Dark Sanctuary

by H. B. Gregory

  “And how is London looking, Mr. Hamilton?” the doctor asked.

  “Terrible in this heat. I must confess I ran away. Couldn’t stand it any longer.”

  “Wise man! I think we’re better off here, eh, Tony?”

  “Rather! John, you must stay with us — mustn’t he, Doctor?”

  “Of course he must. Now, Mr. Hamilton, as a medical man, I prescribe a few weeks of sea air, and no worries.”

  Hamilton laughed.

  “You’re both very good. If it’s not overtaxing your domestic arrangements, Tony, I’d like nothing better.”

  “Mrs. Lorrimer will be able to manage. We’ve got Johnston here as well now, you know,” Tony said, pulling the bell-rope.

  “What’s happened to your home in Town, Tony?” queried Hamilton.

  “Sold,” the other replied laconically; “privately, of course. I didn’t want that place on my hands. And I’d given up the flat, too. Kestrel is good enough for me.”

  At this juncture Lorrimer appeared at the door, and to him Tony said:

  “Mr. Hamilton will be staying some time, Lorrimer. Put his things in the tower room. You’ll love that, John, it’s awfully quaint. Perhaps you’d like a wash before lunch? Show Mr. Hamilton up, Lorrimer.”

  When they had gone, Gaunt remarked coldly:

  “Most inopportune, your friend’s visit, Tony. He could scarcely have come at a worse time.”

  “I know. I’m awfully sorry, Doctor, but what could I do? I couldn’t send him away. He is my friend, after all.”

  “We who follow the Way have little time for friends, Tony, and small room in our hearts for them. Purge yourself of all earthly love, my son.”

  “I’ll try, Doctor,” Tony replied humbly. “Can we carry on at all while he’s here?”

  “We must. If he stays too long, I will persuade him to go, somehow. Leave that to me.”

  “May I tell him something of what you are teaching me?” the young man asked. “He will wonder what we are doing if I don’t, and perhaps he too might want to join us.”

  “Missionary zeal already, Tony? No, we don’t win followers that way. But you can tell him enough to satisfy his curiosity. Since you are not yet initiated, you cannot reveal the inner secrets.”

  The tower room, to which Lorrimer conducted Hamilton, was approached by a spiral staircase from the end of the long gallery. It had not been used in Tony’s father’s day, and had only recently been prepared for just such an occasion as this. It occupied the upper portion of one of the two towers which surmounted the Abbey, and was circular in shape, with four windows, set in deep embrasures, commanding every point of the compass. The staircase went on past its door to the roof of the tower.

  Lorrimer ushered Hamilton inside and set his bag on the four-poster bed which stood in the middle of the floor. The rest of the furniture was arranged round the walls.

  “What a delightful room, Lorrimer!” exclaimed Hamilton as he surveyed it.

  “Very pleasant this weather, sir,” the servant replied, “but a bit chilly in winter. There’s no fireplace, you see. Shall I unpack for you, sir?”

  “No, thanks, I’ll do it myself. What time is lunch?”

  “In half an hour, sir. Will that be all, then, sir?”

  Hamilton assured him that he wanted nothing else, and when Lorrimer had gone he unpacked his suitcase and distributed his belongings in the drawers of the great chest opposite the foot of the bed.

  The task completed, he washed his face and hands at the primitive wash-stand and, sitting in one of the window recesses, relit his pipe. He could see the irregular roof of the building below, and the other tower beyond, with behind it nothing but the sea. Everything was very still. London, with all its teeming millions, seemed infinitely remote: he could scarcely realize that he had left it only yesterday. Already it was like a bad dream in the morning. The charm of Kestrel settled over him in a golden cloud. All his fears had vanished. What Tony and his friends were doing would be explained presently, but everything was all right. All he had to do was to enjoy this short respite from the humdrum of his daily existence. How he envied his friend, able to stay in this enchanted spot for ever if he so desired!

  The faint note of a gong reached his ears, and he went down to lunch. He found Tony and the doctor awaiting him in the hall, and with them a fat and peculiarly unpleasant-looking man, who was introduced to him as Mr. Simon Vaughan. Cocktails were served by Johnston, Tony’s suave manservant, who recognized Hamilton and gave him a little bow. Then they went to lunch in the old dining-hall.

  This room, which lay at the back of the building, separated from the library by a passage leading from the hall to the servants’ quarters, had also been brought into use after old Sir Anthony’s death. It was nobly proportioned, with a high peaked roof and richly carved stone walls. The ancient east window, with its wonderful Crucifixion in stained glass, miraculously preserved almost intact through the centuries, instantly betrayed the original purpose of the chamber, and it gave Hamilton a queer feeling for a while, to sit there, eating and talking, in what had once been the holy of holies of the old monks. The feeling wore off gradually, however, and he was soon laughing with the rest at the doctor’s gay sallies. Vaughan’s conversation scintillated also, and Hamilton soon forgot the gross appearance of the man, as Tony had done long before.

  Chapter IX

  The same afternoon Tony and his friend went for a stroll down to the sheltered beach on the landward side of the island. Gaunt had told him that there was no necessity for further study that day, so that he and Hamilton could talk to their hearts’ content. They went down the stairway to the harbour, and then along a narrow path over the wall on to the beach. Finding a spot where the low cliff gave shelter from the sun, they sat on the warm, soft sand and watched the little waves breaking on the shore.

  For a while they talked of various unimportant things, of London, and mutual friends there, but at last Hamilton could contain himself no longer.

  “Look here, Tony,” he said, “exactly what’s going on here? What are you and Gaunt working so hard at, and what’s this fellow Vaughan up to?”

  Tony, his hands clasped round his knees, drew in a lungful of smoke before replying. Then he said:

  “Gaunt is teaching me the ancient wisdom, and Simon Vaughan is making his preparations for the ultimate expulsion of the curse.”

  “Oh! You believe in it now?”

  “Absolutely. John, there can be no shadow of doubt. There is something abominable hidden here, and I feel it my duty to put an end to it.”

  “Have you seen anything?”

  “No, but they have. They went down into the caves beneath the crypt one night when I was asleep and actually saw the thing.”

  “H’m. Beneath the crypt, eh? I thought you said there was nothing there in your letter.”

  “No, not in the crypt itself. But there is a way through the crypt altar into a perfect maze of tunnels and passages in the solid rock. I went down once, with Vaughan and Gaunt, but since it was before sunset we saw nothing, though we felt it, by Jove! It was awful. I was jolly glad to get out again.”

  “Felt it? How do you mean?”

  “A sort of beastly oppression and feeling of tension, as if something were being wound up. Gaunt said that if we had stayed a minute longer that we did it would have materialized. I’m very thankful we didn’t.”

  Hamilton looked thoughtful.

  “You certainly seem convinced that there is something out of the ordinary there,” said he. “Well, as you know, I’m no sceptic. I’m quite ready to admit that there may be things which science knows nothing of. I went to a séance once, out of pure curiosity, and some really extraordinary things happened, though I imagine that about seventy-five per cent of that sort of thing is trickery. Are you quite sure there’s nothing like that here?”

  “Who would gain anything by it? What good would it do? I suppose you mean Dr. Gaunt and his colleague. No, John, you can rule them out. Th
ey’re genuine. Gaunt’s shown me some amazing things; he has genuine power. He’s quite won me over to this way of thinking.”

  “So it seems. And what’s this ‘ancient wisdom’ he’s teaching you?”

  “He calls it ‘theurgic mysticism,’ or the occult philosophy. It is the hidden knowledge which has been handed down for countless ages by a chosen few.”

  “That sounds very fine, Tony, but knowledge of what?”

  “Knowledge of ourselves first, John, of the human mind and will, and the wonders which they can work. Then knowledge of the answer to the riddle of the Universe. You know, I’ve always lacked a purpose in life — something real to do. I’ve found it now. I’ve always wanted to know what Life was all about — what it all meant. I’m finding out now.”

  “Then I’m very glad, Tony. If this occult business helps you at all, carry on by all means. I know Gaunt’s a sound man, and you’ll come to no harm in his hands.”

  Tony’s face lit up with pleasure.

  “Oh, John. I’m so glad you feel like that about it!” he exclaimed. “I know you’re right. I couldn’t have a better teacher.”

  “How is he teaching you?”

  “First by training me in concentration. I have to spend hours a day — it was only a few minutes at first — just looking steadily at some object or other, and excluding everything else from my mind. It’s amazing how one improves with practice. At first I couldn’t keep my attention fixed for five minutes even — a host of vague thoughts kept intruding. Now I seem to get right inside the thing I’m meditating on, and see more in it than I ever saw before in a whole landscape. This month I’ve started learning to concentrate on ideas too — with no material object to help — that’s much more difficult.”

  Hamilton scratched the back of his hand with his chin.

  “It all sounds very interesting, Tony,” he said, “but where does it lead to?”

  “Simply to an increase of will-power — merely a means to an end. And when that end is achieved there’s scarcely any limit to the power of the human will.”

  “ ‘Man is not subject to the angels, nor to death utterly, save by the weakness of his own feeble will,’ ” quoted Hamilton. “That’s Poe, I fancy. Well, then, what? First this increase of volition, and afterwards . . .?

  “Afterwards the transcendental business — access to higher planes of being — ultimate union with Reality; mystical stuff, you know. However, all that will come later; it means years of work, but it’s immensely worth while, John.”

  “If you think so I suppose it must be. It sounds very much like common or garden mysticism to me, though, and I somehow hadn’t thought of you as quite the mystic type, Tony. It needs a tremendous lot of faith to go blindly into the dark like this. I’d have thought you’d wanted quicker results than the mystic way can give, and more certain knowledge of where you were going.”

  A little frown gathered on Tony’s face.

  “Oh, I don’t know about that,” he said; “I’m getting results already — small, but promising enough. And I shall get the knowledge all right when I’m initiated — “

  “Initiated!” exclaimed the other. “There is some sort of Order, then?”

  “Rather! Gaunt is Master of the London Chapter.”

  Hamilton whistled softly.

  “There’s more in this than I thought,” said he. “When will this initiation take place?”

  “Early next month.”

  “So soon?”

  “Yes. You see, Vaughan wants me to have some sort of idea about this occult business so that I can help him destroy the curse. And he wants to do that on September 25th.”

  “Why?”

  “That is the anniversary of the day upon which the Abbot first pronounced the curse. Apparently it is particularly suitable.”

  “Well,” said Hamilton, “that sounds reasonable. But tell me, Tony, aren’t you ever scared of all this business you’re letting yourself in for? It’s so unlike what I’ve ever known of you in the past. You’ve never taken anything so seriously before.”

  “I know, John. That’s been my trouble: never could take anything seriously. Well, this is serious: deadly serious. I’ve got to smash the curse. I feel that I am the one to set Kestrel free. The only way I can do it is by learning all I can of the inner workings of such matters, and then putting myself freely into the hands of a real expert like Vaughan.”

  “But that is not your only reason for taking up these occult studies? You are fascinated by the whole thing?”

  “Not altogether, John. It is fascinating, of course, but then it promises unlimited knowledge and power.”

  “I’m not at all sure that they are desirable, Tony.” Hamilton’s voice was quiet, but very serious. “I don’t want to damp you ardour, but I suppose you know what all this would have been called a couple of hundred years ago?”

  “Yes, John. I know what you’re going to say. Magic, wasn’t it? Odd how the word has deteriorated. Nowadays it means sleight-of-hand and conjuring tricks. Rabbits from top-hats. Then it meant — what? All power and all knowledge. It’s a big thing, John.”

  There was a long silence after Tony had finished speaking, while the two friends sat, not looking at each other, but gazing across the sea to the distant Cornish coast. Overhead a gull slid by on motionless wings. All else was still as a painted picture in the hot sunlight.

  When Tony broke the silence his voice was almost timid:

  “John, does it interest you at all? I mean — would you care to join me? Have you never wanted anything more from life than just — just living?”

  Hamilton smiled, and, taking his pipe from his mouth, knocked it out on a stone.

  “Just living is good enough for me, Tony,” he said. “But then I’m differently made from you. I have, I suppose, some sort of artistic sense, insight — call it what you will. At all events I can see beneath the surface of life to a certain extent, and feel the grand adventure of it all; the golden glory of success; the exquisite pain of ecstasy; the quiet peace of happiness; the blood-red, royal road of agony.

  “I have seen something of the heroism which goes on continually in other people’s lives — in the struggles of the very poor, the repressed, the aged, the forgotten. I try, in my humble way, to set down on paper a record of these things, that other people may see with my eyes the things they cannot see for themselves. Whether I succeed or not is quite another matter, but the effort is there. My cup of life is full to the brim, Tony. I have no room for anything more. And when I have drained it to the dregs I will face the last and greatest adventure of all with a quiet mind.”

  Tony was deeply impressed by Hamilton’s words, but all he said was:

  “You are very fortunate, John. I have never experienced these things — never even seen them in others. Certainly I have no purpose like yours — at least, I hadn’t at one time. I have one now, but it seems very remote from your own. Must our paths lie apart now, John? I’m sorry.”

  “I’m sorry too, Tony. There is no reason why we should not be friends, in spite of our different motives. One last question, though: do you believe in God?”

  Tony looked sharply at his friend, a queerly puzzled expression in his eyes.

  “I suppose so,” he answered hesitantly; “I’ve never really thought about it much.”

  “Then your new faith does not teach you such belief?”

  “No. We know that there are vast impersonal forces which can be tapped by the human will; we know that there is an order in the Universe; but we don’t exactly worship a personal God. We strive rather, by analogy and symbolism, as well as by direct mystical approach, to achieve union with the Ultimate Reality which lies behind the material world.”

  “I suspected as much. That’s another point, then, upon which I differ from you. I think I do believe in God. I met an old priest yesterday — “

  “What a delightful spot for a chat!” broke in the cheerful voice of Gaunt. The doctor was standing at the edge of the l
ow cliff above them, having presumably walked down one of the overland paths from the Abbey instead of coming down the stairway to the harbour.

  “Have you finished gossiping?” he went on. “The tea-bell went nearly half an hour ago, and we thought you must be lost.”

  The two friends laughed, and clambered up to him, and all three went back to the Abbey together.

  When Hamilton lay in bed that night, smoking a last pipe before blowing out the candle, he reviewed the events of the day. Though from a purely logical point of view he found himself bound to admit that he found no fault with Tony’s new studies, yet his soul instinctively rebelled against them. The spectacle of his young friend, once so gay and carefree, delving into these great mysteries, with the weight of his newly acquired knowledge showing clearly on his strangely altered countenance, distressed him in spite of himself. He had no suspicions of Gaunt, though Vaughan’s place in the picture did not seem too clearly defined. If the curse really existed — a point upon which Hamilton still entertained grave doubts — and if Vaughan was able to deal with it effectively, why must Tony be dragged into it at all? If, as Tony said, his help was essential, and he must have this occult training before he could render that help, why was Vaughan’s presence necessary? Tony himself had said that Gaunt was the Superior of the Order to which presumably Vaughan belonged also, and consequently must be possessed of more power than his colleague. The whole thing didn’t quite fit.

  What was he to do? That was the question. True, he had agreed with Tony on the beach that afternoon that their ways must lie apart in future, but he could not reconcile himself to abandoning his friend at what appeared to be a great spiritual crisis of some sort. If he were to leave Tony alone with these two occultists, studying their faith, then the issue would not be in doubt: Tony would infallibly go through with the whole affair, be ‘initiated’ — whatever that might entail — and become irrevocably one of them. Even if he changed his mind at the last moment, and wished to draw back, he could hardly be expected to resist the persuasion of the two of them alone. But if he, Hamilton, were to stay on for a while, however unwelcome he might be, Tony would at least have someone of his own kind to turn to, if the need arose.