“Is not this a very strange affair? Son Robert, lay aside your ill
humours, and behave to your father with the respect and affection his
tenderness deserves from you, and give me your advice and opinion on
this alarming subject.”
“My Lord,” said Sir Robert, “I am as much confounded as yourself--I
can give no advice--let my cousins see the letter--let us have their
opinion.”
They read it in turn--they were equally surprised; but when it came into
Wenlock’s hand, he paused and meditated some minutes.
At length--“I am indeed surprised, and still more concerned, to see my
lord and uncle the dupe of an artful contrivance; and, if he will permit
me, I shall endeavour to unriddle it, to the confusion of all that are
concerned in it.”
“Do so, Dick,” said my lord, “and you shall have my thanks for it.”
“This letter,” said he, “I imagine to be the contrivance of Edmund, or
some ingenious friend of his, to conceal some designs they have against
the peace of this family, which has been too often disturbed upon that
rascal’s account.”
“But what end could be proposed by it?” said the Baron.
“Why, one part of the scheme is to cover Edmund’s departure, that is
clear enough; for the rest, we can only guess at it--perhaps he may be
concealed somewhere in that apartment, from whence he may rush out in
the night, and either rob or murder us; or, at least, alarm and terrify
the family.”
The Baron smiled.
“You shoot beyond the mark, sir, and overshoot yourself, as you have
done before now; you shew only your inveteracy against that poor lad,
whom you cannot mention with temper. To what purpose should he shut
himself up there, to be starved?”
“Starved! no, no! he has friends in this house (looking at Oswald), who
will not suffer him to want anything; those who have always magnified
his virtues, and extenuated his faults, will lend a hand to help him in
time of need; and, perhaps, to assist his ingenious contrivances.”
Oswald shrugged up his shoulders, and remained silent.
“This is a strange fancy of yours, Dick,” said my lord; “but I am willing
to pursue it,--first, to discover what you drive at; and, secondly, to
satisfy all that are here present of the truth or falsehood of it, that
they may know what value to set upon your sagacity hereafter. Let us all
go over that apartment together; and let Joseph be called to attend us
thither.”
Oswald offered to call him, but Wenlock stopped him. “No, father,” said
he, “you must stay with us; we want your ghostly counsel and advice;
Joseph shall have no private conference with you.”
“What mean you,” said Oswald, “to insinuate to my lord against me or
Joseph? But your ill-will spares nobody. It will one day be known who is
the disturber of the peace of this family; I wait for that time, and am
silent.”
Joseph came; when he was told whither they were going, he looked hard at
Oswald. Wenlock observed them.
“Lead the way, father,” said he, “and Joseph shall follow us.”
Oswald smiled.
“We will go where Heaven permits us,” said he; “alas! the wisdom of man
can neither hasten, nor retard, its decrees.”
They followed the father up stairs, and went directly to the haunted
apartment. The Baron unlocked the door; he bid Joseph open the shutters,
and admit the daylight, which had been excluded for many years. They
went over the rooms above stairs, and then descended the staircase, and
through the lower rooms in the same manner. However, they overlooked the
closet, in which the fatal secret was concealed; the door was covered
with tapestry, the same as the room, and united so well that it seemed
but one piece. Wenlock tauntingly desired Father Oswald to introduce
them to the ghost. The father, in reply, asked them where they should
find Edmund. “Do you think,” said he, “that he lies hid in my pocket, or
in Joseph’s?”
“‘Tis no matter,” answered he; “thoughts are free.”
“My opinion of you, Sir,” said Oswald, “is not founded upon thoughts--I
judge of men by their actions,--a rule, I believe, it will not suit you
to be tried by.”
“None of your insolent admonitions, father!” returned Wenlock; “this is
neither the time nor the place for them.”
“That is truer than you are aware of, sir; I meant not to enter into the
subject just now.”
“Be silent,” said my Lord.
“I shall enter into this subject with you hereafter--then look you be
prepared for it. In the mean time, do you, Dick Wenlock, answer to my
questions:--Do you think Edmund is concealed in this apartment?”
“No, sir.”
“Do you think there is any mystery in it?”
“No, my lord.”
“Is it haunted, think you?”
“No, I think not.”
“Should you be afraid to try?”
“In what manner, my lord?”
“Why, you have shewn your wit upon the subject, and I mean to show your
courage;--you, and Jack Markham your confident, shall sleep here three
nights, as Edmund has done before.”
“Sir,” said Sir Robert, “for what purpose? I should be glad to
understand why.”
“I have my reasons, sir, as well as your kinsmen there. No reply, Sirs!
I insist upon being obeyed in this point. Joseph, let the beds be well
aired, and every thing made agreeable to the gentlemen; If there is any
contrivance to impose upon me, they, I am sure, will have pleasure in
detecting it; and, if not, I shall obtain my end in making these rooms
habitable. Oswald, come with me; and the rest may go where they list
till dinner-time.”
The Baron went with Oswald into the parlour.
“Now tell me, father,” said he, “do you disapprove what I have done?”
“Quite the contrary, my lord,” said he; “I entirely approve it.”
“But you do not know all my reasons for it. Yesterday Edmund’s behaviour
was different from what I have ever seen it--he is naturally frank and
open in all his ways; but he was then silent, thoughtful, absent; he
sighed deeply, and once I saw tears stand in his eyes. Now, I do
suspect there is something uncommon in that apartment--that Edmund has
discovered the secret; and, fearing to disclose it, he is fled away from
the house. As to this letter, perhaps he may have written it to
hint that there is more than he dares reveal; I tremble at the hints
contained in it, though I shall appear to make light of it. But I and
mine are innocent; and if Heaven discloses the guilt of others, I ought
to adore and submit to its decrees.”
“That is prudently and piously resolved, my lord; let us do our duty,
and leave events to Heaven.”
“But, father, I have a further view in obliging my kinsmen to sleep
there:--if any thing should appear to them, it is better that it should
only be known to my own family; if there is nothing in it, I shall put
to the proof the courage and veracity of my two kinsmen, of whom I think
very indifferently. I mean shortly to enquire into many things I have
heard lately to their disadvantage; and, if I find them guilty, they
shall not escape with impunity.”
“My lord,” said Oswald, “you judge like yourself; I wish you to make
enquiry concerning them, and believe the result will be to their
confusion, and your Lordship will be enabled to re-establish the peace
of your family.”
During this conversation, Oswald was upon his guard, lest any thing
should escape that might create suspicion. He withdrew as soon as he
could with decency, and left the Baron meditating what all these things
should mean; he feared there was some misfortune impending over his
house, though he knew not from what cause.
He dined with his children and kinsmen, and strove to appear cheerful;
but a gloom was perceivable through his deportment. Sir Robert was
reserved and respectful; Mr. William was silent and attentive; the rest
of the family dutifully assiduous to my Lord; only Wenlock and Markham
were sullen and chagrined. The Baron detained the young men the whole
afternoon; he strove to amuse and to be amused; he shewed the greatest
affection and parental regard to his children, and endeavoured to
conciliate their affections, and engage their gratitude by kindness.
Wenlock and Markham felt their courage abate as the night approached;
At the hour of nine, old Joseph came to conduct them to the haunted
apartment; they took leave of their kinsmen, and went up stairs with
heavy hearts.
They found the chamber set in order for them, and a table spread with
provision and good liquor to keep up their spirits.
“It seems,” said Wenlock, “that your friend Edmund was obliged to you
for his accommodations here.”
“Sir,” said Joseph, “his accommodations were bad enough the first night;
but, afterwards, they were bettered by my lord’s orders.”
“Owing to your officious cares?” said Wenlock.
“I own it,” said Joseph, “and I am not ashamed of it.”
“Are you not anxious to know what is become of him?” said Markham.
“Not at all, sir; I trust he is in the best protection; so good a young
man as he is, is safe everywhere.”
“You see, cousin Jack,” said Wenlock, “how this villain has stole the
hearts of my uncle’s servants; I suppose this canting old fellow knows
where he is, if the truth were known.”
“Have you any further commands for me, gentlemen?” said the old man.
“No, not we.”
“Then I am ordered to attend my lord, when you have done with me.”
“Go, then, about your business.”
Joseph went away, glad to be dismissed.
“What shall we do, cousin Jack,” said Wenlock, “to pass away the
time?--it is plaguy dull sitting here.”
“Dull enough,” said Markham, “I think the best thing we can do, is to go
to bed and sleep it away.”
“Faith!” says Wenlock, “I am in no disposition to sleep. Who would have
thought the old man would have obliged us to spend the night here?”
“Don’t say us, I beg of you; it was all your own doing,” replied
Markham.
“I did not intend he should have taken me at my word.”
“Then you should have spoken more cautiously. I have always been
governed by you, like a fool as I am; you play the braggart, and I
suffer for it; But they begin to see through your fine-spun arts and
contrivances, and I believe you will meet with your deserts one day or
other.”
“What now? do you mean to affront me, Jack? Know, that some are born
to plan, others to execute; I am one of the former, thou of the latter.
Know your friend, or--”
“Or what?” replied Markham; “do you mean to threaten me? If you do!”
“What then?” said Wenlock.
“Why, then, I will try which of us two is the best man, sir!”
Upon this Markham arose, and put himself into a posture of defence.
Wenlock perceiving he was serious in his anger, began to soothe him;
he persuaded, he flattered, he promised great things if he would be
composed. Markham was sullen, uneasy, resentful; whenever he spoke, it
was to upbraid Wenlock with his treachery and falsehood. Wenlock
tried all his eloquence to get him into a good humour, but in vain; he
threatened to acquaint his uncle with all that he knew, and to exculpate
himself at the other’s expence. Wenlock began to find his choler rise;
they were both almost choaked with rage; and, at length, they both rose
with a resolution to fight.
As they stood with their fists clenched, on a sudden they were alarmed
with a dismal groan from the room underneath. They stood like statues
petrified by fear, yet listening with trembling expectation. A second
groan increased their consternation; and, soon after, a third completed
it. They staggered to a seat, and sunk down upon it, ready to faint.
Presently, all the doors flew open, a pale glimmering light appeared at
the door, from the staircase, and a man in complete armour entered the
room. He stood, with one hand extended, pointing to the outward door;
they took the hint, and crawled away as fast as fear would let them;
they staggered along the gallery, and from thence to the Baron’s
apartment, where Wenlock sunk down in a swoon, and Markham had just
strength enough to knock at the door.
The servant who slept in the outward room alarmed his lord.
Markham cried out, “For Heaven’s sake, let us in!”
Upon hearing his voice, the door was opened, and Markham approached
his Uncle in such an attitude of fear, as excited a degree of it in the
Baron. He pointed to Wenlock, who was with some difficulty recovered
from the fit he was fallen into; the servant was terrified, he rung the
alarm-bell; the servants came running from all parts to their Lord’s
apartment; The young gentlemen came likewise, and presently all was
confusion, and the terror was universal. Oswald, who guessed the
business, was the only one that could question them. He asked several
times,
“What is the matter?”
Markham, at last, answered him, “We have seen the ghost!”
All regard to secrecy was now at an end; the echo ran through the whole
family--“They have seen the ghost!”
The Baron desired Oswald to talk to the young men, and endeavour to
quiet the disturbance. He came forward; he comforted some, he rebuked
others; he had the servants retire into the outward room. The Baron,
with his sons and kinsmen, remained in the bed-chamber.
“It is very unfortunate,” said Oswald, “that this affair should be made
so public; surely these young men might have related what they had seen,
without alarming the whole family. I am very much concerned upon my
lord’s account.”
“I thank you, father,” said the Baron; “but prudence was quite
overthrown here. Wenlock was half dead, and Markham half distracted; the
family were alarmed without my being able to prevent it. But let us hear
what these poor terrified creatures say.”
Oswald demanded, “What have you seen, gentlemen?”
“The ghost!” said Markham.
“In what form did it appear?”
“A man in armour.”
“Did it speak to you?”
“No.”
“What did it do to terrify you so much?”
“It stood at the farthest door, and pointed to the outward door, as if
to have us leave the room; we did not wait for a second notice, but came
away as fast as we could.”
“Did it follow you?”
“No.”
“Then you need not have raised such a disturbance.”