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

by Eliza Parsons

  Struck with terror, the servants eagerly crowded round her to know what she meant. "Ask no explanation! (she cried, in almost breathless agitation) a moment's delay may be fatal." The men no longer hesitated to obey her, and unable to endure her suspense till they returned, she went back with them to the monastery; but by the time she had reached it, she grew sick with apprehension that the ruffians had returned and finished their bloody work; and whilst the servants entered it, she was compelled to clasp her arms round a pillar at its door for support. Whilst she leaned here, a cry of horror reached her from the chapel, and her spirits grew fainter. "She is gone for ever!" she exclaimed, sinking upon the earth, no longer able to stand from the tremor that seized her. In a few minutes she heard the servants approaching; she then raised her head, and beheld two of them bearing out their lady. "Does she live?" asked Madeline.

  "Live, (repeated the weeping Agatha), yes, dear Mam'selle, she still lives, and notwithstanding this dreadful accident, will live, I trust, for many years to come."—Relieved from the horrible fears which had overwhelmed her, Madeline again recovered her strength, and was able immediately to return with the servants to the castle.

  By the time they reached it the Countess had regained her senses; and as soon as she was laid on her bed, she commanded, whoever went for a surgeon not, on any account whatsoever, to inform him for what purpose he was sent for till he came to the castle; and that at the peril of being dismissed from her service if they disobeyed her. Her domestics should strictly conceal what had befallen her from every one out of her house, assigning as a reason for this command, that if known, she should be teased by enquiries about it; but to Agatha and Madeline, it was evident it proceeded from a fear of having the ruffian detected if his atrocious crime was mentioned. The servants promised obedience to their lady, and two of the men directly set out for the nearest town to procure a surgeon, whilst another went to the convent for Father Bertrand, who on every emergency was the counsellor and consoler of the family; he came without delay, and the moment he entered the Countess's chamber, who had sent for him, she dismissed every other person from it.

  Nothing but the solemn promise which Madeline knew Agatha to have given, to conceal the author of the Countess's sufferings could now have prevented her from asking who he was. The more she reflected on the horrible affair, the more mysterious it appeared to her, and the more astonished and perplexed she felt. How strange that a woman of the Countess's benevolence, whose temper was gentleness itself, whose heart was the seat of charity, and whose liberal hand ever kept pace with the wishes of that heart, should have provoked the enmity of any one. Yet not enmity alone provoked the attempt at her life; her words in the chapel on first regaining her senses, declared its being also prompted by some view of self-interest.—This was another mystery to Madeline, for she knew of none but Monsieur and Madame D'Alembert, that could be materially benefited by the death of her benefactress.

  Agatha left her soon after they had quitted the Countess's room, to prepare things for her lady against the surgeon came. But Floretta continued with her, in hopes of having her curiosity, which exceeded both her sorrow and surprise, gratified by hearing the particulars of the attack made upon the Countess by the robber, as she and all the rest of the servants supposed the assassin to be.

  "Lord Mam'selle, (cried she, interrupting the deep reverie of Madeline) you must have been terribly frightened when you first beheld the villain. I protest it was well it was not I but Agatha who went with you, for I should certainly have dropped down dead at once upon the spot; I dare say he was a frightful looking creature."

  "I do not know, (said Madeline) for I did not see his face."

  "Lord, I am very sorry you did not, for then if you ever met him again, you might have sworn to him at once, and have had him taken up. Well, to be sure, I always thought my lady would come to some harm by going to that old ruin; I wish with all my soul it was all tumbled down, I don't know any thing it is fit for, but to enclose the dead or secret a robber;—many and many a time have I quaked with fear, lest my lady should have desired me to attend her to it. Certainly, 'tis a horrid thing to live in such a dismal place as we do; I dare say we shall all be murdered some night or other in our beds: we have nothing in the world to defend ourselves with, for the old guns are so rusty that I am sure it would only be wasting powder to try and do any thing with them. I think it would be a wise thing Mam'selle, if you would try and prevail on my lady, to send her jewels and plate away, for if the gang, to which no doubt the villain who attacked her in the chapel belongs, once heard a rumour of their being gone, and that they assuredly would from always having their spies about, they would never, I am sure, think it worth their while to break into the castle.

  "Well, many men many minds, and many women I suppose the same. For I am certain if I was my lady, I would never live with the fine fortune she has, amongst these dismal woods and mountains. No, no, Paris would be the place for my money."

  "Do you think Floretta, (asked Madeline, who sat as pale as death, and almost motionless) that the surgeon will soon arrive."

  "Why that depends, Mam'selle, (replied Floretta) upon the haste Antoine and Jerome make in going for him, and the haste he makes in coming back with them. Though upon reflection indeed, I should not be surprised if none of them ever reached the castle; for 'tis extremely probable they may all fall into the hands of the gang, who no doubt are lurking about the castle."

  "I have not a fear of that nature," said Madeline.

  "I am sure I hope mine may be an idle one (cried Floretta); poor fellows! they would die a melancholy death if such an accident befell them. Well, Mam'selle, I must now leave you; there is fortunately a sliding wainscot in my chamber, and I shall go directly and hide all my good clothes within it; I shall then try if I can't prevail on the men to see what can be done with the old fire arms. But after all, Mam'selle, (resumed she, after pausing a minute) if the rogues once broke into the house, what comfort could I receive from knowing my clothes were hid, for to be sure I should be killed as well as the rest of the family, and what avails fine clothes or money, if one has no life to enjoy them." She now retired, and Madeline remained alone in a state of the most dreadful disquietude, till the arrival of the surgeon. Father Bertrand then came to her, and Madeline eagerly enquired what he thought about her friend.

  "With respect to her wound (replied he) I cannot give an opinion, as I left her room the moment the surgeon entered it; but with respect to her mind I think her an angel."

  It instantly struck Madeline, that to this venerable man the Countess had imparted every secret of her heart, and that his warm, his energetic praise, proceeded from admiration at her mercy and forbearance, in not attempting to punish the monster who had injured her. "To a much later date (he continued) may heaven preserve the life of a woman, whose charities and example are so beneficial to mankind."—"Oh! long, long may she be spared (cried Madeline, with uplifted hands) who amongst the children of distress would have such reason to mourn her death as I should."

  Father Bertrand informed her, that as soon as he had seen the surgeon, he should go and write to Madame D'Alembert to come directly to the chateau.

  "Poor lady! (cried Madeline, with a sigh) how dreadfully shocked and affected she will be to hear of the injury her mother has received!"

  "I do not mean to inform her of it," replied he.

  "But when she comes to the chateau, she cannot be kept in ignorance of it," cried Madeline.

  "Such precautions (said the Father) will be used, that even then she will not know it. The sight of her amiable and beloved child will, I trust, have a happy effect upon the estimable mother."

  The surgeon now made his appearance; the faltering accents of Madeline were unequal to the enquiry her heart dictated; but Father Bertrand, more composed, soon learned, that the Countess's wound was not dangerous. "My principal fears, (said the surgeon) arise from the fever with which she is threatened, in consequence of the agitation of her mind."
He then mentioned his intention of continuing at the castle till he had dressed her wound the next morning.

  Madeline, no longer able to control her strong anxiety to be with her friend, and certain that Agatha would have every proper attention paid to him, now bade him and Father Bertrand good night, and repaired to the chamber of the Countess, where she resolved to continue till morning. All was quietness within it, for the Countess, exhausted by the pain she had suffered during the dressing of her wound, and her long conversation preceding it with Father Bertrand, had fallen into a slumber; and her attendants, Agatha and Floretta, fearful of disturbing her, would not move;—the latter, however, could not avoid whispering to Madeline, that she had prevailed on the men to collect some of the fire-arms, and that they had promised to double-bar all the doors.

  Deep groans frequently escaped the Countess, but she continued tolerably quiet for about two hours; she then, in a weak voice, called for drink; which the ready hand of Madeline instantly presented to her.

  "Why, my love (said the Countess, as Madeline, bending over her, raised her languid head), why do I see you here?"

  "Ah! Madam (said Madeline), the only comfort my heart can know is in watching by you."

  "I thank you for your tenderness (replied the Countess); but I must now insist on your retiring to bed: nay, do not attempt to refuse doing so (seeing Madeline about speaking); I will not go to sleep (and want of rest you may be sure will injure me), till you leave me."

  Those words conquered all opposition on the part of Madeline; and, after kissing her benefactress's hand, she withdrew, though with the greatest reluctance, to her chamber. She could not bring herself to go to bed, lest she should not in a moment, if called upon, be ready to attend her friend; she took off her torn garments, and putting on a wrapper, lay down; but though fatigued to a degree, her mind was too much agitated, too full of horror, to permit her to sleep: and, after passing a few restless hours, she arose as soon as it was light.

  CHAPTER VI

  Let's talk of graves, and worms, and epitaphs.

  Madeline rose with a heaviness of heart which left her scarcely power to move; the day was as gloomy as her mind, and added, perhaps, by its melancholy to her's:—a slow, but penetrating, rain was falling, and the cattle that grazed upon the lawn were dripping with wet, and retiring to the most sheltered parts of the wood:—the waters of the lake looked black and troubled, nor did any brightness in the sky give a promise of a finer day. To complete the dejection of Madeline, on going to the dressing-room adjoining the Countess's chamber, she was informed by Agatha, whom, with Father Bertrand, she found there, that soon after she had left the Countess, she had had a fit of the most alarming nature. "I directly called the surgeon (proceeded Agatha), and he sat with her the remainder of the night, during which she had many returns of it: he has already dressed her wound, being under a necessity of departing at an early hour, and he says it bears a much more dangerous appearance than it did at first. Her fever too is augmented; but he dreads nothing so much as a return of the fits, which, in her present exhausted state, are, he says, enough to kill her."

  "Oh! why, why (cried Madeline, whose agonies, at hearing this melancholy account, were inexpressible), why was I not called when so dreadful a change took place?"

  "At first we were really too much confused to think about you (said Agatha); and when my Lady recovered, and we would have gone for you, she commanded us not to disturb you."

  Madeline burst into tears at this proof of her friend's consideration for her amidst her own sufferings.

  "Be composed, my dear young Lady (said Father Bertrand), Providence may perhaps produce another change more favourable to our wishes."

  Madeline now asked if she might not see the Countess. Agatha answered in the affirmative. She accordingly entered the chamber. The foot-curtains of the bed, and those of one of the windows, were open, and Madeline had thus sufficient light to perceive the striking alteration which had taken place in the countenance of her friend; her lips were livid, her eyes were sunk, and a ghastly paleness overspread her face. The tears of Madeline increased; and when the Countess, whose heavy eyes opened on hearing her light step, called her to her bed-side, and, extending her hand, asked her how she was? deep convulsive sobs prevented all reply.

  "Pray moderate this concern (said the Countess); 'tis true it excites my gratitude, but it also gives me unutterable pain;—the soothing attention of a friend is the best cordial I can receive, but that cordial you will not be able to administer if you yield to those emotions."

  "Oh! Madam (cried Madeline, sinking on her knees, and pressing the cold hand of the Countess between her's), Oh! Madam, I will try to repress them; I will try to do every thing which can give me the smallest power of serving you."

  "I am convinced you will, my love (replied the Countess), and the conviction is soothing to my sick heart. Oh! Madeline, 'tis not my frame, so much as my mind, that is disordered."

  Weakness precluded farther conversation for the present, and Madeline seated herself beside the bed, nor stirred till absolutely commanded by the Countess to go into the next room to breakfast. She took but little, and quickly resumed her place by her friend.

  About the middle of the day, the Countess had another fit. Apprised of its danger, the distress and terror of Madeline almost reduced her to the same extremity, and some of the servants were compelled to carry her from the room till their Lady had recovered. On regaining her senses, the Countess ordered Father Bertrand to be sent for; and, on his arrival, she dismissed every one else from the room. While he was shut up with her Ladyship, dinner was served in the dressing-room for Madeline, but served in vain; the grief and anxiety of her mind would neither permit her to eat nor drink, though pressed to do so by the faithful Agatha and the voluble Floretta, both of whom, but particularly the former, had a very sincere regard for her. She was informed by the latter on Agatha's quitting the room, as a great secret, that the surgeon had been requested by the Countess to bring a notary with him the next morning from the town where he lived, in order to make her will. "We all guess, Mam'selle (said Floretta), that 'tis on your account she is going to make one."

  "Heaven grant (cried Madeline with fervour), that from her own hand alone I may ever receive any mark of her regard."

  "Why to be sure, Mam'selle (said Floretta), that might be as pleasant a way as the other; but 'tis a comfort at any rate to be certain of it. One way or other, I am a great advocate for people making their wills; for you must know, Mam'selle, I lost a great deal by an old uncle of mine in Burgundy dying without one. He always promised to leave me every thing he had; but he was always of a shilly-shally disposition: so death whipped him off without his putting his promise into execution, and his property was then divided amongst all his relations. Had he kept his promise, little as folks think of me now, I can assure you, Mam'selle, I should have been an heiress, for he owned two very fine vineyards and an excellent house, and several large flocks of sheep; and with all those I think I might have held up my head pretty high."

  "I think you hold it up high enough already," said Agatha, who had entered before the conclusion of the speech.

  "Not higher (replied Floretta pertly), than I have a right to do."

  "That point might be disputed," cried Agatha.

  "Oh, not at present," said Madeline, to whom every sound was irksome, that did not convey some tidings of the Countess.

  Father Bertrand continued a considerable time with the Countess; and when he left her, he passed hastily through the dressing-room. Madeline then returned to the chamber, followed by Agatha, and resumed her station. The Countess did not appear worse; and desired they might be left together.

  "You have heard, my love, I suppose (said she, turning her languid eyes upon Madeline as Agatha closed the door after her), that Madame D'Alembert is sent for."

  "I have, Madam," replied Madeline.

  "I hope (resumed the Countess) she may not arrive too late."

  "Heaven f
orbid! (cried Madeline shuddering); I trust when she arrives, she will find your Ladyship pretty well recovered."

  "Believe me, my dear (said the Countess), 'tis on her account I principally desire to recover; she still chains me to a world, to which I am in a great degree grown indifferent, from the loss of several of my dearest connexions, as well as many other heavy calamities;—but for her, I should look forward to the idea of quitting it with pleasure, as I should to a release from pain and trouble—should consider it with delight, as a means of re-uniting me to those whom, while on earth, I must for ever mourn.

  "For the sake of my beloved child I wish to be spared a little longer; with increasing years, she may perhaps acquire that fortitude which I fear she would at present want to support my loss. But should my wish be disappointed—should she arrive too late to receive my last blessing, my admonition against a sorrow, not only useless, but inimical to every duty—to you, Madeline, I entrust that blessing, that admonition for her; certain that, as one will be delivered by solemnity, so the other will be enforced with sympathy. Should it be my destiny never more to open my eyes upon her in this world, to you, Madeline, I leave the task of consoling her;—a task not unacceptable, I am convinced, to your grateful nature, and one well suited to its gentleness. She is already prepared to love and to esteem you; and, from a predilection in your favour, will listen patiently to all you say. Represent, therefore, to her (if indeed it happens), that the event she regrets, could not, according to the laws of human nature, have been much longer delayed. And, Oh! Madeline, I adjure you, never let her know how it was accelerated."