Colonel Starbottle's Client and other stories Part 20

"Humor him as a harmless lunatic; the plate is quite safe."

Declining the further offer of an illumination of the picture gallery, grand drawing-room, ball-room, and chapel, a few hours later he found himself wandering in the corridor with a single candle and a growing conviction of the hopelessness of his experiment. The castle had as yet yielded to him nothing that he had not seen before in the distraction of company and the garishness of day. It was becoming a trifle monotonous.

Yet fine--exceedingly; and now that a change of wind had lifted the fog, and the full moon shone on the lower half of the pictures of the gallery, starting into the most artificial simulation of life a number of Van d.y.k.e legs, farthingales, and fingers that would have deceived n.o.body, it seemed gracious, gentle, and innocent beyond expression.

Wandering down the gallery, conscious of being more like a ghost than any of the painted figures, and that they might reasonably object to him, he wished he could meet the original of one of those pictured gallants and secretly compare his fingers with the copy. He remembered an embroidered pair of gloves in a cabinet and a suit of armor on the wall that, in measurement, did not seem to bear out the delicacy of the one nor the majesty of the other. It occurred to him also to satisfy a yearning he had once felt to try on a certain breastplate and steel cap that hung over an oaken settle. It will be perceived that he was getting a good deal bored. For thus caparisoned he listlessly, and, as will be seen, imprudently, allowed himself to sink back into a very modern chair, and give way to a dreamy cogitation.

What possible interest could the dead have in anything that was here?

Admitting that they had any, and that it was not the LIVING, whom the Barbarian had always found most inclined to haunt the past, would not a ghost of any decided convictions object to such a collection as his descendant had gathered in this gallery? Yonder idiot in silk and steel had blunderingly and cruelly persecuted his kinsman in leather and steel only a few panels distant. Would they care to meet here? And if their human weaknesses had died with them, what would bring them here at all?

And if not THEM--who then? He stopped short. The door at the lower end of the gallery had opened! Not stealthily, not noiselessly, but in an ordinary fas.h.i.+on, and a number of figures, dressed in the habiliments of a bygone age, came trooping in. They did not glide in nor float in, but trampled in awkwardly, clumsily, and unfamiliarly, gaping about them as they walked. At the head was apparently a steward in a kind of livery, who stopped once or twice and seemed to be pointing out and explaining certain objects in the room. A flash of indignant intelligence filled the brain of the Barbarian! It seemed absurd!--impossible!--but it was true! It was a holiday excursion party of ghosts, being shown over Stukeley Castle by a ghostly Cicerone! And as his measured, monotonous voice rose on the Christmas morning air, it could be heard that he was actually showing off, not the antiquities of the Castle, but the MODERN IMPROVEMENTS!

"This 'ere, gossips,"--the Barbarian instantly detected the fallacy of all the so-called mediaeval jargon he had read,--"is the Helectric Bell, which does away with our hold, hordinary 'orn blowin', and the hattendant waitin' in the 'all for the usual 'Without there, who waits?'

which all of us was accustomed to in mortal flesh. You hobserve this b.u.t.ton. I press it so, and it instantly rings a bell in the kitchen 'all, and shows in fair letters the name of this 'ere gallery--as we will see later. Will hany good dame or gaffer press the b.u.t.ton? Will YOU, mistress?" said the Cicerone to a giggling, kerchief-coifed la.s.s.

"Oi soy, Maudlin!--look out--will yer!--It's the soime old gag as them bloomin' k.n.o.bs you ketched hold of when yer was 'ere las' Whitsuntide,"

called out the mediaeval 'Arry of the party.

"It is NOT the Galvanic-Magnetic machine in 'is lords.h.i.+p's library,"

said the Cicerone, severely, "which is a mere toy for infants, and hold-fas.h.i.+oned. And we have 'ere a much later invention. I open this little door, I turn this 'andle--called a switch--and, has you perceive, the gallery is hinstantly hilluminated."

There was a hoa.r.s.e cry of astonishment from the a.s.semblage. The Barbarian felt an awful thrill as this searching, insufferable light of the nineteenth century streamed suddenly upon the up-turned, vacant-eyed, and dull faces of those sightseers of the past. But there was no responsive gleam in their eyes.

"It be the sun," gasped an old woman in a gray cloak.

"Toime to rouse out, Myryan, and make the foire," said the mediaeval 'Arry. The custodian smiled with superior toleration.

"But what do 'ee want o' my old lanthorne," asked a yellow-jerkined stable boy, pointing to an old-fas.h.i.+oned horned lantern, tempus Edward III., "with this brave loight?"

"You know," said the custodian, with condescending familiarity, "these mortals wors.h.i.+p what they call 'curios' and the 'antique,' and 'is lords.h.i.+p gave a matter of fifty pounds for that same lanthern. That's what the modern folk come 'ere to see--like as ye."

"Oi've an old three-legged stool in Whitechapel oi'll let his lords.h.i.+p 'ave cheap--for five quid," suggested the humorist.

"The 'prentice wight knows not that he speaks truly. For 'ere is a braver jest than 'is. Good folks, wilt please ye to examine yon coffer?"

pointing to an oaken chest.

"'Tis but poor stuff, marry," said Maudlin.

"'Tis a coffer--the same being made in Wardour Street last year--'is lords.h.i.+p gave one hundred pounds for it. Look at these would-be worm-holes,--but they were made with an AUGER. Marry, WE know what worm-holes are!"

A ghastly grin spread over the faces of the spectral a.s.sembly as they gathered around the chest with silent laughter.

"Wilt walk 'ere and see the phonograph in the libry, made by Hedison, an Hamerican, which bottles up the voice and preserves it fresh for a hundred years? 'Tis a rare new fancy."

"Rot," said 'Arry. Then turning to the giggling Maudlin, he whispered: "Saw it las' toime. 'Is lords.h.i.+p got a piece o' moy moind that oi reeled off into it about this 'ere swindle. Fawney that old bloke there charging a tanner apiece to us for chaffin' a bit of a barrel."

"Have you no last new braveries to show us of the gallants and their mistresses, as you were wont?" said Maudlin to the Cicerone. "'Twas a rare show last time--the modish silk gowns and farthingales in the closets."

"But there be no company this Christmas," said the custodian, "and 'is lords.h.i.+p does not entertain, unless it be the new fool 'is lords.h.i.+p sent down 'ere to-day, who has been mopin' and moonin' in the corridors, as is ever the way of these wittol creatures when they are not heeded. He was 'ere in a rare motley of his own choosing, with which he thinks to raise a laugh, a moment ago. Ye see him not--not 'avin' the gift that belongs by right to my dread office. 'Tis a weird privilege I have--and may not be imparted to others--save"--

"Save what, good man steward? Prithee, speak?" said Marian earnestly.

"'Tis ever a s.h.i.+llin' extra."

There was no response. A few of the more bashful ghosts thrust their hands in their pockets and looked awkwardly another way. The Barbarian felt a momentary relief followed by a slight pang of mortified vanity.

He was a little afraid of them. The price was an extortion, certainly, but surely he was worth the extra s.h.i.+lling!

"He has brought but little braveries of attire into the Castle,"

continued the Cicerone, "but I 'ave something 'ere which was found on the top of his portmanteau. I wot ye know not the use of this." To the Barbarian's intense indignation, the Cicerone produced, from under his, his (the Barbarian's) own opera hat. "Marry, what should be this? Read me this riddle! To it--and unyoke!"

A dozen vacant guesses were made as the showman held it aloft. Then with a conjuror's gesture he suddenly placed his thumbs within the rim, released the spring and extended the hat. The a.s.sembly laughed again silently as before.

"'Tis a hat," said the Cicerone, with a superior air.

"Nay," said Maudlin, "give it here." She took it curiously, examined it, and then with a sudden coquettish movement lifted it towards her own coifed head, as if to try it on. The Cicerone suddenly sprang forward with a despairing gesture to prevent her. And here the Barbarian was conscious of a more startling revelation. How and why he could not tell, but he KNEW that the putting on of that article of his own dress would affect the young girl as the a.s.sumption of the steel cap and corselet had evidently affected him, and that he would instantly become as visible to her as she and her companions had been to him. He attempted to rise, but was too late; she had evaded the Cicerone by ducking, and, facing in the direction of the Barbarian, clapped the hat on her head.

He saw the swift light of consciousness, of astonishment, of sudden fear spring into her eyes! She shrieked, he started, struggled, and awoke!

But what was this! He was alone in the moonlit gallery, certainly; the ghastly figures in their outlandish garb were gone; he was awake and in his senses, but, in this first flash of real consciousness, he could have sworn that something remained! Something terror-stricken, and retreating even then before him,--something of the world, modern,--and, even as he gazed, vanis.h.i.+ng through the gallery door with the material flash and rustle of silk.

He walked quietly to the door. It was open. Ah! No doubt he had forgotten to shut it fast; a current of air or a sudden draught had opened it. That noise had awakened him. More than that, remembering the lightning flash of dream consciousness, it had been the CAUSE of his dream. Yet, for a few moments he listened attentively.

What might have been the dull reverberation of a closing door in the direction of the housekeeper's room, on the lower story, was all he heard. He smiled, for even that, natural as it might be, was less distinct and real than his absurd vision.

Nevertheless the next afternoon he concluded to walk over to Audley Friars for his Christmas dinner. Its hospitable master greeted him cordially.

"But do you know, my dear fellow," he said, when they were alone for a moment, "if you hadn't come by yourself I'd have sent over there for you. The fact is that A--- wrote to us that you were down at Stukeley alone, ghost-hunting or something of that sort, and I'm afraid it leaked out among the young people of our party. Two of our girls--I shan't tell you which--stole over there last night to give you a start of some kind.

They didn't see you at all, but, by Jove, it seems they got the biggest kind of a fright THEMSELVES, for they declare that something dreadful in armor, you know, was sitting in the gallery. Awfully good joke, wasn't it? Of course YOU didn't see anything,--did you?"

"No," said the Barbarian, discreetly.