CHAPTER LXIV.AN AMBUSCADEGilroyd was awfully slow, and even the town of Saxton dull. Cricket was quite over. There was no football there. William Maubray used to play at the ancient game of quoits with Arthur Jones, Esq., the Saxton attorney, who was a little huffy when he lost, and very positive on points of play; but on the whole a good fellow. Sometimes in the smoking-room, under the reading-room, he and Doctor Drake played clattering games of backgammon, with sixpenny stakes, and called their throws loudly, and crowed ungenerously when they won.But these gaieties and dissipations failed to restore William altogether to his pristine serenity. Although he had been now for four nights quite unmolested, he could not trust Gilroyd. It was a haunted house, and he the sport of a spirit. The place was bewitched, but so, unhappily, was the man. His visit to the Rectory proved that change of place could not deliver him. He was watched, and made to feel that his liberty was gone.Violet Darkwell was not to return to the Rectory for a week or more, and William called on Doctor Wagget, looking ill, and unquestionably in miserable spirits. Tothe rector he had confessed something vaguely of his being in love, and cherishing hopes contrary to the terms which poor Aunt Dinah had sought to impose upon him.A few nights later, emboldened by his long respite, he had written some stanzas, addressed to the young lady’scarte de visite, expressive of his hopes, and in the morning he had found his desk in his bed-room, though he had left it in the drawing-room, and his bed-room door was as usual locked. His desk was not open, nor was there any sign of the papers having been disturbed, but the verses he had that night written had been taken out and torn into small pieces, which were strewn on top of the desk.Since then he had not had a single quiet night, and the last night was the oddest, and in this respect the most unpleasant, that they had set the servants talking.“Tom, he’s a very steady old fellow, you know,” related William, “waked me up last night at about two o’clock. I called through the door not knowing but that it might be something.”“Iknow,” said the rector, with a mysterious nod.“Yes, Sir; and he told me he had been awake and heard a loud knocking in the drawing-room, like the hammering of a nail, as indeed it proved to be; and he ran up to the drawing-room, and saw nothing unusual there, and then to the lobby, and there he saw a tall figure in a white dress run up the stairs, with a tread that sounded like bare feet, and as it reached the top it threw a hammer backward which hopped down the steps to his feet. It was the kitchen hammer, unhung from the nail there which we found had been pulled out of the wall. Without waiting to get my clothes on, down I went withhim, but our search showed nothing but one very curious discovery.”“Ha! Go on, Sir.”“I must tell you, Sir, there was a print, a German coloured thing. I had forgotten it—it was in my poor aunt’s portfolio in a drawer there, of a great tabby cat pretending to doze, and in reality slyly watching a mouse that half emerges from its hole, approaching a bit of biscuit, and this we found nailed to the middle of the door.”“The inside?”“Yes.”“You did notseeanything of the apparition yourself?” asked Doctor Wagget.“No, I was asleep. I’ve seen nothing whatever but such things as I’ve described; and the fact is I’m worried to death, and I don’t in the least know what to do.”“I’ll tell you what,” said the clergyman, after a pause. “I’ll go down and spend the night at Gilroyd, if you allow me, and we’ll get Doctor Drake to come also, if you approve, and we’ll watch, Sir—we’ll spy it out—we’ll get at the heart of the mystery. Drake’s afraid of nothing, no more am I—and what do you say, may we go?”So the bargain was concluded, and at nine o’clock that evening the parson and Doctor Drake in friendly chat together walked up to the door of Gilroyd, and were welcomed by William, who led these learned witch-finders into his study, which commanded easy access to both drawing-room and parlour, and to the back and the great staircase.The study looked bright and pleasant—a cheery fire flashed on the silver teapot and cream-ewer, and oldChina tea things, and glimmered warmly over the faded gilded backs of the books. This and the candles lighted up the room so brightly that it needed an effort—notwithstanding the dark wainscot—to admit a thought of a ghost.I don’t know whether the parson had really any faith in ghosts or not. He thought he had, and cultivated in private a taste for that curious luxury, though he was reserved on the subject among his parishioners. I don’t think, however, if his nerves had been as much engaged as they might, he could have turned over the old tomes of the late Dean of Crutched Friars with so much interest as he did, or commented so energetically upon the authors and editions.Doctor Drake was utterly sceptical, and being “threatened with one of his ugly colds,” preferred brandy and water to tea—a little stimulus seasonably applied, often routing the enemy before he had time to make an impression. So, very snugly they sat round their table. The conversation was chiefly between the rector and the doctor, William being plainly out of spirits and a good deal in the clouds. The Churchman sipped his tea, and the physician his strong drink, and there was adjusted a plan for the operations of the night.“Now, Mr. Maubray, you must do as we order; when we bid you, you go to bed—do you see?—everything must proceed precisely as usual, and Doctor Drake and I will sit up and watch here—you go, at your accustomed hour, and lock your door—mind, as usual—and we’ll be on the alert, and ready to—to⸺”“To arrest the cabinet—egad!—and garrotte the clock, if either so much as cracks while we are on duty,” interposed Doctor Drake, poking William’s flagging spirits with a joke, in vain.“I dare say,” was William’s parting observation; “just because you are both here there will be nothing whatever to-night—I’m quite certain; but I’m awfully obliged to you all the same.”He was quite wrong, however, as all who please may learn from the sequel.
CHAPTER LXIV.
AN AMBUSCADE
AN AMBUSCADE
AN AMBUSCADE
Gilroyd was awfully slow, and even the town of Saxton dull. Cricket was quite over. There was no football there. William Maubray used to play at the ancient game of quoits with Arthur Jones, Esq., the Saxton attorney, who was a little huffy when he lost, and very positive on points of play; but on the whole a good fellow. Sometimes in the smoking-room, under the reading-room, he and Doctor Drake played clattering games of backgammon, with sixpenny stakes, and called their throws loudly, and crowed ungenerously when they won.
But these gaieties and dissipations failed to restore William altogether to his pristine serenity. Although he had been now for four nights quite unmolested, he could not trust Gilroyd. It was a haunted house, and he the sport of a spirit. The place was bewitched, but so, unhappily, was the man. His visit to the Rectory proved that change of place could not deliver him. He was watched, and made to feel that his liberty was gone.
Violet Darkwell was not to return to the Rectory for a week or more, and William called on Doctor Wagget, looking ill, and unquestionably in miserable spirits. Tothe rector he had confessed something vaguely of his being in love, and cherishing hopes contrary to the terms which poor Aunt Dinah had sought to impose upon him.
A few nights later, emboldened by his long respite, he had written some stanzas, addressed to the young lady’scarte de visite, expressive of his hopes, and in the morning he had found his desk in his bed-room, though he had left it in the drawing-room, and his bed-room door was as usual locked. His desk was not open, nor was there any sign of the papers having been disturbed, but the verses he had that night written had been taken out and torn into small pieces, which were strewn on top of the desk.
Since then he had not had a single quiet night, and the last night was the oddest, and in this respect the most unpleasant, that they had set the servants talking.
“Tom, he’s a very steady old fellow, you know,” related William, “waked me up last night at about two o’clock. I called through the door not knowing but that it might be something.”
“Iknow,” said the rector, with a mysterious nod.
“Yes, Sir; and he told me he had been awake and heard a loud knocking in the drawing-room, like the hammering of a nail, as indeed it proved to be; and he ran up to the drawing-room, and saw nothing unusual there, and then to the lobby, and there he saw a tall figure in a white dress run up the stairs, with a tread that sounded like bare feet, and as it reached the top it threw a hammer backward which hopped down the steps to his feet. It was the kitchen hammer, unhung from the nail there which we found had been pulled out of the wall. Without waiting to get my clothes on, down I went withhim, but our search showed nothing but one very curious discovery.”
“Ha! Go on, Sir.”
“I must tell you, Sir, there was a print, a German coloured thing. I had forgotten it—it was in my poor aunt’s portfolio in a drawer there, of a great tabby cat pretending to doze, and in reality slyly watching a mouse that half emerges from its hole, approaching a bit of biscuit, and this we found nailed to the middle of the door.”
“The inside?”
“Yes.”
“You did notseeanything of the apparition yourself?” asked Doctor Wagget.
“No, I was asleep. I’ve seen nothing whatever but such things as I’ve described; and the fact is I’m worried to death, and I don’t in the least know what to do.”
“I’ll tell you what,” said the clergyman, after a pause. “I’ll go down and spend the night at Gilroyd, if you allow me, and we’ll get Doctor Drake to come also, if you approve, and we’ll watch, Sir—we’ll spy it out—we’ll get at the heart of the mystery. Drake’s afraid of nothing, no more am I—and what do you say, may we go?”
So the bargain was concluded, and at nine o’clock that evening the parson and Doctor Drake in friendly chat together walked up to the door of Gilroyd, and were welcomed by William, who led these learned witch-finders into his study, which commanded easy access to both drawing-room and parlour, and to the back and the great staircase.
The study looked bright and pleasant—a cheery fire flashed on the silver teapot and cream-ewer, and oldChina tea things, and glimmered warmly over the faded gilded backs of the books. This and the candles lighted up the room so brightly that it needed an effort—notwithstanding the dark wainscot—to admit a thought of a ghost.
I don’t know whether the parson had really any faith in ghosts or not. He thought he had, and cultivated in private a taste for that curious luxury, though he was reserved on the subject among his parishioners. I don’t think, however, if his nerves had been as much engaged as they might, he could have turned over the old tomes of the late Dean of Crutched Friars with so much interest as he did, or commented so energetically upon the authors and editions.
Doctor Drake was utterly sceptical, and being “threatened with one of his ugly colds,” preferred brandy and water to tea—a little stimulus seasonably applied, often routing the enemy before he had time to make an impression. So, very snugly they sat round their table. The conversation was chiefly between the rector and the doctor, William being plainly out of spirits and a good deal in the clouds. The Churchman sipped his tea, and the physician his strong drink, and there was adjusted a plan for the operations of the night.
“Now, Mr. Maubray, you must do as we order; when we bid you, you go to bed—do you see?—everything must proceed precisely as usual, and Doctor Drake and I will sit up and watch here—you go, at your accustomed hour, and lock your door—mind, as usual—and we’ll be on the alert, and ready to—to⸺”
“To arrest the cabinet—egad!—and garrotte the clock, if either so much as cracks while we are on duty,” interposed Doctor Drake, poking William’s flagging spirits with a joke, in vain.
“I dare say,” was William’s parting observation; “just because you are both here there will be nothing whatever to-night—I’m quite certain; but I’m awfully obliged to you all the same.”
He was quite wrong, however, as all who please may learn from the sequel.