The House of Whispers
Page 2
CHAPTER II
FROM OUT THE NIGHT
There are few of the Perthshire castles that more plainly declare theirfeudal origin and exhibit traces of obsolete power than does the greatgaunt pile of ruins known as Glencardine. Its situation is bothpicturesque and imposing, and the stern aspect of the two squarebaronial towers which face the south, perched on a sheer precipice thatdescends to the Ruthven Water deep below, shows that the castle was oncethe residence of a predatory chief in the days before its associationwith the great Montrose.
Two miles from the long, straggling village of Auchterarder, in thecentre of a fine, well-wooded, well-kept estate, the great ruined castlestands a silent monument of warlike days long since forgotten. There,within those walls, now overgrown with ivy and weeds, and where bigtrees grow in the centre of what was once the great paved courtyard,Montrose schemed and plotted, and, according to tradition, kept certainof his enemies in the dungeons below.
In the twelfth century the aspect of the deep glen was very differentfrom what it is to-day. In those days the Ruthven was a broad river,flowing swiftly down to the Earn, and forming, by reason of a moat, aneffective barrier against attack. To-day, however, the river hasdiminished into a mere burn meandering through a beautiful wooded glenthree hundred feet below, a glen the charms of which are well knownthroughout the whole of Scotland, and where in summer tourists fromEngland endeavour to explore, but are warned back by Stewart, SirHenry's Highland keeper.
A quarter of a mile from the great historic ruin is the modern castle,built mainly of stone from the ancient structure early in the eighteenthcentury, with oak-panelled rooms, many quaint gables, stained glass, andlong, echoing corridors--a residence well adapted for entertaining on alavish scale, the front overlooking the beautiful glen, and the backwith level lawns and stretch of undulating park, well wooded and full ofpicturesque beauty.
The family traditions and history of the old place and its owners hadinduced Sir Henry Heyburn, himself a Fellow of the Society ofAntiquaries, to purchase it from Lord Strathavon, into whose possessionit had passed some forty years previously.
History showed that William de Graeme or Graham, who settled in Scotlandin the twelfth century, became Lord of Glencardine, and the great castlewas built by his son. They were indeed a noble race, as their biographerhas explained. Ever fearless in their country's cause, they sneered atthe mandates from impregnable Stirling, and were loyal in everygeneration.
Glencardine was a stronghold feared by all the surrounding nobles, andits men were full of valour and bravery. One story of them is perhapsworth the telling. In the year 1490 the all-powerful Abbot of Inchaffrayissued an order for the collection of the teinds of the Killearns' landspossessed by the Grahams of Glencardine in the parish of Monzievaird, ofwhich he was titular. The order was rigorously executed, the teindsbeing exacted by force.
Lord Killearn of Dunning Castle was from home at the time; but in hisabsence his eldest son, William, Master of Dunning, called out a numberof his clansmen, and marched towards Glencardine for the purpose ofputting a stop to the abbot's proceedings. The Grahams of Glencardine,having been apprised of their neighbour's intention, mustered in strongforce, and marched to meet him. The opposing forces encountered eachother at the north side of Knock Mary, about two miles to the south-westof Crieff, while a number of the clan M'Robbie, who lived beside theLoch of Balloch, marched up the south side of the hill, halting at thetop to watch the progress of the combat. The fight began with great furyon both sides. The Glencardine men, however, began to get the upper handand drive their opponents back, when the M'Robbies rushed down the hillto the succour of the Killearns. The tables were now turned. The Grahamswere unable to maintain their ground against the combined forces whichthey had now to face, and fled towards Glencardine, taking refuge in theKirk of Monzievaird. The Killearns had no desire to follow up theirsuccess any farther, but at this stage they were joined by DuncanCampbell of Dunstaffnage, who had come across from Argyllshire to avengethe death of his father-in-law, Robert of Monzie, who, along with histwo sons, had a short time before been killed by the Lord ofGlencardine.
An arrow shot from the church fatally wounded one of Campbell's men, andso enraged were the besiegers at this that they set fire to theheather-thatched building. Of the one hundred and sixty human beings whoare supposed to have been in the church, only one young lad escaped, andthis was effected by the help of one of the Killearns, who caught theboy in his arms as he leaped out of the flames. The Killearns did not gounpunished for their barbarous deed. Their leader, with several of hischief retainers, was afterwards beheaded at Stirling, and an assessmentwas imposed on the Killearns for behoof of the wives and children of theGrahams who had perished by their hands.
The Killearn by whose aid the young Graham had been saved was forced toflee to Ireland, but he afterwards returned to Scotland, where he andhis attendants were known by the name of "Killearn Eirinich" (orErnoch), meaning Killearn of Ireland. The estate which he held, andwhich is situated near Comrie, still bears that name. The site of theKirk of Monzievaird is now occupied by the mausoleum of the family ofMurray of Ochtertyre, which was erected in 1809. When the foundationswere being excavated a large quantity of charred bones and wood wasfound.
The history of Scotland is full of references to the doings atGlencardine, the fine home of the great Lord Glencardine, and of events,both in the original stronghold and in the present mansion, which havehad important bearings upon the welfare of the country.
In the autumn of 1825 the celebrated poetess Baroness Nairne, who hadbeen born at Gask, a few miles away, visited Glencardine and spentseveral weeks in the pleasantest manner. Within those gaunt ruins of theold castle she first became inspired to write her celebrated "CastellGloom," near Dollar:
Oh Castell Gloom! thy strength is gone, The green grass o'er thee growin'; On Hill of Care thou art alone, The Sorrow round thee flowin'.
Oh Castell Gloom! on thy fair wa's Nae banners now are streamin'; The howlit flits amang thy ha's, And wild birds there are screamin'.
Oh, mourn the woe! oh, mourn the crime Frae civil war that flows! Oh, mourn, Argyll, thy fallen line, And mourn the great Montrose!
The lofty Ochils bright did glow, Though sleepin' was the sun; But mornin's light did sadly show What ragin' flames had done! Oh, mirk, mirk was the misty cloud That hung o'er thy wild wood! Thou wert like beauty in a shroud, And all was solitude.
A volume, indeed, could be written upon the history, traditions, andsuperstitions of Glencardine Castle, a subject in which its blind ownertook the keenest possible interest. But, tragedy of it all, he had neverseen the lovely old domain he had acquired! Only by Gabrielle'sdescriptions of it, as she led him so often across the woods, down bythe babbling burn, or over the great ivy-covered ruins, did he know andlove it.
Every shepherd of the Ochils knows of the Lady of Glencardine who, onrare occasions, had been seen dressed in green flitting before themodern mansion, and who was said to be the spectre of the young LadyJane Glencardine, who in 1710 was foully drowned in the Earn by herjealous lover, the Lord of Glamis, and whose body was never recovered.Her appearance always boded ill-fortune to the family in residence.
Glencardine was scarcely ever without guests. Lady Heyburn, a shallowand vain woman many years younger than her husband, was alwayssurrounded by her own friends. She hated the country, and moreespecially what she declared to be the "deadly dullness" of herPerthshire home. That moment was no exception. There were half-a-dozenguests staying in the house, but neither Gabrielle nor her father tookthe slightest interest in any of them. They had been, of course, invitedto the ball at Connachan, and at dinner had expressed surprise whentheir host's pretty daughter, the belle of the county, had declared thatshe was not going.
"Oh, Gabrielle is really such a wayward child!" declared her ladyship toold Colonel Burton at her side. "If she has decided not to go, no poweron earth will persuade her."
"I think it's simply ridiculous!" declared the Baronet's wife. "Yourfirst season, too!"
Gabrielle glanced round the table, coloured slightly, but said nothing.The guests knew too well that in the Glencardine household there hadalways been, and always would be, slightly strained relations betweenher ladyship and her stepdaughter.
For an hour after dinner all was bustle and excitement; then, in thecovered wagonette, the gay party drove away, while Gabrielle, standingat the door, shouted after them a merry adieu.
It was a bright, clear, moonlit night, so beautiful indeed that,twisting a shawl about her shoulders, she went to her father's den,where he usually smoked alone, and, taking his arm, led him out for awalk into the park over that gravelled drive where, upon such nights asthat, 'twas said that the unfortunate Lady Jane could be seen.
When alone, the sightless man could find his way quite well with the aidof his stick. He knew every inch of his domain. Indeed, he could descendfrom the castle by the winding path that led deep into the glen, andacross the narrow foot-bridges of the rushing Ruthven Water, or he couldtraverse the most intricate paths through the woods by means of certainlandmarks which only he himself knew. He was ever fond of wanderingabout the estate alone, and often took solitary walks on bright nightswith his stout stick tapping before him. On rare occasions, however,when, in the absence of her ladyship, he enjoyed the company of prettyGabrielle, they would wander in the park arm-in-arm, chatting andexchanging confidences.
The departure of their house-party had lifted a heavy weight from boththeir hearts. It would be dawn before they returned. She loved herfather, and was never happier than when describing to him things--thesmallest objects sometimes--which he himself could not see.
As they strolled on beneath the shadows of the tall elms, the stillnessof the night was broken only by the quick scurry of a rabbit into thetall bracken or the harsh cry of some night-bird startled by theirapproach.
Before them, standing black against the night-sky, rose the quaint,ponderous, but broken walls of the ancient stronghold, where an owlhooted weirdly in the ivy, and where the whispering of the waters rosefrom the deep below.
"It's a pity, dear, that you didn't go to the dance," the old man wassaying, her arm held within his own. "You've annoyed your mother, Ifear."
"Mother is quite happy with her guests, dad; while I am quite happy withyou," she replied softly. "Therefore, why discuss it?"
"But surely it is not very entertaining for you to remain here with aman who is blind. Remember, you are young, and these golden days ofyouth will very soon pass."
"Why, you always entertain and instruct me, dad," she declared; "fromyou I've learnt so much archaeology and so much about mediaeval sealsthat I believe I am qualified to become a Fellow of the Society ofAntiquaries, if women were admitted to fellowship."
"They will be one day, my dear, if the Suffragettes are allowed theirown way," he laughed.
And then, during the full hour they strolled together, theirconversation mostly consisted of questions asked by her fatherconcerning some improvements being made in one of the farms which shehad visited on the previous day, and her description of what had beendone.
The stable-clock had struck half-past ten on its musical chimes beforethey re-entered the big hall, and, being relieved by Hill of the wraps,passed together into the library, where, from a locked cabinet in acorner, Gabrielle took a number of business papers and placed them uponthe writing-table before her father.
"No," he said, running his thin white hands over them, "not businessto-night, dear, but pleasure. Where is that box from the Professor?"
"It's here, dad. Shall I open it?"
"Yes," he replied. "That dear old fellow never forgets his old friend.Never a seal finds its way into the collection at Cambridge but he firstsends it to me for examination before it is catalogued. He knows whatpleasure it is to me to decipher them and make out theirhistory--almost, alas! the only pleasure left to me, except you, mydarling."
"Professor Moyes adopts your opinion always, dad. He knows, as everyother antiquary knows, that you are the greatest living authority on thesubject which you have made a lifetime study--that of the bronze sealsof the Middle Ages."
"Ah!" sighed the old man, "if I could only write my great book! It isthe pleasure debarred me. Years ago I started to collect material; butmy affliction came, and now I can only feel the matrices and picturethem in my mind. I see through your eyes, dear Gabrielle. To me, theworld I loved so much is only a blank darkness, with your dear voicesounding out of it--the only voice, my child, that is music to my ears."
The girl said nothing. She only glanced at the sad, expressionless face,and, cutting the string of the small packet, displayed three bronzeseals--two oval, about two inches long, and the third round, about oneinch in diameter, and each with a small kind of handle on the reverse.With them were sulphur-casts or impressions taken from them, ready to beplaced in the museum at Cambridge.
The old man's nervous fingers travelled over the surfaces quickly, anexpression of complete satisfaction in his face.
"Have you the magnifying-glass, dear? Tell me what you make of theinscriptions," he said, at the same time carefully feeling the curiousmediaeval lettering of one of the casts.
At the same instant she started, rose quickly from her chair, and heldher breath.
A man, tall, dark-faced, and wearing a thin black overcoat, had enterednoiselessly from the lawn by the open window, and stood there, with hisfinger upon his lips, indicating silence. Then he pointed outside, witha commanding gesture that she should follow.
Her eyes met his in a glance of fierce resentment, and instinctively sheplaced her hand upon her breast, as though to stay the beating of herheart.
Again he pointed in silent authority, and she as though held in somemysterious thraldom, made excuse to the blind man, and, rising, followedin his noiseless footsteps.