Dracula's Guest And Other Weird Tales

by Bram Stoker

  ‘The thick black hair growing low down on the neck told of vast physical strength and endurance. But the most remarkable characteristic is the eyes. Black, piercing, almost unendurable, they seem to contain in themselves a remarkable will power which there is no gainsaying. It is a power that is partly racial and partly individual: a power impregnated with some mysterious quality, partly hypnotic, partly mesmeric, 7 which seems to take away from eyes that meet them all power of resistance, nay, deeper, all power of wishing to resist. With eyes like those set in that aquiline, all-commanding face one would need to be strong indeed to even think of resisting the inflexible will that lay beyond. Even the habit and the exercise of power which they implied was a danger to anyone who was conscious of a weakness on his own part.

  ‘You may think, Adam, that all this is imagination on my part, especially as I have never seen any belonging to the generation I have spoken of. So it is. But imagination based on deep study. I have made use of all I know or can surmise logically regarding this strange race. And with this data, however received, I have thought out logical results, correcting, amending, intensifying accepted conclusions, till at times I see as though various members of the race had always been under my observation – that they are even under it still. With such strange compelling qualities, is it any wonder that there is abroad an idea that in the race there is some demoniac possession, which tends to a more definite belief that certain individuals have in the past sold themselves to the Devil? The Devil, I may say in this connection, is seldom mentioned in propria persona, 8 but generally under some accepted guise, “The Powers of Evil, ” “The Enemy of Mankind, ” “The Prince of the Air, ” etc. I don’t know what it is in other places; but along this eastern coast it is not considered polite to speak the truth plainly, baldly, in such matters, but to cover up the idea with a veil of obscurity in which safety or security may be hidden.

  ‘But I think we had better go to bed now. We have a lot to go through to-morrow, and I want you to have your brain clear, and all your susceptibilities fresh. Moreover, I want you to come with me in an early walk in which we may notice, whilst the matter is fresh in our minds, the peculiar disposition of this place – not merely your grandfather’s estate, but the lie of the country around it. There are many things on which we may seek – and perhaps find – enlightenment. The more we know at the start, the more things which may come into our view will develop themselves.’

  So they all went off to bed.

  CHAPTER III

  DIANA’S GROVE

  Curiosity took Adam Salton out of bed in the early morning, but when he had dressed and gone downstairs, he found that, early as he was, Sir Nathaniel de Salis was ahead of him. The old gentleman was quite prepared for a long walk if necessary, and they started at once. Sir Nathaniel, without speaking, led the way a little to the east down the hill. When they had descended and risen again, they found themselves on the eastern brink of a steep hill. It was of lesser height than that on which the Castle was seated; but it was so placed that it commanded the various hills that crowned the ridge. All along the ridge the rock cropped out, bare and bleak, but broken in rough formed natural castellation. The form of the ridge was a segment of a circle, with the higher points inland to the west. In the centre rose the Castle on the highest point of all. Between the various rocky excrescences were groups of trees of various sizes and heights, amongst some of which were what in the early morning light looked like ruins. These – whatever they were – were of massive grey stone, probably limestone rudely cut – if indeed they were not shaped naturally. The largest of these clumps was of oak trees of great age. They crossed the least of the hills, that which lay to the eastward. The fall of the ground was steep all along the ridge, so steep that here and there both trees and rocks and buildings seemed to overhang the level plain far below. Through this level ran many streams, and there was a number of blue pools, where was evidently fairly deep water.

  Sir Nathaniel stopped and looked all around him, as though to lose nothing of the effect. The sun had climbed the eastern sky and was making all details clear. Sir Nathaniel pointed all round him with a sweeping gesture, as though calling Adam’s attention to the wideness of the view. He did so so rapidly as to suggest that he wished the other to take, in the first survey, rather the coup d’œil1 than any detail. Having done so, he covered the ground in a similar way, but more slowly, as though inviting attention to detail. Adam was a willing and attentive pupil, and followed his motions exactly, missing – or trying to miss – nothing. When they had made the rough survey round the whole sweep of the eastern horizon, Sir Nathaniel spoke:

  ‘I have brought you here, Adam, because it seems to me that this is the spot on which to begin our investigations. You have now in front of you almost the whole of the ancient kingdom of Mercia. In fact, we see, theoretically if not practically, the whole of it except that furthest part which is covered by the Welsh Marches and those parts which are hidden from where we stand by the high ground of the immediate west. We can see – again theoretically if not practically – the whole of the eastern bound of the kingdom which ran south from the Humber to the Wash.2 I want you to bear in mind the trend of the ground, for some time, sooner or later, we shall do well to have it in our mind’s eye when we are considering the ancient traditions and even superstitions and are trying to find the rationale of them. I think we had better not try to differentiate between these, but let them naturally take their places as we go on. Each legend, each superstition which we receive will help in the understanding and possible elucidation of the others. And as all such have a local basis, we can come closer to the truth – or the probability – by knowing the local conditions as we go along. It will help us to bring to our aid even such geological truth as we may have between us. For instance, the building materials used in various ages can afford their own lessons to understanding eyes. The very heights and shapes and materials of these hills, nay, even of the wide plain that lies between us and the sea, have in themselves the materials of enlightening books.’

  ‘For instance, sir?’ said Adam, venturing a question.

  ‘Well, for instance, look at those hills which surround the main one where the site for the Castle was wisely chosen – on the highest ground. Take the others. There is something ostensible in each of them, and in all probability something unseen and unproved, but to be imagined, also.’

  ‘For instance?’ continued Adam.

  ‘Let us take them seriatim.3 That to the east, where the trees are, lower down. That was once the location of a Roman temple, possibly founded on a pre-existing Druidical4 one. Its name implies the former, and the grove of ancient oaks suggests the latter.’

  ‘Please explain.’

  ‘The old name translated means “Diana’s Grove.” Then the next one higher than it, but just beyond it, is called “ Mercy.” In all probability a corruption or perhaps a familiarisation of the word Mercia with a Roman pun included. We learn from early manuscripts that the place was called Vilula Misericordiæ.5 It was originally a nunnery founded by Queen Bertha, but done away with by King Penda, the reactionary to Paganism after St Augustine.6 Then comes your uncle’s place – Lesser Hill. Though it is so close to the Castle, it is not connected with it. It is a freehold, and, so far as we know, of equal age. It has always belonged to your family.’

  ‘Then there only remains the Castle!’

  ‘That is all; but its history contains the histories of all the others – in fact, the whole history of early England.’

  Sir Nathaniel, seeing the expectant look on Adam’s face, went on:

  ‘The history of the Castle has no beginning so far as we know. The furthest records or surmises or inferences simply accept it as existing. Some of these – guesses let us call them – seem to show that there was some sort of structure there when the Romans came, therefore it must have been a place of importance in Druid times – if indeed that was the beginning. Naturally the Romans accepted it, as they did everything
of the kind that was, or might be, useful. The change is shown or inferred in the name Castra. It was the highest protected ground, and so naturally became the most important of their camps. A study of the map will show you that it must have been a most important strategetic centre. It both protected the advances already made to the north, and it helped to dominate the sea coast to the east. It sheltered the western marches, beyond which lay savage Wales7 – and danger. It provided a means of getting to the Severn, round which lay the great Roman roads then coming into existence, and made possible the great waterway to the heart of England – through the Severn and its tributaries. And it brought the east and the west together by the swiftest and easiest ways known to those times. And, finally, it provided means of descent on London and all the expanse of country watered by the Thames.

  ‘With such a centre, already known and organised, we can easily see that each fresh wave of invasion – the Angles, the Saxons, the Danes, and the Normans8 – found it a desirable possession and so ensured its upholding. In the earlier centuries it was merely a vantage ground. But when the victorious Romans brought with them the heavy solid fortifications impregnable to the weapons of the time, its commanding position alone ensured its adequate building and equipment. Then it was that the fortified camp of the Cæsars developed into the castle of the king. As we are as yet entirely ignorant of even the names of the first kings of Mercia, no historian has been able to even guess what king made it his ultimate defence; and I suppose we shall never know now. In process of time, as the arts of war developed, it increased in size and strength, and although recorded details are lacking, the history is written in not merely the stone of its building, but is inferred in the changes of structure. Then the general sweeping changes which followed the Norman Conquest wiped out all lesser records than its own. To-day we must accept it as one of the earliest castles of the Conquest, probably not later than the time of Henry I.9 Roman and Norman were both wise in their retention of places of approved strength or utility. So it was that these surrounding heights, already established and to a certain extent proved, were retained. Indeed, such characteristics as already pertained to them were preserved and to-day afford to us lessons regarding things which have themselves long since passed away.

  ‘So much for the fortified heights; but the hollows too have their own story. But how the time passes! We must hurry home, or else your uncle will wonder what has become of us.’ As he spoke he was hurrying with long steps towards Lesser Hill, and Adam was furtively running to be able to keep up with him. When they had arrived close to the house, Sir Nathaniel said:

  ‘I am sorry to cut short our interesting conversation. But it will be only postponed. I want to tell you, and I am sure you want to know, all that I know of this place. And, if I am not mistaken, our next instalment of history will be even more interesting than the first.’

  CHAPTER IV

  THE LADY ARABELLA MARCH

  Breakfast had just begun when Mr Salton said:

  ‘Now, there is no hurry, but so soon as you are both ready we shall start. I want to take you first to see a remarkable relic of Mercia, and then we shall go down to Liverpool through what is called “The Great Vale of Cheshire.” You may be disappointed, but take care not to prepare your mind’ – this to Adam – ‘for anything stupendous or heroic. You would not think the place you are going through was a vale at all, unless you were told it beforehand, and had confidence in the veracity of the teller. We should get to the Landing Stage in time to meet the West African. We ought to meet Mr Caswall as he comes ashore. We want to do him honour – and, besides, it will be more pleasant to have the introductions over before we go to his fête at the Castle.’

  The carriage was ready, the same as was used the previous day. The postillions, too, were the same, but there were two pairs of different horses – magnificent animals, and keen for work. Breakfast was soon over, and they shortly took their places. The postillions had their orders, and they were soon on their way at an exhilarating pace.

  Presently, in obedience to Mr Salton’s signal, the carriage drew up near Stone, 1 opposite a great heap of stones by the wayside. ‘Here, ’ he said, ‘is something that you of all men should not pass by unnoticed. That heap of stones brings us at once to the dawn of the Anglian kingdom. It was begun more than a thousand years ago, in the latter part of the seventh century, in memory of a murder. Wulfere, King of Mercia, nephew of Penda, here murdered his two sons for embracing Christianity.2 As was the custom of the time, each passer-by added a stone to the memorial heap. Penda represented heathen reaction after St Augustine’s mission. Sir Nathaniel can tell you as much as you want about this, and put you, if you wish, on the track of such accurate knowledge as there is.’

  Whilst they were looking at the heap of stones, they noticed that another carriage had drawn up beside them, and the passenger – there was only one – was regarding them curiously. The carriage was an old heavy travelling one, with arms blazoned on it gorgeously. The coronet was an earl’s, and there were many quarterings. Seeing then the occupant was a lady, the men took off their hats. The occupant spoke:

  ‘How do you do, Sir Nathaniel? How do you do, Mr Salton? I hope none of you has met with any accident. Look at me!’

  As she spoke she pointed where one of the heavy springs was broken across, the broken metal showing bright. Adam spoke up at once:

  ‘Oh, that will be soon put right.’

  ‘Soon? I shall have to wait till we get to Wolverhampton. There is no one near who can mend a break like that.’

  ‘I can.’

  ‘You!’ She looked incredulously at the dapper young gentleman who spoke. ‘You – why, it’s a workman’s job.’

  ‘All right, I am a workman – though that is not the only sort of work I do. Let me explain. I am an Australian, and, as we have to move about fast, we are all trained to farriery and such mechanics as come into travel – and I am quite at your service.’

  She said sweetly: ‘I hardly know how to thank you for your kindness, of which I gladly avail myself. I don’t know what else I can do. My father is Lord Lieutenant of the County, 3 and he asked me to take his carriage – he is abroad himself – and meet Mr Caswall of Castra Regis, who arrives home from Africa to-day. It is a notable home-coming; his predecessor in the event made his entry more than a century ago, and all the countryside want to do him honour.’ She looked at the old men and quickly made up her mind as to the identity of the stranger. ‘You must be Mr Salton – Mr Adam Salton of Lesser Hill. I am Lady Arabella March of Diana’s Grove.’ As she spoke she turned slightly to Mr Salton, who took the hint and made a formal introduction.

  So soon as this was done, Adam took some tools from his uncle’s carriage, and at once began work on the broken spring. He was an expert workman, and the breach was soon made good. Adam was gathering the tools which he had been using, and which, after the manner of all workmen, had been scattered about, when he noticed that several black snakes4 had crawled out from the heap of stones and were gathering round him. This naturally occupied his mind, and he was not thinking of anything else when he noticed Lady Arabella, who had opened the door of the carriage, slip from it with a quick gliding motion. She was already among the snakes when he called out to warn her. But there seemed to be no need of warning. The snakes had turned and were wriggling back to the mound as quickly as they could. He laughed to himself behind his teeth as he whispered, ‘No need to fear there. They seem much more afraid of her than she of them.’ All the same he began to beat on the ground with a stick which was lying close to him, with the instinct of one used to such vermin. In an instant he was alone beside the mound with Lady Arabella, who appeared quite unconcerned at the incident. Then he took a long look at her. She was certainly good to look at in herself, and her dress alone was sufficient to attract attention. She was clad in some kind of soft white stuff, which clung close to her form, showing to the full every movement of her sinuous figure.5 She was tall and exceedingly thin. Her eyes a
ppeared to be weak, for she wore large spectacles which seemed to be of green glass. Certainly in the centre they had the effect of making her naturally piercing eyes of a vivid green. She wore a close-fitting cap of some fine fur of dazzling white. Coiled round her white throat was a large necklace of emeralds, whose profusion of colour quite outshone the green of her spectacles – even when the sun shone on them. Her voice was very peculiar, very low and sweet, and so soft that the dominant note was of sibilation. Her hands, too, were peculiar – long, flexible, white, with a strange movement as of waving gently to and fro.

  She appeared quite at ease, and, after thanking Adam, said that if any of his uncle’s party were going to Liverpool she would be most happy to join forces. She added cordially:

  ‘Whilst you are staying here, Mr Salton, you must look on the grounds of Diana’s Grove as your own, so that you may come and go just as you do in Lesser Hill. There are some fine views and not a few natural curiosities which are sure to interest you. There are some views in the twilight which are, they say, unique. And if you are a student of natural history – specially of an earlier kind, when the world was younger – you shall not have your labour of discovery in vain.’