Wylder's Hand

by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu

  CHAPTER XVI.

  'JENNY, PUT THE KETTLE ON.'

  Old Lady Chelford, having despatched a sharp and unceremonious message toher young kinswoman, absent without leave, warning her, in effect, thatif she returned to the drawing-room it would be to preside, alone, overgentlemen, departed, somewhat to our secret relief.

  Upon this, on Lord Chelford's motion, in our forlorn condition, we wentto the billiard-room, and there, under the bright lights, and the gayinfluence of that wonderful game, we forgot our cares, and becameexcellent friends apparently--'cuts,' 'canons,' 'screws,' 'misses,''flukes'--Lord Chelford joked, Wylder 'chaffed,' even Lake seemed toenjoy himself; and the game proceeded with animation and no lack oflaughter, beguiling the watches of the night; and we were all amazed, atlength, to find how very late it was. So we laid down our cues, with thecustomary ejaculations of surprise.

  We declined wine and water, and all other creature comforts. Wylder andLake had a walk before them, and we bid Lord Chelford 'good-night' in thepassage, and I walked with them through the deserted and nearly darkenedrooms.

  Our talk grew slow, and our spirits subsided in this changed andtenebrose scenery. The void and the darkness brought back, I suppose, myrecollection of the dubious terms on which these young men stood, and afeeling of the hollowness and delusion of the genial hours just passedunder the brilliant lights, together with an unpleasant sense ofapprehension.

  On coming out upon the door-steps we all grew silent.

  The moon was low, and its yellow disk seemed, as it sometimes does,dilated to a wondrous breadth, as its edge touched the black outline ofthe distant woods. I half believe in presentiments, and I felt one now,in the chill air, the sudden silence, and the watchful gaze of the moon.I suspect that Wylder and Lake, too, felt something of the same ominousqualm, for I thought their faces looked gloomy in the light, as theystood together buttoning their loose wrappers and lighting their cigars.

  With a 'good-night, good-night,' we parted, and I heard their retreatingsteps crunching along the walk that led to Redman's Hollow, and by MissRachel's quiet habitation. I heard no talking, such as comes betweenwhiffs with friendly smokers, side by side; and, silent as mutes at afuneral, they walked on, and soon the fall of their footsteps was heardno more, and I re-entered the hall and shut the door. The level moonlightwas shining through the stained heraldic window, and fell bright on theportrait of Uncle Lorne, at the other end, throwing a patch of red, likea stain, on one side of its pale forehead.

  I had forgot, at the moment, that the ill-omened portrait hung there, anda sudden horror smote me. I thought of what my vision said of the 'bloodupon my forehead,' and, by Jove! there it was!

  At this moment the large white Marseilles waistcoat of grave Mr. Larcomappeared, followed by a tall powdered footman, and their candles andbusiness-like proceedings frightened away the phantoms. So I withdrew tomy chamber, where, I am glad to say, I saw nothing of Uncle Lorne.

  Miss Lake, as she drove that night toward Gylingden, said little to thevicar's wife, whose good husband had been away to Friars, making asick-call, and she prattled on very merrily about his frugal little teaawaiting his late return, and asked her twice on the way home whether itwas half-past nine, for she did not boast a watch; and in the midst ofher prattle was peeping at the landmarks of their progress.

  'Oh, I'm so glad--here's the finger post, at last!' and then--'Well, herewe are at the "Cat and Fiddle;" I thought we'd never pass it.'

  And, at last, the brougham stopped at the little garden-gate, at the farend of the village; and the good little mamma called to hermaid-of-all-work from the window--

  'Has the master come yet, Becky?'

  'No, Ma'am, please.'

  And I think she offered up a little thanksgiving, she so longed to givehim his tea herself; and then she asked--

  'Is our precious mannikin asleep?' Which also being answered happily, asit should be, she bid her fussy adieux, with a merry smile, and hurried,gabbling amicably with her handmaid, across the little flower-garden; andMiss Lake was shut in and drove on alone, under the thick canopy of oldtrees, and up the mill-road, lighted by the flashing lamps, to her ownlittle precincts, and was, in turn, at home--solitary, triste, but stillher home.

  'Get to your bed, Margery, child, you are sleepy,' said the young ladykindly to her queer little maid-of-honour. Rachel was one of thosepersons who, no matter what may be upon their minds, are quicklyimpressible by the scenes in which they find themselves. She stepped intoher little kitchen--always a fairy kitchen, so tiny, so white, soraddled, and shining all over with that pleasantest of alleffulgence--burnished tins, pewters, and the homely decorations of thedresser--and she looked all round and smiled pleasantly, and kissed oldTamar, and said--

  'So, my dear old fairy, here's your Cinderella home again from the ball,and I've seen nothing so pretty as this since I left Redman's Farm. Howwhite your table is, how nice your chairs; I wish you'd change with meand let me be cook week about; and, really the fire is quite pleasantto-night. Come, make a cup of tea, and tell us a story, and frighten meand Margery before we go to our beds. Sit down, Margery, I'm only here bypermission. What do you mean by standing?' And the young lady, with alaugh, sat down, looking so pleased, and good-natured, and merry, thateven old Tamar was fain to smile a glimmering smile; and little Margeryactively brought the tea-caddy; and the kettle, being in a skittishsinging state, quickly went off in a boil, and Tamar actually made tea inher brown tea-pot.

  'Oh, no; the delf cups and saucers;--it will be twice as good in them;'and as the handsome mistress of the mansion, sitting in the deal chair,loosened her cloak and untied her bonnet, she chatted away, to theedification of Margery and the amusement of both.

  This little extemporised bivouac, as it were, with her domestics,delighted the young belle. Vanity of vanities, as Mr. Thackeray and KingSolomon cry out in turn. Silver trays and powdered footmen, and Utrecht,velvet upholstery--miserable comforters! What saloon was ever so cheeryas this, or flashed all over in so small a light so splendidly, oryielded such immortal nectar from chased teapot and urn, as this brewedin brown crockery from the roaring kettle?

  So Margery, sitting upon her stool in the background--for the Queen hadsaid it, and sit she must--and grinning from ear to ear, in a great haloof glory, partook of tea.

  'Well, Tamar, where's your story?' said the young lady.

  'Story! La! bless you, dear Miss Radie, where should I find a story? Myold head's a poor one to remember,' whimpered white Tamar.

  'Anything, no matter what--a ghost or a murder.'

  Old Tamar shook her head.

  'Or an elopement?'

  Another shake of the head.

  'Or a mystery--or even a dream?'

  'Well--a dream! Sometimes I do dream. I dreamed how Master Stanley wascoming, the night before.'

  'You did, did you? Selfish old thing! and you meant to keep it all toyourself. What was it?'

  Tamar looked anxiously and suspiciously in the kitchen fire, and placedher puckered hand to the side of her white linen cap.

  'I dreamed, Ma'am, the night before he came, a great fellow was at thehall-door.'

  'What! here?'

  'Yes, Ma'am, this hall-door. So muffled up I could not see his face; andhe pulls out a letter all over red.'

  'Red?'

  'Aye, Miss; a red letter.'

  'Red ink?'

  'No, Miss, red _paper_, written with black, and directed for you.'

  'Oh!'

  'And so, Miss, in my dream, I gave it you in the drawing-room; and youopened it, and leaned your hand upon your head, sick-like, reading it. Inever saw you read a letter so serious-like before. And says you to me,Miss, "It's all about Master Stanley; he is coming." And sure enough,here he was quite unexpected, next morning.'

  'And was there no more?' asked Miss Lake.

  'No more, Miss. I awoke just then.'

  'It _is_ odd,' said Miss Lake, with a little laugh. 'Had you beenthinking of him lately?'

&n
bsp; 'Not a bit, Ma'am. I don't know when.'

  'Well, it certainly is _very_ odd.'

  At all events, it had glanced upon a sensitive recollection unexpectedly.The kitchen was only a kitchen now; and the young lady, on a sudden,looked thoughtful--perhaps a little sad. She rose; and old Tamar got upbefore her, with her scared, secret look, clothed in white--the witch,whose word had changed all, and summoned round her those shapes, whichthrew their indistinct shadows on the walls and faces around.

  'Light the candles in the drawing-room, Margery, and then, child, go toyour bed,' said the young lady, awakening from an abstraction. 'I don'tmind dreams, Tamar, nor fortune-tellers--I've dreamed so many gooddreams, and no good ever came of them. But talking of Stanley reminds meof trouble and follies that I can't help, or prevent. He has left thearmy, Tamar, and I don't know what his plans are.'

  'Ah! poor child; he was always foolish and changeable, and a deal tooinnocent for them wicked officer-gentlemen; and I'm glad he's not amongthem any longer to learn bad ways--I am.'

  So, the drawing-room being prepared, Rachel bid Tamar and little Margerygood-night, and the sleepy little handmaid stumped off to her bed; andwhite old Tamar, who had not spoken so much for a month before, put onher solemn round spectacles, and by her dipt candle read her chapter inthe ponderous Bible she had thumbed so well, and her white lips told overthe words as she read them in silence.

  Old Tamar, I always thought, had seen many untold things in her day, andsome of her recollections troubled her, I dare say; and she held hertongue, and knitted her white worsteds when she could sit quiet--whichwas most hours of the day; and now and then when evil remembrances,maybe, gathered round her solitude, she warned them off with that book ofpower--so that my recollection of her is always the same white-clad,cadaverous old woman, with a pair of barnacles on her nose, and her lookof secrecy and suffering turned on the large print of that worn volume,or else on the fumbling-points of her knitting-needles.

  It was a small house, this Redman's Farm, but very silent, for all that,when the day's work was over; and very solemn, too, the look-out from thewindow among the colonnades of tall old trees, on the overshadowed earth,and through them into deepest darkness; the complaining of the lonelystream far down is the only sound in the air.

  There was but one imperfect vista, looking down the glen, and thisafforded no distant view--only a downward slant in the near woodland, anda denser background of forest rising at the other side, and to-nightmistily gilded by the yellow moon-beams, the moon herself unseen.

  Rachel had opened her window-shutters, as was her wont when the moon wasup, and with her small white hands on the window-sash, looked into thewooded solitudes, lost in haunted darkness in every direction but one,and there massed in vaporous and discoloured foliage, hardly moredistinct, or less solemn.

  'Poor old Tamar says her prayers, and reads her Bible; I wish _I_ could.How often I wish it. That good, simple vicar--how unlike his brother--iswiser, perhaps, than all the shrewd people that smile at him. He used totalk to me; but I've lost that--yes--I let him understand I did not carefor it, and so that good influence is gone from me--graceless creature.No one seemed to care, except poor old Tamar, whether I ever said aprayer, or heard any good thing; and when I was no more than ten yearsold, I refused to say my prayers for her. My poor father. Well, Heavenhelp us all.'

  So she stood in the same sad attitude, looking out upon the shadowyscene, in a forlorn reverie.

  Her interview with Dorcas remained on her memory like an odd, clear,half-horrible dream. What a dazzling prospect it opened for Stanley; whata dreadful one might it not prepare for Dorcas. What might not arise fromsuch a situation between Stanley and Mark Wylder, each in his way aworthy representative of the ill-conditioned and terrible race whoseblood he inherited? Was this doomed house of Brandon never to know reposeor fraternity?

  Was it credible? Had it actually occurred, that strange confession ofDorcas Brandon's? Could anything be imagined so mad--so unaccountable?She reviewed Stanley in her mind's eye. She was better acquainted,perhaps, with his defects than his fascinations, and too familiar withboth to appreciate at all their effect upon a stranger.

  'What can she see in him? There's nothing remarkable in Stanley, poorfellow, except his faults. There are much handsomer men than he, and manyas amusing--and he with no estate.'

  She had heard of charms and philtres. How could she account for thisdesperate hallucination?

  Rachel was troubled by a sort of fear to-night, and the low fever of anundefined expectation was upon her. She turned from the window, intendingto write two letters, which she had owed too long--young ladies'letters--for Miss Lake, like many of her sex, as I am told, had severallittle correspondences on her hands; and as she turned, with a start, shesaw old Tamar standing in the door-way, looking at her.

  'Tamar!'

  'Yes, Miss Rachel.'

  'Why do you come so softly, Tamar? Do you know, you frightened me?'

  'I thought I'd look in, Miss, before I went to bed, just to see if youwanted anything.'

  'No--nothing, thank you, dear Tamar.'

  'And I don't think, Miss Rachel, you are quite well to-night, though youare so gay--you're pale, dear; and there's something on your mind. Don'tbe thinking about Master Stanley; he's out of the army now, and I'mthankful for it; and make your mind easy about him; and would not it bebetter, dear, you went to your bed, you rise so early.'

  'Very true, good old Tamar, but to-night I must write a letter--not along one, though--and I assure you, I'm quite well. Good-night, Tamar.'

  Tamar stood for a moment with her odd weird look upon her, and thenbidding her good-night, glided stiffly away, shutting the door.

  So Rachel sat down to her desk and began to write; but she could not getinto the spirit of her letter; on the contrary, her mind wandered away,and she found herself listening, every now and then, and at last shefancied that old Tamar, about whom that dream, and her unexpectedappearance at the door, had given her a sort of spectral feeling thatnight, was up and watching her; and the idea of this white sentineloutside her door excited her so unpleasantly, that she opened it, butfound no Tamar there; and then she revisited the kitchen, but that wasempty too, and the fire taken down. And, finally, she passed into the oldwoman's bed-chamber, whom she saw, her white head upon her pillow,dreaming again, perhaps. And so, softly closing her door, she left her toher queer visions and deathlike slumber.