Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli (Illustrated) (Delphi Series Eight Book 22)

by Marie Corelli

  “Alas, poor millionaire!” said Lucio gently,— “I am sorry, I assure you, that the evening has ended so disastrously.”

  “So am I!” I returned despondently.

  “Imagine it!” he went on, dreamily regarding me— “If my beliefs, — my crack-brained theories, — were worth anything, — which they are not — I could claim the only positive existing part of our late acquaintance Viscount Lynton! But, — where and how to send in my account with him? If I were Satan now....”

  I forced a faint smile.

  “You would have cause to rejoice!” I said.

  He moved two paces towards me, and laid his hands gently on my shoulders.

  “No, Geoffrey” — and his rich voice had a strange soft music in it— “No, my friend! If I were Satan I should probably lament! — for every lost soul would of necessity remind me of my own fall, my own despair, — and set another bar between myself and heaven! Remember, — the very Devil was an Angel once!”

  His eyes smiled, and yet I could have sworn there were tears in them. I wrung his hand hard, — I felt that notwithstanding his assumed coldness and cynicism, the fate of young Lynton had affected him profoundly. My liking for him gained new fervour from this impression, and I went to bed more at ease with myself and things in general. During the few minutes I spent in undressing I became even able to contemplate the tragedy of the evening with less regret and greater calmness, — for it was certainly no use worrying over the irrevocable, — and, after all, what interest had the Viscount’s life for me? None. I began to ridicule myself for my own weakness and disinterested emotion, — and presently, being thoroughly fatigued, fell sound asleep. Towards morning however, perhaps about four or five o’clock, I woke suddenly as though touched by an invisible hand. I was shivering violently, and my body was bathed in a cold perspiration. In the otherwise dark room there was something strangely luminous, like a cloud of white smoke or fire. I started up, rubbing my eyes, — and stared before me for a moment, doubting the evidence of my own senses. For, plainly visible and substantially distinct, at a distance of perhaps five paces from my bed, stood three Figures, muffled in dark garments and closely hooded. So solemnly inert they were, — so heavily did their sable draperies fall about them that it was impossible to tell whether they were men or women, — but what paralysed me with amazement and terror was the strange light that played around and above them, — the spectral, wandering, chill radiance that illumined them like the rays of a faint wintry moon. I strove to cry out, — but my tongue refused to obey me — and my voice was strangled in my throat. The Three remained absolutely motionless, — and again I rubbed my eyes, wondering if this were a dream or some hideous optical delusion. Trembling in every limb, I stretched my hand towards the bell intending to ring violently for assistance, — when — a Voice, low and thrilling with intense anguish, caused me to shrink back appalled, and my arm fell nerveless at my side. “Misery!”

  The word struck the air with a harsh reproachful clang, and I nearly swooned with the horror of it. For now one of the Figures moved, and a face gleamed out from beneath its hooded wrappings — a face white as whitest marble and fixed into such an expression of dreadful despair as froze my blood. Then came a deep sigh that was more like a death-groan, and again the word, “Misery!” shuddered upon the silence.

  Mad with fear, and scarcely knowing what I did, I sprang from the bed, and began desperately to advance upon these fantastic masqueraders, determined to seize them and demand the meaning of this practical and untimely jest, — when suddenly all Three lifted their heads and turned their faces on me, — such faces! — indescribably awful in their pallid agony, — and a whisper more ghastly than a shriek, penetrated the very fibres of my consciousness— “Misery!”

  With a furious bound I flung myself upon them, — my hands struck empty space. Yet there — distinct as ever — they stood, glowering down upon me, while my clenched fists beat impotently through and beyond their seemingly corporeal shapes! And then — all at once — I became aware of their eyes, — eyes that watched me pitilessly, stedfastly, and disdainfully, — eyes that like witch-fires, seemed to slowly burn terrific meanings into my very flesh and spirit. Convulsed and almost frantic with the strain on my nerves, I abandoned myself to despair, — this awful sight meant death I thought, — my last hour had surely come! Then — I saw the lips of one of those dreadful faces move ... some superhuman instinct in me leaped to life, ... in some strange way I thought I knew, or guessed the horror of what that next utterance would be, ... and with all my remaining force I cried out —

  “No! No! Not that eternal Doom! ... Not yet!”

  Fighting the vacant air, I strove to beat back those intangible weird Shapes that loomed above me, withering up my soul with the fixed stare of their angry eyes, and with a choking call for help, I fell, as it were, into a pit of darkness, where I lay mercifully unconscious.

  XI

  How the ensuing hours between this horrible episode and full morning elapsed I do not know. I was dead to all impressions. I woke at last, or rather recovered my senses to see the sunlight pouring pleasantly through the half-drawn curtains at my window, and to find myself in bed in as restful a position as though I had never left it. Was it then merely a vision I had seen? — a ghastly sort of nightmare? If so, it was surely the most abhorrent illusion ever evolved from dreamland! It could not be a question of health, for I had never felt better in my life. I lay for some time quiescent, thinking over the matter, with my eyes fixed on that part of the room where those Three Shapes had seemingly stood; but I had lately got into such a habit of cool self-analysis, that by the time my valet brought my early cup of coffee, I had decided that the whole thing was a dreadful fantasy, born of my own imagination, which had no doubt been unduly excited by the affair of Viscount Lynton’s suicide. I soon learned that there was no room left for doubt as to that unhappy young nobleman’s actual death. A brief account of it was in the morning papers, though as the tragedy had occurred so late at night there were no details. A vague hint of ‘money difficulties’ was thrown out in one journal, — but beyond that, and the statement that the body had been conveyed to the mortuary there to await an inquest, there was nothing said, either personal or particular. I found Lucio in the smoking-room, and it was he who first silently pointed out to me the short paragraph headed ‘Suicide of a Viscount.’

  “I told you he was a good shot!” he commented.

  I nodded. Somehow I had ceased to feel much interest in the subject. My emotion of the previous evening had apparently exhausted all my stock of sympathy and left me coldly indifferent. Absorbed in myself and my own concerns, I sat down to talk and was not long before I had given a full and circumstantial account of the spectral illusion which had so unpleasantly troubled me during the night. Lucio listened, smiling oddly.

  “That old Tokay was evidently too strong for you!” he said, when I had concluded my story.

  “Did you give me old Tokay?” I responded laughing— “Then the mystery is explained! I was already overwrought, and needed no stimulant. But what tricks the imagination plays us to be sure! You have no idea of the distinct manner in which those three phantoms asserted themselves! The impression was extraordinarily vivid.”

  “No doubt!” And his dark eyes studied me curiously. “Impressions often are very vivid. See what a marvellously real impression this world makes upon us, for example!”

  “Ah! But then the world is real!” I answered.

  “Is it? You accept it as such, I daresay, and things are as they appear to each separate individual. No two human beings think alike; hence there may be conflicting opinions as to the reality or non-reality of this present world. But we will not take unnecessary plunges into the infinite question of what is, as contrasted with what appears to be. I have some letters here for your consideration. You have lately spoken of buying a country estate — what say you to Willowsmere Court in Warwickshire? I have had my eye on that place for you, — it seems
to me just the very thing. It is a magnificent old pile; part of it dates from Elizabeth’s time. It is in excellent repair; the grounds are most picturesque, the classic river Avon winds with rather a broad sweep through the park, — and the whole thing, with a great part of the furniture included, is to be sold for a mere song; — fifty thousand pounds cash. I think you had better go in for it; it would just suit your literary and poetic tastes.”

  Was it my fancy, or had his musical voice the faintest touch of a sneer as he uttered the last words? I would not allow myself to think this possible, and answered quickly, —

  “Anything you recommend must be worth looking at, and I’ll certainly go and see it. The description sounds well, and Shakespeare’s country always appeals to me. But wouldn’t you like to secure it for yourself?”

  He laughed.

  “Not I! I live nowhere for long. I am of a roving disposition, and am never happy tied down to one corner of the earth. But I suggest Willowsmere to you for two reasons, — first that it is charming and perfectly appointed; secondly, that it will impress Lord Elton considerably if he knows you are going to buy it.”

  “How so?”

  “Why, because it used to be his property” — returned Lucio quietly— “till he got into the hands of the Jews. He gave them Willowsmere as security for loans, and latterly they have stepped in as owners. They’ve sold most of the pictures, china, bric-a-brac and other valuables. By the way, have you noticed how the legended God still appears to protect the house of Israel? Particularly the ‘base usurer’ who is allowed to get the unhappy Christian into his clutches nine times out of ten? And no remedy drops from heaven! The Jew always triumphs. Rather inconsistent isn’t it, on the part of an equitable Deity!” His eyes flashed strange scorn. Anon he resumed— “As a result of Lord Elton’s unfortunate speculations, and the Jews’ admirable shrewdness, Willowsmere, as I tell you is in the market, and fifty thousand pounds will make you the envied owner of a place worth a hundred thousand.”

  “We dine at the Eltons’ to-night, do we not?” I asked musingly.

  122”We do. You cannot have forgotten that engagement and Lady Sibyl so soon surely!” he answered laughing.

  “No, I have not forgotten” — I said at last, after a little silence. “And I will buy this Willowsmere. I will telegraph instructions to my lawyers at once. Will you give me the name and address of the agents?”

  “With pleasure, my dear boy!” And Lucio handed me a letter containing the particulars concerning the sale of the estate and other items. “But are you not making up your mind rather suddenly? Hadn’t you better inspect the property first? There may be things you object to — —”

  “If it were a rat-infested barrack,” I said resolutely— “I would still buy it! I shall settle the matter at once. I wish to let Lord Elton know this very night that I am the future owner of Willowsmere!”

  “Good!” — and my companion thrust his arm through mine as we left the smoking-room together— “I like your swiftness of action Geoffrey. It is admirable! I always respect determination. Even if a man makes up his mind to go to hell, I honour him for keeping to his word, and going there straight as a die!”

  I laughed, and we parted in high good-humour, — he to fulfil a club engagement, I to telegraph precise instructions to my legal friends Messrs Bentham and Ellis, for the immediate purchase in my name at all costs, risks or inconveniences, of the estate known as Willowsmere Court in the county of Warwick.

  That evening I dressed with more than common care, giving my man Morris almost as much trouble as if I had been a fidgetty woman. He waited upon me however with exemplary patience, and only when I was quite ready did he venture to utter what had evidently been on his mind for some time.

  “Excuse me sir,” — he then observed— “but I daresay you’ve noticed that there’s something unpleasant-like about the prince’s valet, Amiel?”

  “Well, he’s rather a down-looking fellow if that’s what you mean,” — I replied— “But I suppose there’s no harm in him.”

  “I don’t know about that sir,” — answered Morris severely; “He does a great many strange things I do assure you. Downstairs with the servants he goes on something surprising. Sings and acts and dances too, as if he were a whole music-hall.”

  “Really!” I exclaimed in surprise— “I should never have thought it.”

  “Nor should I sir, but it’s a fact.”

  “He must be rather an amusing fellow then,” — I continued, wondering that my man should take the accomplishments of Amiel in such an injured manner.

  “Oh, I don’t say anything against his amusingness,” — and Morris rubbed his nose with a doubtful air— “It’s all very well for him to cut capers and make himself agreeable if he likes, — but it’s the deceit of him that surprises me sir. You’d think to look at him that he was a decent sort of dull chap with no ideas beyond his duty, but really sir, it’s quite the contrary, if you’ll believe me. The language he uses when he’s up to his games downstairs is something frightful! And he actually swears he learnt it from the gentlemen of the turf, sir! Last night he was play acting, and taking off all the fashionable folks, — then he took to hypnotising — and upon my word it made my blood run cold.”

  “Why, what did he do?” I asked with some curiosity.

  “Well, sir, he took one of the scullery-maids and sat her in a chair and just pointed at her. Pointed at her and grinned, for all the world like a devil out of a pantomime. And though she is generally a respectable sober young woman, if she didn’t get up with a screech and commence dancing round and round like a lunatic, while he kept on pointing. And presently she got to jumping and lifting her skirts that high that it was positively scandalous! Some of us tried to stop her and couldn’t; she was like mad, till all at once number twenty-two bell rang — that’s the prince’s room, — and he just caught hold of her, set her down in her chair again and clapped his hands. She came to directly, and didn’t know a bit what she’d been doing. Then twenty-two bell rang again, and the fellow rolled up his eyes like a clergyman and said, ‘Let us pray!’ and off he went.”

  I laughed.

  “He seems to have a share of humour at anyrate,” — I said; “I should not have thought it of him. But do you think these antics of his are mischievous?”

  “Well that scullery girl is very ill to-day,” — replied Morris; “I expect she’ll have to leave. She has what she calls the ‘jumps’ and none of us dare tell her how she got them. No sir, believe me or not as you like, there’s something very queer about that Amiel. And another thing I want to know is this — what does he do with the other servants?”

  “What does he do with the other servants?” I repeated bewilderedly— “What on earth do you mean?”

  “Well sir, the prince has a chef of his own hasn’t he?” said Morris enumerating on his fingers— “And two personal attendants besides Amiel, — quiet fellows enough who help in the waiting. Then he has a coachman and groom. That makes six servants altogether. Now none of these except Amiel are ever seen in the hotel kitchens. The chef sends all the meals in from somewhere, in a heated receptacle — and the two other fellows are never seen except when waiting at table, and they don’t live in their own rooms all day, though they may sleep there, — and nobody knows where the carriage and horses are put up, or where the coachman and groom lodge. Certain it is that both they and the chef board out. It seems to me very mysterious.”

  I began to feel quite unreasonably irritated.

  “Look here, Morris,” I said— “There’s nothing more useless or more harmful than the habit of inquiring into other people’s affairs. The prince has a right to live as he likes, and do as he pleases with his servants — I am sure he pays royally for his privileges. And whether his cook lives in or out, up in the skies or down in a cellar is no matter of mine. He has been a great traveller and no doubt has his peculiarities; and probably his notions concerning food are very particular and fastidious. But I don’t
want to know anything about his ménage. If you dislike Amiel, it’s easy to avoid him, but for goodness sake don’t go making mysteries where none exist.”

  Morris looked up, then down, and folded one of my coats with special care. I saw I had effectually checked his flow of confidence.

  “Very well, sir,” — he observed, and said no more.

  I was rather diverted than otherwise at my servant’s solemn account of Amiel’s peculiarities as exhibited among his own class, — and when we were driving to Lord Elton’s that evening I told something of the story to Lucio. He laughed.

  “Amiel’s spirits are often too much for him,” — he said— “He is a perfect imp of mischief and cannot always control himself.”

  “Why, what a wrong estimate I have formed of him!” I said— “I thought he had a peculiarly grave and somewhat sullen disposition.”

  “You know the trite saying — appearances are deceptive?” went on my companion lightly— “It’s extremely true. The professed humourist is nearly always a disagreeable and heavy man personally. As for Amiel, he is like me in the respect of not being at all what he seems. His only fault is a tendency to break the bounds of discipline, but otherwise he serves me well, and I do not inquire further. Is Morris disgusted or alarmed?”

  “Neither I think,” I responded laughing— “He merely presents himself to me as an example of outraged respectability.”

  “Ah then, you may be sure that when the scullery-maid was dancing, he observed her steps with the closest nicety;” said Lucio— “Very respectable men are always particular of inspection into these matters! Soothe his ruffled feelings, my dear Geoffrey, and tell him that Amiel is the very soul of virtue! I have had him in my service for a long time, and can urge nothing against his character as a man. He does not pretend to be an angel. His tricks of speech and behaviour are the result of a too constant repression of his natural hilarity, but he is really an excellent fellow. He dabbled in hypnotic science when he was with me in India; I have often warned him of the danger there is in practising this force on the uninitiated. But — a scullery-maid! — heavens! — there are so many scullery-maids! One more or less with the ‘jumps’ will not matter. This is Lord Elton’s.”