CHAPTER FOUR.
THE KITCHEN AT KILGORMAN.
The daylight failed suddenly as we turned from our perch on the edge ofthe cliff, and began to grope our way across the old graveyard towardsthe path which led up to Kilgorman House.
But that Tim was so set on seeing the hidden arms, and seemed soscornful of my ill-concealed terror of the place, I should have turnedtail twenty times before I reached our destination. Yet in ordinary Iwas no coward. I would cross the lough single-handed in any weather; Iwould crack skulls with any boy in the countryside; I would ride any ofhis honour's horses barebacked. But I shook in my shoes at the thoughtof a ghost, and the cold sweat came out on my brow before ever wereached the avenue-gates.
"What's to hurt you?" said Tim, who knew what was on my mind as well asif I had spoken. "They say it's the lady walks through the house. Man,dear, you're not afraid of a woman, are ye?"
"If she is alive, no," said I.
"She'll hurt ye less as she is," said Tim scornfully. "Anyway, ifyou're afeard, Barry, you needn't come; run home."
This settled me. I laughed recklessly, and said,--
"What's good enough for you is good enough for me. I'm not afraid of ahundred ghosts."
And indeed I should have felt easier in the company of a hundred than ofone.
We halted a moment at my mother's grave as we went by.
"She lived up at the house once," said Tim.
"I know," said I.
"Come on," said Tim; "it's getting very dark."
So we went on; and on the way I tried to recall what I knew of the storyof Kilgorman, as I had heard it from my mother and the country folk.
Twelve years ago Terence Gorman, brother of his honour, lived there andowned all the lough-side from Dunaff to Dunree, and many a mile ofmountain inland. He was not a rich man, but tried, so folk said, todeal fairly with his tenants. But as a magistrate he was very stern toall ill-doers, no matter who they were; and since many of his owntenants aided and abetted the smuggling and whisky-making on the coast,Terence Gorman had plenty of enemies close to his own door. Hishousehold, at the time I speak of, consisted only of his young wife andher newly-born babe, and of my father and mother, who served in thehouse, one as boatman and gamekeeper and the other as lady's-maid. Mymother had come over with the young bride from England, and had marriedmy father within a month or two of her coming. And, as it happened,just when my lady gave birth to her infant, and was most in need of hercountrywoman's help, my mother presented my father with twins, and laysadly in need of help herself; so that Biddy McQuilkin, who was fetchedfrom Kerry Keel to wait on both, had a busy time of it.
What happened on the fatal night that left Kilgorman desolate no one wasable rightly to tell; for, except Biddy and Maurice Gorman, who chancedthat night to have come over to see his brother, the sole occupants ofthe house had been Mrs Gorman and her child and my mother and her twoinfants.
Terence Gorman at nightfall had taken the gig, with my father, to driveto Carndonagh, where next day he was to inquire into some poachingaffray. That was at seven o'clock. About midnight my father, halfcrazy with fright, brought the gig back, and in it the dead body of hismaster. They had reached the gap in Ballinthere Hill, he said, going bythe lower road, when a shot was suddenly fired from the roadside,grazing my father's arm and lodging in the neck of Mr Gorman. It wasso suddenly done, and the horse bolted so wildly forward at the report,that before my father could even look round the assassin had vanished.
Mr Gorman was already dead. My father did what he could to stanch thewound, but without avail; and, in a daze, he turned the horse's head anddrove back as fast as he could to Kilgorman. My lady, whose bedroom wasover the hall-door, was the first to hear the sound of the wheels, andshe seemed to have guessed at a flash of the mind what had happened.Weak as she was, she succeeded in dragging herself from the bed andlooking out of the window; and the first sight that met her eyes, by thegleam of the lanterns, was the lifeless body of her husband being liftedfrom the gig.
The shock was too much for her. She was found soon after in a deadswoon on the floor, and before morning her spirit had joined that of herhusband. And not only hers--the little hope of the house shared thefate of her parents. And when the day of burial came, Terence Gormanand his wife and daughter were all laid in one grave.
My mother, to whom the shock of the news had been more gently broken,and whose husband had at least escaped with his life, recovered; andwith her twin boys, Tim and me, was able in due time to remove to thecabin on Fanad across the lough which Maurice Gorman (who by this sadtragedy had unexpectedly become the heir to his brother's estate) gavehim for a home.
That was all I knew, except this: ever since that night Kilgorman Househad remained empty, and people said that its only tenant was thewandering spirit of the distracted mother crying in the night for herhusband and baby.
These sombre recollections were an ill preparation for our nocturnalvisit to the haunted house. As the rusty avenue-gate swung back with ahoarse creak I was less inclined than ever for the adventure.
But Tim was not to be hindered, and paced sturdily down the long avenue,summoning me to keep close and hold my tongue, for fear any one might bewithin earshot.
Kilgorman was a big, irregular mansion of several stories, with somepretensions to architecture, and space enough within its rambling wallsto quarter a ship's company. In front a field of long, rank grassstretched up to the very doorway, having long since overgrown the oldcarriage-drive. In the rear was a swampy bog, out of which the houseseemed to rise like a castle out of a moat. On either side gaunt treescrowded, overhanging the chimneys with their creaking boughs. There wasno sound but the drip of the water from the roof, and the sobbing of thebreeze among the trees, and now and again the hoot of an owl across theswamp which set me shivering.
Tim boldly marched up to the front door and tried it. It was fast andpadlocked. The windows on the ground-floor were closely shuttered andequally secure.
We groped our way round to the rear, keeping close to the wall to avoidthe water. But here, too, all was fast; nor was there a sign of any onehaving been near the place for years. My hopes began to rise as Tim'sfell.
"Why not come by daylight?" said I.
"Why not get in, now we are here?" said Tim--"unless you're afraid."
"Who's afraid?" said I, shaking the window-frame till it rattled again.
"Come to the yard," said Tim. "There'll be a ladder there, I warrant."
So we felt our way back to the side on which abutted the stable-yard,and there, sure enough, lay a crazy ladder against the wall. It tookour united strength to lift it. To my horror, Tim suggested putting itto the window that overlooked the hall-door--that fatal window fromwhich the poor lady had taken her last look in life.
I would fain have moved it elsewhere, but he was obstinate. The top ofthe porch was flat, and we could stand there better than anywhere else.So--Tim first, I next--we clambered cautiously up, and stepped on to theledge. The window was fast like the rest, but it was not shuttered, andTim boldly attacked the pane nearest to the catch with his elbow. Whata hideous noise it made as it shivered inwards and fell with a smash onthe floor!
"Mind now," said Tim, as he slipped in his hand and pushed back thecatch. "Lift away."
It was a hard job to lift it, for the wood had warped and grown stiff inits grooves. But presently it started, and gave us room to squeezethrough into the room.
Even Tim was a little overawed when he found himself standing there inthe room, scarcely changed, except for the mildew and cobwebs, from whatit had been twelve years ago.
"Whisht!" said he in a whisper. "I wish we had a light."
But light there was none, and the fitful gleams of the wandering moonserved only to make the darkness darker.
Once, as it floated clear for an instant, I caught sight of the bed, anda chair, and some withered flowers on the floor, left there, no doubt,since the day of the funeral.<
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Next moment all was dark again.
Tim had used the gleam to find the door, and I heard him call me.
"Come away. Keep your hand on the wall and feel with your feet for thestairs. It's down below the arms will be."
I am sure, had he looked, he would have been able to see the whitenessof my face through the darkness; but he was better employed.
"Here it is," he said. "Now keep your hand on the rail and go gentlydown."
"How'll we find our way back to the ladder?" said I.
"We've to get our guns first," said he, shortly.
When we reached the bottom of the stairs, we seemed to be in a passageor hall that went right and left.
In the plight in which we were it mattered little which turn we took, soTim turned to the right, feeling along by the wall, with me close at hisheels. Cautiously as we trod, our footsteps seemed to echo along thecorridor, till often enough, with my heart in my mouth, I stopped short,certain I heard some one following. Tim too, I thought, was beginningto repent of his venture, and once more said, "We need a light badly."
Just then the moon peeped in for a moment through a loophole in one ofthe shutters, and showed us a bracket on the wall opposite on whichstood a candle, and beside it, to our joy, a tinder-box.
"These have not stood here twelve years," said Tim, as he lifted themfrom their place. "This is a new candle."
And I remembered then the moving lights I had seen not a week ago.
The dim light of the candle gave us some little comfort. But for safetywe kept it closely shaded, lest we should betray ourselves. At the endof the passage a door stood partly open, and beyond we found ourselvesin a large kitchen paved with flagstones, and crowded round the wallsand down the middle of the floor with muskets, piled in military fashionin threes and sixes.
Tim's soul swelled within him at the sight; but I confess I was moreconcerned at the gloomy aspect of the great chamber, and the generalsense of horror that seemed to hang over the whole place.
"Begorrah, it was worth coming for!" said Tim, as he crouched downexamining the lock of one specially bright weapon.
Suddenly he started to his feet and extinguished the candle. "Whisht!"he exclaimed, "there's a step."
We stood like statues, not even daring to breathe. There, sure enough,not on the walk without, but down at the end of the corridor we had justtraversed, was a footstep. Tim drew me down to a corner near thehearth, where, hidden behind a stack of arms, we could remain partlyhid. The step approached, but whoever came was walking, as we had done,in the dark. To my thinking it was a light step, and one familiar withthe path it trod. For a moment it ceased, and I guessed it was at thebracket from which we had taken the candle. Tim's hand closed on my armas the sound began again; and presently we heard, for we could not see,the door move back.
I never wish again for a moment like that. If I could have shouted Iwould have done so. All we could do was to crouch, rooted to the spot,and wait with throbbing hearts for what was to happen. As the footstepshalted a moment at the open door my quick ears seemed to detect therustle of a dress, and next moment what sounded like a sob, or it mighthave been only a moan of the wind outside, broke the silence.
Then the steps advanced direct for us. Even the moon had deserted us,and by no straining of our eyes could we detect who the stranger was,even when she (for by the rustling sound we were positive it was awoman) reached the hearth and stood motionless within a foot of us.
Reach out we could not; stir we durst not; all we could do was to waitand listen.
It is strange what, when all other senses fail, the ear will do for one.I at least could tell that this strange intruder was a woman, and thatthe dress she wore was of silk. Further, I could tell that when shereached the hearth she knelt before the empty fireplace, not for warmth,but as if seeking something. I could hear what seemed a faintirresolute tapping with the knuckles; then just as, once more, the windfell into a moan without, there came a sudden and fearful noise, whichroused us out of our stupor and filled the place with our shrieks.
For a moment we could not say what had happened. Then I understoodthat, in the tension of looking for the ghost I could not see, my foothad stretched against the butt of one of the guns and upset a stack ofsome six of them on to the stone floor, thereby putting an end to allthings, the ghost included; for when we recovered from this last fright,and Tim in desperation struck a light, the place was as silent and emptyas it was when we entered it.
If it was all an illusion, it was a strange one--strange indeed for asingle witness to hear, stranger still for two. Yet illusion it musthave been, begotten of my terrors, and the creak of the stairs, and thesighing of the wind, or the excursions of a vagabond rat. I do notpretend to explain it. Nor, for months after, could I be persuaded thatthe visitor was aught other than the poor distracted lady of Kilgorman.And it was months after that before I could get out of my mind that shehad stood beside us and sought for something in the hearth.
As for us that night, I can promise you we were not many minutes longerin Kilgorman when the spell was once broken. Even Tim forgot the guns.With all the speed we could we ran to the stairs and so to my lady'schamber, against which stood the friendly ladder, down which we slid,and not waiting even to restore it to its place, sped like hunted haresdown the avenue and along the steep path, till we came to the harbour inthe creek where lay our boat.
Nor was it till we were safely afloat, with sail hoisted and our bowspointing to Fanad, that we drew breath, and dared look back in the dimdawn at the grim walls and chimneys of Kilgorman as they loomed out uponus from among the trees and rocks.
Kilgorman: A Story of Ireland in 1798 Page 5
