by Bram Stoker
Sir Nathaniel, after a pause, asked:
‘Is that the question you wished to ask me?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Sir Nathaniel smiled gravely.
‘I don’t see on what the corollary rests. With regard to the first question – or the first part, though, so far as I know, there are no fixed periods with which a scent may be active – I think we may take it that that period does not run into thousands of years. As to whether any moral change accompanies a physical one, I can only say that I have met no argument of proof or even no assertion of the fact. At the same time, we must remember that “good” and “evil” are terms so wide as to take in the whole scheme of creation and all that is implied by them and by their mutual action and reaction. Generally, I would say that in the scheme of a First Cause1 anything is possible. So long as the inherent forces or tendencies of any one thing are veiled from us we must expect mystery. This hides from us more than we at first conceive, and as time goes on and some light gets into the darker places, we are able to understand that there are other darknesses. And so on, until the time shall come when the full light of understanding beats upon us.’
‘Then I presume, sir, ’ said Adam, ‘that it would be at least wise of us to leave these questions alone till we know more.’
‘Most certainly. To listen and remember should be our guiding principle in such an inquiry.’
‘There is one other question on which I should like to ask your opinion. It is the last of my general questions – for the present. Suppose that there are any permanent forces appertaining to the past, what we may call “survivals, ” do these belong to good as well as to evil? For instance, if the scent of the primæval monster can so remain in proportion to the original strength, can the same be true of things of good import?’
Sir Nathaniel thought a while, then he answered:
‘We must be careful from the beginning not to confuse the physical and the moral, to differentiate the two and to keep them differentiated. I can see that already you have switched on the moral entirely, so perhaps we had better follow it up first. On the side of the moral we have certain justification for belief in the utterances of revealed religion. For instance, “the effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much”2 is altogether for good. We have nothing of a similar kind on the side of evil. But if we accept this dictum we need have no more fear of “mysteries”: these become thenceforth merely obstacles.’
Adam waited in silence, which was intended to be, and was, respectful. Then he suddenly changed to another phase of the subject.
‘And now, sir, may I turn for a few minutes to purely practical things, or rather to matters of historical fact?’
Sir Nathaniel bowed acquiescence. He went on:
‘We have already spoken of the history, so far as it is known, of some of the places round us – “Castra Regis, ” “Diana’s Grove” and “The Lair of the White Worm.” I would like to ask if there is anything not necessarily of evil import about any of the places?’
‘Which?’ asked Sir Nathaniel shrewdly.
‘Well, for instance, this house and Mercy Farm?’
‘Here we turn, ’ said Sir Nathaniel, ‘to the other side, the light side of things. Let us take Mercy Farm first. You have no objection?’
‘Thank you, sir.’ The young man’s comment was complete and illuminative.
‘Perhaps we had better remember the history of that particular place. The details may later on help us in coming to some useful, or at all events interesting, conclusion.
‘When Augustine was sent by Pope Gregory to Christianise England in the time of the Romans, he was received and protected by Ethelbert, King of Kent, whose wife, daughter of Charibert, King of Paris, was a Christian, and did much for Augustine. She founded a nunnery in memory of Columba, which was named Sedes misericordiæ, the House of Mercy, and, as the region was Mercian, the two names became inextricably involved. As Columba is the Latin for dove, the dove became a sort of signification of the nunnery.3 She seized on the idea and made the newly-founded nunnery a house of doves. Someone sent her a freshly-discovered dove, a sort of carrier, but which had in the white feathers of its head and neck the form of a religious cowl. And so in especial the bird became the symbol of the nuns of Mercy. The nunnery flourished for more than a century, when, in the time of Penda, 4 who was the reactionary of heathendom, it fell into decay. In the meantime the doves, which, protected by religious feeling, had increased mightily, were known in all Catholic communities. When King Offa ruled in Mercia about a hundred and fifty years later, he restored Christianity, 5 and under its protection the nunnery of St Columba was restored and its doves flourished again. In process of time this religious house again fell into desuetude; but before it disappeared it had achieved a great name for good works, and in especial for the piety of its members. I think I see now where your argument leads. I do not know if you started it, having thought it out to the full. But in any case I will venture an opinion; that if deeds and prayers and hopes and earnest thinking leave anywhere any moral effect, Mercy Farm and all around it have almost the right to be considered holy ground.’
‘Thank you, sir, ’ said Adam earnestly, and was silent. Again Sir Nathaniel understood.
CHAPTER X
SMELLING DEATHM
Adam Salton, though he made little talk, did not let the grass grow under his feet in any matter which he had undertaken, or in which he was interested. He had agreed with Sir Nathaniel that they should not do anything with regard to the mystery of Lady Arabella’s fear of the mongoose, but he steadily pursued his course in being prepared to do whenever the opportunity might come. He was in his own mind perpetually casting about for information or clues which might lead to such. Baffled by the killing of the mongoose, he looked around for another line to follow. He did not intend to give up the idea of there being a link between the woman and the animal, but he was already preparing a second string to his bow. His new idea was to use the faculties of Oolanga, so far as he could, in the service of discovery. His first move was to send Davenport to Liverpool to try to find the steward of the West African, who had told him about Oolanga, and then to get him to try to induce (by bribery or other means) the nigger to come to the Brow. So soon as he himself would have speech of the Voodoo-man he would be able to learn from him something useful. Davenport went away in the early morning, and was successful in both his missions, for he had to get Ross to send another mongoose, and also the one reserved for sending when told; he was able to tell Adam that he had seen the steward, who already told him a lot he wanted to know, and had also arranged to have Oolanga brought to Lesser Hill the following day. At this point Adam saw his way sufficiently clear to adumbrate to Davenport with fair exactness what he wished him to find out. He had come to the conclusion that it would be better – certainly at first – not himself to appear in the matter, with which Davenport was fully competent to deal. It would be time for himself to take a personal part when matters had advanced a little further.
That evening, when Davenport arrived, he had a long interview with Adam, in which he told what he had learned, partly from the ship steward, partly from the other Africans in the ship’s service, and partly from Oolanga’s own boasting. If what the nigger said was in any wise true, the man had a rare gift which might be useful in the quest they were after. He could, as it were, ‘smell death.’ If any one was dead, if any one had died, or if a place had been used in connection with death, he seemed to know the broad fact by intuition. Adam made up his mind that to test this faculty with regard to several places would be his first task. Naturally he was anxious for this, and the time passed slowly. The only comfort was the arrival the next morning of a strong packing case, locked, from Ross, the key being in the custody of Davenport. In the case were two smaller boxes, both locked. One of them contained a mongoose to replace that killed by Lady Arabella; the other was the reserved mongoose which had already killed the king-cobra in Nepaul. When both the animals ha
d been safely put under lock and key in the place arranged for them, he felt that he might breathe more freely. Of course no one was allowed to know the secret of their existence in the house, except himself and Davenport. He arranged that Davenport should take Oolanga round the neighbourhood for a walk, stopping at each of the places which he designated. Having gone all along the Brow, he was to return the same way and induce him to touch on the same subjects in talking with Adam, who was to meet them as if by chance at the farthest part – that beyond Mercy Farm. Davenport was never to lose sight of him and was to bring him back to Liverpool safely, and leave him on board the ship, where he was to wait till his master should send for him.
The incidents of the day were just what Adam expected. At Mercy Farm, at Diana’s Grove, at Castra Regis, and a few other spots, he stopped and, opening his wide nostrils as if to sniff boldly, said that he smelled death. It was not always in the same form. At Mercy Farm he said there were many small deaths. At Diana’s Grove his bearing was different. There was a distinct sense of enjoyment about him, especially when he spoke of many great deaths long ago. Here, too, he sniffed in a strange way, like a bloodhound at check, and looked puzzled. He said no word in either praise or disparagement, but in the centre of the Grove where, hidden amongst ancient oak stumps, was a block of granite slightly hollowed on the top, he bent low and placed his forehead on the ground. This was the only place where he showed distinct reverence. At the Castle, though he spoke of much death, he showed no sign of respect. There was evidently something about Diana’s Grove which both interested and baffled him. Before leaving he moved all over the place unsatisfied, and in one spot where, close to the edge of the Brow, was a deep hollow, he appeared to be afraid. After returning several times to this place, he suddenly turned and ran in a panic of fear to the higher ground, crossing as he did so the outcropping rock. Then he seemed to breathe more freely, and even recovered some of his jaunty impudence.
All this seemed to satisfy Adam’s expectations. He went back to Lesser Hill with a serene and settled calm upon him.
When he went back to the house, Adam met Sir Nathaniel, who followed him into his study, saying as he closed the door behind him:
‘By the way, I forgot to ask you details about one thing. When that extraordinary staring episode of Mr Caswall went on, how did Lilla take it – how did she bear herself?’
‘She looked frightened, and trembled just as I have seen a pigeon with a hawk, or a bird with a serpent.’
‘Thanks. That will do. It is just as I expected. There have been circumstances in the Caswall family which lead one to believe that they have had from the earliest times some extraordinary mesmeric or hypnotic faculty. Indeed, a skilled eye could read so much in their physiognomy. That shot of yours, whether by instinct or intention, of the hawk and the pigeon was peculiarly apposite. I think we may settle on that as a fixed trait to be accepted throughout our investigation.’
When the dusk had fallen, Adam took the new mongoose – not the one from Nepaul – and, carrying the box slung over his shoulder, strolled towards Diana’s Grove. Close to the gateway he met Lady Arabella, clad as usual in tightly fitting white, which showed off her extraordinarily slim figure.
To his intense astonishment the mongoose allowed her to pet him, take him up in her arms and fondle him. As she was coming in his direction he left him with her and walked on.
Round the roadway between the entrances of Diana’s Grove and Lesser Hill were many trees with tall thin trunks with not much foliage except at top. In the dusk this place was shadowy, and the view of anyone was hampered by the clustering trunks. In the uncertain, tremulous light which fell through the tree-tops, it was hard to distinguish anything clearly, and as Adam looked back it seemed to him that Lady Arabella was actually dancing in a fantastic sort of way. Her arms were opening and shutting and winding about strangely; the white fur which she wore round her throat was also twisting about, or seemed to be. Not a sound was to be heard. There was something uncanny in all this silent movement which struck Adam as worthy of notice; so he waited, almost stopping his progress altogether, and walked with lingering steps, so as to let her overtake him. But as the dusk was thickening he could distinguish no more than he could at first. At last somehow he lost sight of her altogether, and turned back on his track to find her. Presently he came across her close to her own gate. She was leaning over the paling of split oak branches which formed the paling of the avenue. He could not see the mongoose, so he asked her where he had gone to.
‘He slipt out of my arms while I was petting him, ’ she answered, ‘and disappeared under the hedges.’
As she spoke she was walking back with him looking for the little animal. They found him at a place where the avenue widened so as to let carriages pass each other. The little creature seemed quite changed. He had been ebulliently active; now he was dull and spiritless – seemed to be dazed. He allowed himself to be lifted by either of the pair; but when he was alone with Lady Arabella he kept looking round him in a strange way, as though trying to escape. When they had come out on the roadway Adam held the mongoose tight to him, and, lifting his hat to his companion, moved quickly towards Lesser Hill; he and Lady Arabella lost sight of each other in the thickening gloom.
When Adam got home he put the mongoose in his box, which was left in the room where he had been, and locked the door. The other mongoose – the one from Nepaul – was safely locked in his own box, but he lay quiet and did not stir. When he got to his study Sir Nathaniel came in, shutting the door behind him.
‘I have come, ’ he said, ‘while we have an opportunity of being alone, to tell you something of the Caswall family which I think will interest you. Somehow we got switched off when we were within touch of the subject this afternoon.’
Adam prepared himself to listen. The other began at once:
‘The point I was coming to to-day, when we were diverted from the subject, was this: there is, or used to be, a belief in this part of the world that the Caswall family had some strange power of making the wills of other persons subservient to their own. There are many allusions to the subject in memoirs and other unimportant works, but I only know of one where the subject is spoken of definitely. It is Mercia and its Worthies, written by Ezra Toms more than a hundred years ago. The author more than infers that it was a mesmeric power, for he goes into the question of the close association of the then Edgar Caswall with Mesmer in Paris. He speaks of Caswall being a pupil and the fellow worker of Mesmer, and states that though, when the latter left France, he took away with him a vast quantity of philosophical and electric instruments, he was never known to use them again. He once made it known to a friend that he had given them to his old pupil. The term he used was odd, for it was “bequeathed, ” but no such bequest of Mesmer was ever made known. At any rate the instruments were missing, and never turned up. I just thought I would call your attention to this, as you might want to make a note of it. We have not come, yet at all events, to the mystery of the “hawk and the pigeon.” ’
Just as he finished speaking, a servant came into the room to tell Adam that there was some strange noise coming from the locked room into which he had gone when he came in. He hurried off to the place at once, Sir Nathaniel going with him. Having locked the door behind him, Adam opened the packing-case where the boxes of the two mongooses were locked up. There was no sound from one of them, but from the other a queer restless struggling. Having opened both boxes, he found that the noise was from the Nepaul animal, which, however, became quiet at once. In the other box the new mongoose lay dead, with every appearance of having been strangled.
There was nothing to be done that night. So Adam locked the boxes and the room again, taking with him the keys; and both he and Sir Nathaniel went off to bed.
CHAPTER XI
THE FIRST ENCOUNTER
Adam Salton was up with the dawn, and, taking a fast horse, rode off to Liverpool, bringing with him, slung across his shoulders, the box with the body
of the mongoose. He was so early that he had to wake up Mr Ross. From him he, however, got what he wanted, the address of a comparative anatomist, 1 who helped him in dealing with the health of his menagerie. Dr Cleaver lived not far away, and in a very short time Adam was ushered into his study. Unstrapping the box, he took out the body of the mongoose, now as stiff as wood, for the rigor mortis had long ago set in. Laying the body on Dr Cleaver’s table, he said:
‘Last night this was frisky in my arms. Now it is dead. What did it die of?’
The doctor went methodically to work and made a full examination. Then he said gravely:
‘It may be necessary to make a more exhaustive examination. But in the meantime, I may say that it has been choked to death. And, considering the nature of its uses and its enemies, I think it was killed by some powerful snake of the constrictor class. Vast pressure must have been exercised, as every bone in its body seems to have been broken.’ As the doctor accompanied Adam to the door, he said: ‘Of course it is none of my business, but as I am a comparative anatomist, such things are of keen interest to me – I shall be really grateful if some time you will give me details of the death; and if you can possibly do so, supply me with weights and measures of both the animals.’
Adam, on paying his fee, thanked him warmly, gave him his card, and promised that some time later on he would be happy to tell him all he himself knew. Then he rode back to Lesser Hill and got in just as his uncle and Sir Nathaniel were sitting down to breakfast.