The Second Macabre MEGAPACK®. Эдит Несбит
all, of accepting me without some inquiry into my past life, my habits, and my prospects.
That he should seek to make this examination more impressive by appointing this ridiculous midnight interview for it, was only what might have been expected from an old man of his confirmed eccentricity.
But I knew I could easily contrive to satisfy the baronet, and with the idea of consoling Chlorine, I said as much. “Why will you persist in treating me like a child, Augustus?” she broke out almost petulantly. “They have tried to hide it all from me, but do you suppose I do not know that in the Grey Chamber you will have to encounter one far more formidable, far more difficult to satisfy, than poor dear papa?”
“I see you know more than I—more than I thought you did,” I said. “Let us understand one another, Chlorine—tell me exactly how much you know.”
“I have told you all I know,” she said; “it is your turn to confide in me.”
“Not even for your sweet sake, my dearest,” I was obliged to say, “can I break the seal that is set upon my tongue. You must not press me. Come, let us talk of other things.”
But I now saw that matters were worse than I had thought; instead of the feeble old baronet I should have to deal with a stranger, some exacting and officious friend or relation perhaps, or, more probably, a keen family solicitor who would put questions I should not care about answering, and even be capable of insisting upon strict settlements.
It was that, of course; they would try to tie my hands by a strict settlement, with a brace of cautious trustees; unless I was very careful, all I should get by my marriage would be a paltry life-interest, contingent upon my surviving my wife.
This revolted me; it seems to me that when law comes in with its offensively suspicious restraints upon the husband and its indelicately premature provisions for the offspring, all the poetry of love is gone at once. By allowing the wife to receive the income “for her separate use and free from the control of her husband,” as the phrase runs, you infallibly brush the bloom from the peach, and implant the “little speck within the fruit” which, as Tennyson beautifully says, will widen by-and-by and make the music mute.
This may be overstrained on my part, but it represents my honest conviction; I was determined to have nothing to do with law. If it was necessary, I felt quite sure enough of Chlorine to defy Sir Paul. I would refuse to meet a family solicitor anywhere, and I intended to say so plainly at the first convenient opportunity.
III.
The opportunity came after dinner that evening when we were all in the drawing-room, Lady Catafalque dozing uneasily in her arm-chair behind a firescreen, and Chlorine, in the further room, playing funereal dirges in the darkness, and pressing the stiff keys of the old piano with a languid uncertain touch.
Drawing a chair up to Sir Paul’s, I began to broach the subject calmly and temperately. “I find,” I said, “that we have not quite understood one another over this affair in the Grey Chamber. When I agreed to an appointment there, I thought—well, it doesn’t matter what I thought, I was a little too premature. What I want to say now is, that while I have no objection to you, as Chlorine’s father, asking me any questions (in reason) about myself, I feel a delicacy in discussing my private affairs with a perfect stranger.”
His burning eyes looked me through and through; “I don’t understand,” he said. “Tell me what you are talking about.”
I began all over again, telling him exactly what I felt about solicitors and settlements. “Are you well?” he asked sternly. “What have I ever said about settlements or solicitors?”
I saw that I was wrong again, and could only stammer something to the effect that a remark of Chlorine’s had given me this impression.
“What she could have said to convey such an idea passes my comprehension,” he said gravely; “but she knows nothing—she’s a mere child. I have felt from the first, my boy, that your aunt’s intention was to benefit you quite as much as my own daughter. Believe me, I shall not attempt to restrict you in any way; I shall be too rejoiced to see you come forth in safety from the Grey Chamber.”
All the relief I had begun to feel respecting the settlements was poisoned by these last words. Why did he talk of that confounded Grey Chamber as if it were a fiery furnace, or a cage of lions? What mystery was there concealed beneath all this, and how, since I was obviously supposed to be thoroughly acquainted with it, could I manage to penetrate the secret of this perplexing appointment?
While he had been speaking, the faint, mournful music died away, and, looking up, I saw Chlorine, a pale, slight form, standing framed in the archway which connected the two rooms.
“Go back to your piano, my child,” said the baronet; “Augustus and I have much to talk about which is not for your ears.”
“But why not?” she said; “oh, why not? Papa! dearest mother! Augustus! I can bear it no longer! I have often felt of late that we are living this strange life under the shadow of some fearful Thing, which would chase all cheerfulness from any home. More than this I did not seek to know; I dared not ask. But now, when I know that Augustus, whom I love with my whole heart, must shortly face this ghastly presence, you cannot wonder if I seek to learn the real extent of the danger that awaits him! Tell me all. I can bear the worst—for it cannot be more horrible than my own fears!”
Lady Catafalque had roused herself and was wringing her long mittened hands and moaning feebly. “Paul,” she said, “you must not tell her; it will kill her; she is not strong!” Her husband seemed undecided, and I myself began to feel exquisitely uncomfortable. Chlorine’s words pointed to something infinitely more terrible than a mere solicitor.
“Poor girl,” said Sir Paul at last, “it was for your own good that the whole truth has been thus concealed from you; but now, perhaps, the time has come when the truest kindness will be to reveal all. What do you say, Augustus?”
“I—I agree with you,” I replied faintly; “she ought to be told.”
“Precisely!” he said. “Break to her, then, the nature of the ordeal which lies before you.”
It was the very thing which I wanted to be broken to me! I would have given the world to know all about it myself, and so I stared at his gloomy old face with eyes that must have betrayed my helpless dismay. At last I saved myself by suggesting that such a story would come less harshly from a parent’s lips.
“Well, so be it,” he said. “Chlorine, compose yourself, dearest one; sit down there, and summon up all your fortitude to hear what I am about to tell you. You must know, then—I think you had better let your mother give you a cup of tea before I begin; it will steady your nerves.”
During the delay which followed—for Sir Paul did not consider his daughter sufficiently fortified until she had taken at least three cups—I suffered tortures of suspense, which I dared not betray.
They never thought of offering me any tea, though the merest observer might have noticed how very badly I wanted it.
At last the baronet was satisfied, and not without a sort of gloomy enjoyment and a proud relish of the distinction implied in his exceptional affliction, he began his weird and almost incredible tale.
“It is now,” said he, “some centuries since our ill-fated house was first afflicted with the family curse which still attends it. A certain Humfrey de Catafalque, by his acquaintance with the black art, as it was said, had procured the services of a species of familiar, a dread and supernatural being. For some reason he had conceived a bitter enmity towards his nearest relations, whom he hated with a virulence that not even death could soften. For, by a refinement of malice, he bequeathed this baleful thing to his descendants for ever, as an inalienable heirloom! And to this day it follows the title—and the head of the family for the time being is bound to provide it with a secret apartment under his own roof. But that is not the worst: as each member of our house succeeds to the ancestral rank and honours, he must seek an interview with ‘The Curse,’ as it has been styled for generations. And, in that