The Secret of the Growing Gold
When Margaret Delandre went to live at Brent's Rock the wholeneighbourhood awoke to the pleasure of an entirely new scandal.Scandals in connection with either the Delandre family or the Brentsof Brent's Rock, were not few; and if the secret history of the countyhad been written in full both names would have been found wellrepresented. It is true that the status of each was so different thatthey might have belonged to different continents--or to differentworlds for the matter of that--for hitherto their orbits had nevercrossed. The Brents were accorded by the whole section of the countrya unique social dominance, and had ever held themselves as high abovethe yeoman class to which Margaret Delandre belonged, as ablue-blooded Spanish hidalgo out-tops his peasant tenantry.
The Delandres had an ancient record and were proud of it in their wayas the Brents were of theirs. But the family had never risen aboveyeomanry; and although they had been once well-to-do in the good oldtimes of foreign wars and protection, their fortunes had witheredunder the scorching of the free trade sun and the 'piping times ofpeace.' They had, as the elder members used to assert, 'stuck to theland', with the result that they had taken root in it, body and soul.In fact, they, having chosen the life of vegetables, had flourishedas vegetation does--blossomed and thrived in the good season andsuffered in the bad. Their holding, Dander's Croft, seemed to havebeen worked out, and to be typical of the family which had inhabitedit. The latter had declined generation after generation, sending outnow and again some abortive shoot of unsatisfied energy in the shapeof a soldier or sailor, who had worked his way to the minor grades ofthe services and had there stopped, cut short either from unheedinggallantry in action or from that destroying cause to men withoutbreeding or youthful care--the recognition of a position above themwhich they feel unfitted to fill. So, little by little, the familydropped lower and lower, the men brooding and dissatisfied, anddrinking themselves into the grave, the women drudging at home, ormarrying beneath them--or worse. In process of time all disappeared,leaving only two in the Croft, Wykham Delandre and his sisterMargaret. The man and woman seemed to have inherited in masculine andfeminine form respectively the evil tendency of their race, sharing incommon the principles, though manifesting them in different ways, ofsullen passion, voluptuousness and recklessness.
The history of the Brents had been something similar, but showing thecauses of decadence in their aristocratic and not their plebeianforms. They, too, had sent their shoots to the wars; but theirpositions had been different and they had often attained honour--forwithout flaw they were gallant, and brave deeds were done by thembefore the selfish dissipation which marked them had sapped theirvigour.
The present head of the family--if family it could now be called whenone remained of the direct line--was Geoffrey Brent. He was almost atype of worn out race, manifesting in some ways its most brilliantqualities, and in others its utter degradation. He might be fairlycompared with some of those antique Italian nobles whom the paintershave preserved to us with their courage, their unscrupulousness, theirrefinement of lust and cruelty--the voluptuary actual with the fiendpotential. He was certainly handsome, with that dark, aquiline,commanding beauty which women so generally recognise as dominant. Withmen he was distant and cold; but such a bearing never deterswomankind. The inscrutable laws of sex have so arranged that even atimid woman is not afraid of a fierce and haughty man. And so it wasthat there was hardly a woman of any kind or degree, who lived withinview of Brent's Rock, who did not cherish some form of secretadmiration for the handsome wastrel. The category was a wide one, forBrent's Rock rose up steeply from the midst of a level region and fora circuit of a hundred miles it lay on the horizon, with its high oldtowers and steep roofs cutting the level edge of wood and hamlet, andfar-scattered mansions.
So long as Geoffrey Brent confined his dissipations to London andParis and Vienna--anywhere out of sight and sound of his home--opinionwas silent. It is easy to listen to far off echoes unmoved, and we cantreat them with disbelief, or scorn, or disdain, or whatever attitudeof coldness may suit our purpose. But when the scandal came close homeit was another matter; and the feelings of independence and integritywhich is in people of every community which is not utterly spoiled,asserted itself and demanded that condemnation should be expressed.Still there was a certain reticence in all, and no more notice wastaken of the existing facts than was absolutely necessary. MargaretDelandre bore herself so fearlessly and so openly--she accepted herposition as the justified companion of Geoffrey Brent so naturallythat people came to believe that she was secretly married to him, andtherefore thought it wiser to hold their tongues lest time shouldjustify her and also make her an active enemy.
The one person who, by his interference, could have settled all doubtswas debarred by circumstances from interfering in the matter. WykhamDelandre had quarrelled with his sister--or perhaps it was that shehad quarrelled with him--and they were on terms not merely of armedneutrality but of bitter hatred. The quarrel had been antecedent toMargaret going to Brent's Rock. She and Wykham had almost come toblows. There had certainly been threats on one side and on the other;and in the end Wykham, overcome with passion, had ordered his sisterto leave his house. She had risen straightway, and, without waiting topack up even her own personal belongings, had walked out of the house.On the threshold she had paused for a moment to hurl a bitter threatat Wykham that he would rue in shame and despair to the last hour ofhis life his act of that day. Some weeks had since passed; and it wasunderstood in the neighbourhood that Margaret had gone to London, whenshe suddenly appeared driving out with Geoffrey Brent, and the entireneighbourhood knew before nightfall that she had taken up her abode atthe Rock. It was no subject of surprise that Brent had come backunexpectedly, for such was his usual custom. Even his own servantsnever knew when to expect him, for there was a private door, of whichhe alone had the key, by which he sometimes entered without anyone inthe house being aware of his coming. This was his usual method ofappearing after a long absence.
Wykham Delandre was furious at the news. He vowed vengeance--and tokeep his mind level with his passion drank deeper than ever. He triedseveral times to see his sister, but she contemptuously refused tomeet him. He tried to have an interview with Brent and was refused byhim also. Then he tried to stop him in the road, but without avail,for Geoffrey was not a man to be stopped against his will. Severalactual encounters took place between the two men, and many more werethreatened and avoided. At last Wykham Delandre settled down to amorose, vengeful acceptance of the situation.
Neither Margaret nor Geoffrey was of a pacific temperament, and it wasnot long before there began to be quarrels between them. One thingwould lead to another, and wine flowed freely at Brent's Rock. Now andagain the quarrels would assume a bitter aspect, and threats would beexchanged in uncompromising language that fairly awed the listeningservants. But such quarrels generally ended where domesticaltercations do, in reconciliation, and in a mutual respect for thefighting qualities proportionate to their manifestation. Fighting forits own sake is found by a certain class of persons, all the worldover, to be a matter of absorbing interest, and there is no reason tobelieve that domestic conditions minimise its potency. Geoffrey andMargaret made occasional absences from Brent's Rock, and on each ofthese occasions Wykham Delandre also absented himself; but as hegenerally heard of the absence too late to be of any service, hereturned home each time in a more bitter and discontented frame ofmind than before.
At last there came a time when the absence from Brent's Rock becamelonger than before. Only a few days earlier there had been a quarrel,exceeding in bitterness anything which had gone before; but this, too,had been made up, and a trip on the Continent had been mentionedbefore the servants. After a few days Wykham Delandre also went away,and it was some weeks before he returned. It was noticed that he wasfull of some new importance--satisfaction, exaltation--they hardlyknew how to call it. He went straightway to Brent's Rock, and demandedto see Geoffrey Brent, and on being told that he
had not yet returned,said, with a grim decision which the servants noted:
'I shall come again. My news is solid--it can wait!' and turned away.Week after week went by, and month after month; and then there came arumour, certified later on, that an accident had occurred in theZermatt valley. Whilst crossing a dangerous pass the carriagecontaining an English lady and the driver had fallen over a precipice,the gentleman of the party, Mr. Geoffrey Brent, having beenfortunately saved as he had been walking up the hill to ease thehorses. He gave information, and search was made. The broken rail, theexcoriated roadway, the marks where the horses had struggled on thedecline before finally pitching over into the torrent--all told thesad tale. It was a wet season, and there had been much snow in thewinter, so that the river was swollen beyond its usual volume, and theeddies of the stream were packed with ice. All search was made, andfinally the wreck of the carriage and the body of one horse were foundin an eddy of the river. Later on the body of the driver was found onthe sandy, torrent-swept waste near Taesch; but the body of the lady,like that of the other horse, had quite disappeared, and was--whatwas left of it by that time--whirling amongst the eddies of the Rhoneon its way down to the Lake of Geneva.
Wykham Delandre made all the enquiries possible, but could not findany trace of the missing woman. He found, however, in the books of thevarious hotels the name of 'Mr. and Mrs. Geoffrey Brent'. And he had astone erected at Zermatt to his sister's memory, under her marriedname, and a tablet put up in the church at Bretten, the parish inwhich both Brent's Rock and Dander's Croft were situated.
There was a lapse of nearly a year, after the excitement of the matterhad worn away, and the whole neighbourhood had gone on its accustomedway. Brent was still absent, and Delandre more drunken, more morose,and more revengeful than before.
Then there was a new excitement. Brent's Rock was being made ready fora new mistress. It was officially announced by Geoffrey himself in aletter to the Vicar, that he had been married some months before to anItalian lady, and that they were then on their way home. Then a smallarmy of workmen invaded the house; and hammer and plane sounded, and ageneral air of size and paint pervaded the atmosphere. One wing of theold house, the south, was entirely re-done; and then the great body ofthe workmen departed, leaving only materials for the doing of the oldhall when Geoffrey Brent should have returned, for he had directedthat the decoration was only to be done under his own eyes. He hadbrought with him accurate drawings of a hall in the house of hisbride's father, for he wished to reproduce for her the place to whichshe had been accustomed. As the moulding had all to be re-done, somescaffolding poles and boards were brought in and laid on one side ofthe great hall, and also a great wooden tank or box for mixing thelime, which was laid in bags beside it.
When the new mistress of Brent's Rock arrived the bells of the churchrang out, and there was a general jubilation. She was a beautifulcreature, full of the poetry and fire and passion of the South; andthe few English words which she had learned were spoken in such asweet and pretty broken way that she won the hearts of the peoplealmost as much by the music of her voice as by the melting beauty ofher dark eyes.
Geoffrey Brent seemed more happy than he had ever before appeared; butthere was a dark, anxious look on his face that was new to those whoknew him of old, and he started at times as though at some noise thatwas unheard by others.
And so months passed and the whisper grew that at last Brent's Rockwas to have an heir. Geoffrey was very tender to his wife, and the newbond between them seemed to soften him. He took more interest in histenants and their needs than he had ever done; and works of charity onhis part as well as on his sweet young wife's were not lacking. Heseemed to have set all his hopes on the child that was coming, and ashe looked deeper into the future the dark shadow that had come overhis face seemed to die gradually away.
All the time Wykham Delandre nursed his revenge. Deep in his heart hadgrown up a purpose of vengeance which only waited an opportunity tocrystallise and take a definite shape. His vague idea was somehowcentred in the wife of Brent, for he knew that he could strike himbest through those he loved, and the coming time seemed to hold in itswomb the opportunity for which he longed. One night he sat alone inthe living-room of his house. It had once been a handsome room in itsway, but time and neglect had done their work and it was now littlebetter than a ruin, without dignity or picturesqueness of any kind. Hehad been drinking heavily for some time and was more than halfstupefied. He thought he heard a noise as of someone at the door andlooked up. Then he called half savagely to come in; but there was noresponse. With a muttered blasphemy he renewed his potations.Presently he forgot all around him, sank into a daze, but suddenlyawoke to see standing before him someone or something like a battered,ghostly edition of his sister. For a few moments there came upon him asort of fear. The woman before him, with distorted features andburning eyes seemed hardly human, and the only thing that seemed areality of his sister, as she had been, was her wealth of golden hair,and this was now streaked with grey. She eyed her brother with a long,cold stare; and he, too, as he looked and began to realise theactuality of her presence, found the hatred of her which he had had,once again surging up in his heart. All the brooding passion of thepast year seemed to find a voice at once as he asked her:
'Why are you here? You're dead and buried.'
'I am here, Wykham Delandre, for no love of you, but because I hateanother even more than I do you!' A great passion blazed in her eyes.
'Him?' he asked, in so fierce a whisper that even the woman was for aninstant startled till she regained her calm.
'Yes, him!' she answered. 'But make no mistake, my revenge is my own;and I merely use you to help me to it.' Wykham asked suddenly:
'Did he marry you?'
The woman's distorted face broadened out in a ghastly attempt at asmile. It was a hideous mockery, for the broken features and seamedscars took strange shapes and strange colours, and queer lines ofwhite showed out as the straining muscles pressed on the oldcicatrices.
'So you would like to know! It would please your pride to feel thatyour sister was truly married! Well, you shall not know. That was myrevenge on you, and I do not mean to change it by a hair's breadth. Ihave come here tonight simply to let you know that I am alive, so thatif any violence be done me where I am going there may be a witness.'
'Where are you going?' demanded her brother.
'That is my affair! and I have not the least intention of letting youknow!' Wykham stood up, but the drink was on him and he reeled andfell. As he lay on the floor he announced his intention of followinghis sister; and with an outburst of splenetic humour told her that hewould follow her through the darkness by the light of her hair, and ofher beauty. At this she turned on him, and said that there were othersbeside him that would rue her hair and her beauty too. 'As he will,'she hissed; 'for the hair remains though the beauty be gone. When hewithdrew the lynch-pin and sent us over the precipice into thetorrent, he had little thought of my beauty. Perhaps his beauty wouldbe scarred like mine were he whirled, as I was, among the rocks of theVisp, and frozen on the ice pack in the drift of the river. But lethim beware! His time is coming!' and with a fierce gesture she flungopen the door and passed out into the night.
* * * * *
Later on that night, Mrs. Brent, who was but half-asleep, becamesuddenly awake and spoke to her husband:
'Geoffrey, was not that the click of a lock somewhere below ourwindow?'
But Geoffrey--though she thought that he, too, had started at thenoise--seemed sound asleep, and breathed heavily. Again Mrs. Brentdozed; but this time awoke to the fact that her husband had arisen andwas partially dressed. He was deadly pale, and when the light of thelamp which he had in his hand fell on his face, she was frightened atthe look in his eyes.
'What is it, Geoffrey? What dost thou?' she asked.
'Hush! little one,' he answered, in a strange, hoarse voice. 'Go tosleep. I am restless, and wish to finish some work I
left undone.'
'Bring it here, my husband,' she said; 'I am lonely and I fear whenthou art away.'
For reply he merely kissed her and went out, closing the door behindhim. She lay awake for awhile, and then nature asserted itself, andshe slept.
Suddenly she started broad awake with the memory in her ears of asmothered cry from somewhere not far off. She jumped up and ran to thedoor and listened, but there was no sound. She grew alarmed for herhusband, and called out: 'Geoffrey! Geoffrey!'
After a few moments the door of the great hall opened, and Geoffreyappeared at it, but without his lamp.
'Hush!' he said, in a sort of whisper, and his voice was harsh andstern. 'Hush! Get to bed! I am working, and must not be disturbed. Goto sleep, and do not wake the house!'
With a chill in her heart--for the harshness of her husband's voicewas new to her--she crept back to bed and lay there trembling, toofrightened to cry, and listened to every sound. There was a long pauseof silence, and then the sound of some iron implement striking muffledblows! Then there came a clang of a heavy stone falling, followed by amuffled curse. Then a dragging sound, and then more noise of stone onstone. She lay all the while in an agony of fear, and her heart beatdreadfully. She heard a curious sort of scraping sound; and then therewas silence. Presently the door opened gently, and Geoffrey appeared.His wife pretended to be asleep; but through her eyelashes she saw himwash from his hands something white that looked like lime.
In the morning he made no allusion to the previous night, and she wasafraid to ask any question.
From that day there seemed some shadow over Geoffrey Brent. He neitherate nor slept as he had been accustomed, and his former habit ofturning suddenly as though someone were speaking from behind himrevived. The old hall seemed to have some kind of fascination for him.He used to go there many times in the day, but grew impatient ifanyone, even his wife, entered it. When the builder's foreman came toinquire about continuing his work Geoffrey was out driving; the manwent into the hall, and when Geoffrey returned the servant told him ofhis arrival and where he was. With a frightful oath he pushed theservant aside and hurried up to the old hall. The workman met himalmost at the door; and as Geoffrey burst into the room he ran againsthim. The man apologised:
'Beg pardon, sir, but I was just going out to make some enquiries. Idirected twelve sacks of lime to be sent here, but I see there areonly ten.'
'Damn the ten sacks and the twelve too!' was the ungracious andincomprehensible rejoinder.
The workman looked surprised, and tried to turn the conversation.
'I see, sir, there is a little matter which our people must have done;but the governor will of course see it set right at his own cost.'
'What do you mean?'
'That 'ere 'arth-stone, sir: Some idiot must have put a scaffold poleon it and cracked it right down the middle, and it's thick enoughyou'd think to stand hanythink.' Geoffrey was silent for quite aminute, and then said in a constrained voice and with much gentlermanner:
'Tell your people that I am not going on with the work in the hall atpresent. I want to leave it as it is for a while longer.'
'All right sir. I'll send up a few of our chaps to take away thesepoles and lime bags and tidy the place up a bit.'
'No! No!' said Geoffrey, 'leave them where they are. I shall send andtell you when you are to get on with the work.' So the foreman wentaway, and his comment to his master was:
'I'd send in the bill, sir, for the work already done. 'Pears to methat money's a little shaky in that quarter.'
Once or twice Delandre tried to stop Brent on the road, and, at last,finding that he could not attain his object rode after the carriage,calling out:
'What has become of my sister, your wife?' Geoffrey lashed his horsesinto a gallop, and the other, seeing from his white face and from hiswife's collapse almost into a faint that his object was attained, rodeaway with a scowl and a laugh.
That night when Geoffrey went into the hall he passed over to thegreat fireplace, and all at once started back with a smothered cry.Then with an effort he pulled himself together and went away,returning with a light. He bent down over the broken hearth-stone tosee if the moonlight falling through the storied window had in any waydeceived him. Then with a groan of anguish he sank to his knees.
There, sure enough, through the crack in the broken stone wereprotruding a multitude of threads of golden hair just tinged withgrey!
He was disturbed by a noise at the door, and looking round, saw hiswife standing in the doorway. In the desperation of the moment he tookaction to prevent discovery, and lighting a match at the lamp, stoopeddown and burned away the hair that rose through the broken stone. Thenrising nonchalantly as he could, he pretended surprise at seeing hiswife beside him.
For the next week he lived in an agony; for, whether by accident ordesign, he could not find himself alone in the hall for any length oftime. At each visit the hair had grown afresh through the crack, andhe had to watch it carefully lest his terrible secret should bediscovered. He tried to find a receptacle for the body of the murderedwoman outside the house, but someone always interrupted him; and once,when he was coming out of the private doorway, he was met by his wife,who began to question him about it, and manifested surprise that sheshould not have before noticed the key which he now reluctantly showedher. Geoffrey dearly and passionately loved his wife, so that anypossibility of her discovering his dread secrets, or even of doubtinghim, filled him with anguish; and after a couple of days had passed,he could not help coming to the conclusion that, at least, shesuspected something.
That very evening she came into the hall after her drive and found himthere sitting moodily by the deserted fireplace. She spoke to himdirectly.
'Geoffrey, I have been spoken to by that fellow Delandre, and he sayshorrible things. He tells to me that a week ago his sister returned tohis house, the wreck and ruin of her former self, with only her goldenhair as of old, and announced some fell intention. He asked me whereshe is--and oh, Geoffrey, she is dead, she is dead! So how can shehave returned? Oh! I am in dread, and I know not where to turn!'
For answer, Geoffrey burst into a torrent of blasphemy which made hershudder. He cursed Delandre and his sister and all their kind, and inespecial he hurled curse after curse on her golden hair.
'Oh, hush! hush!' she said, and was then silent, for she feared herhusband when she saw the evil effect of his humour. Geoffrey in thetorrent of his anger stood up and moved away from the hearth; butsuddenly stopped as he saw a new look of terror in his wife's eyes. Hefollowed their glance, and then he too, shuddered--for there on thebroken hearth-stone lay a golden streak as the point of the hair rosethough the crack.
'Look, look!' she shrieked. 'Is it some ghost of the dead! Comeaway--come away!' and seizing her husband by the wrist with the frenzyof madness, she pulled him from the room.
That night she was in a raging fever. The doctor of the districtattended her at once, and special aid was telegraphed for to London.Geoffrey was in despair, and in his anguish at the danger of his youngwife almost forgot his own crime and its consequences. In the eveningthe doctor had to leave to attend to others; but he left Geoffrey incharge of his wife. His last words were:
'Remember, you must humour her till I come in the morning, or tillsome other doctor has her case in hand. What you have to dread isanother attack of emotion. See that she is kept warm. Nothing more canbe done.'
Late in the evening, when the rest of the household had retired,Geoffrey's wife got up from her bed and called to her husband.
'Come!' she said. 'Come to the old hall! I know where the gold comesfrom! I want to see it grow!'
Geoffrey would fain have stopped her, but he feared for her life orreason on the one hand, and lest in a paroxysm she should shriek outher terrible suspicion, and seeing that it was useless to try toprevent her, wrapped a warm rug around her and went with her to theold hall. When they entered, she turned and shut the door and lockedit.
'We want no s
trangers amongst us three tonight!' she whispered with awan smile.
'We three! nay we are but two,' said Geoffrey with a shudder; hefeared to say more.
'Sit here,' said his wife as she put out the light. 'Sit here by thehearth and watch the gold growing. The silver moonlight is jealous!See, it steals along the floor towards the gold--our gold!' Geoffreylooked with growing horror, and saw that during the hours that hadpassed the golden hair had protruded further through the brokenhearth-stone. He tried to hide it by placing his feet over the brokenplace; and his wife, drawing her chair beside him, leant over andlaid her head on his shoulder.
'Now do not stir, dear,' she said; 'let us sit still and watch. Weshall find the secret of the growing gold!' He passed his arm roundher and sat silent; and as the moonlight stole along the floor shesank to sleep.
He feared to wake her; and so sat silent and miserable as the hoursstole away.
Before his horror-struck eyes the golden-hair from the broken stonegrew and grew; and as it increased, so his heart got colder andcolder, till at last he had not power to stir, and sat with eyes fullof terror watching his doom.
* * * * *
In the morning when the London doctor came, neither Geoffrey nor hiswife could be found. Search was made in all the rooms, but withoutavail. As a last resource the great door of the old hall was brokenopen, and those who entered saw a grim and sorry sight.
There by the deserted hearth Geoffrey Brent and his young wife satcold and white and dead. Her face was peaceful, and her eyes wereclosed in sleep; but his face was a sight that made all who saw itshudder, for there was on it a look of unutterable horror. The eyeswere open and stared glassily at his feet, which were twined withtresses of golden hair, streaked with grey, which came through thebroken hearth-stone.