CHAPTER V.
THE HEADLESS LADY.--THE ARTIST'S FIRST STORY.
The morning following the saturnalia was cold and bleak. Without it wassnowing hard, and the windows of the old inn were covered with frostcrystals. Breakfast was late, few of the members of the club having yetrisen, apparently not yet recovered from the effects of the previousevening.
The landlord exerted himself to make the interior of his inn as cheerfulas the gloomy state of the weather would permit. A large log crackled onthe hearth, and the breakfast table teemed with all the delicacies thatthe inn could boast of; coffee, toast, hot rolls, eggs and bacon, ham,chicken, tongue, and fresh butter. One by one the guests made theirappearance. They seemed to have slept well, for they looked none theworse for their last night's carousal.
The last to enter the breakfast room was our fresh arrival, Mr. VandykeMcGuilp. He presented a very different appearance to any of the rest. Hewas pale and haggard, and his hair hung disordered over his eyes.
"I'm afraid you have not slept well, Mr. McGuilp," said Mr. Oldstone."What is the matter? It surely can't be the punch, for you drank lessthan any of us last night. Why, I don't believe you drank more than acouple of glasses the whole time; but perhaps you are not accustomed tothese orgies, and a little upsets you. Look at us--seasoned old casksall of us--we are as jolly as ever. As for myself, I never felt betterin all my life."
"Oh, it is not that," replied our artist; "but I feel somehow I passedan indifferent night."
Dr. Bleedem felt the pulse and looked at the tongue of the new guest,and pronounced him a little feverish, but said that it would soon passover.
"My blessed eyes!" cried the captain, "if the gentleman doesn't look asscared as I felt when the shark was at my heels last night. What say youmine host?"
"Well, Captain," said the landlord, "if I might venture a remark, thegentleman looks as if he had had a visit from the _headless lady_."
McGuilp started.
"Why do you start, sir?" inquired Mr. Blackdeed, who alone had noticedthe action, his eye being ever open to anything of a dramatic effect.
"A little nervousness, that is all," replied the artist. "I feel farfrom well this morning."
"I assure you, your action was quite dramatic," said the tragedian."Oblige me by repeating it. Thank you; I'll practise it before the glassthis morning. It will just do for my tragedy, when the wicked baron, whois in the act of carrying off a lady by force, is suddenly checked inhis career by the appearance of the spirit of her brother, whom he hasmurdered."
"Ha! What's that all about?" cried Oldstone, who had pricked up his earsat something resembling a story, while the rest were gossiping onindifferent matters. "You must act us a scene out of that tragedy,Blackdeed; remember, we had no story from you last night."
"Breakfast is ready, gentlemen," said the landlord.
The guests flocked round the table and commenced their repast.
"By the by, landlord," said McGuilp, as that worthy was about to quitthe room, "you give your inn a curious name. Is there any origin to it?"
"Well, sir," replied the landlord, "it was my grandfather, or greatgrandfather, who gave it that name--I'm not sure which."
"But--but, is there no origin to it?--no legend connected with----"
"Oh, as to that, your honour," said the landlord, "folks used to saythat this house was haunted by a lady without a head; but that's a longtime ago. I don't exactly recollect the particulars of the story, but Ihave heard my father say, when I was a youngster, that he had seen her;but it's five and thirty years come Michaelmas that this inn has been inmy hands, and I never see anything of the sort, sir. No, sir; dependupon it, she don't 'walk' now, sir. Even in my father's time her visitsused to be rare, though my grandfather used to tell me lots of storiesabout her when I was a child."
"Do you remember any of those stories?"
"Not now, sir. I only remember hearing say that the lady was a nun; butfor what offence she was beheaded I can't exactly call to mind now."
"Perhaps I might be able to refresh your memory," said the artist. "Whatwould you say if I really had had a visit from the headless lady lastnight?"
"You, sir!" exclaimed the landlord in great astonishment. "You don'tmean to say that you really _did see_----"
"The headless lady. Yes, I do; I mean to say that I had a visit from herlast night."
The landlord opened his eyes and mouth with a look of awe. The guestsremained as if petrified. The captain's red face grew a shade less so.Mr. Parnassus became livid. The tragedian's hair stood on end. Mr.Oldstone looked a few years older, while the countenances of the wholecompany betrayed various grades of wonder and consternation.
"Ahem!" coughed the chairman of the previous evening, at length breakingsilence. "Perhaps you would not mind telling us about your experiencesof last night, Mr. McGuilp? I am sure we are all most curious to hearsomething about this mysterious lady. I have never met anyone yet whocould say that they had seen her, though I have heard over and overagain that she used to 'walk.'"
Thus entreated, our artist proceeded as follows:
Well, then, after I left you, gentlemen, last night, before I retired torest, in looking round my apartment, I was much struck with an oldportrait, painted in a very early style, of a lady in a nun's dress. Inspite of the hard style of the period, there was something in theface--a sort of resigned melancholy--that interested me exceedingly.Still it was little more than a passing glance that I bestowed on thepicture, for I felt very sleepy, and more inclined for bed than forcriticising works of art. I accordingly undressed as quickly as I could,blew out the light, and in two minutes was fast asleep.
I could not have enjoyed more than a quarter-of-an-hour's repose, when Iwas suddenly awakened by what felt like a cold hand pressed upon myforehead. I started up, and tried to call out, but could not raise myvoice above a whisper. I looked in the direction in which I expected tofind the person who had awakened me, but could see nothing.
All was pitch dark around me, but I heard, or thought I heard, a deepsigh as I strained my ears to catch some sound of the intruder.
"Who's there?" I called out, in a husky whisper; but I received noreply.
Beginning to be alarmed, fancying that some dishonest person had enteredmy chamber to rob me, or else that it was someone of the householdgiven to walking in their sleep, I sat up in bed and peered into thedarkness.
As I listened I distinctly heard a low moan of such piteous anguish thatit made my flesh creep and my hair to stand up.
"Who could it be?" I asked myself. "Perhaps some person of unsound mindin the family whose habit it was to walk at night, and lurk about thebed-chambers."
The thought was anything but a pleasant one. Who knows what form thismadness might take? Mad people are not to be trusted. I trembled tothink what the intent of my visitor might be. Was he armed? I tried toreach out my hand for my tinder-box, but such a supernatural terrorpervaded my whole frame, that my limbs were paralysed, and I remainedsitting up in bed, as if rooted to the spot, without power to move afinger.
At length, not being able to bear this suspense any longer, I bethoughtme of striking terror into my visitant, and though carrying no armsabout me, my object was to alarm the stranger into speaking, so I calledout in husky tones as loud as my voice would permit me, "Speak, or Ifire!"
But no answer was given. What was to be done? I could not carry mythreat into execution, having no weapon. I could not even move from mypost for fear, I felt the cold perspiration streaming down from mytemples, my whole frame shook, and my teeth chattered together.
It was something more than mortal fear that I suffered; it was as if Iwere in the presence of some supernatural being. Gradually I becameaware of a dark form, apparently that of a woman, close to my bed. Myeyes had grown accustomed to the darkness, and I could distinguish thevarious objects in my bed-chamber with greater facility.
I rivetted my eyes on the figure, but all I could discern was a longblack robe and two white han
ds. I looked for the face, but in vain. Itseemed covered up, for the shoulders merged into the darkness.
Soon, as if to aid my vision, a sort of pale blue light spread a haloaround the figure, and grew gradually brighter, setting it off inrelief. I could now see the whole figure distinctly. I looked for thehead. Oh, horror! _It was wanting._
I shuddered, and felt an intense desire to scream, but my voice wasgone. Had I then really lived to see a ghost? Was there, then, somefoundation for the strange name given to the inn? I had never heard frommy friend Rustcoin that it was reported haunted, and I most assuredlyshould have heard about it if he had had any knowledge of it.
Perhaps it was a thing not generally known; perhaps its appearance wasnot usual, and it only appeared at intervals to certain privilegedbeings. Was I one of those beings? I asked myself. Perhaps so. It mighthave something to communicate. I would address it, but my tongue cloveto the roof of my mouth, for now I saw distinctly that the head I hadmissed was carried under the left arm of the figure.
I marked well the face; it was extremely beautiful, and I thought Irecognised a likeness to the old portrait I had been looking at; but oh!how far short that old piece of painted panel fell of the original; if,indeed, it was ever intended for a representation of the lineaments Inow gazed upon.
I made a second effort to address it, but as I opened my mouth to speakI heard another most audible moan from the headless figure. I was awed,but that intense fear which I experienced when I became aware that somestranger had entered my chamber had all but vanished now that I was_certain_ that I was in the presence of a denizen of the spirit world.
Awful as this certainty was, it seemed to fade into insignificance whencompared with the terrible feeling of doubt I had before experienced. Inow felt comparatively relieved; so much so, indeed, that I even foundroom in my heart for pity--that one so young and so beautiful as sheappeared to be should have suffered such a cruel and ignominious death.At length, in a low and subdued tone, I addressed the figure.
"Spirit, whate'er thou art or wert, whether of good or evil, whetherfrom the regions of the blest or the haunts of the damned, speak!Declare thy mission."
A hollow moan proceeded from the trunk of the headless figure, and theeyes in the head held under its arm rolled upwards with a look ofdespair, while in tones low, solemn, yet sweet, it spoke, the lipsvibrating, though the voice came from the neck.
"I am the spirit of one who, dying in mortal sin, am doomed to perpetualunrest. Beheaded for my crimes in this world, I wander nightly roundthis spot, the scene of my infamy. Here where this house now stands oncestood the convent whose walls imprisoned me while yet on earth. Forcedinto a life of seclusion for which I had no calling by a relentlessparent who, deeming that his daughter's alliance with the man she lovedwould sully his illustrious name, I was compelled to utter vows with mylips against which my heart revolted.
"I could not join in the pious oraisons of my sister nuns, for while myknees bent and my lips moved my spirit was elsewhere. Day after day Ilanguished within my prison walls, mechanically going through my dutieswith the rest, but to all outward seeming with devotion, for not one ofthem knew but that I myself had chosen that calling.
"None knew then what I bore within. I made no friends, sought noconfidant. When I confessed, my confessions were always of a vague sort,for I was reserved on that one point which, if confessed, would havebeen regarded as the most heinous crime.
"At length our father confessor, who was an old man, died, and a newpriest took his place.
"Holy Virgin! it was my lover. He had discovered my whereabouts, and,with no holier object than the desire to see me again, he had enteredinto holy orders, and by stratagem contrived to enter our convent."
Here the figure gave a deep sigh, and paused. The face writhed, as ifstruggling with itself, whether it should proceed or remain silent. Thepause was agonising, but I wished to hear more.
"Proceed," I said.
Another deep sigh ensued, and she continued.
"Mortal," she said with evident reluctance, "you will despise me whenyou have heard the full extent of my crime. No matter, I am not what Iwas--I can bear it. Know, then, that I fell. Ay, blush for me, hate,loathe, despise me as thou wilt. Those holy walls which re-echoed forages with nought save the prayers and the chanting of pious nuns, weredoomed to hear the whispered words of fierce passion and to witnessscenes that must for ever leave a stain upon their fair memory.
"Enough, our intrigue was discovered, and I was sentenced to death. Iwas beheaded secretly, yet even blood could not wash out the foul stainfrom my soul, and I have ever since been doomed to eternal pangs ofremorse."
"What!" I exclaimed, "and had your lover no knowledge of this?"
"He had, and furious at the news, he came by night and set fire to theconvent. The building was razed to the ground, and every nun perished."
"And your lover," I asked, "what became of him?"
"He died shortly afterwards. I was permitted to see his spirit but once,and then he was torn away from me for ever. It is that which grieves memost, for I know not what fate is reserved for him.
"Heaven grant that his state may be happier than mine. Oh, how willinglywould I bear the weight of all his sins, so that his portion might be inthe region of the blest. I would then bear my doom without a murmur,even were my sufferings ten-fold."
"And with this charitable feeling towards the author of thy ruin, canstthou possess a soul so black as to merit eternal punishment?" said I.
"Alas!" murmured the spirit, "when we die in mortal sin our doom issealed, yet I would fain hope still that before I quit this state ofpurgatory and am consigned to eternal flames that the prayers ofothers----"
"I understand; it was with that object, then, thou soughtest me--that Imight pray for thy soul?"
"It was," replied the spirit; "and also for my lover. Oh, let me notpray in vain. Tell me thou wilt pray for me."
"Spirit," I answered, "I am not of thy creed. I am a Protestant. Ourchurch holds all prayers for the dead useless."
"I know it; but it is an error. Pray, nevertheless. Thou comest fromRome, and wilt shortly return thither. Bid the pious monks and nunsthere pray for my soul, and for the soul of my lover."
"Spirit, thy request is granted, and if my own weak prayers may serve inany way to relieve thy torments, they, too, shall be added."
A smile of the most ineffable sweetness and gratitude, more eloquentthan words, spread over the face of the decapitated. She pressed my handfervently with her pale, icy-cold fingers, and gradually faded from mygaze.
When she had vanished, it was already daybreak. Sleep had deserted myeyelids, and as I tossed restlessly in my bed I kept wondering to myselfwhether what I had seen and heard could be a dream, or whether I reallyand truly had held converse with a ghost.
The rest of the time, with the exception of a short doze I took previousto rising this morning, I spent in prayer for the release of the soul ofthe headless lady from purgatory, and likewise that of her lover.
* * * * *
I leave the reader to imagine the sensation our artist's spiritualvisitation excited at the breakfast-table before the members of theWonder Club, whose thirst for the marvellous and supernatural wasinsatiable. Second and third-hand ghost stories are common enough, andare generally taken for what they are worth; but here was the case of aghost story told by the ghost seer himself, who had seen and spoken tothe ghost only the night before; in the very house, too, in which theyhad all been sleeping. Then, added to that, was the manner of thenarrator, which alone bore the stamp of truth on it. The quick roll ofhis eye, when he was describing the excited state of his feelings at thetime, the involuntary shudder, and the furtive glance which he from timeto time would give over his shoulder; all signs of a nervous system thathas received some great shock--to say nothing of his worn and disorderedappearance, as might be expected in a man that has seen a ghost.
All this enhanced the power of his
words immensely. Then there was thestrange fact to be borne in mind that no one had informed him that thehouse was haunted. No one could say that his imagination had been undulyexcited by any story concerning the house previous to his going tosleep. He had retired to rest calmly, without any fear of a spiritualvisitation. And how could it all be a dream? For the landlord nowdistinctly remembered that all our artist had related was exactly whathad been told him by his grandfather.
Various were the exclamations of wonderment from the guests at thebreakfast-table. They gazed with awe on the narrator, then at eachother, then at the narrator again. Our artist had won the esteem of thewhole club.
Breakfast being finished, our friends drew round the fire, and thelandlord left the room, looking grave and shaking his head. McGuilp'sstrange adventure had furnished food for comment for two or three hoursafterwards. The whole forenoon nothing was talked of but the ghost.
At length a lull occurred in the conversation, and someone recollectedthat it was Professor Cyanite's turn to tell a story. At that moment ourhost's pretty daughter, Helen, a blooming girl of sixteen, entered withthe lunch.
Our artist was enraptured with the golden hair, blue eyes, and rosycheeks of the maiden, after the swarthy beauties of Italy; but, aboveall, with her innocent, modest, and half-bashful manner.
"Well, Helen," said Mr. Oldstone, "has your father told you about theghost?"
"Oh, yes, sir," replied the girl, her merry expression changing suddenlyto a look of awe; "he did frighten me so; I am sure I shall never beable to sleep again in this house."
"This is the gentleman who saw the ghost, Helen," cried one of the othermembers, pointing to our artist.
The maiden turned and saw a fresh face in the club. Our artist was theyoungest, by many years, of any of the other gentlemen present, besideswhich he was decidedly good looking. He gazed into the eyes of the girltill the poor child blushed crimson and looked down abashed.
"Ho! ho! Helen, my girl," said Mr. Crucible, one of the oldest membersof the club, "you don't blush like that when you look at us oldfogies--what is the matter, eh?"
A general laugh ensued, much to the confusion of poor Helen, and ourartist himself felt not a little confused at having produced such animpression on the girl in the presence of so many others of his own sex.
"What ho! Helen, bring another log; we're freezing," cried ProfessorCyanite, changing the conversation, much to the relief of the girl, whowas glad to escape from the banter of the club by quitting the room.
Our guests began their repast of cold meat and pickles, bread andcheese, and home-brewed ale. After they had finished the daughter of thelandlord re-entered with a large log, which she placed on the fire.
"That's right, my girl," said Mr. Oldstone, drawing his chair up to thefire; "now bring us pipes."
The girl left the room, and soon returned with a bundle of long claypipes, already waxed, which she distributed amongst the company,receiving a chuck under the chin from one; a gentle pat on the cheekfrom another; from a third, a stroke on the head; from a fourth, asqueeze of the hand; a fifth placed his arm round her waist; while asixth pretended to kiss her, but no further harm was done. Our artistplaced a chair for her next to himself, round the fire, and asked her ifshe were fond of hearing stories.
The maiden blushed and smiled and said that she was.
"Bravo, Helen," said Mr. Oldstone; "remain with us and hear a freshstory. Professor Cyanite is just going to favour us."
A circle was formed round the fire; Helen seating herself modestly bythe side of the artist, while the professor, sitting back in his chair,and stretching out his legs towards the fire, stroked his ampleforehead, and with a puff at his pipe, commenced the following story.
Tales of the Wonder Club, Volume I Page 6