THE EARL'S VISIT.
"Wine above all things doth
God's stamp deface."
--GEORGE HERBERT.
"Nay, do not fear, or for a moment dream
The bridge will fall! These stays, though slight they seem,
Will steadfast, when our suns have set, still stand.
Yes, they will safely bear, at eve, at morn,
The feet of merry children yet to be;
Who, in their turn, shall, crossing, pause to see
The River hurrying by as if in scorn...."
--JOHN JERVIS BERESFORD.
The old castle on the hill had for many years been left desolate, the
last known visit of its mysterious owners having taken place on the
occasion of the coming of age of the heir and only surviving child,
now about eight years ago. There had been grand doings then at the
castle: illuminations, feasting and dancing, visitors coming and
going from the neighbouring castles, lights burning brilliantly night
after night in all the mullioned windows, for on this great occasion
no less a guest had been entertained at Bryn Afon than King James
himself. Among several Welsh favourites, none held so high a place
in the king's esteem and regard as Lord Bryn Afon, who spent much
time about the Court, and but seldom cared to dwell among his own
people in his riverside stronghold, about whose grim grey walls, fast
succumbing under the ravages of time and neglect, there clung the
dark and dreadful curse, which none dared name but in hushed
whispers, but which had for generations past only too surely held
fast each successive earl in its dread toils, each having in his turn
to fight his way to the grave through its unknown horrors, beckoned
by its relentless finger from the pleasures of the Court or the gay
scenes of foreign travel, back to its hideous clutches on the
desolate hillside, there to pass away, long ere his threescore years
and ten were reached, in a shadow of gloom and mystery which none
dared try to penetrate, and whose dark veil no gossiping retainer had
ever been known to lift to the outside world.
But hardly were the rejoicings over the kingly visit ended, and the
last guests departed, than there came a time now only spoken of in
hushed whispers by the villagers. They told tales of shriekings and
wailings heard night after night within the castle, of a lady who
walked evening after evening through the dusky avenue which led to
the entrance-gates of the castle on the farther side of the hill,
weeping and wringing her hands, and hardly had the mysterious sounds
been for a few days hushed, than the bell had tolled out from the
little church on the hill, and the country-folk around said to one
another, with pale faces, that they had expected that sound, for
that, for generations past, shrieks and wailings from the castle had
always been the warning of the approaching death of its lord. There
was a stately funeral, and the young earl, only surviving child of
the Bryn Afons, stood at the grave, with his handsome boyish face
bowed upon his hands, and the bystanders shook their heads and
whispered to one another, that for all his strength and beauty, the
curse of the castle must fall upon him, and that he too would be laid
in his grave ere he was fifty years old. There had never been any
one to explain the mystery, for no doctor or clergyman from the
neighbourhood was ever called in to minister bodily or spiritual
comfort to the dying Bryn Afons, and the servants had for many years
past been foreigners, unable to breathe, if they would, a word in
explanation of the strange family history of their masters.
It was said that the young earl had declared he would never visit the
castle again after his father's death, and that he had gone abroad
with his mother directly after the funeral. Certain it was that no
one in the neighbourhood had seen or heard of him since. His
mother's remains had been laid in the family grave a year after those
of her husband, but the funeral had taken place quite suddenly, and
with no stately ceremonies, so that most of the villagers had not
even heard of her death till all was over, and whether her son had
returned to his own country or not, or whether or no he had since
wooed and won a fair bride, none could say. It was a saying in the
valley that the Bryn Afons only came to the castle to die, and the
fine old building was already half in ruins from neglect during the
past two or three hundred years.
Consequently it created considerable surprise and excitement, when,
early in the summer--when Little Miss Primrose was just past five
years old--news came suddenly to the village that the young earl was
coming to spend the summer at the castle. The report proved true,
and once more lights shone out at night from the windows, and parties
of merry riders passed to and fro along the riverside, day after day,
and the villagers stood on their thresholds to see them pass, and
held their breath in mingled awe and admiration, as they recognised
the earl himself, gay and handsome as ever, riding with graceful
ease, and chatting carelessly with one and another of the friends
around him. He had a pleasant word and smile in return for every
carefully-lifted hat and well-dropped curtsey with which his people
greeted him, and more than this none of them expected. None of the
late lords of Bryn Afon had ever shown any more personal interest in
them than this courteous acknowledgment of their homage, always
faithfully tendered, at however long intervals. The only favoured
exception to this rule was Jack the boatman, but no one was jealous
of him, for as owner of the only boats which could be hired up the
river for a considerable distance, and as master of the Bryn Afon
fishing, he held an important position, and had been more than ever
revered since he had out of his own pocket built the bridge, which
had proved such a blessing to the neighbourhood. A man who had saved
enough money to build a bridge at the cost of £60 or £70, was a man
to be respected. So no one was jealous when it was rumoured that
young Lord Bryn Afon had resumed his boyhood's acquaintance with the
boatman, and went out boating or fishing with him every day, as he
had been wont to do in those few and far-between summers when the
late earl had brought him--a handsome, curly-headed boy--to the
castle for occasional visits. For the late earl had frequented the
castle rather more than his predecessors, and Jack could recall three
bright summer weeks in different years when the boy had been his
daily companion for a few merry days, and the hero of his now
departed wife and daughter.
Now the earl entertained his guests with many a river-excursion, and
these were fine times for Little Miss Primrose, for he and his
friends liked nothing better than to take her with them on their
expeditions, to amuse them with her baby prattle, and keep them awake
when they moored their boats, and lay back dreamily on their
cushions, with half-closed eyes, sheltering themselves beneath the
friendly willows from the hot sun. They were all charmed with the
beauty and dignified demeanour of the little Queen of the Flowers,
whose mysterious committal to Jack's charge he thought it unnecessary
to acquaint them with, saying only that she was the child of a
distant relative, who had entrusted him for a time with her
guardianship. So the little lady's lofty airs, which mingled
humorously with her sweet winning ways, excited no troublesome
questionings, while they afforded endless amusement to the castle
party. She was worthy of admiration when she ran, with her bright
curls tossing in the wind, and her dark eyes shining with glee, to
toss handfuls of sweet woodland blossoms at dad's feet, or with
sudden half-shy boldness ran to the prostrate figure of the young
earl, and dropped her spoils one by one over his face, as he lazily
reclined on some mossy bank in the wood, while the boats lay moored
below. Jack was infinitely proud of his darling, and while himself
keeping at a respectful distance from the merry company on these
occasions, prided himself secretly, as he watched her with fond eyes,
on the fearless ease of her demeanour with her lordly friends, yet
ever and anon saying to himself with a sigh; "Surely the time will
come when she will fret against the rough ways of the old boatman,
and sorely desire to tread some other path, whither his clumsy feet
may scarce hope to follow!" Only once did he venture to interfere
with the company on behalf of his child, when one morning the young
earl was giving a lunch-party in the woods near the river, and the
ladies having as usual called Little Miss Primrose to their side, he
took his glass of wine and held it to her rosy lips. Then Jack, who
from his retreat at a modest distance had been watching every
movement of his darling, started forward, and almost snatching the
glass from his young master's hand, exclaimed; "Nay, my lord! Pardon
my boldness, but never a drop of strong drink shall my child taste!
I have never been a man for drink, as you know, and I would fain
bring up the child to follow in my steps at the least in that
respect." A murmur of indignation at his interference ran round
among the guests, but the earl only laughed satirically. "You know
the evil that lurks in the cup, do you, my friend?" he said, while
for a moment a dark shadow clouded his sunny face. "Well, every man
has a right to his own opinion, but in mine, you don't know half the
pleasure of life! There, take the child away--perhaps the sight of
the evil thing may be enough to harm her!" "Perchance it may,
indeed, my lord," said the boatman thoughtfully. "Forgive me, my
lord, but it is a strong point with me, and I must keep to it
whatever."
"All right," said the earl carelessly, "you and I are old friends,
Jack, and we won't quarrel over a glass of wine!" He tossed off the
contents of the glass, followed it by another, and said, as the
company rose and dispersed into the sunny glades; "Here, sit down,
Jack, and partake, with Little Miss Primrose, judiciously, of such
relics of the feast as you may think to be free from the pernicious
juice of the grape. You never approved my taste for it in those old
days when you and I went salmon-fishing. Why, I remember as it were
yesterday, how you stole a bottle of brandy I had in my pocket, ready
against any emergency, and flung it into the river, while I was
asleep in the boat!" And he laughed at the recollection. "And if I
did, my lord," said the boatman, "I meant no disrespect to your
lordship. It was my duty, for in truth I was fearful for you, when I
found what taste you had for such things at your tender years." "And
if I had----" begun the young earl eagerly. "Well, Jack," he
continued in an altered tone, "how goes the curse on yon castle?
Have the foolish tales yet died out, or do you all cheerfully doom me
to the fate of my forefathers?" "I pray God, sir, you may be spared
to threescore years and ten," answered Jack, "and to outlive these
ill rumours, which yet grow apace, and pass from mouth to mouth among
us, with none to say them nay. In truth, my lord, I am glad you have
seen fit to come thus and show your face among your people for a
season, and I would you were more often with us, for then it might be
that these idle tales would after a while die out. But, my lord, you
must indeed own that it is seemingly mysterious, when the earls of
Bryn Afon, owning this noble old castle, must needs leave it year
after year to rot and ruin, scarce dwelling therein at any time for
more than two or three days together, except when they come to die.
And then, my lord, an I may mention it without offence, there is
doubtless good reason for us to say it is haunted." A perceptible
shudder ran through the earl's frame, but he said carelessly;
"Imagination, good Jack, is generally at the bottom of these foolish
stories of ghosts and haunted dwellings. An owl, screeching night
after night on the hill-top becomes the shriek of a murdered person,
and so the tale goes from one to another of yon credulous villagers.
What form has the popular mystery taken in their simple minds? Is
there one among them who has ever dared to frame a credible story out
of so much imaginary material?" "Nay, my lord," answered Jack; "it
would ill befit any of us simple folk to spread abroad false tales of
matters concerning the House of Bryn Afon, and indeed a spirit of
fear moves our people to quietness, for ghosts are fearsome things to
deal with, and it is not well to talk over-much of them." "Aha!"
laughed the earl, "I like your wisdom, good Jack, and am well content
that my retainers should 'let sleeping dogs lie.' But confess now,
that it is a dull place for a man, haunted or not, and you cannot
much wonder that we have never greatly loved it. I am here only to
please my wife, for I own to have but little love for Bryn Afon."
And again a dark look crossed for an instant the careless face.
"Your wife, my lord!" exclaimed the boatman. "You are indeed
married? Surely, I have oft wondered who the fair lady might be that
my young master would take for his bride." "She is in truth passing
fair," said the earl, "but the blessing of good health has for some
time past been denied her, and it was to humour her sick fancy that I
came to the castle. But it is but little enjoyment this fair
neighbourhood can give her, since she has not yet once set foot
without the castle walls." "Indeed, my lord, I am grieved to hear
you say so," said Jack, "and fain would I look upon her sweet face!
If I am not too bold whatever--have you been long married, my lord,
and have you children?" "Seven years married, good Jack," answered
the young earl; "I married some few months after the death of my
mother. No, we have no children, and for my wife's part, it is a
circumstance upon which she congratulates herself, for this foolish
tale about the curse doth verily so frighten her, that she is for
ever telling me she can but hope we shall be its last victims. For
my own part, I confess that I should find good cheer in the presence
of some such golden-haired fairy as yon Primrose! However, the gods
do not favour all alike with their gifts! By the way, honest Jack,
does that old gipsy still haunt the country-side with her horrid
rhymes? I believe she is at the bottom of half the nonsense that is
afloat." "Her tales are but the same as those our forefathers have
handed down to us," said Jack, thoughtfully, "yet she has indeed
added to them detestable rhymes of her own, for which a ducking in
the river should be her portion, an she were not a weak woman! It is
long now since she has been seen hereabouts, and indeed, since she
must verily have reached by now her threescore years and ten, I can
but hope it may have pleased Providence to release her! What think
you, my lord? It was her last crazy fancy to go about the country
abusing my bridge, and prophesying its destruction! Why, indeed, she
so took away the people's faith therein, that for a long season many
refused to cross it in rough weather. But the folly hath passed, and
my bridge showeth yet no sign of decay!" "Ah!" said the earl, "your
bridge looks certainly but a light structure, but you are doubtless a
fitter judge of its strength than a cantankerous old woman." "I
trust so, my lord," said the boatman, "and I have every confidence
that your lordship's children (whom may it please God to send to you
and your gracious lady) will run many a time across my bridge in
safety, and their children after them." "I echo your wish," said the
earl, with a laugh. "Whence came to you this lucky thought, old
friend, of building a bridge?" "When my daughter was but a little
child, my lord," answered Jack, "and I asked her on one of her
birthdays what I should do for her, she said to me, 'Build me a
bridge over the river, father,' not thinking but that I could do
aught she set her heart upon, and having had long since some childish
fancy to run to and fro across the river on a bridge of her own. So
when she was dead and gone, and I had nought left in the world on
which to spend my savings, her words came back to me, and though her
feet would ne'er walk over it, I made up my mind to build a bridge
for love of her, and surely it was just the making of it whatever
that kept this poor brain of mine from turning at the loss of her!"
"Well?" said the earl, as the boatman paused. "She died a victim to
her curiosity, my lord," said Jack, with a heavy sigh. "I hold that
curiosity hath been the downfall of woman since the days of our first
parent, but that my own pretty lamb should fall a victim to the sin
was indeed ever far from my thoughts!" and Jack brushed away a tear
with his rough hand. "She lost her mother, you see, my lord, when
she was but a young child, and perchance it may have been from my
scarce knowing the best way to train her, that she grew up so
high-spirited, and was wild and wilful in her ways. But indeed, I
doubt not that she forgot her father's warning, and meant no
disobedience, when she went, poor pretty little thing, to her death."
"Well?" said the earl again, as Jack paused, fearing lest he were
making too free with his noble friend. "You know the underground
passage, my lord," said Jack, "which leads from Bryn Afon to Caer
Caradoc yonder, passing likewise through Craig Arthur on its way? My
daughter was wont at times to pass some few weeks at Caer Caradoc
with a friend of her poor mother's, who was housekeeper to the
family--for they were ofttimes at the Court, or in foreign parts, and
she was pleased to have my little girl with her for company,--and so
the child heard all manner of foolish tales from the servants about
the wonderful passage, and her poor silly little head became full of
the notion that she must needs some day venture therein by herself,
and explore its secrets, unknown to them all. I forbade her ever to
do such a thing, on pain of such displeasure as she had never yet
seen from her father; but some seven years gone by, when she had but
just turned her twenty-first birthday, and was over young and giddy
for her years, she went again to the castle, and alas, my lord, her
curiosity then did verily get the better of her, and forgetting her
old dad's warning, she went, unknown to any in the house, into the
dark passage. She never had fear in her heart of aught you could
name, and doubtless she thought it would be a fine thing to go
through to Bryn Afon, and tell us all in triumph of what she had
done. Poor little maid! My lord, one day they sent from Caer
Caradoc to tell me they had sought for her in the tunnel, and had
found her bonnet, caught on a ledge just below the mouth of the old
well, which goes sheer down, as you know, my lord, to a depth that
none may fathom, and which, as you may likewise call to mind, is in a
far corner of the passage, where it takes a sudden sharp turn, and
where no doubt her foot had slipped unwarily, and she had fallen.
"I went myself, my lord, and they let me down by the longest ropes
that could be had, into the black darkness, but my feet never touched
the bottom. They always said the well was verily like unto the
bottomless pit itself, but I had never believed it till then! My
lord, my soul grew just as dark within me as that underground tunnel,
and I cursed myself day and night for ever letting her out of my
sight. God forgive me, if I cursed Him too in my misery! The
housekeeper, that had been a friend of my wife's from their youth
upwards, fretted herself into her last illness for not taking better
care of the child, and for having suffered her unawares to get
possession of the key; but I had never the heart to blame her myself,
for there were few that could ever say my pretty daughter nay! The
woman died, poor soul, of the shock, and I--well, my lord, I scarce
can tell how I lived through my wretchedness of heart, till the
thought came to me to build the bridge. I was down by the river one
summer evening, watching the stream running by, and listening to the
swish the wind was making among the trees on the other side, when all
at once the rippling water seemed as it passed to take the sound of
my daughter's voice, saying as clear as I now speak myself: 'Build me
a bridge over the river, father! Build me a bridge over the river!'
You know, my lord, there is a tale in our valley that the river
speaks out the thoughts of those who listen to its flow, and whether
or no it was so then with myself, I know not--save only that it was
the tones of my own little girl I heard clearly as it rippled over
the stones at my feet; and then and there, sir, I marked out the spot
where my bridge should be, and I warrant you not many days were gone
by before the neighbours came gaping around to watch what they were
pleased to call 'the boatman's folly,' though, look you, the first
time they walked over the bridge they sang a different song! I put
my heart and soul into that bridge, my lord, and begrudged not a
penny it cost me, for it was for the child I built it, and what use
to save my money when she was dead?" "It was a brave thought, good
Jack," said the earl; "and think you it will some day repay your
outlay?" "I make no doubt of it, my lord," answered Jack, proudly.
"I take much toll on market-days, and in the summer many visitors are
wont to pass through our beautiful Gwynnon Valley, and across my
bridge. But e'en should it never repay me fully, I care not, for it
was verily for the benefit of my country I built it, and I take pride
in the thought that I was not mistaken. But that any old gipsy-woman
should take upon herself to prophesy its destruction, is too much for
my sufferance!" "You take her idle words too seriously, good
friend," said the earl with a laugh. "A fig for the old witch and
her evil sayings! But, Jack, you have seen much trouble. I am not a
religious man, and know no text whereon to preach you a sermon on
resignation, but honestly I hope that time has softened this blow?"
"I verily learned resignation hardly, my lord," answered the boatman,
"and the Evil One oft bade me, like the wife of Job, curse God and
die. But I was fain at last to learn that 'whom the Lord loveth He
chasteneth,' and that doubtless He saw what was good for the little
maid better than I did."
"Well, Jack," said the young earl, rising and stretching himself, "I
am glad you found comfort in your own way. After all, death is
surely preferable to a life of unhappiness? Which would you have
chosen for your daughter?" "It may be I would never have been called
upon to make such a choice, my lord," answered the boatman
thoughtfully. "So far as my eye could see, there was as happy a life
in store for my little lass as falls to the lot of most of us
whatever. But if there were to be hard things in store for her, why
then I am glad indeed for the Lord to have taken her." "Beshrew me,
if there are not hard things in store for all of us sooner or later!"
said the earl. "For my part, I confess that I find this the greatest
solace for the troubles of life. To the long preservation of your
bridge, Jack!" and he tossed off a glass of wine carelessly. "I
thank you humbly, my lord," said Jack, "but I would have put more
confidence in the toast if you had drunk it in water." "Very good,
Jack!" laughed the earl. "Verily thou art a man of principle! Well,
I am playing the part of a poor host, leaving my guests to roam yon
sunny glades alone, while I gossip with you! Have the boat ready in
an hour's time, good Jack, to row us homewards." And turning on his
heel, he strolled off into the woods, waving a kiss to Little Miss
Primrose, who, leaning against Jack's knee, condescended to raise for
a moment her dark-fringed eyes from the grapes she was engrossed
with, to say, "Good-bye, Mr. Earl!" in the most dignified of baby
voices, giving him at the same time, with a dismissing flourish of
her tiny white hand, a gracious permission to depart.
A few days later the castle was again deserted by its gay inmates,
and Jack in his secret heart was not sorry, for though it made his
heart swell with pride to see his darling in such imminent danger of
being spoilt by the grand folks' petting, yet he had a strong
suspicion that more than once the baby lips had tasted the forbidden
drink when his back was turned, and what with the mysterious warning
on the subject from her unknown mother, and his own strong
principles, this was a matter which gave him some concern. With his
love for the young earl, a deep pity was mingled in the boatman's
heart, for he saw only too well that he had become a slave to the
love of strong drink, for which even in his boyhood he had shown a
craving. But the boatman was above all men loyal to the old House of
Bryn Afon, and spoke no ill of the earl among his neighbours, who
were never tired of praising his fine face and form, as he rode by,
and who talked hopefully of better days for the castle now that the
master had once more begun to visit it, and indulged in many hopes,
which, alas, were day after day ungratified, of seeing the fair young
wife whom he had chosen. And the following summer the earl himself
was looked for in vain, and through the long bright months the old
castle again remained deserted. This was perhaps not to be greatly
wondered at, however, since Lord Bryn Afon was well known to be as
special a favourite of King Charles as his father had been of James
I., and the young king having succeeded to the throne in the March of
this year, it might be reasonably expected that he would desire the
earl's presence about his royal person at this beginning of his new
dignities.
And the honest folk of the Gwynnon Valley, being no whit behind the
rest of their compatriots in their loyalty and devotion to the House
of Stuart, rejoiced in the knowledge of the royal favour bestowed
upon more than one proud owner of those ancient and lordly castles
which crowned the summits of their fair hills, and at whose feet the
river flowed humbly through the shining meadows, rippling its
graceful homage in musical murmur as it passed. And Jack, who with
all his loyalty had not been able to shut his ears to the current
tales of drunkenness and dissipation which had too often disgraced
the Court of his late Majesty, rejoiced in the prospect of a purer
atmosphere henceforth for his beloved young lord and master, Bryn
Afon, and took pleasure in the thought that the pure and temperate
life of the new king could not fail to counteract in great measure
those evil tendencies in his friend which his royal father's
influence and example had too unhappily fostered.