by Lucas Malet
IX
That afternoon Captain Bellingham called at Stoke Rivers. He was alarge, fair, fresh-coloured man of about five-and-thirty--extremelywell-groomed, addicted to field-sports, and an arrant gossip. This lastcharacteristic was much in evidence during his visit. He gossiped ofLondon, of New York, of Sussex, displaying a vast amount of knowledge ofother people's affairs.
"Well, my dear fellow, it's uncommonly pleasant to forgather with youagain. Those presents your wife sent my small daughter were princely.Sibyl will write to her. The child has a regular Yankee eye forvalue--and, I tell you, she was impressed. My wife was awfullydisappointed at missing you yesterday. She's frightfully gone on Mrs.Rivers. I think she wants to have a look at you to satisfy herself thatyou're living up to your high privileges in that quarter. Come overto-morrow, can't you, and dine and sleep?"
Laurence explained that his evenings were bespoken.
"Ah, really--by the way, how is the old gentleman? Making headwaytowards--don't you know? Rather depressing business for you waiting onlike this. Pity you can't come and dine and sleep, it would make alittle break for you. I've never seen him, you know, but I hear he israther a formidable, old person. My wife intends asking you a number ofquestions about him. Of course, you must know there are a whole lot ofqueer stories current."
"So I hear," Laurence said.
"Oh, it's not for you to hear; it's for you to tell," Jack Bellinghamanswered, his eyes twinkling. "Why, my dear fellow, your arrival is theexcitement of the hour. The whole neighbourhood is sitting on the edgeof its respective chairs just bursting for information about StokeRivers. You wait a little. I warn you, you're going to be handed roundlike a plate of cake at an old maid's tea-party; and my wife, in rightof her relationship to Mrs. Rivers, means to have the first slice. Shemeans to walk in, collar you, and then skilfully and economically retailyou to her whole local acquaintance. To tell the truth, I've beenrather worried about Louise lately. She has an idea--I've noticednothing to justify it myself--that she has rather missed fire down here.She's taken that awfully to heart, you know. And I think she looks toyou to give her her opportunity. She thinks if she gets possession ofyou and all these queer stories, she'll make the running--all the otherwomen will be nowhere, you know."
Laurence laughed. He felt slightly embarrassed.
"But what the dickens is it all about?" he said.
"That's for you to tell us," Captain Bellingham repeated. "Perhapsyou'll be rather glad of an audience in a day or two. Anyhow, come overand see my wife as soon as you can. She's great on spook-hunting,psychical research, all that sort of thing. So give her the firstchance. Let her have a postcard in the morning. She'll be brokenheartedif she misses you again."
Laurence partook of another solitary dinner, admirably cooked andserved, in company with the dancing, Etruscan figures, and themusky-scented orchids. Again, when the meal was finished, he wentupstairs through the steady light and close, dry atmosphere to thatstately and sombre sickroom. The last twenty-four hours had been veryfull of disquieting episodes and suggestions.
"I am inclined to reverse the order of proceedings to-night," he said tohimself, "and cross-question my uncle, instead of letting himcross-question me. After all, that'll fit in to his scheme ofobservation well enough. My questions, no doubt, will be indicative ofthe depths of my native ignorance and the poverty of my powers. They'llenable him to draw conclusions. Conclusions!" he added, smiling--"asufficiently fatuous occupation, when one thinks of the limited amountof evidence obtainable and the breadth of the inquiry?"
On the stairhead his uncle's valet, a thin, wiry man, long-armed, greyof hair and of skin, met him, and preceded him silently along thecorridor. Laurence's relations with servants, and other persons in aninferior position to his own, were usually of a kindly and cordial sort.Such persons told him of their affairs; they admired and trusted him.But the servants in this house, though caring for his comfort withscrupulous forethought and punctuality, remained, so far, impossible ofapproach. They seemed to him like so many machines, incapable of hopesor fears, affections, even of sins, inhuman in their rigidity andsilence. Now the valet announced him, and stood aside to let him pass,with a perfection of drill and an absence of individuality so complete,that it was to Laurence quite actively unpleasant. Immediately after, hemet the hungry glance of those coldly brilliant eyes, looking out of theface fixed in outline, transparent, as the crystal skull lying on thetable close by. And this house, so full of beings but half alive, ofparalysed activities, defective or one-sided development, seemed to theyoung man, for the moment, terrible. The country churchyard, in whichthe wind sang, and the sunshine played among the graves with flitting,beckoning shadows, was gay by comparison. No wonder the place had anevil reputation, and that people invented weird stories about it.
A sensation of loneliness, such as he had not known since earlychildhood, came over Laurence. Almost involuntarily he made an efforttowards closer, more sympathetic, intercourse with his host.
"How are you this evening, sir?" he asked. "Better, I hope. It has beena wonderfully charming day."
"I am glad to learn you have found it so. Weather has always appeared tome an accident, unworthy, save in its scientific aspects, of attention.Yet I understand that it exercises strong influence on certaintemperaments--emotional temperaments, I apprehend, undisciplined byreason. That the weather to-day has affected you agreeably is matter forcongratulation, since it will have helped to mitigate the tedium of asmall portion of this period of waiting."
"Oh! there's not much tedium," Laurence answered. He looked across atthe elder man smiling very pleasantly.--"I'm beginning to find thingshere a little too dramatic, if anything. You were good enough to tell methat you found me interesting last night, sir. I only wish I could behalf as interesting to you, as you, and your house, and the whole stateof affairs here is to me."
"You find it distinctly interesting?" Mr. Rivers inquired, but whetherin approval or disapproval Laurence could not determine.
"Unquestionably," he answered. "The house is cram full of treasures. Andthere are unexpected influences in it, which get hold of one'simagination. It stands alone in my experience, unlike any place I haveever known."
The elder man sunk further back against the pillows, and, with one long,thin hand, drew the violet, fur-lined dressing-gown closer across hisknees as though cold.
"Indeed. Have I divorced myself and my surroundings so completely fromthe ordinary habits of my contemporaries?"
"You've been strong enough to follow your own tastes and lead your ownlife, and that has produced something unique, something as finished asit is apart. Of course, this provokes a lot of criticism. Other people,I observe, recognise that it is unique too."
"Other people?" Mr. Rivers said loftily. "I have never entertained."
"Exactly," Laurence answered. "That's where part of the uniqueness comesin. We mostly herd together like sheep in a pen, and can't be easyunless we're rubbing sides."--He paused a moment. "Your refusal to rubsides causes great searchings of heart, I assure you. The poor, littleparson here, for instance, is tormented by the idea that it is his dutyto the Almighty, and to the Church of England, and to his own abnormallydeveloped conscience, to raid you and do a little spiritual gardening inthe neglected flower-beds of your soul."
"My soul is my own," Mr. Rivers observed. "That is, if the term soul is,strictly speaking, admissible. Conscious consciousness is all that I canpredicate of my other than physical existence."
"The little parson's point of view is quite different. He is by no meansbackward in predication. He is quite sure you have a soul; but whetherit is your own, or whether it doesn't belong to him as curate-in-chargeof Stoke Rivers, he is not at all sure. He has strong leanings to thelatter belief, I fancy."
"These are puerilities."
"The average man is puerile," Laurence asserted cheerfully. "We cartedaway Woman last night, sir, you remember, in deference to your slightprejudice against her--though I still maintain she i
s by no meansforeign to our inquiry. But I really can't consent to the carting awayof puerility too, or you will never get hold of the average man at all.Forbid his affections and his ineptitudes both, and you don't leave thepoor wretch a leg to stand on. Meanwhile, the little parson is not theonly person a good deal worked up by the unique character of your habitsand surroundings. These give rise, indirectly, to surprising legends."
"Indeed!"
"Yes, indeed. I think they would amuse you. And in connection with allthis, sir, there are one or two questions I should most uncommonly liketo ask you."
"You may do so," Mr. Rivers said. His nephew's rapid speech and breezymanner made him slightly breathless. He was unaccustomed to be treatedin this light and airy fashion. He moved uneasily in his chair, as onewho tries to avoid a draught. Laurence observing this, repented of hispurpose.
"I don't tire you, sir, do I?" he asked kindly.
"Exhaustion is a consequence of the failure of the will. My will isstill obedient to my mind, and my body to my will."
Laurence looked at him with a certain admiration. He was true to hiscreed, such as it was, and his pride had, consequently, rather a superbquality.
"Well, then," he said, "since I may ask you--I have found fromconversation with several of our neighbours that this house, which Itook to be a sort of Temple of Reason, is regarded with a good deal ofvulgar suspicion."
Though the room was warm, the atmosphere of it close as that of athundering night in the tropics, Laurence instinctively leaned forward,spreading out his hands to the glowing wood-fire on the hearth.
"I am not superstitious," he continued; "and you very certainly, I takeit, are not so. We shall agree in that. Still, I confess, the wholesubject of the occult and supernatural is rather fascinating to me. Ican't quite keep my hands off it. I find an idea is prevalent that thereare manifestations here, queer things are seen, you know, which cannotbe put down to natural agency. I want to know if you--"
But Mr. Rivers interrupted him with unaccustomed vehemence of speech andmanner.
"Stop!" he said, "stop if you please. This subject is exceedinglydistasteful to me."
"Then we won't pursue it," Laurence answered quickly. Yet he wondered;his interest, already considerably aroused, being sensibly increased bythe violence displayed by his companion. It was singular; and he pauseda little, thinking, before embarking in further conversation. Duringthat pause, Mr. Rivers leaned sideways, slowly and with difficultyraised the crystal skull from its place on the table beside him. He heldit in front of him in both hands, and gazed, as though performing somereligious rite, into the cavities of the empty eye-sockets. Thenstiffly, letting his hands sink, he rested it upon his knees.
"Pardon me," he said, looking full at Laurence, while a shadow, ratherthan a flush, seemed to pass over his attenuated face. "I was tempted toact unworthily.--I agreed to answer such questions as you might put tome. But perceiving those questions tended to revive a matter which hascaused me one of the few humiliations and regrets I have suffered duringmy life, I shrank. I was tempted weakly to break faith with you andretract my promise."
"Pray, sir, don't take it so seriously," Laurence entreated. "Of course,I should never have approached the subject had I known it wasdisagreeable to you. It was just the idle curiosity of an idle man. Whaton earth does it matter?"
"To you very little, presumably, since you are, as you say, idle--yourdays, that is, filled with a round of amusements deadening--as Ifear--to the intellectual and moral conscience. But with me the case isotherwise. The judgment of no human being is of moment to me. But myjudgment of myself is of infinite moment."
Mr. Rivers laid one transparent hand upon the dome of the crystalskull, as though for support. His face had grown hard as steel.
"It is therefore incumbent upon me, not in satisfaction of yourcuriosity, my dear Laurence, but in satisfaction of my own sense ofrectitude, that I should accept this opportunity of stating thefollowing facts. I inherited this property--as you will shortly inheritit--from an uncle, a man very much my senior. I had prosecuted mystudies abroad, in the learned centres of Germany and France, from anearly age. My acquaintance with my uncle was slight. I knew little ofhis private life. But I had reason to believe him a person of anundisciplined mind, imbued with the extravagant socialistic viewscurrent during the French Revolution, unbridled alike in passions oflove and of hate. Questions of character have never interested me; Itherefore made no further inquiry regarding my predecessor's privatelife. My own tastes and habits were already fixed. I settled myself hereand continued the studies in experimental physics, philology, andmetaphysics, in which I had already engaged. I also added to thecollection of pictures and objects of art that I found in the house. Mylife has been blameless, as most men count blame. I can assert, withoutfear of contradiction, that my moral and intellectual integrity havebeen complete. Only in one connection have I been guilty, have Ifailed--failed, as I now confess, miserably and grossly."
Mr. Rivers paused a moment. His fingers twitched as they rested upon thecrystal skull.
"Miserably and grossly," he repeated. "The vulgar gossip which you haveheard rests upon a basis of truth. I cannot deny the existence ofsupernatural manifestations, so called, in one quarter of this house.They are undeniable. I have witnessed them myself."
Laurence felt a queer shiver of excitement run through him. He sat verystill.--"Then I wasn't asleep after all," he said to himself, "in thatroom last night."
"The said manifestations were not only disturbing and distasteful to me;but I perceived that their existence threatened the validity of some ofmy most carefully reasoned hypotheses, of some of my most ardentlycherished beliefs. Of vulgar physical fear, I need hardly tell you, Iwas incapable; but I trembled before a dislocation of my thought. Itfollowed that I became guilty of an act of flagrant mental cowardice. Irefused to submit those manifestations to scientific investigation. Inever mentioned them to my correspondents. I took elaborate precautionsagainst ever witnessing them again myself. I made a determined effort toerase the memory of them from my mind. I almost succeeded in forgettingthat I ever had witnessed them. Thus I tricked my own intelligence. Ilied to my own experience. I committed a crime against my own reason--acrime which I can never hope to expiate."
Moved by the passion of the elder man's self-denunciation, Laurence hadrisen, and stood close to him.
"Ah! surely you take it too hard--far too hard, sir," he said.
But Mr. Rivers, looking up at him, answered sternly--
"A sin is heinous, not in itself, but in relation to the level of virtuehabitually maintained by whoso commits it. And so, even were I notdisabled, were I still capable of carrying out these investigations, theunsparing prosecution of which could alone give proof of the sincerityof my repentance, that could not really wipe out the iniquity of thepast. In morals I cannot logically admit the possibility of cancelling awrong once done. In the realm of physics we know that vibrations, oncegenerated, ring out everlastingly through space. To send forth acontrary set of vibrations is not to limit, or cause the first generatedto cease. Their circles may intersect, yet they are practicallyindependent, and cannot neutralise one another. In the realm of moralsit is the same. The act once committed passes into the region ofpersistent and indubitable fact. Of sins, both passive and active, thisis equally true. And consequently I am doomed--so long as I retainconscious individuality--to remain hopelessly lowered in myself-esteem."
The sick man spoke with a fierceness of conviction, his voice usuallylow and even swelling into full sonorous tones; his attenuated framevibrant with energy; his face illuminated, as though a lamp burnedbehind that thin investiture of flesh and bone. Laurence saw in him, forthe moment, a great orator, more probably a great preacher, wasted. Andthe thought of that waste of force, waste of power, stung him out ofindolence, out of mere easy good nature. He, at least, wouldshilly-shally no more with life, but play the game--whatever the gamepresenting itself--whole-heartedly. And again that queer shiver of
excitement ran through him; while again he reminded himself he had nowreliable testimony that he had met with something far stranger, moreincalculable and mysterious, than any vision of a dream, in thatclear-coloured room downstairs last night. He stood silent, thinkingintently, feeling keenly, his whole nature alert. But a small rustlingsound, as of a chill wind among dry leaves in a winter hedge, recalledhim to his immediate surroundings. Mr. Rivers had sunk back against thesilken cushions, which rustled under his weight. The light had died outof his face, his hands clutched tremblingly at the crystal _mementomori_ resting on his knees. For the first time Laurence realised howvery near--but for the indomitable strength of will which supportedhim--he was to death. Laurence bent over him.
"This is heavy, sir," he said, touching the crystal skull. "May I put itback on the table?"
Mr. Rivers bowed his head in assent.
"We have talked too much. It would be wise, I think, for me to leaveyou."
"It would be so."
"May I call your man before I go--I hardly like to leave you alone."
"Thank you; he will come at the accustomed hour. I do not deviate fromhabits once formed except under stress of necessity."
Laurence was pushed by the desire to say something gentle, somethingexpressive of the honour in which he held his host's rectitude andsincerity. But Mr. Rivers lay back motionless, his eyes closed. It wasdifficult to find just the words he wished. He turned away towards thedoor, when the elder man's voice recalled him.
"Laurence," he said, "Laurence--one word before we part. If you shouldsee fit to undertake those investigations of which we have spoken, andin face of which I showed myself unfaithful and a craven--remember Ipress nothing upon you, I leave you free to undertake them or not as youplease--I have one request to make of you."
"Yes, sir," he answered.
"It is this--that you will under no circumstances communicate the resultof those investigations to any person save myself, and only to me shouldI definitely ask you to do so. Will you give me your word?"
"I give you my word, sir."
And with the feeling that he had bound himself to an engagement ofunlooked-for solemnity, the young man went out into the steadybrightness of the corridor, while--as last night--the odour of theorchids met him, enfolding him in their thick, musky sweetness, half-waydown the dark, shining, oaken-stairs.