Visions of Fear - Foundations of Fear III (1992)

by David G. Hartwell (Ed. )

  for what seemed an interminable journey, during which I

  had to change and wait at more and more inhospitable

  stations, until I was so numbed with cold I could hardly

  think straight. All the rivers wore a rim of lacy ice along

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  their shores, and the ponds and lakes turned blank

  frozen eyes to the steel grey sky.

  At length, the local train I had changed to dragged

  itself, grimy and puffing, into the station of Fontaine and

  I disembarked and made my way with my luggage to the

  tiny booking office and minute waiting room. Here, to

  my relief, I found that there was an old-fashioned,

  pot-bellied stove stuffed with chestnut roots and glowing

  almost red hot. I piled my luggage in the comer and

  spent some time thawing myself out, for the heating on

  the train had been minimal. There was no sign of

  Gideon.

  Presently, warmed by the fire and a nip of brandy I

  had taken from my travelling flask, I began to feel better.

  But half an hour later I began to worry about Gideon’s

  absence. I went out onto the platform and discovered

  that the grey sky seemed to have moved closer to the

  earth and a few snowflakes were starting to fall, huge lacy

  ones the size of a half-crown, that augured a snowstorm

  of considerable dimensions in the not-too-distant future.

  I was just wondering if I should try walking to the village

  when I heard the clop of hooves and made out a dogcart

  coming along the road, driven by Gideon muffled up in a

  glossy fur coat and wearing an astrakhan hat.

  “I’m so very sorry, Peter, for keeping you waiting like

  this,” he said, wringing my hand, “but we seem to have

  one catastrophe after another. Come, let me help you

  with your bags and I will tell you all about it as we

  drive.”

  We collected my baggage, bundled it into the dogcart,

  and then I climbed up onto the box alongside Gideon

  and covered myself thankfully with the thick fur rug he

  had brought. He turned the horse, cracked his whip and

  we went bowling down the snowflakes which were now

  falling quite fast. The wind whipped our faces and made

  our eyes water, but still Gideon kept the horse at a fast

  trot.

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  “I am anxious to get there before the snowstorm really

  starts,” he said. “That is why I am going at this uncivilized pace. Once these snowstorms start up here they can be very severe. One can even get snowed in for days at a

  time.”

  “It is certainly becoming a grim winter,” I said.

  “The worst we’ve had here for fifty years,” said

  Gideon.

  He came to the village and Gideon was silent as he

  guided his horse through the narrow, deserted streets,

  already white with settling snow. Occasionally a dog

  would run out of an alley and run barking alongside us

  for a way, but otherwise there was no sign of life and the

  village could have been deserted for all evidence to the

  contrary.

  “I am afraid that once again, my dear Peter, I shall

  have to trespass upon your good nature,” said Gideon,

  smiling at me, his hat and his eyebrows white with snow.

  “Sooner or later my demands on our friendship will

  exhaust your patience.”

  “Nonsense,” I said. “Just tell me what the problem

  is.”

  “Well,” said Gideon, “I was to leave you in charge of

  Francois and his wife, who were my uncle’s servants.

  Unfortunately, when I went to the house this morning I

  found that Francois’s wife, Marie, had slipped on the icy

  front steps and had fallen some thirty feet onto the rocks

  and broken her legs. They are, I’m afraid, splintered very

  badly, and I really don’t hold out much hope for their

  being saved.”

  “Poor woman, how dreadful,” I exclaimed.

  “Yes,” Gideon continued. “O f course, Francois was

  nearly frantic when I got there, and so there was nothing

  for it but to drive them both to the hospital in Milau,

  which took me over two hours, hence the reason I was

  late meeting you.”

  “That doesn’t matter at all,” I said. “Of course you

  had to drive them to the hospital.”

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  “Yes, but it creates another problem as well,” said

  Gideon. “You see, none of the villagers liked my uncle,

  and Franfois and Marie were the only couple who would

  work for him. So with both of them in Milau, there is no

  one to look after you, at least for two or three days until

  Francois comes back.”

  “ My dear chap, don’t let that worry you.” I laughed. “I

  am quite used to fending for myself, I do assure you. If

  I have food and wine and a fire I will be very well found I

  promise you.”

  “Oh, you’ll have all that,” said Gideon. “The larder is

  well stocked, and down in the game room there is a

  haunch of venison, half a wild boar, some pheasants and

  partridge, and a few brace of wild duck. There is wine

  aplenty, since my uncle kept quite a good cellar, and the

  cellar is full of chestnut roots and pine logs, so you will

  be warm. You will also have for company the animals.”

  “Animals, what animals?” I asked, curious.

  “A small dog called Agrippa,” said Gideon, laughing,

  “a very large and idiotic cat called Clair de Lune, or

  Clair for short, a whole cage full of canaries and various

  finches, and an extremely old parrot called Octavius.”

  “A positive menagerie,” I exclaimed. “ It’s a good

  thing that I like animals.”

  “Seriously, Peter,” said Gideon, giving me one of his

  very penetrating looks, “are you sure you will be alright?

  It seems a terrible imposition to me.”

  “Nonsense,” I said heartily. “What are friends for?”

  The snow was now coming down with a vengeance and

  we could see only a yard or two beyond the horse’s ears,

  so dense were the whirling clouds of huge flakes. We had

  now entered one of the many tributary gorges that led

  into the Gorge du Tam proper. On our left the brown

  and black cliffs, dappled with patches of snow on sundry

  crevices and ledges, loomed over us, in places actually

  overhanging the narrow road. On our right the ground

  dropped away, almost sheer, five or six hundred feet into

  the gorge below where, through the windblown curtains

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  of snow, one could catch occasional glimpses of the green

  river, its tumbled rocks snow-wigged, their edges crusted

  with ice. The road was rough, snow and water worn, and

  in places covered with a sheet of ice that made the horse

  slip and stumble and slowed our progress. Once a small

  avalanche of snow slid down the cliff face with a hissing

  sound and thumped onto the road in front of us, making

  the horse shy so badly that Gideon had to fight to keep

  control
, and for several hair-raising minutes I feared that

  we, the dogcart and the terrified horse might slide over

  the edge of the gorge and plunge down into the river

  below. But eventually Gideon got it under control and

  we crawled along our way.

  At length the gorge widened a little, and presently we

  rounded a corner and there before us was the strange

  bulk of Gideon’s uncle’s house. It was a very extraordinary edifice and I feel I should describe it in some detail.

  To begin with, the whole thing was perched up on top of

  a massive rock that protruded from the river far below so

  that it formed what could only be described as an island,

  shaped not unlike an isosceles triangle, with the house on

  top. It was connected to the road by a massive and very

  old stone bridge. The tall outside walls of the house fell

  straight down to the rocks and river below, but as we

  crossed the bridge and drove under the huge arch,

  guarded by thick oak doors, we found that the house was

  built round a large center courtyard, cobblestoned and

  with a pond with a fountain in the middle. This last

  depicted a dolphin held up by cherubs, the whole thing

  polished with ice and with icicles hanging from it. All the

  many windows that looked down into the court were

  shuttered with a fringe of huge icicles hanging from

  every cornice. Between the windows were monstrous

  gargoyles depicting various forms of animal life, both

  known and unknown to science, each one seeming more

  malign than the last and their appearance not improved

  by the ice and snow that blurred their outlines so that

  they seemed to be peering at you from some snowy

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  ambush. As Gideon drew the horse to a standstill by the

  steps that led to the front door, we could hear the barking

  of the dog inside. My friend opened the front door with a

  large rusty key and immediately the dog tumbled out,

  barking vociferously and wagging its tail with pleasure.

  The large black-and-white cat was more circumspect and

  did not deign to come out into the snow but merely

  stood, arching its back and mewing, in the doorway.

  Gideon helped me carry my bags into the large marble

  hall, where a handsome staircase led to the upper floors

  of the house. All the pictures, mirrors and furniture were

  covered with dust sheets.

  “I am sorry about the covers,” said Gideon, and it

  seemed to me that as soon as he entered the house he

  became increasingly nervous and ill at ease. “I meant to

  remove them all this morning and make it more habitable for you, but what with one thing and another I did not manage it.”

  “Don’t worry,” I said, making a fuss over the dog and

  cat, who were both vying for my attention. “I shan’t be

  inhabiting all of the house, so I will just remove the

  sheets in those parts that I shall use.”

  “Yes, yes,” said Gideon, running his hands through his

  hair in a nervous fashion. “Your bed is made up . . . the

  bedroom is the second door on the left as you reach the

  top of the stairs. Now, come with me and I’ll show you

  the kitchen and cellar.”

  He led me across the hall to a door that was hidden

  under the main staircase. Opening this he made his way

  down broad stone steps that spiralled their way down

  into gloom. Presently we reached a passageway that led

  to a gigantic stone-flagged kitchen and, adjoining it,

  cavernous cellars and a capacious larder, cold as a

  glacier, with the carcasses of game, chicken and duck,

  and legs of lamb and saddles of beef hanging from hooks

  or lying on the marble shelves that ran around the walls.

  In the kitchen was a great range, each fire carefully laid,

  and on the great table in the center had been arranged

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  various commodities that Gideon thought I may need:

  rice, lentils as black as soot, potatoes, carrots and other

  vegetables in large baskets, pottery jars of butter and

  preserves, and a pile of freshly baked loaves. On the

  other side of the kitchen, opposite to the cellars and

  larder, lay the wine store, approached through a heavy

  door, bolted and padlocked. Obviously Gideon’s uncle

  had not trusted his staff when it came to alcoholic

  beverages. The cellar was small, but I saw at a glance that

  it contained some excellent vintages.

  “Do not stint yourself, Peter,” said Gideon. “There

  are some really quite nice wines in there and they will be

  some small compensation for staying in the gloomy place

  alone.”

  “You want me to spend my time in an inebriated

  state?” I laughed. “I would never get the books valued.

  But don’t worry, Gideon; I shall be quite alright. As I

  told you before, I like being on my own, and here I have

  food and wine enough for an army, plenty of fuel for the

  fire, a dog and a cat and birds to keep me company and a

  large and interesting library. What more could any man

  want?”

  “The books, by the way, are mainly in the Long

  Gallery, on the south side of the house. I won’t show it to

  you— it’s easy enough to find— but I really must be on

  my way,” said Gideon, leading the way up into the hall

  once more. He delved into his pocket and produced a

  huge bunch of ancient keys. “The ‘keys of the Kingdom,’ ” he said with a faint smile. “I don’t think anything is locked, but if it is, please open it. I will tell Francois that he is to come back here and look after you

  as soon as his wife is out of danger, and I myself will

  return in about four weeks’ time. By then you should

  have finished your task.”

  “Easily,” I said. “In fact, if I get it done before then I

  will send you a telegram.”

  “Seriously, Peter,” he said, taking my hand, “I am

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  really most deeply in your debt for what you are doing. I

  shall not forget it.”

  “Rubbish, my friend,” I said. “It gives me great

  pleasure to be of service to you.”

  I stood in the doorway of the house, the dog panting by

  my side, the cat arching itself round my legs and purring

  loudly, and watched Gideon get back into the dogcart,

  wrap the rug around himself and then flick the horses

  with the reins. As they broke into a trot and he steered

  them towards the entrance to the courtyard, he raised his

  whip in salute. He disappeared through the archway and

  very soon the sound of the hoof beats were muffled by

  the snow and soon faded altogether. Picking up the

  warm silky body of the cat and whistling to the dog who

  had chased the dogcart to the archway, barking exuberantly, I went back into the house and bolted the front door behind me.

  I decided that the first thing to do was to explore the

  house and ascertain where the various books were that I

  had come to work with, and thus to make up my mind

  which rooms I needed to open up. On a t
able in the hall I

  had spotted a large six-branched silver candelabra

  loaded with candles and a box of matches lying beside it.

  I decided to use this in my exploration since it would

  relieve me of the tedium of having to open and close

  innumerable shutters. So, lighting the candles and accompanied by the eager, bustling dog whose nails rattled on the bare floors like castanets, I started off. The whole

  of the ground floor consisted of three very large rooms

  and one smaller one, which comprised the drawing

  room, the dining room, a study and then this smaller

  salon. Strangely enough, this room— which I called the

  blue salon as it was decorated in various shades of blue

  and gold— was the only one that was locked, and it took

  me some time to find the right key for it. This salon

  formed one end of the house and so it was a long, narrow

  shoebox shape, with large windows at each end. The

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  door by which you entered was midway down one of the

  longer walls and hanging on the wall opposite was one of

  the biggest mirrors I have ever seen. It must have been

  fully nine feet high, stretching from floor level to almost

  the ceiling, and some thirty-five feet in length. The

  mirror itself was slightly tarnished, which gave it a

  pleasant bluish tinge, like the waters of a shallow lake,

  but it still reflected clearly and accurately. The whole was

  encompassed in a wide and very ornate gold frame,

  carved to depict various nymphs and satyrs, unicorns,

  griffons and other fabulous beasts. The frame in itself

  was a work of art. By seating oneself in one of the

  comfortable chairs that stood one on each side of the

  fireplace, one could see the whole room reflected in this

  remarkable mirror, and although the room was somewhat narrow, this gave one a great sense of space. Owing to the size, the convenience and— I must admit— the

  novelty of the room, I decided to make it my living room,

  and so in a very short space of time I had the dust covers

  off the furniture and a roaring blaze of chestnut roots in

  the hearth. Then I moved in the cage of finches and

  canaries and placed them at one end of the room

  together with Octavius, the parrot, who seemed pleased

  by the change, for he shuffled his feathers, cocked his

  head to one side and whistled a few bars of the “Marseillaise.” The dog and cat immediately stretched out in front of the blaze and fell into a contented sleep. Thus,