THE TAPESTRY CHAMBER.
When Beck woke the next morning, and gradually recalled all that had so
startled and appalled him the previous night, the grateful creature felt,
less by the process of reason than by a brute instinct, that in the
mysterious resuscitation and nocturnal wanderings of the pretended
paralytic, some danger menaced his master; he became anxious to learn
whether it was really St. John's room Madame Dalibard stealthily visited.
A bright idea struck him; and in the course of the day, at an hour when
the family were out of doors, he contrived to coax the good-natured
valet, who had taken him under his special protection, to show him over
the house. He had heard the other servants say there was such a power of
fine things that a peep into the rooms was as good as a show, and the
valet felt pride in being cicerone even to Beck. After having stared
sufficiently at the banquet-hall and the drawing-room, the armour, the
busts, and the pictures, and listened, open-mouthed, to his guide's
critical observations, Beck was led up the great stairs into the old
family picture-gallery, and into Sir Miles's ancient room at the end,
which had been left undisturbed, with the bed still in the angle; on
returning thence, Beck found himself in the corridor which communicated
with the principal bedrooms, in which he had lost himself the night
before.
"And vot room be that vith the littul vite 'ead h-over the door?" asked
Beck, pointing to the chamber from which Madame Dalibard had emerged.
"That white head, Master Beck, is Floorer the goddess; but a heathen like
you knows nothing about goddesses. Floorer has a half-moon in her hair,
you see, which shows that the idolatrous Turks worship her; for the
Turkish flag is a half-moon, as I have seen at Constantinople. I have
travelled, Beck."
"And vot room be it? Is it the master's?" persisted Beck.
"No, the pretty young lady, Miss Mainwaring, has it at present. There is
nothing to see in it. But that one opposite," and the valet advanced to
the door through which Madame Dalibard had disappeared,--"that is
curious; and as Madame is out, we may just take a peep." He opened the
door gently, and Beck looked in. "This, which is called the turret-
chamber, was Madame's when she was a girl, I have heard old Bessy say; so
Master pops her there now. For my part, I'd rather sleep in your little
crib than have those great gruff-looking figures staring at me by the
firelight, and shaking their heads with every wind on a winter's night."
And the valet took a pinch of snuff as he drew Beck's attention to the
faded tapestry on the walls. As they spoke, the draught between the door
and the window caused the gloomy arras to wave with a life-like motion;
and to those more superstitious than romantic, the chamber had certainly
no inviting aspect.
"I never sees these old tapestry rooms," said the valet, "without
thinking of the story of the lady who, coming from a ball and taking off
her jewels, happened to look up, and saw an eye in one of the figures
which she felt sure was no peeper in worsted."
"Vot vos it, then?" asked Beck, timidly lifting up the hangings, and
noticing that there was a considerable space between them and the wall,
which was filled up in part by closets and wardrobes set into the walls,
with intervals more than deep enough for the hiding-place of a man.
"Why," answered the valet, "it was a thief. He had come for the jewels;
but the lady had the presence of mind to say aloud, as if to herself,
that she had forgotten something, slipped out of the room, locked the
door, called up the servants, and the thief--who was no less a person
than the under-butler--was nabbed."
"And the French 'oman sleeps 'ere?" said Beck, musingly.
"French 'oman! Master Beck, nothing's so vulgar as these nicknames in a
first-rate sitivation. It is all very well when one lives with
skinflints, but with such a master as our'n, respect's the go. Besides,
Madame is not a French 'oman; she is one of the family,--and as old a
family it is, too, as e'er a lord's in the three kingdoms. But come,
your curiosity is satisfied now, and you must trot back to your horses."
As Beck returned to the stables, his mind yet more misgave him as to the
criminal designs of his master's visitor. It was from Helen's room that
the false cripple had walked, and the ill health of the poor young lady
was a general subject of compassionate comment. But Madame Dalibard was
Helen's relation: from what motive could she harbour an evil thought
against her own niece? But still, if those drops were poured into the
healing draught for good, why so secretly? Once more he revolved the
idea of speaking to St. John: an accident dissuaded him from this
intention,--the only proof to back his tale was the mysterious phial he
had carried away; but unluckily, forgetting that it was in his pocket, at
a time when he flung off his coat to groom one of the horses, the bottle
struck against the corn-bin and broke; all the contents were spilt. This
incident made him suspend his intention, and wait till he could obtain
some fresh evidence of evil intentions. The day passed without any other
noticeable occurrence. The doctor called, found Helen somewhat better,
and ascribed it to his medicines, especially to the effect of his tonic
draught the first thing in the morning. Helen smiled. "Nay, Doctor,"
said she, "this morning, at least, it was forgotten. I did not find it
by my bedside. Don't tell my aunt; she would be so angry." The doctor
looked rather discomposed.
"Well," said he, soon recovering his good humour, "since you are
certainly better to-day without the draught, discontinue it also to-
morrow. I will make an alteration for the day after." So that night
Madame Dalibard visited in vain her niece's chamber: Helen had a
reprieve.