by Bram Stoker
The heartiness with which she spoke and warmth of her words – not of her manner, which was abnormally cold and distant – repelled him, made him suspicious. He felt as if he was naturally standing on guard. In the meantime both his uncle and Sir Nathaniel had thanked her for the invitation – of which, however, they said they were unable to avail themselves. Adam had a sort of suspicion that though she answered regretfully, she was in reality relieved. When he had got into the carriage with the two old men and they had driven off, he was not surprised when Sir Nathaniel said:
‘I could not but feel that she was glad to be rid of us. She can play her game better alone!’
‘What is her game, sir?’ asked Adam unthinkingly, but the old man answered without comment:
‘All the county knows it, my boy. Caswall is a very rich man. Her husband was rich when she married him – or seemed to be. When he committed suicide it was found that he had nothing at all. Her father has a great position and a great estate – on paper. But the latter is mortgaged up to the hilt, and is held in male tail only, so that her only hope is in a rich marriage. I suppose I need not draw any conclusion. You can do that as well as I can.’
Adam remained silent nearly all the time they were travelling through the alleged Vale of Cheshire. He thought much during that journey and came to several conclusions, though his lips were unmoved. One of these conclusions was that he would be very careful about paying any attention to Lady Arabella. He was himself a rich man, how rich not even his uncle had the least idea, and would have been surprised had he known. The other resolution was that he would be very careful how he went moonlighting in Diana’s Grove, especially if he were unattended.
At Liverpool they went aboard the West African, which had just come to the landing-stage. There his uncle introduced himself to Mr Caswall, and followed this up by introducing Sir Nathaniel and then Adam. The new-comer received them all very graciously, and said what a pleasure it was on coming home after so long an absence of his family from their old seat, and hoped they would see much of each other in the future. Adam was much pleased at the warmth of the reception; but he could not avoid a feeling of repugnance at the man’s face. He was trying hard to overcome this when a diversion was caused by the arrival of Lady Arabella. The diversion was welcome to all; the two Saltons and Sir Nathaniel were shocked at Caswall’s face – so hard, so ruthless, so selfish, so dominant. ‘God help any, ’ was the common thought, ‘who is under the domination of such a one!’
But presently his African servant approached him, and at once their thoughts changed to a larger toleration. For by comparison with this man his face seemed to have a certain nobility hitherto lacking. Caswall looked indeed a savage – but a cultured savage. In him were traces of the softening civilisation of ages – of some of the higher instincts and education of man, no matter how rudimentary these might be. But the face of Oolanga, as his master at once called him, was pure pristine, unreformed, unsoftened savage, with inherent in it all the hideous possibilities of a lost, devil-ridden child of the forest and the swamp – the lowest and most loathsome of all created things which were in some form ostensibly human.
CHAPTER V
HOME-COMING
As Lady Arabella and Oolanga arrived almost simultaneously, Adam began to surmise what effect their appearance would have on each other. They were exactly opposite in every quality of appearance, and, so far as he could judge, of mental or moral gifts or traits. The girl of the Caucasian type, beautiful, Saxon blonde, with a complexion of milk and roses, high-bred, clever, serene of nature. The other negroid of the lowest type; hideously ugly, with the animal instincts developed as in the lowest brutes; cruel, wanting in all the mental and moral faculties – in fact, so brutal as to be hardly human.1 If Adam expected her to show any repugnance he was disappointed. If anything, her pride heightened into disdain. She seemed as if she would not – could not – condescend to exhibit any concern or interest in such a creature. On the other hand, his bearing was such as in itself to justify her pride. He treated her not merely as a slave treats his master, but as a worshipper would treat a deity.2 He knelt before her with his hands outstretched and his forehead in the dust. So long as she remained he did not move; it was only when she went over to Caswall and spoke that he relaxed his attitude of devotion and simply stood by respectfully. His dress, which was a grotesque mixture, more than ever seemed absurd. He had on evening dress of an ill cut, an abnormally efflorescent white shirt with exaggerated cuffs and collar, all holding mock jewels of various colours. In his nose was a silver ring, and in his ears large ornaments composed of trophies of teeth. He wore a tall hat, which had once been of a shape of some kind, with a band of gold lace. Altogether he looked like a horrible distortion of a gentleman’s servant. All those around grinned or openly jeered. One of the stewards, who was carrying some of Mr Caswall’s lighter luggage and making himself important, after the manner of stewards to debarking passengers, was attentive even to him.
Adam spoke to his own bailiff, Davenport, who was standing by, having arrived with the bailiff of Lesser Hill, who had followed Mr Salton in his own pony trap. As he spoke he pointed to the attentive ship’s steward, and presently the two men were conversing.
After a little time Mr Salton said to Adam:
‘I think we ought to be moving. I have some things to do in Liverpool, and I am sure that both Mr Caswall and Lady Ara-bella would like to get under weigh for Castra Regis.’ To which said Adam:
‘I too, sir, would like to do something. I want to find out where Ross, the animal merchant, lives – you know, the local Jamrach.3 I want to take a small animal home with me, if you don’t mind. He is only a little thing, and will be no trouble.’
‘Of course not, my boy. Whatever you like. What kind of animal is it that you want?’
‘A mongoose.’
‘A mongoose! What on earth do you want it for?’
‘To kill snakes.’
‘Good!’ The old man remembered the mound at Stone. No explanation was needed.
Ross, the animal merchant, had had dealings with Adam chiefly in the way of mongooses. When he heard what was wanted he asked:
‘Do you want something special, or will an ordinary mongoose do?’
‘Well, of course I want a good one. But I see no need for anything special. It is for ordinary use.’
‘I can let you have a choice of ordinary ones. I only asked because I have in stock a very special one which I got lately from Nepaul. He has a record of his own. He killed a king cobra that had been seen in the Rajah’s garden. But I don’t suppose we have any snakes of the kind in this cold climate – I daresay an ordinary one will do.’
The bargain was effected. When Adam was coming away with the box under his arm, he said to Ross:
‘I don’t know anything of the snakes here. I wouldn’t have believed there are any at all, only I saw some to-day. I shall try this mongoose, and if he is any good I shall be glad to keep him. But don’t part with the other yet. I shall send you word if I want him.’
When Adam got back to the carriage, carefully carrying the box with the mongoose, Sir Nathaniel said:
‘Hullo! what have you got there?’
‘A mongoose.’
‘What for?’
‘To kill snakes!’
Sir Nathaniel laughed. ‘Well, even as yet, it seems you have come to the right place.’
‘How do you mean? Why “as yet”?’
‘Remember the snakes yesterday. But that is only a beginning.’
‘A beginning! How so?’
‘That, my boy, belongs to the second section of our inquiry. It will have a direct bearing on it.’
‘You mean about the legends?’
‘We shall begin on them.’
‘And then?’
‘I heard Lady Arabella’s invitation to you to come to Diana’s Grove in the twilight.’
‘Well, what on earth has that got to do with it?’
‘Nothing dir
ectly that I know of. But we shall see.’
Adam waited, and the old man went on:
‘Have you by any chance heard the other name which was given long ago to that place?’
‘No, sir.’
‘It was called – Look here, this subject wants a lot of talking over and listening. Suppose we wait till after dinner to-night, when we shall be alone and shall have lots of time before us.’
‘All right, sir. Let us wait!’ Adam was filled with curiosity, but he thought it better not to hurry matters. All would come in good time.
His attention was then claimed by the events of the day. Shortly the Lesser Hill party set out for Castra Regis, and for the time he thought no more of Diana’s Grove or of what mysteries it had contained – or might still contain.
The guests were crowding in and special places were marked for important guests. Some little time was occupied in finding their seats. Adam, seeing so many persons of varied degree, looked round for Lady Arabella, but could not locate her. It was only when he saw the old-fashioned travelling carriage approach and heard the sound of cheering which went with it, that he realised that Edgar Caswall had arrived. Then, on looking more closely, he saw that Lady Arabella, dressed as he had seen her last, was seated beside him. When the carriage drew up at the great flight of steps, the host jumped down and gave her his hand and led her up to the great daïs table, and placed her in the seat to the right of that kept for himself.
It was evident to all that she was the chief guest at the festivities. It was not long before the seats on the daïs were filled and the tenants and guests of lesser importance had occupied all the coigns of vantage4 not reserved. The order of the day had been carefully arranged by the committee. There were some speeches, happily neither many nor long; and then festivities were suspended till the time for feasting had arrived. In the interval Caswall walked among his guests, speaking to all in a friendly manner and expressing a general welcome. The other guests came down from the daïs and followed his example, so there was unceremonious meeting and greeting between gentle and simple. Adam Salton naturally followed with his eyes all that went on within their scope, taking note of all who seemed to afford any interest. He was young and a man and a stranger from a far distance; so on all these accounts he naturally took stock rather of the women than of the men, and of these, those who were young and attractive. There were lots of pretty girls among the crowd who had seemingly no dislike to be looked at; and Adam, who was a handsome young man and well set up, got his full share of admiring glances. These did not concern him much, and he remained unmoved until there came along a group of three, by their dress and bearing, of the farmer class. One was a sturdy old man; the other two were good-looking girls, one of a little over twenty, the other not quite grown – seventeen at most. So soon as Adam’s eyes met those of the younger girl, who stood nearest to him, some sort of electricity flashed – that divine spark which begins by recognition and ends in obedience. Men call it ‘Love.’
Both the elders of the party noticed how much Adam was taken by the pretty girl, and both spoke of her to him in a way which made his heart warm to them.
‘Did you notice that party that passed? The old man is Michael Watford, one of the tenants of Mr Caswall. He occupies Mercy Farm, which Sir Nathaniel tells me he pointed out to you to-day. The girls are his grand-daughters, the elder, Lilla, being the only child of his eldest son, who died when she was less than a year old. His wife died on the same day – in fact at the same time. She is a good girl – as good as she is pretty. The other is her first cousin, the daughter of Watford’s second son. He went for a soldier when he was just over twenty, and was drafted abroad. He was not a good correspondent, though he was a good enough son. A few letters came, and then his father heard from the colonel of his regiment that he had been killed by dacoits in Burmah.5 He heard from the same source that his boy had been married to a Burmese, and that there was a daughter only a year old. Watford had the child brought home, and she grew up beside Lilla. The only thing that they heard of her birth was that her name was Mimi. The two children adored each other, and do to this day. Strange how different they are! Lilla all fair, like the old Saxon stock she is sprung from; Mimi almost as dark as the darkest of her mother’s race.6 Lilla is as gentle as a dove, but Mimi’s black eyes can glow whenever she is upset. The only thing that upsets her is when anything happens to injure or threaten or annoy Lilla. Then her eyes glow as do the eyes of a bird when her young are threatened.’
CHAPTER VI
THE WHITE WORM
Mr Salton introduced Adam to Mr Watford and his granddaughters, and they all moved on together. Of course people, neighbours, in the position of the Watfords knew all about Adam Salton, his relationship, circumstances, and prospects. So it would have been strange indeed if both girls did not see or dream of possibilities of the future. In agricultural England, eligible men of any class were rare. This particular man was specially eligible, for he did not belong to a class in which barriers of caste were strong. So when it began to be noticed that he walked beside Mimi Watford and seemed to desire her society, all their friends seemed to give the promising affair a helping hand. When the gongs sounded for the banquet, he went with her into the tent where her father had seats. Mr Salton and Sir Nathaniel noticed that the young man did not come to claim his appointed place at the daïs table; but they understood and made no remark, or indeed did not seem to notice his absence. Lady Arabella sat as before at Edgar Caswall’s right hand. She was certainly a very beautiful woman, and to all it seemed fitting from her rank and personal qualities that she should be the chosen partner of the heir on his first appearance. Of course nothing was said openly by those of her own class who were present; but words were not necessary when so much could be expressed by nods and smiles. It seemed to be an accepted thing that at last there was to be a mistress of Castra Regis, and that she was present amongst them. There were not lacking some who, whilst admitting all her charm and beauty, placed her in only the second rank of beauty, Lilla Watford being marked as first. There was sufficient divergence of type as well as of individual beauty to allow of fair commenting; Lady Arabella represented the aristocratic type, and Lilla that of the commonalty.
When the dusk began to thicken, Mr Salton and Sir Nathaniel walked home – the trap had been sent away early in the day, leaving Adam to follow in his own time. He came in earlier than was expected, and seemed upset about something. Neither of the elders made any comment. They all lit cigarettes, and, as dinner-time was close at hand, went to their rooms to get ready. Adam had evidently been thinking in the interval. He joined the others in the drawing-room, looking ruffled and impatient – a condition of things seen for the first time. The others, with the patience – or the experience – of age trusted to time to unfold and explain things. They had not long to wait. After sitting down and standing up several times, Adam suddenly burst out:
‘That fellow seems to think he owns the earth. Can’t he let people alone! He seems to think that he has only to throw his handkerchief to any woman, and be her master.’
This outburst was in itself enlightening. Only thwarted affection in some guise could produce this feeling in an amiable young man. Sir Nathaniel, as an old diplomatist, had a way of understanding, as if by foreknowledge, the true inwardness of things, and asked suddenly, but in a matter-of-fact, indifferent voice:
‘Was he after Lilla?’
‘Yes. And he didn’t lose any time either. Almost as soon as they met he began to butter her up, and to tell her how beautiful she is. Why, before he left her side he had asked himself to tea to-morrow at Mercy Farm. Stupid ass! He might see that the girl isn’t his sort! I never saw anything like it. It was just like a hawk and a pigeon.’
As he spoke, Sir Nathaniel turned and looked at Mr Salton – a keen look which implied a full understanding. Then the latter said quietly:
‘Tell us all about it, Adam. There are still ten minutes before dinner, and we shall all have better
appetites when we have come to some conclusion on this matter.’
Adam spoke with an unwonted diffidence:
‘There is nothing to tell, sir; that is the worst of it. I am bound to say that there was not a word said that a human being could object to. He was very civil, and all that was proper – just what a landlord might be to a tenant’s daughter… And yet – and yet – well, I don’t know how it was, but it made my blood simply boil.’
‘How did the hawk and the pigeon come in?’ Sir Nathaniel’s voice was soft and soothing, nothing of contradiction or overdone curiosity in it – a tone eminently suited to win confidence.
‘I can hardly explain it. I can only say that he looked like a hawk and she like a dove – and, now that I think of it, that is what they each did look like; and do look like in their normal condition.’
‘That is so!’ came the soft voice of Sir Nathaniel.
Adam went on:
‘Perhaps that early Roman look of his set me off. But I wanted to protect her; she seemed in danger.’
‘She seems in danger, in a way, from all you young men. I couldn’t help noticing the way that even you looked, as if you wished to absorb her.’
Here the kindly, temperate voice of Mr Salton came in:
‘I hope both you young men will keep your heads cool. You know, Adam, it won’t do to have any quarrel between you, especially so soon after his home-coming and your arrival here. We must think of the feelings and happiness of our neighbours; mustn’t we?’
‘I hope so, sir. And I assure you that, whatever may happen, or even threaten, I shall obey your wishes in this as in all things.’
‘Silence!’ whispered Sir Nathaniel, who heard the servants in the passage bringing dinner.
After dinner, over the walnuts and the wine, Sir Nathaniel returned to the subject of the local legends, saying: ‘It will perhaps be a less dangerous topic for us to discuss than more recent ones.’