XII.
We are now drawing near the last scene of this strange and sinisterhistory. The action confines itself almost entirely to the three chieffigures.
If Pennroyal had been twenty years younger when this catastrophe fell uponhim, it might merely have had the effect of enraging him; but he was nearfifty years of age, and old for his years, and it seems to haveoverwhelmed and cowed him. The cat still in his house, like a rat in hishole, saying nothing, and noticing nothing, but drinking a great deal ofbrandy. The fiery stuff did not excite him; it merely had the effect ofkeeping him from sinking into unconsciousness of his misery. He knew thathe was a ruined man, and that it was too late to retrieve his ruin. Meansand energy were alike lacking, and could never be supplied. He sat in hischair, and brooded over all his life, and realized the utterness of hisfailure; and nothing could rouse him--not even the intelligence that hisenemy, Sir Archibald, having by the death of his aunt, Miss Tremount, comeinto an inheritance of upward of seventy thousand pounds, was buying upthe mortgages, and would probably foreclose on him when he got himthoroughly in his power. Archibald had beaten him, and he would fight nomore. Let him enjoy his triumph, and push it to the utmost. There was onepoint, at all events, on which Richard had the better of him, and thisthought brought with it the sole spark of comfort that these evil daysafforded him. He had his wife--the woman to win whom Sir Archibald wouldhave given all his lands and fortune, and his soul into the bargain. Yes,Kate was his, and his only; and it was the resolve to keep her his, andthus spite his enemy as long as possible, that withheld Richard fromseeking relief in suicide at this juncture. So Providence leads men fromagony to worse agony, with intent, doubtless, to torture out of them theevil which they will not voluntarily relinquish.
One winter evening, Richard sitting brooding and sipping brandy as usual,with a lamp burning on the table beside him, and the embers of the fireflickering on the broad hearth at his feet, there came a light, measuredstep and the rustle of a dress, and he knew that his wife was in the room.He raised his haggard visage and looked at her. What a goddess of beautyshe seemed! How young, graceful, lovely! How pure and clear were the tintsof her face, how lustrous dark her eyes, how soft her ample hair! Howpeerless she was! and all she was--all this treasure of fragrantwomanhood--was his, and not another's. Ay, and his willingly; she reallyloved him, he thought; she had shown it of late; she cared for him, old,ruined, and degraded though he was. It was a strange thing; it was apleasant thing. Perhaps, he thought, if he had had such a creature to lovehim in earlier days, he might not have been where he was now. But then, inearlier days, he was not a ruined and wasted man.
"Kate!"
"Yes, Richard."
"Oh, never speak so formally! Am I not Dick, thy own dear old Dick--eh?"
"I did not mean to be formal."
"Come and sit here beside me--no, here, on the arm of my chair. It was goodof you to come in here. I was getting lonesome. I wanted my Kate to tellme she loved me--eh?"
"I only came in to say good-night. It is late."
"Late?--pooh! It's not nine o'clock. Stay and be sociable a bit. There, Iwon't touch another drop if you'll stay."
"I'm tired; I have a headache. You don't want me."
"Not want you! Ay, but I do though! Without you, Kate, I should have been adead man weeks ago. Not want you!"
"Nonsense! what do you mean? You have drunk too much already, I fear."
"I mean that, but for you, I'd have blown my brains out the day of thetrial--after I'd blown out his, the scoundrel! But since I have you, Iknow a way to worry him better than by blowing his brains out. To knowthat you are mine is hell to him. And in that hell I'll keep him, as longas my body and soul will hang together!"
"What should he care whether I am yours or not?"
"Because he loves you--that's why he cares! Ay, you needn't start. He lovesyou, and it's hell to him to feel that another man has you. How manythousand pounds do you think he'd give to kiss this little hand as I kissit now? I wish he could see me do it!"
"Nonsense, you are crazy.... And so you only care for me to spite him?"
"No, not that. God knows--if there is a God--I love you, Kate, with allthere is left of me--except what hates him! That's my life--love for youand hate for him. And I believe I hate him less than I love you, thoughthat's saying a great deal!"
"Oh, I think you love that brandy better than you do me."
"You do? If you say so, I'll never touch it again!"
"Oh, I don't care. I don't want you to give up anything that makes youcomfortable."
"Ay, you do love me, don't you, Kate?"
"Come, Richard, our courting days are over. And I must go. Good-by!"
"No, don't go! I feel, somehow, as if I couldn't spare you to-night."
"Shall I pour you out another glass?"
"Yes--no! I'll drink no more to-night. Kate...."
"Well?"
"I'm getting old. In the natural course of things I should die long beforeyou. I sha'n't die yet a while--but some time, you know. Will you promisesomething?"
"I'll promise nothing to-night. I dare say you'll outlive me."
"Promise, come what will, you'll never marry him; eh, Kate?"
"Really, Richard, I--I never heard anything so foolish! I can't stay tohear any more such talk. You are not your right self. There--let me go!"
"Go?--go where? Gad, I've a mind to say you sha'n't go! Well, yes, I didn'tmean it; forgive me, Kate! Only you're my wife, you know, and I'm yourhusband; and I love you; and somehow I feel afraid to let you out of mysight--as if I might not see you again. Well, then.... But one thing youshall do--you shall give me a kiss before you go! Else you sha'n't go atall!"
Thus compelled, Mrs. Pennroyal kissed her husband, or let herself be kissedby him; and then she escaped from the room, with a shudder and a sinkingof the heart.
Richard Pennroyal sat there alone; the embers of the fire were now gray andlifeless. He stirred them with his foot, and they fell into ashes. He feltcold. How still the house was; how lonely! And he had no pleasant thoughtsto keep him company now that his wife had left him; but many thoughts,many memories that were far from pleasant, were lying in wait for him inthe dark corners of his mind, ready to leap out upon him if he gave them achance. Among them, why did the foolish face of crazy old Jane, his wifeof many years ago, persist in obtruding itself? Why did it wear that lookof stupid, unreasonable reproach? yes, unreasonable; for how was he toblame? He had but let things take their course; no more than that ... well,scarcely more! And yet that face, that silly old face, that dull,lifeless, drowned old face, kept meeting his in the dark corners, turnwhere he would. If he closed his eyes, it was still visible through theeyelids, and seemed nearer than ever.
So he opened his eyes; and there hovered the face, in the gloom beyond thelamp. What an expression! Was it signalling him to come away? Was itmocking him for fearing to come? Fearing? He was not afraid. He was aPennroyal; he had noble blood in his veins; though he was now a bit oldand shaky, and had, perhaps, been taking a little too much brandy of late.But--afraid! not he. Why, he would follow the thing, if it came to that;follow it to....
He rose slowly from his chair, still keeping his eyes steadily fixed uponit, and moved toward it, with his hands outstretched. He did not get anynearer to it; it was retreating before him, like a will-o'-the-wisp. Hekept on, crossing the length of the room; it seemed to pass through thesubstance of the door, and yet he saw it beyond. He opened the doorsoftly; yes, there it was in the hall. A pistol was lying on the littletable beside the door, which Richard knew to be loaded. Mechanically, andwithout looking at it, he took it up as he passed. Then down the hall ontiptoe, the shadowy, unmeaning face marshalling him the way, and leeringat him if he hesitated. Ay, he would follow it to the end, now.Fortunately, the house-door stood open; there would be no noise in gettingout. Out they glided, pursuer and pursued, into the cold stillness of thenight. There was a moon, but it was dim and low down. The shadows seemedmore rea
l than the light. There was no snow to betray footprints. Butwhither would this chase lead? It seemed to be heading toward thenorthwest--toward Malmaison; ay, and toward the pool that lay on theborders of the estate. Richard shuddered when he thought of that pool, andof the grisly significance of his being led thither by this witless,idiotic old phantom of his dead wife's face. Stay, the face seemed to havegot itself a body within the last few moments: it was a gray figure thatnow flitted on before him; gray and indistinct in the dim moonlight, withnoiseless, waving drapery. It was going the very path that old Jane hadgone that day, many years ago--her last day on earth; and yet, was she nothere again to-night? And she was leading him to the pool; and what then?
Swiftly she flitted onward, some seventy paces in advance apparently, nowlost in shadow, now reappearing in the light. She never turned norbeckoned, but kept straight on, and Richard had much ado to keep pace withher. At length he caught the gleam of the dark pool some little distancebeyond. He set his teeth, and came on. The gray phantom had paused atlast. But was that Jane after all? Not Jane's was that tall and gracefulfigure. This must be some other woman's ghost. Was it a ghost? And if so,was that another--that man who issued from behind a clump of bushes, andcame toward her? The two figures met; the man took the woman in his arms,and kissed her many times on the lips and eyes. Kisses! ay, those werekisses indeed! Now they seemed to be conversing together; his arms wereround her waist. The moonlight revealed his features; it was the enemy--itwas Archibald Malmaison! And the woman was not the dead wife, but theliving one.
"We are perfectly safe, my darling," Archibald was saying. "The room wasall prepared for you, and there is no possibility of discovery. There willbe a great outcry and confusion for a week or so, and they will search foryou, dead and alive; and I along with the rest, the better to disarmsuspicion. It will be settled, at last, that you must have escaped to someforeign country; or, maybe, Richard himself will fall under suspicion ofhaving made away with you, as he did with his first wife. Sooner or later,at any rate, they will give up the search; and, whether or not, we shallalways be free to each other. You could not persuade any one at Malmaisonto so much as put his nose into the east chamber, and as to the other, youand I are the only living creatures who even dream of its existence.Darling, you will not mind being a prisoner for a little while, since lovewill be a prisoner with you?"
The woman clung to him tremulously. "I did not know it would be so hard toleave him," she murmured. "I hate him, and yet it was hard. He is sowretched; and he is all alone. What will he do now? He kept saying that heloved me and asking me to love him, and to call him Dick; and ... he mademe kiss him. Oh, Archie, I feel that kiss beneath all yours. I shallalways feel it!"
"No, this shall make you forget it--"
"Hush! I hear something!"
"You are nervous--"
"Ah! look! It is he. Now God have mercy!"
Sir Archibald looked; and there, indeed, stood the tall figure of theHonorable Richard Pennroyal, without his hat, and with an expression onhis face that was a living curse to behold. And yet that face smiled andbowed with a hideous politeness.
"Good-evening, Sir Archibald. Will you permit me to inquire whether you arearmed?"
Sir Archibald put his hand within his vest, and drew out a pistol.
"Ah, that comes in very conveniently. Now, let us see. Mrs. Pennroyal,since you are my wife, perhaps you will be good enough to give us theword?--No, she insists upon fainting. Well, then, we must manage the bestway we can. But let me entreat you to take your aim carefully, my dear SirArchibald, for if you miss it will involve unpleasant consequences forMrs. Pennroyal as well as for yourself. Now, I will toss up this pebble,and when it strikes the surface of the water we will fire. Is it agreed?Here goes, then."
He had the pebble in his hand, and was in act to toss it, when the baronet,breaking silence for the first time, said:
"Mr. Pennroyal, I am willing that this should go no further."
"Scoundrel and coward!" snarled the other, his deadly fury breaking in amoment through the thin mockery of courtesy; "come up then, and be shotlike the cur you are!"
There could be no more words. Sir Archibald raised his pistol; hisantagonist threw the pebble high in the air, and as it smote the smoothsurface of the pool in its descent, both pulled trigger. RichardPennroyal's weapon missed fire; Sir Archibald's bullet passed through hisenemy's heart; he swayed backward and forward for a moment, and then fellon his face, hurling his pistol as he fell at the prostrate figure of hiswife, who lay huddled on the ground; but it flew wide, and struck SirArchibald on the temple. Before the ripples caused by the pebble's fallhad died away, Pennroyal had ceased to live.
Mrs. Pennroyal was still apparently insensible, but as Sir Archibaldapproached her she partly raised herself up, and looked first at him andthen at the dead body.
"It was not worth while," she said.
"It's done," he murmured. "Are you hurt?"
"What shall we do?"
"We must get back to Malmaison."
"We cannot leave him here."
Sir Archibald bent over the body of his enemy, and turned the face upward.It wore a calm and happy expression.
"I will sink him in the pool," he said. "His will not be the first deadbody that has lain there."
He stooped accordingly, and getting his hands beneath the arms of thecorpse, dragged it to one of the flights of steps that led down to thewater. Kate sat watching him with her hands clasped in her lap. She hearda splashing sound and a ripple. Sir Archibald came back, picked up thepistol, and flung it also into the pool.
"The water will freeze to-night," he said, "and the fishes will do therest. Now, come!"
In a secret chamber at Malmaison lamps were burning softly in a dozensconces of burnished silver round the walls. Their light fell on luxuriousfurniture, fit for the boudoir of a lovely and noble lady. Thebroad-backed ebony chairs were upholstered in delicate blue damask; clipsand salvers of chased gold stood on the inlaid cabinet; the floor wascovered with richly-tinted Persian rugs and soft-dressed furs; a warm fireglowed on the hearth, and upon the table was set out a supper such asmight have awakened an appetite in a Roman epicure. A tall mirror, at thefarther end of the room, reflected back the lights and the color and thesparkle, while in a niche at one side stood rigidly upright an antiquesuit of armor, its gauntlets seeming to rest meditatively upon the hilt ofits sword, while from between the closed bars of the helmet one mightfancy that the dark spirit of its former inmate was gazing grimly forthupon all this splendor and luxury, and passing a ghastly jest thereon. Butit was as fair and comfortable a scene as perhaps this world can show, andwell calculated to make the sternest ascetic in love with life.
Through the massive oaken door, clamped with polished steel bands, enterednow two pallid and haggard persons--a man and a woman. The light strikingon their eyes made them blink and look aside. The man led the woman to thefire, and seated her upon a low chair; and taking a blue satin coverlidfrom the bed in the recess, he folded it tenderly round her shoulders. Shescarcely seemed to notice where she was, or what was being done; she satwith her eyes and face fixed, shivering now and then, and with her mindapparently preoccupied with some ugly recollection. The man then went tothe table and poured out a glass of wine, and held it to the woman's lips,and after a little resistance she drank some of it.
"You are as safe here," said he, "as if you were in an island of the SouthSea. I will see that you want for nothing while you have to remain here."
"What is the use?" she asked, with a kind of apathetic peevishness.
"Before long we shall be able to go away," he continued. "My darling, don'tbe disheartened. All our happiness is to come."
"I can never forget it," she said, with a shiver. "What is the use? I cannever get away from him now. Do you think the water is frozen yet?"
"You must not think of that at all. When you are warm, and have drunk somewine, you will not feel this nervousness. Nothing has been done that isworth regre
tting, or that could have been helped. Kate, I love you morethan ever."
"What is the use?" she repeated, in a dull tone. "It was not worth while."
There was a pause.
"I must leave you for a few minutes," he said gently. "It is necessary thatI should show myself to Lady Malmaison and to the servants. No one knowsthat I have left the house. By the time I come back you will have gotwarm, and we will sup together. Don't be downhearted, my darling."
He bent forward to kiss her. With a sudden gesture of aversion she pushedhim back. "There is blood upon your forehead!" she said, in a sharpwhisper.
"Only a scratch--I had forgotten it," he answered, trying to smile. "Well,then, in half an hour, at the utmost, we will meet again."
She made no rejoinder; and, after standing a moment looking down at her, heturned and went out. He closed the oaken door behind him, and locked it,then felt his way along the stone passage, and let himself out by theconcealed entrance. He put the silver rod in its receptacle beneath thefloor, and walked toward the room adjoining. On the threshold of that roomhe paused a moment, leaning against the door-post. A sensation of sluggishweariness had come over him; his head felt full and heavy. He rousedhimself presently, and went on trying to remember whither he was going. Bythe time he had reached the top of the great staircase, the idea that hewas in search of seemed to have come to him. He descended the stairs andwent directly to Lady Malmaison's room. It was then about eleven o'clock.The good lady was playing cards with her companion, her spaniel sleepingon her knees. She looked up in astonishment, for Sir Archibald seldomhonored her with a visit.
"Mamma," said he, going up to her chair, and standing there awkwardly,"where is Kate?"
"My son! what has happened?"
"Was she married to-day?" pursued the baronet, in an aggrieved tone.
Lady Malmaison and the companion exchanged a terrified glance.
"I think it is very unkind, then," declared the young man, reproachfully;"for Richard promised me I should be groomsman--and now they have gone andgot married while I was asleep. It was unkind of Kate, and I don't loveher; but I don't believe it was Richard's fault, because he is good, and Ilove him."
* * * * *
"Ring the bell, Simpson," said Lady Malmaison, in a broken voice, "and tellthem to send for Dr. Rollinson."
XIII.
During all the months of consternation, speculation, and vague hue-and-crythat followed the mysterious disappearance of the Honorable Mr. and Mrs.Pennroyal, it never for one moment occurred to any one to suggest anyconnection between that unexplained circumstance and the equally curiousbut unpertinent fact that poor Sir Archibald had "gone daft" once more.
How should it? It was known that Sir Archibald had been in his room allthat day and evening up to the time when he came into his mother's chamberwithout his wits. It was true that there had been no love lost of latebetween the houses of Malmaison and Pennroyal, but that was neither herenor there.
The notion that the vanished persons had met with foul play was neverseriously entertained, it being generally agreed that Mr. Pennroyal hadample reasons for not wishing to remain in a place where his credit andhis welcome were alike worn out. In all likelihood, therefore, the pairhad slunk away to foreign parts, and were living under an assumed namesomewhere on the Continent, or in America.
It was not surprising that they had gone together, for it was known thatthey were on very good terms with each other, especially during the lastyear. An idle story of a groom, who affirmed that he had been present atan interview between Mrs. Pennroyal and Sir Archibald, on horseback, a fewweeks before the trial, when, according to this narrator, they hadappeared to be rather friendly than otherwise, was not thought to be inany way to the point.
So the months passed away, and the years followed the months; the house andthe lands of the Pennroyals were sold, and their very name began to beforgotten. The daft baronet and his aged mother went on living atMalmaison in a quiet and uneventful manner, seeing very few people, anddoing nothing except allow their large property to grow larger. Yet, inspite of their retiring inoffensiveness, a shadow seemed to brood over theancient house.
The old story of Sir Archibald's past exploits in the magical line, and ofhis ancestors before him, were still revived occasionally round eveningfiresides; and it was submitted whether his present condition were not ajudgment upon him for having tampered with forbidden mysteries.
In the opinion of these fireside juries, there was a curse upon Malmaison,especially upon that part of it which contained the east chamber. Thatroom was haunted, and had never been haunted so badly as during the fewdays immediately following Sir Archibald's loss of memory.
It may have been a demon's carousal over the sad plight of the poor,foolish young baronet. At all events shrieks had been heard, faint andmuffled, but unmistakable, proceeding from that region, when everybodyknew that no living soul was there or could be there; but all the servantsat Malmaison could swear to the sounds. Ay, the place was accursed.
Late on the night of the 22d of January, 1833, Sir Archibald found himselfmounting the staircase of Malmaison, with but an indistinct idea of how hecame to be doing so. He could not recollect whether he had seen his motherand the servants or not. No wonder if his thoughts had been a littleabsent, with such a dark and burdensome secret as that which lay upon hissoul. But, of course, he must have seen them. He had left Kate with theintention of doing so, within this very hour; and how should he be comingup-stairs, unless from the execution of that purpose? His mind was busywith many projects. It would probably be thought that Mr. and Mrs.Pennroyal had left the country to escape creditors. If only the pondfroze, and the cold weather held on for a week or two, there would be notrace that could lead to a suspicion of anything else. For himself, hewould find no difficulty in proving an alibi, if it came to that. Andafter all, he had but acted upon compulsion, and in self-defence, and uponequal terms. He was guilty of no crime, except--well, call it a crime; hewas willing to bear the brunt of that. So they would be able to get awaysoon, and in Italy, Spain, somewhere, anywhere, they could live and behappy many years. Perhaps after a time they could venture to marry andreturn openly to England. There were numberless and indefinitepossibilities in their favor. Life was all they wanted, and life they had.They were both young; the gloom of this unlucky tragedy would soon bedispelled. Kate had been nervous and distraught when he left her, and nowonder, poor love! but wine, and food, and warmth would soon bring thecolor back to her cheeks and the light to her eyes. Lovely Kate! sweet,wayward, tender, haughty, but his own at last--his own in spite of earthand heaven! Yes, he and she would have their will and take their pleasurein spite of God and man; and if God would kill them, then, at any rate,they would die together, and in each other's arms.
With these and many like thoughts flying through his mind, Sir ArchibaldMalmaison reached the east chamber struck a light, and lit the candle thatstood on the table beside the door. He looked at his watch--half-pasteleven; he was within his time then; he had been absent less than half anhour. What was Kate doing, he wondered? He stopped a moment, picturing herto himself in some luxurious attitude; but his impatience would not sufferhim to delay. He quickly got the silver rod from its receptacle, openedthe concealed door, and went in, carrying the lighted candle in his hand.In a moment he was at the inner oaken door; it resisted his attempt toopen it. Then he recollected that he had locked it for additionalsecurity. The key was in the lock; he turned it, and entered.
An involuntary cry of surprise escaped him. Instead of the soft blaze oflight that he had expected, the room was full of a heavy darkness, thatseemed to rush out to meet him, and almost overwhelmed the feeble glimmerof his wretched candle. And why was it so deadly cold? Where had gone thatcheerful fire which was burning so ardently on the hearth half an hourago? Could Kate have put out the lights and gone off? Impossible, sincethe doors were fastened. Ah, there she was!
She was kneeling with her face bowed forwa
rd on her arms, which rested onthe seat of one of the low chairs. Her attitude was that of passionateprayer. Her thick brown hair was unfastened, and fell over her shoulders.
She made no movement. It was strange! Was she praying? Could she be asleep?
He took a step or two, and then stopped. Still no movement.
"Kate!" he said in a hushed voice; and as she did not answer, he spoke moreloudly: "Kate, I have come back; and I've a mind to scold you for lettingthe fire go out, and startling me with this darkness. What are you doingon your knees? Come, my darling, we want no prayers to-night. Kate ...will you give me a kiss now?
"Perhaps she may have fainted. Poor darling, she must have fainted!"
He went close up to her, and laid his hand on her shoulder: he seemed tograsp nothing but the empty stuff of the dress. With a terrified,convulsive motion, he pulled her round, so that the head was disturbedfrom its position on the arms, and the ghastly mystery was revealed to hisstarting eyeballs. The spectacle was not one to be described. He uttered aweak, wavering scream, and stood there, unable to turn away his gaze.
I must confess that I do not care to pursue this narrative any farther:though it is just at this point, according to my venerable friend Dr.Rollinson, that the real scientific interest begins. He was constantlywith Sir Archibald during the eight or nine months that he remained inlife after this episode; and made some highly important and edifying noteson his "case," besides writing down the unhappy baronet's confessions, asgiven from time to time. After his death, the Doctor made an autopsy ofthe brain, and discovered--I care not what! It was not the mystery of theman's soul, I am convinced.
I have adhered strictly to the facts throughout. Of course some of theconversations have been imagined, but always on an adequate foundation oftruth or logical inference. All the dates and "coincidences" are genuine.But, indeed, I prefer fiction, and am resolved never in future to make anexcursion into the crude and improbable regions of reality.
The End.
Footnotes
1. Dr. Forbes Rollinson's death occurred while these pages were inpreparation. This is not the place to add my tribute of affection andappreciation to the many memoirs of him which have appeared in the publicprints. My first acquaintance with him dates but little more than threeyears prior to his death; but the impression he produced upon me ofcordiality, culture, and ability will remain with me while I live. He wasa grand old gentleman of a school that is now bygone; a scholar of vastattainments, and a Christian in heart and life, if not in profession.Although he had far exceeded the ordinary span of life--he was born, Ibelieve, in the last century--he showed few signs of physical, and none ofmental infirmity; and his sudden and painless decease was quiteunexpected.
I subjoin extracts from a letter written to me on the subject of thepresent narrative:
"WELLESLEY HOUSE, QUEEN'S GATE, W.
"MY DEAR H.: I must say I fail to perceive the force of your objections.What is fiction, at best, but an imitation of truth--and a pretty poorimitation, too, as a general thing?... You ought to be glad to be savedthe trouble of inventing.... In the matter of love-making and adventure Ihave nothing to say, but scientific truths are not lightly to be tamperedwith. 'Round off the corners' by all means, if you think fit, but do notsuffer your artistic proclivities to lead you into a misrepresentation ofthe essential facts.... The people are all dead, and the estate is brokenup, so you need have no hesitation regarding names. Literary value aside,the thing would be worth nothing if the means of verifying it werewithheld....
"Ever faithfully yours,
"June 3d, 1878. E. FORBES ROLLINSON."
2. Now also the late: _vide supra_.
3. 3. In July, 1867.
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