The Complete Northanger Horrid Novel Collection (9 Books of Gothic Romance and Horror)

by Eliza Parsons

  They now separated, and Matilda found no possibility of gratifying her curiosity, Joseph's oath being against her, and she too much respected her friend to urge a violation of it on any grounds.

  She returned to her apartment and amused herself for a short time with a book; but the agitation of her mind would not admit of entertainment; she threw it aside and called for Albert; he instantly attended her. "My good friend," said she, "I propose remaining here a week or ten days, perhaps not so long, to refresh myself; how far are we from Zurich?" "About a day and a half's journey, not much more." "Well then, Albert, we will wait a few days until I am more in health unless you are very anxious to get there." "Me, my dear young lady, Lord bless you, I want to go only on your account, it's all one to me where I am, if you are safe." Matilda was pleased at his answer and expressed her gratitude for his kindness in such terms as brought tears into his eyes. "God bless you, madam, I"ll go with you all the world over." He bowed and retired. "Good creature!" exclaimed Matilda, "heaven has blessed you with an honest feeling heart; how much superior are thy sentiments to those of better understanding and cultivated talents, when their minds are depraved by the indulgence of irregular passions!"

  She sought to compose her spirits, and wait with patience for the expected letter, which she thought must determine her future destiny. She had recommended to Albert not to stir from the house, lest he might be seen by any one that knew him in passing the road, which caution she observed herself.

  The following morning after breakfast she repaired to the library; ah! thought she, what transport, if I should find the dear lady returned! but no such happiness awaited her; she entered the apartments with a beating heart, and remained near ten minutes in the library before Joseph made his appearance. "Well, Joseph," said she, hastily, on his entering the room, "how are things below stairs?" "All the same as they were yesterday, madam; the doors were fast, and every thing as I left them." "I have a very great desire," said she, "to see that room where the inscriptions are, and which I find is locked up, can you open it?" "Yes, I can; the key is below, but if I may speak my mind, I think you had better not go." "Why so," demanded she. "Why, because, to my thinking, it's a dismal place, and will put me in mind of sad doings." "You make me more curious - pray indulge me, Joseph?" "Well, madam, I"ll go with you, but 'tis sore against my mind." He went down, and soon returned with two keys, but with evident reluctance in his countenance; "I believe one of these is the key," said he; "there used to hang three upon the peg the other is gone, or left in the closet door perhaps yet: I don't think my lady ever came up to open these rooms." Whilst he was talking he was trying the keys; neither of them would open the first door, the second he unlocked presently; they entered, it was a dressing-room, handsomely furnished; they tried the door which opened into the other room, it was fastened on the inside. "This is very strange," said Joseph; "I will go down again and see if I can find the other key, if you are not afraid to stay alone." "Not in the least," said Matilda, who was examining the room very carefully. The windows were very high and grated with bars of iron, the hangings were dark green damask, every thing was handsome, yet the grated windows made it appear gloomy.

  Joseph now returned with a countenance of horror and dismay. "O, my lady, I can find no key, but looking about the kitchen, behind the door I found a large knife, all over blood." "Gracious heaven!" cried Matilda, "what is it you tell me; I tremble with apprehension; let us force that door, at all events." "I intend it," answered Joseph, "and have brought a bar with me for the purpose." The door in the dressing-room being the slightest, after a good deal of labour, the old man burst it open. What a scene presented itself! a woman on the bed weltering in blood! Both uttered a cry of horror, and ran to the bed; it was the elderly attendant of the lady dead, by a wound in her throat.

  The sight was too much for poor Matilda, she sunk fainting into a chair; Joseph was frightened out of his wits; he flew down as fast as possible, and returned with water, he bathed her face and hands and she revived.

  "O, Joseph!" cried she, "the lady - the dear lady! what is become of her in such bloody hands?" "The Lord only knows," answered he, looking with terror towards the closet. Directed by his eye Matilda. arose and walked to the door; the key was in it; she unlocked it, and was about to enter, when casting her eyes on the floor, she saw it was all over stained with blood, dried into the floor - she started, and involuntarily retreated, but Joseph, who had looked round said, "You may enter, madam, nothing is here." With trembling steps, she entered the closet, her heart beating with terror; it was a large light closet, with a very high window, grated like the other, hung with dark green stuff; two stools covered with the same, and a large wardrobe in it. On the floor was plainly mark'd the shape of a hand and fingers traced in blood, which seemed to have flowed in great quantities. "Good heavens!" cried she, "some person was doubtless murdered here too." "Intended to have been murdered," answered Joseph, wiping his eyes, "but thank God she escaped then." He said no more. Matilda, extremely terrified, hastened out of the closet, when the poor creature on the bed met her eyes. "O, Joseph!" exclaimed she, turning with horror from the scene, "what is to be done with this unfortunate woman?" "Dear, my lady, I can't tell; I have neither strength to dig a grave, nor can I carry her down." "It is plain," said Matilda, "the wretches who have carried of the lady, murdered the servant to prevent discovery." "I fear," cried Joseph, "my turn will be next - my mouth will be stopped from the same fear." "God forbid," said Matilda; "but as I have now no hopes of finding the lady, and it will be dangerous to entrust another person with the secret, I think, Joseph, if we can find a small trunk or chest, to fill it with the linen and necessaries your lady offered me, and convey it to one of the rooms in the other wing; I will write a line and leave it on the table: yet, on second thought, it will be useless, should she escape, she can never think of coming here again: we will therefore lock and bolt up every door; you can take the keys of the places below to your own kitchen, and now and then come through the passage to see if all is safe." Poor Joseph, with a heavy heart, agreed to this.

  They had now stayed some time, and thought it best to separate and meet again after dinner: they gladly left these horrid rooms, and returned by different ways to their own habitation.

  When Matilda came to her apartment, the terror of her mind was unspeakable; all she had seen, all she had heard crowded upon her remembrance, and gave her the most horrible ideas. She could not think Joseph's fears unreasonable if he was supposed to be in the secret, his life was not safe, and in his fate the whole family might be involved: "What can I - what ought I to do?" cried she, shedding a torrent of tears, "no friend to advise me, no certainty of a place to receive me, if I go from hence, and a probability, that, if I stay, I may be murdered; - what a dreadful alternative is mine!" After giving free vent to her tears, she endeavoured to compose her mind, by addressing the Almighty Power to protect her.

  Sweet are the consolations which religion affords! In all our difficulties and distresses, when supplicating the Supreme Being with fervor and a perfect reliance on his goodness, we feel a resignation and confidence, that enable us to support present evils, and look forward with hope to happier days. Such were the feelings of Matilda: she rose from her knees with serenity; she recovered resolution and firmness; "I will not despair," said she, "the Almighty will preserve a friendless orphan, unconscious of guilt, that relies on his protection." She dried up her tears, and met the family as usual.

  When dinner was over, she returned to the library; Joseph soon joined her, they went down to the deserted parlour, Matilda could not help shuddering: Joseph found a trunk, the drawers were opened, and she took out such necessaries of every kind as she thought she must want, yet left plenty behind. In one drawer she found a purse, with a good deal of money in it; here she hesitated; the lady had told her she would supply her, yet she knew not to what amount: Joseph persuaded her to take the whole, "Be assured, madam, my dear lady will never return," cried he. After
much hesitation and reluctance, she at length divided it, and then taking a pen and ink, she took an inventory of the clothes and money, with an acknowledgement to repay it when able, and locked it in the drawer with the purse.

  Having packed up those few things she had selected, and requested Joseph would take it, by and bye, to a room near hers, she said, "I cannot be easy under the idea, that the poor woman above should lie there to decay; is there no way to place her in a decent manner?" After some pause Joseph said, "there is a large chest in the back-kitchen, with old trumpery in it, if I take them out, perhaps we might get the body there, but I fear I have not strength to bring it down." "Let us see the chest first," replied Matilda, "and then we will consider of the other." She followed him into the back-kitchen, saw the chest, and its contents were soon tumbled into one corner. "Now, Joseph," said she, "I will assist you to bring the body down." "You, my lady!" cried he, staring at her. "Yes," rejoined she; "let us go up." She led the way and he followed; having unlocked and entered the room she could not help shuddering; yet took more observation of the gloomy apartment than she had been enabled to do in the morning; and recollecting what she had heard about inscriptions; she got upon a chair, and from thence to a kind of window seat very high from the ground: standing on this she examined the window; it looked out towards a sort of battlement, which surrounded the back part of the castle, the north wind blew full upon it, the only prospects were the walls and distant mountains. On the window she saw several lines apparently cut with a diamond; in one place she read,

  I am dumb, as solemn sorrow ought to be;

  Could my griefs speak, my tale I "d tell to thee.

  In another place these lines were written;

  A wife, a mother - sweet endearing ties!

  Torn from my arms, and heedless of my cries;

  Here I am doomed to waste my wretched life,

  No more a mother - a discarded wife.

  And again, in another place,

  Would you be happy, fly this hated room,

  For here the lost Victoria meets her doom

  O sweet oblivion calm my tortur'd mind

  To grief, to sorrow, to despair consigned.

  Let gentle sleep my heavy eye-lids close,

  Or friendly death, the cure for all our woes,

  By one kind stroke, give lasting sure repose.

  Several other lines, expressive of misery though not of poetical talents, were written in different places, that proved the unhappy writer sought to amuse her painful ideas by her melancholy employment.

  Poor Matilda, concluded the wretched victim to some merciless man was sacrificed in that closet where the hand was deeply imprinted in blood on the floor; she viewed it with horror, and getting down from the window; as Joseph had wrapped the body in the counterpane which lay on one side; he tried to lift it, and found the weight less than he expected, "I can carry it myself, my lady," and crept out of the room with it. Matilda, shutting the door hastily, followed him. They deposited the unfortunate woman in the chest, which was fastened down, and without speaking a single word returned to the parlour: here Matilda burst into tears, her resolution and spirits began to fail; the scenes she had witnessed, added to her own distresses, were indeed sufficient to wound and terrify a stouter heart than this young creature's; little acquainted with the calamities of life, she had flown from approaching danger, without the least idea of the miseries she might encounter in her journey! Joseph sympathized in her sorrow, and waited without speaking "till she grew more composed: "Come, dear lady, let us leave this sorrowful place; I will take some oil and trim the lamps, for I shall come here every day, though, God knows, with very little hope of ever seeing my dear mistress again." Matilda, oppressed and languid, rose from her chair; he followed her with the box to the apartment next hers, and having deposited it, returned to lock up the doors and trim the lamps in the passage, assuring her he would call daily at the post to seek for letters, as all came directed to him.

  She threw herself on the bed after his departure, and gave her mind up to the most melancholy reflections; "Good heavens!" cried she, "what scenes of murder and atrocious crimes must have been perpetrated in this castle; how great is my curiosity to know more of the unhappy Victoria so recently the cause of joy and sorrow, and her unfortunate attendant, but their fate is enveloped in mystery and horror, what mine may be, heaven only knows."

  When it grew near dark she went upstairs, but so altered by the agitations of her mind, that Bertha started and exclaimed, "Dear, my lady, are you ill." "I am not very well," replied Matilda; "I shall take an early supper, and retire to bed." The poor women, with great nimbleness prepared her supper, of which her guest ate but sparingly, and after sending for Albert, who appeared very sorrowful for her indisposition; she comforted him by an assurance of its being very trifling, and that she should be better after a night's rest; which was indeed verified; for having commended herself to the protection of the Father to the fatherless, she dropped into a soft slumber, and arose the following morning quite refreshed and composed.

  For several days nothing particular occurred; her friends at the cottage called often to see her; Joseph visited the deserted apartments every day, all remained quiet; the uncertainty of the lady's fate gave them great disquietude, but there was no hope of obtaining any information of an event which seemed buried in obscurity. One day when Joseph returned from town, he whispered the lady to go into the garden; she walked thither it directly, he soon followed, and delivered to her the expected letter from the Marchioness; she made no scruple of opening it. After lamenting the unhappy situation of her sister, and expressing her wishes that she would quit her gloomy abode, she thanks her most cordially for her recommendation of the young lady, whose company will be highly acceptable to her, and assures her sister she will endeavour, by every kindness and attention in her power, to make the young lady's situation agreeable, and shall esteem her acceptance of their protection as a very particular favor. She admires her resolution in visiting the apartments in the castle, and is only sorry her sister cannot participate in the pleasures of society. She concludes with requesting the young lady may join them at Paris, soon as possible, within a fortnight; and assure herself that her old and faithful servant will be received and retained in the family with kindness and ease to himself. This letter, so gratifying to the wishes of Matilda, was read with transport; she determined to set forwards on her journey within two or three days. Joseph undertook to procure her a carriage from the next town, and she intended leaving the horse for his use, and take Albert in the chaise with her. The next consideration was in what manner to account to the latter for her sudden intention of going to Paris, and his reception in the family of the Marquis: after some deliberation, she returned to the kitchen, and calling Albert aside, told him, by the most fortunate and unexpected intelligence she had heard of an asylum for herself and him, at Paris, in the house of a worthy family, where she hoped they should both meet rest and happiness; and that it was her design to proceed on her journey the third day from that. Albert stared with wonder, but never interrupted her "till she stopped speaking, then, in a hesitating manner, "Paris is a long journey - I have no friends there; are you sure, madam?" "Yes, Albert," said she, "I am very sure we shall find friends there to receive us; I cannot explain every thing to you now, some time hence perhaps you shall be informed of every thing." "God bless you, my dear young lady!" cried he, "if you are satisfied I am sure I ought to be so, and will go with you when and wherever you please." She was affected by his love and confidence; she assured him, she never should forget the obligations she owed to him, and that his ease and tranquillity would ever be her first care. The old man hurried from her with tears in his eyes. Bertha was next informed of her intended departure, and was truly sorry, because, as she said, "twas comfortable to have some kind body in that lonely place, and because the lady having plenty of money, they had very good living now, which, to say truth, she was sorry to lose. The day previous to her departure
she sent for Pierre and Jaqueline: the honest couple were vexed to hear she was about to leave them. She gave them some money, and assured both families, whenever she had it in her power, she would remember their kindness and reward it in a more ample manner than she now could do They bestowed a thousand blessings on her, and declared she had made them rich for life.