THE DARK TOWER
The morning broke with a clear sky, proving that, whatever his
shortcomings, Ninian Guyse was a good weather-prophet. Exactly what he
predicted had happened. About midnight the wind dropped, the snow
ceased, and now the frost gripped the ground like iron, and the village
lay surrounded by radiant whiteness, reflecting the first sunbeam on its
crystalline surface.
Flossie awoke Miss Innes just as day was breaking, to say that "Muster
Nin" begged that she would be quick, as he meant to drive her to the
Pele in Mr. Askwith's sleigh as soon as they had breakfasted. No heavy
luggage could be taken, but that could be sent for as soon as the roads
permitted.
There was an exhilaration in the air which made Olwen feel optimistic,
in spite of the biting cold which nipped her as soon as she crept out
from the warmth of her bed. Dressing with no unnecessary delay, she
hastened down to the parlour, whence came an appetising odour of
frizzled "rashers."
Young Guyse was standing before the fire, apparently making himself
agreeable to Flossie in the way she understood, while she set the teapot
and the dishes of hot cake on the table.
He greeted Miss Innes with an odd mixture of bravado and nervousness, as
though anxious to conciliate, conscious that he had somehow failed to do
so, yet in his heart convinced that the swaggering male attitude must be
the right one to adopt towards any young woman.
Her greeting was as frosty as the morning, and it seemed to depress him,
for he sat down to table, accepted his cup of tea from her in silence,
and ate for some time without speaking.
"Sorry," he remarked at length, apropos of nothing, "sorry we didn't hit
it off better last night."
"Oh, pray don't trouble; what does it matter?" said she cheerfully.
He frowned impatiently. "We've got to live in the same house," he
growled, with a shake of the shoulders expressing the irritation of the
man wholly unaccustomed to snubs.
"Yes, but I am to be your mother's companion, not yours," she returned
with a dry little smile.
His green eyes had a resentful light. "You've taken a regular grudge
against me, I do believe," he muttered, "and I only meant to rag you a
bit. Women can't take a joke."
"You see, women of my class are not accustomed to be ragged by
strangers," she explained with a condescending kindness. "It seems that
you did not know that. However, as I understand you to be apologising,
we will say no more about it."
He stared at her more openly than he had done hitherto--glared at her
might be nearer the truth. The sun sent a shaft of light in at the
plant-blocked window, and showed her thick black brows and lashes, and
their piquant contrast to her fair head. "If I hadn't your own word for
it that you are a bank clerk," said he, "I should have taken you for a
schoolmarm. You've given me a bad mark. Hadn't you better set me an
imposition? I might write out 'Keep off the grass' fifty times, don't
you think?"
She smiled patiently. "Don't be absurd, please, but tell me how long it
ought to take us to reach the Pele."
"About two hours"--snappishly. "Afraid you won't like it when you get
there."
"I'm determined to like it if I can. I hate to fail."
"So do I," he flung back. "I'm not used to it either."
"Indeed!" She could not resist the temptation to say that, with an air
of innocent surprise, considering him with an appraising glance that the
most conceited of men could not have thought flattering. "If I hadn't
your own word for it that you are a gentleman, I should have taken you
for a--well, for something else," she remarked; and then, as he started
and crimsoned, she let her laughter have its way. "What's sauce for the
goose is sauce for the gander, sir," she said.
Suddenly he, too, laughed. "That's one to you," he conceded in a sort
of unwilling admiration. "Well, I suppose it's up to me to make you
revise your impressions, isn't it?"
"Impressions of you? Oh, why? I'm not sure that I have any," she
replied briskly, pushing back her chair and rising. "I must be off and
make ready for our start," said she.
This time he accepted the rebuff as final and made no answer. Olwen
departed to make her arrangements, as it seemed likely that she might
have to wait some days for the arrival of her trunk. She went to the
back kitchen, where her luggage was, and asked Flossie to help her
unlock a box and take out a change of linen and an evening frock. While
they were thus busy Deb came in and sent Flossie away, saying that she
would help Miss Innes herself. She provided a big cardboard box to hold
the extra things, and while Olwen was packing them she said gruffly:
"You only coom for a visit oop t' Pele, loov, or is there talk of your
biding there longer? You may think I taake a liberty, but 'tis no idle
curiosity in me."
Olwen looked at the hard-featured, honest face and answered at once,
explaining that she was on a month's trial, and was to stay on if she
suited.
Deb listened gravely. "I'm not one to make mischief," said she, "and I
shouldn't open me mooth, only I can see that you coom of a good home and
a good breed. They're queer folk oop t' Pele, what with the nigger woman
and all. Madam, she's a poor creature, and Muster Nin's a bit wild, as
you see. Go careful, loov, and you'll be all right, but keep Muster Nin
in his plaace."
Olwen was a little pale. "Thank you, Mrs. Askwith; it is kind of you to
warn me. I have to earn my living, and I suppose I should find
drawbacks everywhere of some kind. The--the Guyses are all _right_, are
they not? There is nothing against them, I meant."
Mrs. Askwith's "No" came after a slight hesitation. She repeated it
after reflection. "No, nothing against them. They are of the old
gentry, and near kin to his lordship, poor though they be. You're not
to be thinkin' over mooch of what I've said, loov. Only, go canny while
you're there. If the Indian takes against you, you'll not be stopping
very long."
Olwen sighed. "I'm afraid Mr. Guyse has taken against me, as you say,
already," she replied; and as she recalled Nin's assertion of the ayah's
devotion to himself, she thought she stood small chance of favour in
that direction. "Well," she concluded, "it can't be helped. I must try
and stay if I can. You will laugh if you see me back here at the end of
my month."
"Or before," said Deb, with an admiring glance at the resolute little
face. "You've got a home of your own, loov?" she asked anxiously.
"Oh, yes, indeed. I shall not stay if things are unpleasant," was the
quick reply; and the assurance seemed to console the good woman. Nin
began to shout for Miss Innes, and they had to break off talk and hasten
to the door, where the sleigh stood waiting.
Olwen took a cordial leave of the Askwiths, who all assembled to see the
departure. Just as she was being tucked warmly in under a fur robe Dr.
Balmayne was seen crossing the square.
"Here's the doctor, come to return your knife," said she to young Guyse,
who was taking his place beside her.
"Damn him!" said the young man quietly, checking his horse unwillingly
as the other hurried up.
Seen by daylight, Balmayne was a good-looking man, youngish, with keen
blue eyes and closely clipped fair beard. He gave back the knife and
said a few words about the violence of the storm, his eyes fixed with
interest upon the young lady in the motor veil of such a particularly
charming shade of blue. As Ninian was evidently determined not to
introduce him, he turned pointedly to her and addressed her direct.
"You will have a cold drive," he said.
She bowed and would have replied, but Nin whipped up the horse and it
sprang forward. "Sorry can't stop. Deloraine will take cold," he cried
as they rushed off.
Balmayne was left standing by the porch of the Seven Spears.
Olwen sat silent, her mouth a little compressed, while they sped out of
the town and took a winding moorland road. The snow was quite hard, the
motion of sleighing, which was new to her, very pleasant. The bare,
heaving country rose grandly on all sides. Caryngston disappeared
beneath them incredibly soon. They were off together into the unknown,
and her mind was working uneasily about the memory of Deb's words of
caution.
Presently her driver turned with a short laugh. "Another specimen of my
beastly manners, eh? I'm not going to be pushed into introducing you to
that chap just because he comes cadging for it. He can ask 'em at the
Seven Spears who you are and what's your business if he's so anxious to
know."
She made no reply, not knowing what to say.
"Too angry to speak?" he demanded pleasantly.
"Angry--why should I be angry?"
"Because I wouldn't introduce that chap to you."
"Whether or no you will introduce me to your friends must be a matter
for you and Mrs. Guyse to decide. It can have nothing to do with me."
"Tosh! I do seem to have put you on your high horse."
She was determined not to go on wrangling with him, and she held her
tongue. When at last she spoke, after some interval, it was to ask him
a question about the country they were passing through. He pointed out
a few landmarks to her, but without much interest; and they drove mostly
in silence until they came in sight of a square stone tower standing up
on the skyline, grey among the whiteness of the setting.
"That's the Pele," said ha "Ever seen one before!"
"Never; but I have been told that Guysewyke is fine--that there is only
one better along the border."
"Who told you that?"
"Oh, a friend at Bramforth."
"Well, the difference between ours and everybody else's is that we live
in ours and nobody else does anything so lunatic. Our reason is an
excellent one. It is simply that we can't afford to live anywhere else.
The Guyse who first built this had an eye to a military situation, as
you will understand when we get closer."
As they drew swiftly nearer, it could be seen that they were also
approaching the westward edge of the high plateau across which they were
driving. Beyond the Pele there seemed to be a drop of many hundred feet
in the level of the country, and they went as though making straight for
the verge, until they came, on the very brink, to a gateway with stone
sideposts of square, rough-hewn blocks, surmounted by two panthers
holding the Guyse shield under their paws.
Ninian checked his horse, alighted and opened the gate. They passed
through upon what seemed at first like a narrow bridge, bordered on
either hand by a low parapet of stone, with, a precipice beneath on both
sides. As he fastened the gate behind them, Olwen looked about her, and
could hardly believe her eyes.
The whole western edge of the plateau they had just left was a steep,
almost precipitous cliff. A couple of hundred yards from its verge
there arose out of the valley below a small conical hill, connected with
the high land behind only by a narrow natural causeway, which was but
just wide enough to carry the approach. Upon this isolated hill,
forming an impregnable stronghold, the Pele was perched. No wonder that
it had withstood the onslaughts of the ages.
The summit of the hill had been levelled and cut square. Bound it, like
a crown, a quadrangular fortress wall had been built, enclosing a
courtyard. At the western end of the causeway, where it met the
fortress wall, was a small tower, or gatehouse, with an arch passing
beneath. The gate was open; one saw through into what was in
summer-time a circumscribed bit of garden ground. The Pele itself
occupied the northwestern quarter of the enclosure.
Under the gatehouse arch, a sturdy short man with the black hair, high
cheekbones and small, twinkling dark eyes of his Pictish origin, was
busily shovelling away the drifts. He had worked diligently, and
succeeded in making the passage clear, so that the sleigh, with the lady
in it, could enter the quadrangle.
He greeted his master with an outburst of dialect too broad for the
stranger to understand. Evidently some damage to property had been the
result of the storm, for he pointed along the river valley, above which
the stronghold towered. His tidings seemed to vex Ninian.
The girl was so occupied in observing the remarkable surroundings in
which she found herself that all anxiety concerning her own reception or
comfort faded from her mind. Seen from within, the fortress wall showed
itself as on two sides, little more than a shell. On the eastern side,
where the gatehouse was, there were still roofed and habitable quarters,
in which, as she learned later, Ezra Baxter and his wife dwelt, the
remainder serving as stables.
The Baxters, with the ayah, formed the entire staff at Guysewyke.
Against the western wall, south of the Pele itself, was a small stone
one-storey erection which had been built within the last fifty years as
a kitchen. Along the south side were outhouses, fenced off by a trellis
from the garden, and here, she guessed, madam kept her fowls.
Guyse, who had been collecting her things while Ezra talked, now turned
towards the tower. "All right," he said to his man, "I'll come down
with you as soon as I've had my dinner. Come along, Miss Innes."
The low doorway of the Pele Tower was rudely arched, Saxon fashion, with
two long stones inclined towards each other at an angle, like a V upside
down. The door itself, of grey oak with big black nails and iron ring,
dated evidently from many centuries back. Guyse pushed it open,
shouting for Sunia at the top of his voice.
Olwen found herself in a strange, almost terrifying place.
It was not unlike a cellar, the walls being of huge ashlar blocks of
stone, and the small windows deeply splayed within, narrowing to
something not much larger than a loophole. The roof was of stone,
arched in what is known as a barrel vault. Evidently, in feudal times,
the whole ground floor of the tower had been one chamber. Now a screen,
or wall of black oak panelling, divided it in two, the northern half,
through which they had entered, being a vestibule, the inner half,
partly visible through an open door, seemed to be better lighted, and
showed a glimpse of a table set for dinner.
On the hall floor were thick rugs; an iron stove, though its effect was
not esthetic, made the place pleasantly warm, and there was a gate-leg
table, covered with an untidy collection of whips, gloves,
clothes-brushes, and so on.
There was a slight rattling of the curtains which covered the door by
which they had entered, and a woman emerged, without noise.
She was small and withered, and wore a dull crimson saree over her head
and draped about her shoulders. Below it appeared a thick wadded jacket
and petticoat. Her eyes were like clear, deep coffee, and her skin like
the same coffee with cream added.
"Sunia, this is Miss Innes," said the master of the house, in a tone
which to Olwen suggested apology. It was as though he said, "This is
all--hardly worth the trouble of fetching!" "How is my mother? Ready
to see her?" he went on hurriedly.
"Madam well," said a soft, clear little voice. "She like see Missee
Eenis. I take her up, then you have your deener. You hungry, my
sahib--eh?"
"Hungry! As a wolf! Nearly ate Miss Innes on the way up. Some storm
last night--what? Bad enough in Caryngston. Here, Ezra tells me, it
was prime. Miss Innes wanted to come up last night in the dark, but I
wasn't taking any risks."
"Poor Missee have a dreadful journey," murmured the ayah, her melting
eyes on Olwen, who stood by the fire, her foot held to the blaze. "You
come with me--yes?" she said, in the accents of one coaxing a shy child.
Olwen met her gaze and smiled, with a quick sensation of liking, as she
followed her guide to the curtain by the door. She found that the wall
was double, and in its thickness a corkscrew stair twisted upward. On
the next floor, although passages branched right and left, they did not
pause, but ascended higher. On the second floor they went a little way
along the narrow and icy cold stone passage, and the ayah, knocking,
ushered her into a sitting-room. It was quite small, occupying only a
fourth of the floor space, or being half as big as the vestibule. A
good-sized casement window had been inserted, the stone walls had been
plastered and hung with a light flowery paper. Near the fireplace, in
an arm-chair, was seated a middle-aged woman, spare in figure, with
faded fair hair and melancholy eyes. She rose as the girl entered, and
said, with a little laugh of embarrassment, "Oh, here you are! How do
you do?"
Olwen responded as cordially as she could, expressing her regret that
Mrs. Guyse should have been put to the trouble and expense which the
delay at the inn involved. "There was no snow at all when I left home,"
said she, "or I would not have started."
"The snow is often very bad here," said Mrs. Guyse languidly. "Quite a
different climate. We did not expect you to come on last night, but I
hope Mrs. Askwith made you comfortable; and then, you had my son to
cheer you up. Very amusing, isn't he?"
There was something peculiar in the tone in which this was said, almost
as though Ninian's mother were sneering. Olwen replied quite
conventionally that Mr. Guyse had been very kind. She felt that her
answer was listened for, not only by the lady but the ayah also; but
neither seemed able to make much of it.
"It's dull for my son and me here in winter-time," went on Mrs. Guyse.
"I hope you will brighten us up."
"I want very much to be useful," replied the girl, "and it will be a
pleasure to catalogue the library."
"To catalogue the library?" echoed the lady, with an air of blank
surprise.
"You said that was one of the things you wished me to do," began the
girl, puzzled.
"Dear me, yes, of course. My memory grows bad. You don't look very big
or strong."
"I'm not big, but I think I am very strong. For three years I have gone
to work in all weathers, and only once in all that time been absent on
account of illness."
"Well, we shall see. In the meantime, we had better have dinner as soon
as you are ready. Ayah will show you your room."
"Up more stairs, Missee," said the Hindu softly. On the top floor were
likewise four rooms, but not exactly the same size. This floor was
probably an addition to the more ancient lower part. They came first to
a kind of landing, or ante-room, small but adequately lighted.
Beyond was a larger room, facing to the west and south, and just now
full of sunshine. The walls were not plastered, but covered up to
within a couple of feet of the rafters, with tapestry hangings, above
which point the naked stone was visible.
There was a black oak bedstead, its canopy upheld by the four
evangelists, quaintly carved. Two or three oak chests stood round the
walls. There was a small table with a still smaller mirror upon it; and
a camp washingstand looked like a new importation. The cold made the
girl flinch, but she comforted herself with the thought that cold is a
thing to which one becomes accustomed. In fact, as she gazed around,
her main preoccupation was the wonder as to how the articles of
furniture had been conveyed into the room up the twisting stair by which
she had ascended.