by Simon Stern
Crossing the vault they approached a partition of heavy wooden planks resembling the corner of a store-room. A wooden door was ajar. Desmond put forth his hand and drew it open. It was a double partition door, and the corner angle swung open at the touch, and as its double hinges revolved, they entered the vault through the wide corner opening. It was filled with the same light that seemed to form part of them, and they stood still contemplating a weird and awful sight which met his view.
There were large, rough wooden shelves in front, and to the right, and on these shelves, sideways, in the repose of death or sleep, lay two human skeletons, where, to all appearance, they had been for centuries. Long he gazed in pain and sorrow at the awful spectacle, as he still held her by her hand. Then he turned and looked upon her upturned face in its silent appeal, with deep sorrowful compassion and regret; he felt so sorry for her and her awful life, suffering, and death. The same transmitted power of memory revealed all, as she stood by him, the garments of the white nun alone concealing the fleshless form which was beneath, and the white hood concealing all but the wide, vacant orbits of the face of death, upturned to him in appeal. He understood all, then; the record of an awful crime, an unknown murder, through which she, the innocent one, suffered, and that which was buried beneath his feet, which belonged by right of birth to her and to the heirs of Desmond, and now to him, last of the race of the line direct. He felt all the gratitude he owed to his wronged ancestress through all the centuries of the past, but, above all, he felt that deep unfathomable sorrow and regret that is helpless and utterly unavailing.
Desmond turned away; gently and slowly he led his ghostly companion back the way they came. They re-ascended the wooden staircase. At his touch the great oak slab resumed its place, and she led him to his chamber door, and once more, with that awful face upturned to his in the appeal for compassion. She slowly withdrew her hand from his in silent farewell, and gave the adieu that would be only broken in the vista of eternity, when all see us as they are seen.
The visitor passed away, and with her faded the guiding light. Desmond turned, and entering the room, closed the door, and, lighting his candle, threw himself upon his knees by the bed-side and prayed as he had never prayed before for the peace and rest of the unhappy soul he had bidden farewell to. Then he threw himself upon the bed, and he, the strong man, burst into an agony of weeping, and sobbed like a child till his pillow was wet with tears.
With this paroxysm of grief came relief; he was calmer, but exhausted, and he closed his eyes to avoid seeing the great wheel rays caused by the candle light upon his humid eyes. Greater quietude stole over him till his thoughts wandered, and he forgot all in a deep slumber, which lasted till the butler knocking at his door awoke him at eight o’clock, and he sat up and called out, “Thank you.”
Desmond’s head ached slightly, but he felt refreshed, and thought that he must have slept for three hours at least, as the memory of that terrible night’s adventure crowded in upon his waking thoughts, for his pillow was still damp.
“The candle must have burnt out,” he said to himself, as he got upon his feet and approached the table; but he looked in blank astonishment when he perceived the extinguisher upon the candle as he left it when he lay down for the second time, for when the “White Nun” parted from him, he had only closed, but not locked, the door. With three or four hasty strides he crossed to the door and turned the handle; it was locked as he had left it, when he placed his boots outside the night before. “By Jove,” he exclaimed aloud in bewilderment, “it must have been, it actually was a dream after all. But what a vision; I thought it real till this moment.” His toilet was completed before the breakfast bell sounded, and he went down to the breakfast-room as it ceased ringing.
Frances and Mr. Maitland were in the dining-room when he entered, and their warm greeting was accompanied by Mr. Maitland exclaiming, “Why, Desmond, you look as though you had seen a ghost.”
“I certainly had a wonderful dream of a White Nun,” replied Hugh, relating the substance of what has been recorded. The recital formed the topic of conversation, till its minutest details were ended.
“There are several people living who describe the ‘White Lady’ exactly as you do,” observed Mr. Maitland. “But your account of the night walk with her has something truly new and extraordinary about it, and if you like, presently, we will visit the place you speak of. You will be able to guide us.”
Hugh acquiesced, and soon after the table was cleared. All but Mrs. Maitland accompanied him up-stairs to his room, from the door of which he led them into the next corridor to the right, which, unlike his story, terminated at the end in a solid wall, which he at once observed.
“But where,” questioned Mr. Maitland, “was the parallel corridor you speak of?”
“Right here,” replied Hugh, placing his hand upon the solid wall, “but there is no corridor, nor even woodwork here.”
“Well, this is the marvellous part of your vision, Desmond; behind this wall is a corridor strongly resembling what you describe,” rejoined his host, “and some twenty-five years ago, owing to the dampness of the old unused building, at the same time that improvements were being carried out, I had a complete separating wall built up from the basement to the roof at this juncture at great expense, but if you like we can enter it from the Priory ground.”
With keenly excited interest all at once agreed, and in a few minutes were dressed for the short walk round to the old Priory Garden. Horace procured a lighted lantern from the head gardener, which he carried with him, together with the keys, and in a few moments were not only inside the ancient building but ascending to that upper part which brought them back to the Manor side, and in a few minutes they entered the gallery.
As they did so Hugh Desmond uttered an exclamation of amazement. “This is the corridor,” he cried out, “wait a minute.” Then when they had nearly reached the other end on the right hand side where all along the massive black oak woodwork was intact, he said, “This is the place,” laying his hand upon a raised goblin face in one of the broad buttress posts of the alcoves, “I know it from the distance from the window, but it is solid, it will not yield.”
“This is wonderful,” mused Mr. Maitland, “and you were never here nor heard of it before?”
“Never!” returned Captain Desmond.
Meanwhile Horace had taken out his pocket knife, and, opening the blade, stooped down to the floor and probed with the point all along the recess, with Hugh at his side, but the point struck solid wood. Then he tried the one indicated by Hugh, on which he uttered a cry of alarm. The blade repeatedly penetrated like under a door. Then he worked away till it passed from post to post.
“See, it will go in under like a door,” he said; and then he tried the next. It was solid, like the first, and so were all the others. Yet on close examination, the recess seemed as solid as all the rest. The goblin head was pressed with force, but without result.
“Wait, and I will get a hammer,” cried Horace, and he went off to the gardener’s house.
In a few minutes he returned with a large hammer, a branch log about eighteen inches long, and a sack. The sack was folded and laid against the curved goblin face, the billet was held with both hands, while Mr. Maitland struck careful heavy blows upon the reverse end, using it as a ram.
“It is giving,” exclaimed Gilbert as he felt it, and examination proved the truth of this, the prominent circle surrounding the face was going in. Several more heavy blows sent it further, and then, at four more, it went in suddenly, giving way with a crash and a clinking rattle at the back of the woodwork, which quivered at the side. The goblin face was driven into the hole and the shock had apparently loosened the seemingly solid background. Then Hugh and Horace pressed carefully against this, and, by degrees, it yielded with a groaning, rasping noise, as at last the massive, rusted iron hinges gave way, and the secret door stood wide open, revealing to Captain Desmond’s unutterable astonishment the landing and wooden
staircase of his dream of last night, and he recoiled as he trod on something snake-like buried in the accumulated dust of centuries. On examination, it proved to be a loose piece of rope, but so old and decayed that it fell apart in pieces when lifted up with the hand. At the side of the stairway lay a large loose beam, as by the aid of the lantern they carefully descended the stairs, a dank and noisome odour from the vaults smelling of damp and decay, assailed their nostrils, and Hugh Desmond instinctively held out his hand for the lantern, which in the black darkness for caution he held near the ground. The dust of centuries, cobwebs, and decay were visible at every step; twenty yards further, the wide passage terminated in several divided cellars, as they afterwards found. But Hugh crossed this first vault in the direction of some woodwork, and then exclaimed, “Here are some bars.” “And exactly such as you described except the window,” said Horace.
“The recess is identical with the description,” said Mr. Maitland, “and the window is likely to be at the end, though perhaps buried.”
They commenced to examine the woodwork which formed an angle with the next vault. Hugh passed the lantern up and down each right angle, and they found the only perceptible aperture near the first corner, but it would not yield to the hand.
Gilbert went back and brought the hammer and log of wood. They first used the hammer handle, and then inserted the log, a few blows widened the opening sufficiently for two to get double hold and force it open. The heavy planking jarred and vibrated with their effort, and gave way with a crash. Mr. Maitland stepped hurriedly on one side as the whole corner fell over with a great noise. It was a double awing door which had broken off the hinges, which were rusted away, and as they all perceived the wonderful coincidence, they shrank away from the wide entrance, and conversed in low, hushed tones, whilst the girls kept close to their father.
“Let us view the inside,” said Mr. Maitland.
Thus admonished, Captain Desmond, holding the lantern before him, led the way. The interior appeared like a long unused spare vault, with wide shelves at right angles at the side and back, and all, with Hugh Desmond, at one and the same time, uttered a cry of horror, for on the raised shelves, encrusted and black with decay and mildew, and the dust of centuries, lay unmistakably the remains of bones, falling apart and separated in places, but all that was left of what had certainly once been two human beings.
At last Captain Desmond spoke, and addressing Mr. Maitland in a broken voice, articulated the words, “It is all true, the legend,” and glancing at their pale faces, added, “I have without doubt seen the ghost of Miriam Desmond.”
“A real vision, Hugh, without a doubt, but what of that which is buried, where is that? That which was once hers, and is now yours.”
“I cannot recall,” replied Hugh, but advancing and touching the ground with his foot, “This is the place.”
“But what are these?” again asked Mr. Maitland, indicating the human remains.
“I cannot recall,” at length said Hugh, “but I believe they are the evidences of, or connected with, some unknown crime, and I fear she was the victim. I am sorry, for last night I felt I knew all.”
“Hugh, my dear boy,” said Mr. Maitland, “listen to me. I firmly believe this is the hand of Providence. I do not doubt that treasure lies buried here, and I tell you now, I am certain it belongs to you and you alone by right, and that these are the remains of the lost Desmonds. Whatever lies buried here shall be yours. I will see the Vicar of Gurthford this afternoon, and so search all the records we can find.”
“Thank you, sir,” returned Hugh Desmond absently. “I cannot describe the grief I feel for my ill-fated kinswoman of past ages, and possibly her brothers. May Heaven give rest to her soul.”
“Amen,” said Mr. Maitland.
* * * * *
After having seen that the building was closed, Mr. Maitland took the keys back with him to his study, and directed the members of his family to make no further mention of the incidents of the morning, as the account would cause vulgar excitement, and do no good.
The Vicar returned to lunch with Mr. Maitland, visited the remains with him, and decided they had better be reverently enclosed and interred in the old burial ground of the Priory, and an order was sent to the neighbouring town for a suitable casket of the requisite dimensions, and in a few days this was carried out, and the Vicar and Dr. Thornhurst, who obtained special aid from London, compiled careful records of all the circumstantial evidences. The next day, after the interment, in company with Hugh Desmond and Dr. Thornhurst, Mr. Maitland returned to the secret vault, where a man sent for for the occasion, commenced to dig. At the depth of a few feet beneath the brickwork they came upon stones carefully laid in order, beneath which, buried in dry sand and enclosed in stones beneath, and all around as above, in wonderful preservation, a strong heavy oak chest, and nothing more; it was heavy and was conveyed to Hugh’s room, the haunted chamber, where he still preferred to sleep, for since Christmas night his rest had been peaceful and unbroken. The ground was filled in, the secret door was repaired with new hinges and a lock, for on forcing it open the ancient mechanism was broken, being rusty and decayed. The whole being carried out under the supervision of an expert from London, skilled in investigation.
The oak chest was forced open by Hugh in the presence of Mr. Maitland and his sons the next day. It was found to contain an iron box. This in turn had to be forced, and contained, wrapped in a piece of worked tapestry about three yards square, which had been used as a wrapper, and, when carefully unwound, disclosed a large carved ebony casket with ring handles of the same wood in almost perfect preservation. To one of the handles a key was attached by strong worsted thread, and upon being cut off and used, after several attempts with the aid of oil, at last turned the lock and the lid opened readily. Upon the top of its contents lay three folded parchments. The first bearing the date September 29th, 1553, and written in the quaint old English of the time, but quite legible ran as follows:—
I, Miriam Desmond, being about to take the veil and forsake the world, give and bequeath to my dear brothers, John and Henry Desmond, and to their heirs for ever as a family inheritance, my necklace and bracelets, jewels, and tiara of diamonds, which I inherited at the death of my dear mother, to keep or use and dispose of as they may deem fit, for their own welfare, they being in peril, and may heaven preserve them.
Miriam Desmond.
The next.
The last Will and Testament of John and Henry Desmond:—
Gurthford Manor, Nov. 17th, 1553.
I, John Desmond, being of sound and disposing mind, and in the first place sole heir of the Desmond estates, together with and in mutual agreement with, my own brother, Henry Desmond; in the second place, we the said John Desmond and Henry Desmond, have agreed for purposes of security, to secrete and bury the Desmond coronet and jewels, and the tiara and jewels of our only sister, Miriam, together with the deed of her gift to us, also, herewith, in addition, the title deed of the Desmond Estates; the motive being that we deem our lives and property in peril of forfeiture from religious and political enemies, we being Protestants. For this reason, we have decided to leave our native country for safety. But, as sons of the race of Desmond, we cannot be dishonest to our trust, or wrong our posterity of this inheritance by sale or disposal, and so have mutually buried the casket containing these jewels here, where they may be preserved by secrecy, for the possession of our true heirs in the future, and in safety. The secret of this hiding place will remain with me alone to be handed down even from father to son hereafter.
Signed by each in each other’s presence.
John Desmond.
Henry Desmond.
The third parchment was an exceedingly ancient title deed in Latin and Old English of the Desmond lands, and property of the Tenth Century.
These were carefully laid aside, and the coronet, tiara, bracelets, necklace, rings, and orders, which were packed with extraordinary care in pieces of parchment and wov
en linen, were next opened to view by Hugh Desmond, amidst expressions of wonder and admiration, mingled with regret, at their beauty and enormous value; diamonds, sapphires, rubies, and emeralds glittered in rival brilliancy, and many of these precious stones were of great size. After some conversation had passed, Mr. Maitland at length asked Hugh, “What he should do with the great fortune he had thus possessed?”
“Strictly carry out the intentions of the testators,” replied Hugh.
“A resolution worthy of a Desmond,” returned Mr. Maitland, “and may this great fortune bring you equal happiness.”
When valued, the contents of the ebony casket were estimated by experts to be worth nearly two hundred thousand pounds.
Hugh Desmond’s visit to Gurthford was greatly prolonged, during which careful investigations were made, and the specialist from the investigations department arrived at the conclusion that the remains of the two human beings found, were those of the Desmond brothers, one of whom was married and left three children. These two brothers were supposed to have been murdered as they were never heard of after the year 1554. From the examination it was deemed likely that the mechanism of the secret door, which was evidently moved in order to open the secret panel from the inside by the aid of a rope hanging from above, and which had probably given way and imprisoned them alive, and the vast strength of the oak door had resisted every effort to escape. The beam found on the stairs was thought to have been used in an attempt to break it open, but in vain.
The fate of Miriam Desmond is unknown.