“What adventure, my Lord,” said Edmund? “There is nothing I would not undertake to shew my gratitude and fidelity to you. As to my courage, I would shew that at the expence of my malicious accusers, if respect to my Lord’s blood did not tie up my hands; as I am situated, I beg it may be put to the proof in whatever way is most for my master’s service.”
“That is well said,” cried the Baron; “as to your enemies, I am thinking how to separate you from them effectually; of that I shall speak hereafter. I am going to try Edmund’s courage; he shall sleep three nights in the east apartment, that he may testify to all whether it be haunted or not; afterwards I will have that apartment set in order, and my eldest son shall take it for his own; it will spare me some expence, and answer my purpose as well, or better; Will you consent, Edmund?”
“With all my heart, my Lord,” said Edmund, “I have not wilfully offended God or man; I have, therefore, nothing to fear.”
“Brave boy!” said my Lord; “I am not deceived in you, nor shall you be deceived in your reliance on me. You shall sleep in that apartment to-night, and tomorrow I will have some private talk with you. Do you, Oswald, go with me; I want to have some conversation with you. The rest of you, retire to your studies and business; I will meet you at dinner.”
Edmund retired to his own chamber, and Oswald was shut up with the Baron; he defended Edmund’s cause and his own, and laid open as much as he knew of the malice and designs of his enemies. The Baron expressed much concern at the untimely deaths of Lord and Lady Lovel, and desired Oswald to be circumspect in regard to what he had to say of the circumstances attending them; adding, that the was both innocent and ignorant of any treachery towards either of them. Oswald excused himself for his communications to Edmund, saying, they fell undesignedly into the subject, and that he mentioned it in confidence to him only.
The Baron sent orders to the young men to come to dinner; but they refused to meet Edmund at table; accordingly he ate in the steward’s apartment. After dinner, the Baron tried to reconcile his kinsmen to Edmund; but found it impossible. They saw their designs were laid open; and, judging of him by themselves, thought it impossible to forgive or be forgiven. The Baron ordered them to keep in separate apartments; he took his eldest son for his own companion, as being the most reasonable of the malcontents; and ordered his kinsmen to keep their own apartment, with a servant to watch their motions. Mr. William had Oswald for his companion. Old Joseph was bid to attend on Edmund; to serve him at supper; and, at the hour of nine, to conduct him to the haunted apartment. Edmund desired that he might have a light and his sword, lest his enemies should endeavour to surprise him. The Baron thought his request reasonable, and complied with it.
There was a great search to find the key of the apartment; at last it was discovered by Edmund, himself, among a parcel of old rusty keys in a lumber room. The Baron sent the young men their suppers to their respective apartments. Edmund declined eating, and desired to be conducted to his apartment. He was accompanied by most of the servants to the door of it; they wished him success, and prayed for him as if he had been going to execution.
The door was with great difficulty unlocked, and Joseph gave Edmund a lighted lamp, and wished him a good night; he returned his good wishes to them all with the utmost cheerfulness, took the key on the inside of the door, and dismissed them.
He then took a survey of his chamber; the furniture, by long neglect, was decayed and dropping to pieces; the bed was devoured by the moths, and occupied by the rats, who had built their nests there with impunity for many generations. The bedding was very damp, for the rain had forced its way through the ceiling; he determined, therefore, to lie down in his clothes. There were two doors on the further side of the room, with keys in them; being not at all sleepy, he resolved to examine them; he attempted one lock, and opened it with ease; he went into a large dining-room, the furniture of which was in the same tattered condition; out of this was a large closet with some books in it, and hung round with coats of arms, with genealogies and alliances of the house of Lovel; he amused himself here some minutes, and then returned into the bed-chamber.
He recollected the other door, and resolved to see where it led to; the key was rusted into the lock, and resisted his attempts; he set the lamp on the ground, and, exerting all his strength, opened the door, and at the same instant the wind of it blew out the lamp, and left him in utter darkness. At the same moment he heard a hollow rustling noise, like that of a person coming through a narrow passage. Till this moment not one idea of fear had approached the mind of Edmund; but, just then, all the concurrent circumstances of his situation struck upon his heart, and gave him a new and disagreeable sensation. He paused a while; and, recollecting himself, cried out aloud. “What should I fear? I have not wilfully offended God or man; why then should I doubt protection? But I have not yet implored the divine assistance; how then can I expect it!” Upon this, he kneeled down and prayed earnestly, resigning himself wholly to the will of heaven; while he was yet speaking, his courage returned, and he resumed his usual confidence; again he approached the door from whence the noise proceeded; he thought he saw a glimmering light upon a staircase before him. “If,” said he, “this apartment is haunted, I will use my endeavours to discover the cause of it; and if the spirit appears visibly, I will speak to it.”
He was preparing to descend the staircase, when he heard several knocks at the door by which he first entered the room; and, stepping backward, the door was clapped to with great violence. Again fear attacked him, but he resisted it, and boldly cried out, “Who is there?”
A voice at the outer door answered, “It’s I; Joseph, your friend!”
“What do you want?” said Edmund.
“I have brought you some wood to make a fire,” said Joseph.
“I thank you kindly,” said Edmund; “but my lamp is gone out; I will try to find the door, however.”
After some trouble he found, and opened it; and was not sorry to see his friend Joseph, with a light in one hand, a flagon of beer in the other, and a fagot upon his shoulder. “I come,” said the good old man, “to bring you something to keep up your spirits; the evening is cold; I know this room wants airing; and beside that, my master, I think your present undertaking requires a little assistance.”
“My good friend,” said Edmund, “I never shall be able to deserve or requite your kindness to me.”
“My dear sir, you always deserved more than I could do for you; and I think I shall yet live to see you defeat the designs of your enemies, and acknowledge the services of your friends.”
“Alas!” said Edmund, “I see little prospect of that!”
“I see,” said Joseph, “something that persuades me you are designed for great things; and I perceive that things are working about to some great end: have courage, my Master, my heart beats strangely high upon your account!”
“You make me smile,” said Edmund.
“I am glad to see it, sir; may you smile all the rest of your life!”
“I thank your honest affection,” returned Edmund, “though it is too partial to me. You had better go to bed, however; if it is known that you visit me here, it will be bad for us both.”
“So I will presently; but, please God, I will come here again tomorrow night, when all the family are a-bed; and I will tell you some things that you never yet heard.”
“But pray tell me,” said Edmund, “where does that door lead to?”
“Upon a passage that ends in a staircase that leads to the lower rooms; and there is likewise a door out of that passage into the dining-room.”
“And what rooms are there below stairs,” said Edmund?
“The same as above,” replied he.
“Very well; then I wish you a good night, we will talk further tomorrow.”
“Aye, tomorrow night; and in this place, my dear ma
ster.”
“Why do you call me your master? I never was, nor ever can be, your master.”
“God only knows that,” said the good old man; “good-night, and heaven bless you!”
“Good-night, my worthy friend!”
Joseph withdrew, and Edmund returned to the other door, and attempted several times to open it in vain; his hands were benumbed and tired; at length he gave over. He made a fire in the chimney, placed the lamp on a table, and opened one of the window-shutters to admit the day-light; he then recommended himself to the Divine protection, and threw himself upon the bed; he presently sell asleep, and continued in that state, till the sun saluted him with his orient beams through the window he had opened.
As soon as he was perfectly awake, he strove to recollect his dreams. He thought that he heard people coming up the staircase that he had a glimpse of; that the door opened, and there entered a warrior, leading a lady by the hand, who was young and beautiful, but pale and wan; The man was dressed in complete armour, and his helmet down. They approached the bed; they undrew the curtains. He thought the man said, “Is this our child?” The woman replied, “It is; and the hour approaches that he shall be known for such.” They then separated, and one stood on each side of the bed; their hands met over his head, and they gave him a solemn benediction. He strove to rise and pay them his respects, but they forbad him; and the lady said, “Sleep in peace, oh my Edmund! for those who are the true possessors of this apartment are employed in thy preservation; sleep on, sweet hope of a house that is thought past hope!”
Upon this, they withdrew, and went out at the same door by which they entered, and he heard them descend the stairs. After this, he followed a funeral as chief mourner; he saw the whole procession, and heard the ceremonies performed. He was snatched away from this mournful scene to one of a contrary kind, a stately feast, at which he presided; and he heard himself congratulated as a husband, and a father; his friend William sat by his side; and his happiness was complete. Every succeeding idea was happiness without allay; and his mind was not idle a moment till the morning sun awakened him. He perfectly remembered his dreams, and meditated on what all these things should portend. “Am I then,” said he, “not Edmund Twyford, but somebody of consequence in whose fate so many people are interested? Vain thought, that must have arisen from the partial suggestion of my two friends, Mr. William and old Joseph.”
He lay thus reflecting, when a servant knocked at his door, and told him it was past six o’clock, and that the Baron expected him to breakfast in an hour. He rose immediately; paid his tribute of thanks to heaven for its protection, and went from his chamber in high health and spirits. He walked in the garden till the hour of breakfast, and then attended the Baron.
“Good morrow, Edmund!” said he; “how have you rested in your new apartment?”
“Extremely well, my lord,” answered he.
“I am glad to hear it,” said the Baron; “but I did not know your accommodations were so bad, as Joseph tells me they are.”
“’Tis of no consequence,” said Edmund; “if they were much worse, I could dispense with them for three nights.”
“Very well,” said the Baron; “you are a brave lad; I am satisfied with you, and will excuse the other two nights.”
“But, my lord, I will not be excused; no one shall have reason to suspect my courage; I am determined to go through the remaining nights upon many accounts.”
“That shall be as you please,” said my Lord. “I think of you as you deserve; so well, that I shall ask your advice by and by in some affairs of consequence.”
“My life and services are yours, my lord; command them freely.”
“Let Oswald be called in,” said my Lord; “he shall be one of our consultation.” He came; the servants were dismissed; and the Baron spoke as follows:
“Edmund, when first I took you into my family, it was at the request of my sons and kinsmen; I bear witness to your good behaviour, you have not deserved to lose their esteem; but, nevertheless, I have observed for some years past, that all but my son William have set their faces against you; I see their meanness, and I perceive their motives: but they are, and must be, my relations; and I would rather govern them by love, than fear. I love and esteem your virtues: I cannot give you up to gratify their humours. My son William has lost the affections of the rest, for that he bears to you; but he has increased my regard for him; I think myself bound in honour to him and you to provide for you; I cannot do it, as I wished, under my own roof. If you stay here, I see nothing but confusion in my family; yet I cannot put you out of it disgracefully. I want to think of some way to prefer you, that you may leave this house with honour; and I desire both of you to give me your advice in this matter. If Edmund will tell me in what way I can employ him to his own honour and my advantage, I am ready to do it; let him propose it, and Oswald shall moderate between us.”
Here he stopped; and Edmund, whose sighs almost choked him, threw himself at the Baron’s feet, and wet his hand with his tears: “Oh, my noble, generous benefactor! do you condescend to consult such a one as me upon the state of your family? does your most amiable and beloved son incur the ill-will of his brothers and kinsmen for my sake? What am I, that I should disturb the peace of this noble family? Oh, my lord, send me away directly! I should be unworthy to live, if I did not earnestly endeavour to restore your happiness. You have given me a noble education, and I trust I shall not disgrace it. If you will recommend me, and give me a character, I fear not to make my own fortune.”
The Baron wiped his eyes; “I wish to do this, my child, but in what way?”
“My lord,” said Edmund, “I will open my heart to you. I have served with credit in the army, and I should prefer a soldier’s life.”
“You please me well,” said the Baron; “I will send you to France, and give you a recommendation to the Regent; he knows you personally, and will prefer you, for my sake, and for your own merit.”
“My lord, you overwhelm me with your goodness! I am but your creature, and my life shall be devoted to your service.”
“But,” said the Baron, “how to dispose of you till the spring?”
“That,” said Oswald, “may be thought of at leisure; I am glad that you have resolved, and I congratulate you both.” The Baron put an end to the conversation by desiring Edmund to go with him into the menage to see his horses. He ordered Oswald to acquaint his son William with all that had passed, and to try to persuade the young men to meet Edmund and William at dinner.
The Baron took Edmund with him into his menage to see some horses he had lately purchased; while they were examining the beauties and defects of these noble and useful animals, Edmund declared that he preferred Caradoc, a horse he had broke himself, to any other in my lord’s stables. “Then,” said the Baron, “I will give him to you; and you shall go upon him to seek your fortune.” He made new acknowledgments for this gift, and declared he would prize it highly for the giver’s sake. “But I shall not part with you yet,” said my lord; “I will first carry all my points with these saucy boys, and oblige them to do you justice.”
“You have already done that,” said Edmund; “and I will not suffer any of your Lordship’s blood to undergo any farther humiliation upon my account. I think, with humble submission to your better judgment, the sooner I go hence the better.”
While they were speaking, Oswald came to them, and said, that the young men had absolutely refused to dine at the table, if Edmund was present. “’Tis well,” said the Baron; “I shall find a way to punish their contumacy hereafter; I will make them know that I am the master here. Edmund and you, Oswald, shall spend the day in my apartment above stairs. William shall dine with me alone; and I will acquaint him with our determination; my son Robert, and his cabal, shall be prisoners in the great parlour. Edmund shall, according to his own desire, spend this and the following nigh
t in the haunted apartment; and this for his sake, and my own; for if I should now contradict my former orders, it would subject us both to their impertinent reflections.”
He then took Oswald aside, and charged him not to let Edmund go out of his sight; for if he should come in the way of those implacable enemies, he trembled for the consequences. He then walked back to the stables, and the two friends returned into the house.
They had a long conversation on various subjects; in the course of it, Edmund acquainted Oswald with all that had passed between him and Joseph the preceding night, the curiosity he had raised in him, and his promise to gratify it the night following.
“I wish,” said Oswald, “you would permit me to be one of your party.”
“How can that be?” said Edmund; “we shall be watched, perhaps; and, if discovered, what excuse can you make for coming there? Beside, if it were known, I shall be branded with the imputation of cowardice; and, though I have borne much, I will not promise to bear that patiently.”
“Never fear,” replied Oswald, “I will speak to Joseph about it; and, after prayers are over and the family gone to bed, I will steal away from my own chamber and come to you. I am strongly interested in your affairs; and I cannot be easy unless you will receive me into your company; I will bind myself to secrecy in any manner you shall enjoin.”
“Your word is sufficient,” said Edmund; “I have as much reason to trust you, father, as any man living; I should be ungrateful to refuse you any thing in my power to grant; But suppose the apartment should really be haunted, would you have resolution enough to pursue the adventure to a discovery?”
“I hope so,” said Oswald; “but have you any reason to believe it is?”
The Gothic Terror MEGAPACK™: 17 Classic Tales Page 39