CONCERNS THE WHISPERS
What had startled Gabrielle was certainly extraordinary and decidedly
uncanny. She was standing near the southern wall, when, of a sudden, she
heard low but distinct whispers. Again she listened. Yes. The sounds
were not due to her excited imagination at the recollection of those
romantic traditions of love and hatred, or of those gruesome stories of
how the Wolf of Badenoch had been kept prisoner there for five years and
put to frightful tortures, or how the Laird of Weem was deliberately
poisoned in that old banqueting-hall, the huge open fireplace of which
still existed near where she stood.
There was the distinct sound of low, whispered words! She held her
breath to listen. She tried to distinguish what the words were, but in
vain. Then she endeavoured to determine whence they emanated, but was
unable to do so. Again they sounded--again--and yet again. Then there
was another voice, still low, still whispering, but not quite so deep as
the first. It sounded like a woman's.
Local tradition had it that the place held the ghosts of those who had
died in agony within its noisome dungeons; but she had always been far
too matter-of-fact to accept stories of the supernatural. Yet at that
moment her ears did not deceive her. That pile of grim, gaunt ruins was
a House of Whispers!
Again she listened, never moving a muscle. An owl hooted weirdly in the
ivy far above her, while near, at her feet, a rabbit scuttled away
through the grass. Such noises she was used to. She knew every
night-sound of the country-side; for when she had finished her work in
the library she often went, unknown to the household, with Stewart upon
his nocturnal rounds, and walked miles through the woods in the night.
The grey-eyed, thin-nosed head-keeper was her particular favourite. He
knew so much of natural history, and he taught her all he knew. She
could distinguish the cries of birds in the night, and could tell by
certain sounds made by them, as they were disturbed, that no other
intruders were in the vicinity. But that weird whispering, coming as it
did from an undiscovered source, was inhuman and utterly uncanny.
Was it possible that her ears had deceived her? Was it one of the omens
believed in by the superstitious? The wall whence the voices appeared to
emanate was, she knew, about seven feet thick--an outer wall of the old
keep. She was aware of this because in one of the folio tomes in the
library was a picture of the castle as it appeared in 1510, taken from
some manuscript of that period preserved in the British Museum. She, who
had explored the ruins dozens of times, knew well that at the point
where she was standing there could be no place of concealment. Beyond
that wall, the hill, covered with bushes and brushwood, descended sheer
for three hundred feet or so to the bottom of the glen. Had the voices
sounded from one or other of the half-choked chambers which remained
more or less intact she would not have been so puzzled; but, as it was,
the weird whisperings seemed to come forth from space. Sometimes they
sounded so low that she could scarcely hear them; at others they were so
loud that she could almost distinguish the words uttered by the unseen.
Was it merely a phenomenon caused by the wind blowing through some crack
in the ponderous lichen-covered wall?
She looked beyond at the great dark yew, the justice-tree of the
Grahams. The night was perfectly calm. Not a leaf stirred either upon
that or upon the other trees. The ivy, high above and exposed to the
slightest breath of a breeze, was motionless; only the going and coming
of the night-birds moved it. No. She decided once and for all that the
noise was that of voices, spectral voices though they might be.
Again she strained her eyes, when still again those soft, sibilant
whisperings sounded weird and quite inexplicable.
Slowly, and with greatest caution, she moved along beneath the wall, but
as she did so she seemed to recede from the sound. So back she went to
the spot where she had previously stood, and there again remained
listening.
There were two distinct voices; at least that was the conclusion at
which she arrived after nearly a quarter of an hour of most minute
investigation.
Once she fancied, in her excitement, that away in the farther corner of
the ruined courtyard she saw a slowly moving form like a thin column of
mist. Was it the Lady of Glencardine--the apparition of the hapless Lady
Jane Glencardine? But on closer inspection she decided that it was
merely due to her own distorted imagination, and dismissed it from her
mind.
Those low, curious whisperings alone puzzled her. They were certainly
not sounds that could be made by any rodents within the walls, because
they were voices, distinctly and indisputably _voices_, which at some
moments were raised in argument, and then fell away into sounds of
indistinct murmuring. Whence did they come? She again moved noiselessly
from place to place, at length deciding that only at one point--the
point where she had first stood--could the sounds be heard distinctly.
So to that spot once more the girl returned, standing there like a
statue, her ears strained for every sound, waiting and wondering. But
the Whispers had now ceased. In the distance the stable-clock chimed
two. Yet she remained at her post, determined to solve the mystery, and
not in the least afraid of those weird stories which the country-folk in
the Highlands so entirely believed. No ghost, of whatever form, could
frighten her, she told herself. She had never believed in omens or
superstitions, and she steeled herself not to believe in them now. So
she remained there in patience, seeking some natural solution of the
extraordinary enigma.
But though she waited until the chimes rang out three o'clock and the
moon was going down, she heard no other sound. The Whispers had suddenly
ended, and the silence of those gaunt, frowning old walls was
undisturbed. A slight wind had now sprung up, sweeping across the hills,
and causing her to feel chill. Therefore, at last she was reluctantly
compelled to quit her post of observation, and retrace her steps by the
rough byroad to the house, entering by one of the windows of the
morning-room, of which the burglar-alarm was broken, and which on many
occasions she had unfastened after her nocturnal rambles with Stewart.
Indeed, concealed under the walls she kept an old rusted table-knife,
and by its aid it was her habit to push back the catch and so gain
entrance, after reconcealing the knife for use on a future occasion.
On reaching her own room she stood for a few moments reflecting deeply
upon her remarkable and inexplicable discovery. Had the story of those
whisperings been told to her she would certainly have scouted them; but
she had heard them with her own ears, and was certain that she had not
been deceived. It was a mystery, absolute and complete; and, regarding
it as such, she retired to bed.
But her thoughts were very naturally full of the weird story told of the
dead and gone owners of Glencardine. She recollected that horrible story
of the Ghaist of Manse and of the spectre of Bridgend. In the library
she had, a year ago, discovered a strange old book--one which sixty
years before had been in universal circulation--entitled _Satan's
Invisible World Discovered_, and she had read it from beginning to end.
This book had, perhaps, more influence upon the simple-minded country
people in Scotland than any other work. It consisted entirely of
relations of ghosts of murdered persons, witches, warlocks, and fairies;
and as it was read as an indoor amusement in the presence of children,
and followed up by unfounded tales of the same description, the
youngsters were afraid to turn round in case they might be grasped by
the "Old One." So strong, indeed, became this impression that even
grown-up people would not venture, through fear, into another room or
down a stair after nightfall.
Her experience in the old castle had, to say the least, been remarkable.
Those weird whisperings were extraordinary. For hours she lay reflecting
upon the many traditions of the old place, some recorded in the historic
notices of the House of the Montrose, and others which had gathered from
local sources--the farmers of the neighbourhood, the keepers, and
servants. Those noises in the night were mysterious and puzzling.
Next morning she went alone to the kennels to find Stewart and to
question him. He had told her many weird stories and traditions of the
old place, and it struck her that he might be able to furnish her with
some information regarding her strange discovery. Had anyone else heard
those Whispers besides herself, she wondered.
She met several of the guests, but assiduously avoided them, until at
last she saw the thin, long-legged keeper going towards his cottage with
Dash, the faithful old spaniel, at his heels.
When she hailed him he touched his cap respectfully, changed his gun to
the other arm, and wished her "Guid-mornin', Miss Gabrielle," in his
strong Scotch accent.
She bade him put down his gun and walk with her up the hill towards the
ruins.
"Look here, Stewart," she commanded in a confidential tone, "I'm going
to take you into my confidence. I know I can trust you with a secret."
"Ye may, miss," replied the keen-eyed Scot. "I houp Sir Henry trusts me
as a faithfu' servant. I've been on Glencardine estate noo, miss, thae
forty year."
"Stewart, we all know you are faithful, and that you can keep your
tongue still. What I'm about to tell you is in strictest confidence. Not
even my father knows it."
"Ah! then it's a secret e'en frae the laird, eh?"
"Yes," she replied. "I want you to come up to the old castle with me,"
pointing to the great ruined pile standing boldly in the summer
sunlight, "and I want you to tell me all you know. I've had a very
uncanny experience there."
"What, miss!" exclaimed the man, halting and looking her seriously in
the face; "ha'e ye seen the ghaist?"
"No, I haven't seen any ghost," replied the girl; "but last night I
heard most extraordinary sounds, as though people were within the old
walls."
"Guid sake, miss! an' ha'e ye actually h'ard the Whispers?" he gasped.
"Then other people have heard them, eh?" inquired the girl quickly.
"Tell me all you know about the matter, Stewart."
"A'?" he said, slowly shaking his head. "I ken but a wee bittie aboot
the noises."
"Who has heard them besides myself?"
"Maxwell o'Tullichuil's girl. She said she h'ard the Whispers ae nicht
aboot a year syne. They're a bad omen, miss, for the lassie deed sudden
a fortnicht later."
"Did anyone else hear them?"
"Auld Willie Buchan, wha lived doon in Auchterarder village, declared
that ae nicht, while poachin' for rabbits, he h'ard the voices. He telt
the doctor sae when he lay in bed a-deein' aboot three weeks
aifterwards. Ay, miss, I'm sair sorry ye've h'ard the Whispers."
"Then they're regarded as a bad omen to those who overhear them?" she
remarked.
"That's sae. There's bin ithers wha acted as eavesdroppers, an' they a'
deed very sune aifterwards. There was Jean Kirkwood an' Geordie
Menteith. The latter was a young keeper I had here aboot a year syne. He
cam' tae me ae mornin' an' said that while lyin' up for poachers the
nicht afore, he distinc'ly h'ard the Whispers. Kennin' what folk say
aboot the owerhearin' o' them bein' fatal, I lauched at 'im an' told 'im
no' to tak' ony tent o' auld wives' gossip. But, miss, sure enough,
within a week he got blood-pizinin', an', though they took 'im to the
hospital in Perth, he deed."
"Then popular superstition points to the fact that anyone who
accidentally acts as eavesdropper is doomed to death, eh? A very nice
outlook for me!" she remarked.
"Oh, Miss Gabrielle!" exclaimed the man, greatly concerned, "dinna treat
the maitter lichtly, I beg o' ye. I did, wi' puir Menteith, an' he deed
juist like the ithers."
"But what does it all mean?" asked the daughter of the house in a calm,
matter-of-fact voice. She knew well that Stewart was just as
superstitious as any of his class, for some of the stories he had told
her had been most fearful and wonderful elaborations of historical fact.
"It means, I'm fear'd, miss," he replied, "that the Whispers which come
frae naewhere are fore-warnin's o' daith."