Gently they carried the limp figure up the great staircase and laid him on his bed. Then the doctor asked for hot water, and, when it was brought, sent them all away while he worked.
Tony went sadly down the stairs and back to the library, where he found Lorrimer gathering up the fallen books. The servant turned a piteous face to the young man.
“I heard the crash, Mr. Tony, and came running, and there he lay, quite still, his poor head all bleeding and a book in his hand.”
“What book?” Almost unconsciously the question came.
Lorrimer took from the table a small volume, bound in decayed, tattered leather, and handed it to him. Tony opened it and saw a title-page, written in manuscript, the ink faded and brown with age: The Curse of the Lovels.
He looked sharply at Lorrimer.
“I’ve never seen this before,” he said.
“No more have I, Mr. Tony.”
Tony turned the stiff, mildewed pages. A passage caught his eye:
then the abbott, raising his hands aloft, cried in a loud voice, saying: “Anthony Lovel, ere we leave this island home of ours for ever, we have a word for thee. At the bidding of thy profligate master, thou didst come hither to seize our treasures for the Crown, and, casting us out, to hold this island for thine own. If that were all, we yet might leave thee to the sure justice of high heaven, but that is not all, by far. Not content with forcing an entrance here, thou, and thy men-at-arms, didst slay remorselessly those brethren who did valiantly oppose their naked hands to thy keen swords and mail of proof. Their blood crieth out for vengeance, nor shall it cry it vain.
“Nor is that the greatest of thine iniquities, for, finding the sub-prior before the altar, celebrating the Holy Mysteries, since he would not heed thine importunities, thou didst cut him down, and his blood floweth darkly in the sanctuary, mingling with the Most Precious Blood of Christ, spilled from the chalice in his nerveless grasp.
“For this most awful sacrilege, hear then the doom of Holy Church, for we yet have power to bind, and loose, though Henry sits on England’s throne:
“I, Stephen, mitred abbott of Kestrel Isle, do pronounce thee, Anthony Lovel, excommunicate and accursed, and this island under interdict.
“Not thou alone, Anthony Lovel, shalt suffer for this day, but all thy cursed seed that follow after thee as lord of Kestrel shall feel the weight of our just vengeance, and see hell-gate yawn for them at the last.
“And this little isle, which for so long has been the dwelling-place of God His servants, shall become an abode of demons, an ante-room of hell; foul fiends from the nether-most pit shall wander in this dark sanctuary; and no human head, least of all a Lovel’s, shall rest in peace upon this soil. Yet wilt thou dwell here, and thine heirs, never at peace, but bound by the iron chains of destiny.”
At which saying, enraged beyond measure, Sir Anthony smote the abbott with his sword, and slew him, and so —
Fascinated, Tony had not heard the door open, and shut the book quickly, almost in terror, as he heard Gaunt’s voice:
“Tony, old boy, I am very sorry to have to tell you, but your father is dying. He is still unconscious, but he may be able to speak to you just before the last.”
Lorrimer, standing near by, caught his breath and turned away. Tony said huskily:
“When will that be, Doctor?”
“Probably in a few hours’ time. It is a miracle that he is still alive, but nothing can save him. I will stay with him; you had better rest. I will call you if there is any change.”
Tony nodded silently, and Gaunt went back to his patient. As the door closed behind him Tony spoke to Lorrimer.
“You may go now. I shall be here if you want me.”
The old servant went out with the tears he did not attempt to conceal trickling down his wrinkled cheeks.
Tony sat down by the table and reopened the book. So far as he could make out in a perfunctory examination, it merely went on to tell, with a wealth of superfluous detail, the story of his family’s misfortunes, which he already knew too well. There was a passage concerning the infamous James Lovell which interested him, however:
Then came James Lovel, nephew to Anthony. He had learned the black art in Florence in his youth, and was not dismayed, nay, was delighted even, by the evil which dwelt on Kestrel. It is said that he and his associates turned the ancient crypt into a pagan temple, and celebrated the blasphemous mysteries of the black mass on God’s altar there. Many helpless infants were stolen away from their cradles in that time, and perished at his hands, sacrifices to the Demon.
During his lifetime, the curse, from a formless cloud of evil, grew into a monstrous thing having material shape, which at length overthrew his dominion, and destroyed him.
And now it dwells in the bowels of the abbey rock, drawing its life from the accursed family which dwells there, until one shall be found strong enough to overcome it, and drive this monster from the fair face of earth.
When the fading light at last rendered the crabbed writing illegible Tony closed the book and sat staring into the dusk.
Was it true? he asked himself. Since his father’s recovery, and during the happy weeks they had spent together, the story of the curse had been relegated to the lumber-room at the back of his mind; but now it sprang out again, panoplied in all its hellish significance. Once more he asked himself the age-old question: can such things be?
Presently Lorrimer came in and lit the lamp, but neither spoke, each respecting the other’s sorrow. Later Mrs. Lorrimer entered, her eyes red with weeping, and quietly set a tray, with sandwiches and decanter, on the table; but Tony could not eat, and only drank a little wine.
The hours crept by and outside the wind began to rise, wailing mournfully in the chimneys and spattering drops of rain upon the glass. Upstairs a Lovell lay a-dying, and it seemed that all Kestrel wept for him.
During those sad hours of waiting a great resolve was born in Tony’s heart. When his father died, and he himself was lord of Kestrel, he told himself that he would not rest until the ancient mystery was settled, once for all. Gaunt would help him, with his wide knowledge, which, once or twice during their friendship, had hinted at things not known to ordinary men.
It there were nothing in the hidden parts of the Abbey but dust and shadows, and the unquiet wind, then the horrid fable must be exploded. It there were more — and Tony’s mind balked at the possibility — then it must be utterly cast out. For a moment he saw himself and Gaunt, like knights of old chivalry, clad in shining armour, riding out to fight the dragon. So the hours crept by.
The pile of cigarette-ends and ash was overflowing the tray at Tony’s elbow when at last he heard a quick step outside, and the door opened. Gaunt, haggard and brilliant-eyed, stood on the threshold.
“Come, Tony, he is going.”
As if in a dream, Tony followed him along the passage to the hall, mounted the staircase, and passed down the gallery to his father’s room. He had a swift vision of the servants clustered around the door; then he was inside and on his knees by the great bed.
The old man lay very still, his grey hair hidden by the swathing bandages, his eyes closed. He hardly seemed to breathe.
Outside the wind howled like a soul in torment, and the rain lashed the window-panes.
Tony watched his father’s face with breathless attention. Would he pass out so into the unknown, without a word? No, the pale lips parted with a little moan, and the eyelids fluttered. With something of a shock Tony found himself gazing into the faded blue eyes, full of intelligence, which were immediately fixed upon him. A thin hand crept out over the coverlet, and he caught it in his own warm grasp. Faintly, as from a great distance, came his father’s voice:
“My boy. Don’t worry . . . everything is all right . . . I have remembered . . . the good doctor made me forget . . . but that book . . . in the library . . . I remembered again . . . everything went black . . . I suppose I fainted . . . and fell . . . Silly of me! But I’m not afraid a
ny more . . . I’m going now . . . out of reach of that dark thing down there . . . in the crypt . . . the crypt, Tony . . . the altar . . . inside . . . steps . . . down . . . down . . . and then . . . the Thing! It is our responsibility, Tony . . . never forget that . . . ours. We brought it into the world . . . and we must keep it here . . . safe . . . away from everybody. Keep it . . . safe . . . safe . . .”
His voice trailed away into silence. Tony’s face was only a few inches from his father’s, the amazing likeness of the two, one old, the other young, standing out with a significance almost awful.
Gaunt stood at the foot of the bed, his hands gripping the posts on either side, trembling from head to foot. His eyes, glowing with a strange radiance of their own, were fixed on the old man with an intensity which was truly terrific. Small drops of sweat stood on his brow. Tony never looked at him.
Suddenly Sir Anthony opened his eyes again, gripped his son’s hand with surprising strength, and sat up, staring full at Gaunt. Loud and strong his voice came:
“Tony! I see it all — I see it now — the whole abominable thing. Beware! Beware of — But his voice was strangled in his throat, his free hand clawed the air, and he fell back in the last agony. He gave a great sigh, and his limbs relaxed. Gently Tony disengaged himself and folded the thin waxen hands on the still breast. Gaunt turned away with a sigh, which, in any other place, might have been taken for one of relief.
At that moment the whole Abbey, from foundation stone to turret-top, quivered as if from a tremendous blow, and a dreadful yelling sound, deep-throated and inhuman, came bellowing up from some great depth below.
Tony felt as though an icy hand had closed about his heart. White to the lips, he sprang up, crying:
“In Heaven’s name, what was that?”
But the doctor replied quietly:
“Only the wind; the wind and the waves.”
Chapter VI
I
The wretched business of the inquest was soon over, the coroner finding that Sir Anthony had died from misadventure, and on a beautiful June morning he was laid to rest in the family vault in the little churchyard on the hillside above Pentock.
As Tony stood, bareheaded, by the door of the vault, listening to the voice of the old rector as he read the infinitely moving words of the Burial Service, he lifted his eyes and looked over the sea to where Kestrel lay, with the dark shape of the Abbey crouched upon its back.
“He’s safe from you now,” he thought, but he knew that upon his own shoulders the burden of that ancient tyranny now rested, and, bowing his head, he accepted the responsibility.
When it was all over, and the iron gates were shut upon all that was mortal of his father, the rector came to him and laid a hand upon the young man’s arm.
“I knew your father, my boy,” he said, “and I hope to know you better. Never hesitate to come to me if you think I can be of any help. God be with you!”
After the funeral Tony had to go up to London to see his solicitor, and to attend to many matters connected with the estate. He left Gaunt at Kestrel, for he had asked the doctor to stay on for a while, though he had not yet opened his heart to him on the matter of the curse.
Curiously enough, it never occurred to him to visit Hamilton while he was in London. Indeed, he found the whole business exceedingly wearisome, and as soon as he possibly could he went back to Cornwall. The dominant thought in his mind was that he must return to Kestrel and start upon the great task which he had set himself, with Gaunt’s help. Nothing must interfere with that, and within half an hour of his return he was in conference with the doctor, in the ill-fated library where they had found Sir Anthony little more than a week before.
“Doctor,” he began, “you and I have been great friends, and we must be frank with each other. In the past you have always scouted any suggestion that the curse of the Lovells had any basis upon fact. In view of my father’s last words, and the phenomena which accompanied his death, do you still hold to that opinion?”
Gaunt did not reply at once, but lit a cigarette and inhaled thoughtfully. When he spoke, his musical voice was unusually grave.
“Tony, I have never held that opinion in my own mind. If I have been guilty of deception you must forgive me. It was only because I did not think you were strong enough to bear the truth; in fact, you were definitely not when I first came here. Now I think the time has come when you must know.
“Your father was perfectly right. There is something, something which the world calls supernatural, hidden beneath us. Now, I know that there is no supernatural, but I also know that there are phenomena which apparently contradict the usually accepted laws of nature, but which, nevertheless, are governed by quite definite laws of their own. Let us call them supernormal. Your family curse falls into this category.
“When the last abbot of Kestrel laid the curse upon your ancestor he had no idea what he was doing. His words, uttered in the heat of the moment, prompted by a very real wrong which had been done to him, released a certain force which was pent up here. Whether or no, as the legends say, a necromancer of great power did dwell here in the remote past, I do not profess to know; but certainly there was an evil entity lying dormant at this point in the space-time continuum. Or, if you prefer, at this spot the veil of tangible matter was worn thin, and his words and intention served to rend it for a moment, and some creature of the outer darkness sprang through the gap.
“Certainly all the accumulated ‘grace’ — to use a theological term — which had resulted from the many holy lives spent here in accordance with the Church’s law, the countless prayers which had continually ascended, and the hundreds of Masses which had been said within the Abbey walls, vanished in a flash, and the island became intensely vulnerable to the dark powers. We in Europe are so accustomed to living in an atmosphere saturated with grace that we do not realize the continual assaults of the powers of darkness, which are a commonplace in remote, pagan lands.
“At any rate, explain it how you will, the fact remains: some supernormal monstrosity slipped through into the world, fortunately becoming attached to this place, and also, unhappily for you, to the family which dwelt here. I say fortunately because, had it been loosed upon the world at large, it would have infallibly wreaked incalculable harm.
“The gross and immoral conduct of the first Sir Anthony probably increased its power, and the black arts practiced by his successor undoubtedly had a much greater effect.”
Tony had been staring at the doctor with steadily growing amazement, and now, at last, unable to contain himself any longer, he broke in with:
“Doctor, do you seriously believe all this? It’s incredible! I didn’t think anyone believed in such things any more. And a man of your intelligence — “
“That’s just it,” came the quick reply: “the more a man learns, the more he realizes that there is a vast realm of knowledge almost untouched by the human mind — the average human mind, I should say. Tony, we must face facts now or we are lost. There are such things! This material world of ours, so fair and seemingly substantial, is but a painted veil which hangs between our eyes and the great unknown. And that unknown is often wonderfully beautiful, as the mystics know, and sometimes incredibly horrible, as such manifestations as this one prove.”
Strangely shaken, Tony said:
“The foundations of my world are crumbling. What am I to believe? Is it all a dream?”
“It is but a dream, Tony. And beyond the dream are great realities.”
“Show them to me, Doctor. Help me!”
“I can if you will put yourself unreservedly into my hands.”
“I can’t do anything else. I must trust you, Doctor. What shall I do? When my father died I swore an oath that I would not rest until this horror was rooted out.”
“It will be a long and painful task, Tony. Great ends are only attained through mighty labour. First of all, with your permission, I will send to London for an associate of mine, a Mr. Simon Vaughan, who knows mor
e about these things even than I do. He is a great student of supersensual phenomena, and he will know exactly what course to take with this one.”
“Send for him quickly, then!”
“He will be here at dawn.”
“How?”
“By road.”
“So soon? How will you let him know?”
“I have means of communication at my disposal which are not available to most men. Come, I will show you.”
Together they went up to Gaunt’s room, and the doctor gave Tony a chair by the window. Then he lit the lamp which stood on a small table beside his bed. Unlocking a suitcase, he took out an object wrapped in black velvet. This proved to be a small crystal sphere, mounted on a brass disk, round the edge of which curious characters were engraved.
He placed the crystal on the table beside the lamp and oriented it carefully with the aid of his pocket compass. Then he sat down by the table, rested his head on his hands, an elbow either side of the crystal, and gazed fixedly into the opalescent depths of the shining sphere.
To Tony, watching, it seemed that the sphere began to glow with an internal radiance, which lit the intent face above it with a pale light. The doctor began to speak in a low, clear voice:
“Simon Vaughan! Simon Vaughan! Are you listening? Come at once to Kestrel. Your friend has need of you. Nicholas Gaunt has need of you. Come quickly!”
There was silence for a space, while the glow faded from the crystal. When it was dull and opaque once more Gaunt looked up:
“He is coming, Tony. All will be well.”
Tony put a hand to his bewildered head, and the doctor, with a gentle smile, rose and touched his shoulder, saying:
“All this is very strange and new to you, Tony. To me it is just commonplace. Come down again and I will try and explain it a little.”
When they were comfortably ensconced in the library, their cigarettes alight, Gaunt began:
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