The party spent the rest of the morning in making friends with one
another. Mr. Tapster had already singled out Bubbles Dunster at dinner
the night before. He was one of those men--there are many such--who,
while professing to despise women, yet devote a great deal of not very
profitable thought to them, and to their singular, unexpected, and often
untoward behaviour!
As for Sir Lyon Dilsford, he was amused and touched to discover that, as
is so often the case with a young and generous-hearted human being,
Helen Brabazon had a sincere, if somewhat vague, desire to use her money
for the good of humanity. He was also touched and amused to find how
ignorant she was of life, and how really child-like, under her staid and
sensible appearance. Of what she called "society" she cherished an utter
contempt, convinced that it consisted of frivolous women and idle
men--in a word, of heartless coquettes and of fortune-hunters. To Helen
Brabazon the world of men and women was still all white and all black.
Sir Lyon, who, like most intelligent men, enjoyed few things more than
playing schoolmaster to an attractive young woman, found the hour that
he and Miss Brabazon spent together in the library of Wyndfell Hall
speed by all too quickly. They were both sorry when the gong summoned
them to luncheon.
After a while Varick had persuaded Miss Burnaby to put on a hat and
jacket, and go for a little walk alone with him, while Blanche Farrow
went off for a talk with young Donnington. Bubbles was the subject of
their conversation, and different as were the ingenuous young man and
his somewhat cynical and worldly companion, they found that they were
cordially agreed as to the desirability of Bubbles abandoning the
practices which had led to Mr. Burnaby's abrupt departure that morning.
"Of course, I think them simply an extension of the extraordinary
thought-reading gifts she had as a small child," observed Blanche.
"I wish I could think it was only that--I'm afraid it's a good deal more
than mere thought-reading," Donnington said reluctantly.
* * * * *
Luncheon was a pleasant, lively meal; and after they had all had coffee
and cigarettes, Bubbles managed to press almost the whole party into the
business of decorating the church. Their host entered into the scheme
with seeming heartiness; but at the last moment he and Blanche Farrow
elected to stay at home with Miss Burnaby.
The younger folk started off, a cheerful party--James Tapster, who, as
the others realized by something he said, hadn't been into a church for
years (he said he hated weddings, and, on principle, never attended
funerals); Sir Lyon, who was always at anyone's disposal when a bit of
work had to be done; Helen Brabazon, who declared joyfully that she had
always longed to decorate a country church; Bubbles herself, who drove
the donkey-cart piled high with holly and with mistletoe; and
Donnington, who pulled the donkey along.
Suffolk is a county of noble village churches; but of the lively group
of young people who approached it on this particular Christmas Eve, only
Donnington understood what a rare and perfect ecclesiastical building
stood before them. He had inherited from a scholarly father a keen
interest in church architecture, and he had read an account of Darnaston
church the night before in the book which dealt with Wyndfell Hall and
its surroundings.
They were met in the porch by the bachelor rector. "This is really
kind!" he exclaimed. "And it will be of the greatest help, for I've been
sent for to a neighbouring parish unexpectedly, and I'm afraid that I
can't stop and help you."
As the little party passed through into the church, more than one of
them was impressed by its lofty beauty. Indeed, the word which rose to
both Sir Lyon's and Donnington's lips was the word "impressive." Neither
of them had ever seen so impressive a country church.
When lifted from the donkey-cart the little heap of holly and other
greenery looked pitifully small lying on the stone floor of the central
aisle; and though everyone worked with a will, there wasn't very much to
show for it when Mr. Tapster declared, in a cross tone, that it must be
getting near tea-time.
"It's much more nearly finished than any of you realize," said Bubbles
good-humouredly. "I've done this sort of thing every year since I was
quite a kid. Bill and I will come down after tea and finish it up. We
shan't want _you_."
"I shouldn't mind coming back," exclaimed Helen Brabazon. "I've enjoyed
every minute of the time here!"
But Bubbles declared that she didn't want any of them but Bill. All she
would ask the other men to do would be to cut down some trails of ivy.
She explained that she always avoided the use of ivy unless, as in this
case, quantity rather than quality was required.
So they all tramped cheerfully back to Wyndfell Hall.
Tea was served in the library, and the host looked on with benign
satisfaction at the lively scene, though Blanche Farrow saw his face
change and stiffen, when his penetrating eyes rested in turn for a long
moment on Bubbles' now laughing little face. Perhaps because of that
frowning look, she drew the girl after her into the hall. "Come in here
for a moment, Bubbles--I want to speak to you. I've just heard Helen
Brabazon say something about raising the ghost. No more séances while
I'm in command here--is that understood?"
And Bubbles looked up with an injured, innocent expression. "Of course
it's understood! Though, as a matter of fact, Miss Burnaby has already
asked me to give her a private sitting."
"You must promise me to refuse, Bubbles--" Miss Farrow spoke very
decidedly. "I don't know how you do what you did last night, and, to
tell you the truth, I don't care--for it's none of my business. But
there was one moment this morning when I feared that horrid Mr. Burnaby
was going to take his sister and his niece away--and that really would
have been serious!"
"Serious?" queried Bubbles. "Why serious, Blanche? We should have got on
very well without them."
Her aunt looked round. They were quite alone, standing, for the moment,
in a far corner of the great room, near the finely carved confessional
box, which seemed, even to Blanche Farrow, an incongruous addition to
the furniture.
"You're very much mistaken, Bubbles! Lionel would have never forgiven
you--or me. He attaches great importance to these people; Helen Brabazon
was a great friend of his poor wife's." She hesitated, and then said
rather awkwardly: "I sometimes wish you liked him better; he's a good
friend, Bubbles."
"I should think more a bad enemy than a good friend," muttered the girl,
in so low a voice that her aunt hardly caught the ungracious words.
That was all--but that was enough. Blanche told herself that she had now
amply fulfilled the promise she had made to Lionel Varick when the two
had stood speeding their parting guest this morning from Wyndfell Hall.
Even quite at the end Mr. Burnaby had been barely civil. He seemed to
think that there had been some kind of conspiracy against him the night
before; and as they watched the car go over the moat bridge, Varick had
muttered: "I wouldn't have had this happen for a thousand pounds!" But
he had recovered his good temper, and even apologized to Blanche for
having felt so much put out by the action of a cantankerous old man.
The others were now all streaming into the hall, and Bubbles would
hardly allow the good-natured Sir Lyon and Bill Donnington to finish
their cigarettes before she shooed them out to cut down some ivy. Varick
looked annoyed when he heard that the decorations in the church were not
yet finished. "Can't we bribe some of the servants to go down and do
them?" he asked. "It seems a shame that you and Donnington should have
to go off there again in the cold and darkness."
But in her own way Bubbles had almost as strong a will as had her host.
She always knew what she wanted to do, and generally managed to do it.
"I would much rather finish the work myself, and I think Bill would
rather come too," she said coolly.
So once more the little donkey-cart was loaded up with holly and trails
of ivy, and the two set off amid the good-natured comments and chaff of
the rest of the party. James Tapster alone looked sulky and annoyed. He
wondered how a bright, amusing girl like Bubbles Dunster could stand the
company of such a commonplace young man as was Bill Donnington.
As they reached the short stretch of open road which separated Wyndfell
Hall from the church, Bubbles felt suddenly how cold it was.
"I think we shall have snow to-morrow," said Donnington, looking round
at his companion. He could only just see her little face in the
twilight, and when they finally passed through the porch in the glorious
old church, it seemed, for the first few moments, pitch-dark.
"I'll tell you what I like best about this church," said the girl
suddenly.
"For my part," said Donnington simply, "I like everything about it."
He struck a match, and after a few minutes of hard work, managed to
light several of the hanging oil lamps.
"What I like best," went on Bubbles, "are the animals up there."
She pointed to where, just under the cambered oak roof, there ran a
dado, on which, carved in white bas-relief, lions, hares, stags, dogs,
cats, crocodiles, and birds, formed a singular procession, which was
continued round the nave and choir.
"Yes, I like them too," assented Donnington slowly. "Though somehow I
did feel this afternoon that they were out of place in a church."
"Oh, how can you say that?" cried the girl. "I love to think of them
here! I'm sure that at night they leap joyfully down, and skip about the
church, praising the Lord."
"Bubbles!" he exclaimed reprovingly.
"Almost any animal," she said, with a touch of seriousness, "is nicer,
taking it all in all, than almost any human being." And then she quoted
in the deep throaty voice which was one of her greatest charms:
"A robin redbreast in a cage
Puts all Heaven in a rage."
"The one _I_ should like to see put over every manger is:
"A horse misus'd upon the road
Calls to Heaven for human blood,"
said Donnington.
"Oh!" she cried, "and Bill, surely the best of all is:
"A skylark wounded on the wing,
A cherubim doth cease to sing."
Donnington smiled. "I suppose I'm more practical than you are," he said.
"If I were a schoolmaster, I'd have inscribed on the walls of every
classroom:
"Kill not the moth or butterfly,
For the Last Judgment draweth nigh."
They worked very hard during the half-hour that followed, though only
the finishing touches remained to be done. Still, it meant moving a
ladder about, and stretching one's arms a good deal, and Bubbles
insisted on doing her full share of everything.
"Let's rest a few minutes," she said at last, and leading the way up the
central aisle, she sat down wearily in one of the carved choir stalls.
Then she lifted her arms, and putting her hands behind her neck, she
tipped her head back.
The young man came and sat down in the next stall. Bubbles was leaning
back more comfortably now, her red cap almost off her head. There was a
great look of restfulness on her pale, sensitive face.
She put out her hand and felt for his; after a moment of hesitation he
slid down and knelt close to her.
"Bubbles," he whispered, "my darling--darling Bubbles. I wish that here
and now you would make up your mind to give up everything--" He stopped
speaking, and bending, kissed her hand.
"Yes," she said dreamily. "Give up everything, Bill? Perhaps I will. But
what do you mean by everything?"
There was a self-pitying note in her low, vibrant voice. "You know it is
given to people, sometimes, to choose between good and evil. I'm
afraid"--she leant forward, and passed her right hand, with a touch of
tenderness most unusual with her, over his upturned face and curly
hair--"I'm afraid, Bill, that, almost without knowing it, I chose evil,
'Evil, be thou my good.' Isn't that what the wicked old Satanists used
to say?"
"Don't you say it too!" he exclaimed, sharply distressed.
"I know I acted stupidly--in fact, as we're in a church I don't mind
saying I acted very wrongly last night."
Bubbles spoke in a serious tone--more seriously, indeed, than she had
ever yet spoken to her faithful, long-suffering friend. "But a great
deal of what happens to me and round me, Bill, I can't help--I wish I
could," she said slowly.
"I don't quite understand." There was a painful choking feeling in his
throat. "Try and tell me what you mean, Bubbles."
"What I mean is clear enough"--she now spoke with a touch of impatience.
"I mean that wherever I am, _They_ come too, and gather about me. It
wasn't my fault that that horrible Thing appeared to Pegler as soon as I
entered the house."
"But why should you think the ghost Pegler saw--if she did see it--had
anything to do with you? Wyndfell Hall has been haunted for over a
hundred years--so the village people say."
"Pegler saw nothing till I came. And though I struggle against the
belief, and though I very seldom admit it, even to myself, I know quite
well, Bill, that I'm never really alone--never free of Them
unless--unless, Bill, I'm in a holy place, when they don't dare to
come."
There was a tone of fear, of awful dread, in her voice. In spite of
himself he felt impressed.
"But why should they come specially round _you_?" he asked uneasily.
"You know as well as I do that I'm a strong medium. But I'll tell you,
Bill, something which I've never told you before."
"Yes," he said, with a strange sinking of the heart. "What's that,
Bubbles?"
"You know that Persian magician, or Wise Man, whom certain people in
London went cracked over last spring?"
"The man you _would_ go and see?"
"Yes, of course I mean that man. Well, when he saw me he made his
interpreter tell me that he had a special message for me--"
Bubbles was leaning forward now, her hands resting on Bill's shoulders.
"I wonder if I ought to tell you all he said," she whispered. "Perhaps I
ought to keep it secret."
"Of course you ought to tell me! What was the message?"
"He said that I had rent the veil, wilfully, and that I was often
surrounded by the evil demons who had come rushing through; that only by
fasting and praying could I hope to drive them back, and close the rent
which I had made."
"I shouldn't allow myself to think too much of what he said," said Bill
hoarsely. "And yet--and yet, Bubbles? There may have been something in
it--."
He spoke very earnestly, poor boy.
"Of course there was a great deal in it. But they're not always demons,"
she said slowly. "Now, for instance, as I sit here, where good, simple
people have been praying together for hundreds of years, the atmosphere
is kind and holy, not wicked and malignant, as it was last night."
She waited a moment, then began again, "I remember going into a cottage
not long ago, where an old man holds a prayer meeting every Wednesday
evening--he's a Dissenter--you know the sort of man I mean? Well, I felt
extraordinarily comforted, and _left alone_."
Her voice sank to a low whisper. "I suppose"--there came a little catch
in her voice--"I suppose, Bill, that I am what people used to call
'possessed.' In old days I should have been burnt as a witch. Sometimes
I feel as if a battle were going on round me and for me--a battle
between good and evil spirits. That was what I was feeling last night,
before you came up. I couldn't rest--I couldn't stay in bed. I felt as
if I must move about to avoid--"
"To avoid what?" he asked.
"--Their clutchings."
Her voice dropped. "I've been in old houses where I seemed to know
everything about every ghost!"--she tried to smile. "People don't change
when they what we call die. If they're dull and stupid, they remain dull
and stupid. But here in Wyndfell Hall, I'm frightened. I'm frightened of
Varick--I feel as if there were something secret, secret and sinister,
about him. I seem to hear the words, 'Beware--beware,' when he is
standing by me. What do _you_ think about him, Bill? There are a lot of
lying spirits about."
"I haven't thought much about Varick one way or the other," said
Donnington reluctantly. "But I should have thought he was a good
chap. See how fond Miss Farrow is of him?"
"That doesn't mean much," she said dreamily. "Blanche doesn't know
anything about human nature--she only thinks she does. She's no
spiritual vision left at all."
"I'm sorry you have that feeling about Varick," said Bill uncomfortably.
"Varick is never alone," said Bubbles slowly. "When I first arrived, and
he came out to the porch to meet me, there was Something standing by
him, which looked so real, Bill, that I thought it really was a woman of
flesh and blood. I nearly said to him, 'Who's that? Introduce me.'"
"D'you mean you think you actually see spirits, even when you're not
setting out to do so, Bubbles?" asked. Bill.
She had never said that to him before. But then this was the first time
she had ever talked to him as freely and as frankly as she was talking
now.
"Yes, that's exactly what I do mean," she said. "It's a sort of power
that grows--and oh, Bill, I'd do anything in the world to get rid of it!
But this woman whom I saw standing by Lionel Varick in the porch was not
a spirit. She was an astral body; that is, she was alive somewhere else:
it was her thoughts--her vengeful, malicious thoughts--which brought her
here."
"I can't believe that!" he exclaimed.
"It's true, Bill. Though I never saw an astral body before, I knew that
Thing to be one--as soon as I realized it wasn't a real woman standing
there."
"What was she like?" he asked, impressed against his will.
"An ugly, commonplace-looking woman. But she had a powerful, determined
sort of face, and she was staring up at him with a horrible expression:
I could see that she hated him, and wished him ill--"
"Have you ever seen the--the Thing again?"
Yes, of course I have. The same astral body was there last night. It was
from her that his mother was trying to shield him."
"But you've never seen this astral body--as you call it--excepting on
those two occasions?"
Bubbles hesitated. "I've only seen her clearly twice. But during the
week that I've been here, I've often felt that she was close to Lionel
Varick."
"And what's your theory about her? Why does she hate him, I mean?"
"My theory--?" the girl hesitated again. "I should think it's someone he
was fond of when he was a young man, and whom he treated badly. She's
ugly enough now--but then women do change so."
"Bubbles," he uttered her name very seriously.
"Yes, Bill?"
"Surely you can stop yourself seeing these kind of strange, dreadful,
unnatural things?"
Bubbles did not answer all at once. And then she said: "Yes--and no,
Bill! It sometimes happens that I see what you would call a ghost
without wishing to see it; yet I confess that sometimes I _could_ stop
myself. But it excites and stimulates me! I feel a sort of longing to be
in touch with what no one else is in touch with. But I'll tell you one
thing"--she was pressing up closer to him now, and his heart was
beating.... If only this enchanted hour could go on--if only Bubbles
would continue in this gentle, sincere, confiding mood--
"Yes," he said hoarsely, "what will you tell me?"
"I never see anything bad when I'm with you. I think I saw your Guardian
Angel the other day, Bill."
He tried to laugh.
"Indeed I did! Though you are so tiresome and priggish," she whispered,
"though often, as you know, I should like to shake you, still, I know
that you've chosen the good way; that's why our ways lie so apart,
dearest--"
As she uttered the strange words, she had slid down, and was now lying
in his arms, her face turned up to his in the dim light....
Their ways apart? Ah, no! He caught her fiercely to his heart, and for
the first time their lips met in a long, clinging kiss.
Then, all at once, he got up and pulled Bubbles on to her feet. "We must
be going back to the house," he said, speaking with a touch of hardness
and decision which was rare in his dealings with the girl.
"Watch with me, and pray for me," she muttered--and then: "You don't
know what a comfort you are to me, Bill."
A wild wish suddenly possessed him to turn and implore her, now that she
was in this strange, gentle, yielding mood, to marry him at once--to
become his wife in secret, under any conditions that seemed good to her!
But he checked the impulse, drove it back. He felt that he would be
taking a mean advantage if he did that now. She had once said to him: "I
_must_ marry a rich man, Bill. I should make any poor man miserable."
He had never forgotten that, nor forgiven her for saying it--though he
had never believed that it was true.
Almost as if she was reading into his mind, Bubbles said wistfully: "You
won't leave off caring for me, Bill? Not even if I marry somebody else?
Not even--?" She laughed nervously, and her laugh, to Donnington a
horrible laugh, echoed through the dimly lit church. "Not even," she
repeated, "if I bring myself to marry Mr. Tapster?"
He seized her roughly by the arm. "What d'you mean, Bubbles?" he asked
sternly.
"Don't do that! You hurt me--I was only joking," she said, shrinking
back. "But you are really _too_ simple, Bill. Didn't it occur to you
that Mr. Tapster had been asked here for me?"
"For you?" He uttered the words mechanically. He understood now why men
sometimes murder their sweet-hearts--for no apparent motive.
"He's not a bad sort. It isn't his fault that he's so repulsive. It
wouldn't be fair if he was as rich as that, and good-looking, and
amiable, and agreeable, as well--would it?"
They were walking down the church, and perhaps Bubbles caught a glimpse
into his heart: "I'm a beast," she exclaimed. "A beast to have spoiled
our time together in this dear old church by saying that to you about
Mr. Tapster. Try and forget it, Bill!"
He made no answer. His brain was in a whirlwind of wrath, of suspicion,
of anger, of sick jealousy. This was the real danger--not all the
nonsense that Bubbles talked about her power of raising ghosts, and of
being haunted by unquiet spirits. The real danger the girl was in now
was that of being persuaded into marrying that loathsome Tapster--for
his money.
He left her near the door while he went back to put out the lights. Then
he groped his way to where she was standing, waiting for him. In the
darkness he looked for, found, and lifted, the heavy latch. Together
they began pacing down the path between the graves in the churchyard,
and then all of a sudden he put his hand on her arm: "What's that?
Hark!" he whispered.
He seemed to hear issuing from the grand old church a confused, musical
medley of sounds--a bleating, a neighing, a lowing, even a faint
trumpeting, all mingling together and forming a strange, not unmelodious
harmony.
"D'you hear anything, Bubbles?" he asked, his heart beating, his face,
in the darkness, all aglow.
"No, nothing," she answered back, surprised. "We must hurry, Bill. We're
late as it is."