he had certainly
succeeded in making out a very clever case.
As for Catherine, on being told that the figures she had beheld in the
vision were thought to be those of her ancestors, she was not so much
surprised as I expected, but said that she had had a presentiment all
along that the tragedies she had witnessed were in some way connected
with her own family.
I must not forget to say that on ascertaining that the parish church of
Haslet was still standing, we searched the register, and another link of
evidence was made clear by the finding of the looked-for entry.
There remains little more to be told. The charge of the old will was
committed to Mr. Fleet, and Catherine's story has been carefully laid up
among the archives of our family. I say advisedly of _our_ family, for
the line of the L'Estranges, alias St. Aubyns, has been united to ours
by the marriage of Catherine to my son George, which took place in 1850.
I who write this am an old woman now, but I still live with my son and
daughter-in-law.
George has bought Craymoor Grange, thus rendering justice after the
lapse of two centuries, and restoring the inheritance of her fathers to
the rightful owner.
I have but one more incident to relate, and I have done. A short time
ago, old Miss l'Estrange died, bequeathing all her worldly possessions
to Catherine. Among these were some old family relics. Catherine was
looking over them as George unpacked them, and she presently came to a
miniature of a young and beautiful girl with fair hair and blue eyes,
and a wistful expression, and with it a necklace of pearls strung in a
diamond pattern. On seeing these she became suddenly grave, and handing
them to me, said: "They are the same; the young girl, and the pearl
necklace I told you of." No more was said at the time, for the children
were present, and we had always avoided alluding to the horrible family
tragedy before them; but if we had still retained any doubt about its
truth--which we had not--this would have set it at rest.
If you were to visit Craymoor Grange now, you would find no old laundry.
The part of the house containing it has been pulled down, and children
play and chickens peckett on the ground where it once stood.
The oaken chest has also long since been destroyed.
HAUNTED.
Some few years ago one of those great national conventions which draw
together all ages and conditions of the sovereign people of America was
held in Charleston, South Carolina.
Colonel Demarion, one of the State Representatives, had attended that
great national convention; and, after an exciting week, was returning
home, having a long and difficult journey before him.
A pair of magnificent horses, attached to a light buggy, flew merrily
enough over a rough-country for a while; but toward evening stormy
weather reduced the roads to a dangerous condition, and compelled the
Colonel to relinquish his purpose of reaching home that night, and to
stop at a small wayside tavern, whose interior, illuminated by blazing
wood-fires, spread a glowing halo among the dripping trees as he
approached it, and gave promise of warmth and shelter at least.
Drawing up to this modest dwelling, Colonel Demarion saw through its
uncurtained windows that there was no lack of company within. Beneath
the trees, too, an entanglement of rustic vehicles, giving forth red
gleams from every dripping angle, told him that beasts as well as men
were cared for. At the open door appeared the form of a man, who, at the
sound of wheels, but not seeing in the outside darkness whom he
addressed, called out, "'Tain't no earthly use a-stoppin' here."
Caring more for his chattels than for himself, the Colonel paid no
further regard to this address than to call loudly for the landlord.
At the tone of authority, the man in outline more civilly announced
himself to be the host; yet so far from inviting the traveller to
alight, insisted that the house was "as full as it could pack;" but that
there was a place a little farther down the road where the gentleman
would be certain to find excellent accommodation.
"What stables have you here?" demanded the traveller, giving no more
heed to this than to the former announcement; but bidding his servant to
alight, and preparing to do so himself.
"Stables!" repeated the baffled host, shading his eyes so as to
scrutinize the newcomer, "_stables_, Cap'n?"
"Yes, _stables_. I want you to take care of my horses; _I_ can take care
of myself. Some shelter for cattle you must have by the look of these
traps," pointing to the wagons. "I don't want my horses to be kept
standing out in this storm, you know."
"No, Major. Why no, cert'n'y; Marion's ain't over a mile, and----"
"Conf--!" muttered the Colonel; "but it's over the _river_, which I
don't intend to ford to-night under any consideration."
So saying, the Colonel leaped to the ground, directing his servant to
cover the horses and then get out his valise; while the host, thus
defeated, assumed the best grace he could to say that he would see what
could be done "for the _horses_."
"I am a soldier, my man," added the Colonel in a milder tone, as he
stamped his cold feet on the porch and shook off the rain from his
travelling-gear; "I am used to rough fare and a hard couch: all we want
is shelter. A corner of the floor will suffice for me and my rug; a
private room I can dispense with at such times as these."
The landlord seemed no less relieved at this assurance than mollified by
the explanation of a traveller whom he now saw was of a very different
stamp from those who usually frequented the tavern. "For the matter of
_stables_, his were newly put up, and first-rate," he said; and
"cert'n'y the Gen'ral was welcome to a seat by the fire while 'twas
a-storming so fierce."
Colonel Demarion gave orders to his servant regarding the horses, while
the landlord, kicking at what seemed to be a bundle of sacking down
behind the door, shouted--"Jo! Ho, Jo! Wake up, you sleepy-headed
nigger! Be alive, boy, and show this gentleman's horses to the stables."
Upon a repetition of which charges a tall, gaunt, dusky figure lifted
itself from out of the dark corner, and grew taller and more gaunt as it
stretched itself into waking with a grin which was the most visible part
of it, by reason of two long rows of ivory gleaming in the red glare.
The hard words had fallen as harmless on Jo's ear-drum as the kicks upon
his impassive frame. To do Jo's master justice, the kicks were not
vicious kicks, and the rough language was but an intimation that
dispatch was needed. Very much of the spaniel's nature had Jo; and as he
rolled along the passage to fetch a lantern, his mouth expanded into a
still broader grin at the honor of attending so stately a gentleman.
Quick, like his master, too, was Jo to discriminate between "real
gentlefolks" and the "white trash" whose rough-coated, rope-harnessed
mules were the general occupants of his stables.
"Splendid pair, sir," said the now conciliating landlord. "Shove some o'
them mules out into the shed, Jo (which your horses 'll feel more to hum
in my new stalls, Gen'ral)."
Again cautioning his man Plato not to leave them one moment, Colonel
Demarion turned to enter the house.
"You'll find a rough crowd in here, sir," said the host, as he paused on
the threshold; "but a good fire, anyhow. 'Tain't many of these loafers
as understand this convention business--I _pre_sume, Gen'ral, you've
attended the convention--they all on 'em _thinks_ they does, tho'. Fact
most on 'em thinks they'd orter be on the committee theirselves. Good
many on 'em is from Char'ston to-day, but is in the same fix as yerself,
Gen'ral--can't get across the river to-night."
"I see, I see," cried the statesman, with a gesture toward the
sitting-room. "Now what have you got in your larder, Mr. Landlord? and
send some supper out to my servant; he must make a bed of the
carriage-mats to-night."
The landlord introduced his guest into a room filled chiefly with that
shiftless and noxious element of Southern society known as "mean
whites." Pipes and drinks, and excited arguments, engaged these people
as they stood or sat in groups. The host addressed those who were
gathered round the log-fire, and they opened a way for the new-comer,
some few, with republican freedom, inviting him to be seated, the rest
giving one furtive glance, and then, in antipathy born of envy, skulking
away.
The furniture of this comfortless apartment consisted of sloppy,
much-jagged deal tables, dirty whittled benches, and a few uncouth
chairs. The walls were dirty with accumulated tobacco stains, and so
moist and filthy was the floor, that the sound only of scraping seats
and heavy footsteps told that it was of boards and not bare earth.
Seated with his back toward the majority of the crowd, and shielded by
his newspaper, Colonel Demarion sat awhile unobserved; but was presently
recognized by a man from his own immediate neighborhood, when the
information was quickly whispered about that no less a person than their
distinguished Congressman was among them.