Читать книгу Bungay Castle: A Novel. v. 1 - Bonhote Elizabeth - Страница 5

During the time that De Willows was cherishing an increasing affection for Madeline, the youthful Edeliza, now in the sixteenth year, was in a situation more distressing. She had long been accustomed to consider De Willows in the light of a playfellow, and to be gratified by his almost undivided attention, while to him her's was wholly confined. With Camelford she would sometimes romp, if De Willows were absent, but, as soon as he returned, she would fly to him, and complain of the young lieutenant's having wearied her by playing too roughly.

Love even with the inexperienced is generally quick-fighted. Edeliza had observed, with a kind of trembling apprehension, and a fear she knew not how to account for, the attentions De Willows paid to Madeline. She was angry, – she was shocked, – thought her not half so handsome as she once had been, and wondered what the gentlemen could see to admire in so ghostly a figure; her brother, De Clavering, Hugh Camelford, and Elwyn, might make as much fuss as they pleased about the beautiful nun, as they chose to call her, that De Willows should be so blind, so provoking, she could not bear to recollect; however, as she would soon be obliged to return to the nunnery, she hoped De Willows would then forget she had ever left it, and recover his senses.

Thus was the little blind god, who had been the delight and the torment of all ages, beginning to play cross purposes at the castle, and aiming his arrows at hearts too innocent to guard against or repel their attacks. De Willows had ever admired Edeliza as a beautiful and interesting child; he had been in the habit of seeing her, from the time she was ten years old, every day; therefore her progress towards womanhood had passed in a manner unperceived, and he had indulged himself and his little favourite in the same fond and playful endearments as had taken place from the first of their meeting, and that without forming an idea of there being either danger or impropriety in so doing. Had any one informed De Willows that Edeliza was cherishing a growing affection for him, which, if unreturned, would endanger her future peace, he would have treated it as the idle chimera of their own whimsical brain; but, had he once seriously supposed he was destroying her happiness, and planting the thorn of anguish in her innocent bosom, his heart was so much the seat of true honour, he would have stabbed in his own breast rather than have acted unjustly by the daughter of his friend.

It happened about this period that Sir Philip de Morney was obliged to go to London in order to settle a law-suit which had been long depending, and which had harassed his mind very much. De Huntingfield was to take the command of the castle during his absence, being the oldest officer in the place. De Willows, though of higher rank, was too young to be entrusted with a charge of so much importance, and gladly yielded the honour to one so much his superior in years. Sir Philip departed with reluctance, took leave of his family with tenderness, and promised to return the first moment after the affair was settled. – Lady de Morney was reconciled to the temporary absence of her husband by the important business which had called him away.

The young friends, having slept for several nights undisturbed, had almost lost all remembrance of their fears before the departure of Sir Philip, whose absence happened very opportunely to gratify their curiosity in visiting every part of the castle, Edwin having promised to procure the keys, and accompany them.

Two nights after Sir Philip's departure, having spent a cheerful evening, they retired to rest in unusual good spirits, but were awakened about midnight by a war of the elements, and what made the scene more terrific, though it was in the depth of winter, the thunder rolled in tremendous peals over their heads, the sturdy walls of the castle appeared to shake from their centre to the battlements, and the lightning flashed upon the walls, and gleamed along the vaulted passages, as if to make horror visible. The young ladies dressed themselves, and Edwin tapped at the door with a light, inviting them to go down into one of the lower rooms, to which he would accompany them.

Cheered and revived by the sound of his voice, they readily agreed to his proposal, and in a few minutes opened the door to admit their conductor. They made as little noise as possible, fearful of disturbing Lady de Morney, if she was not already alarmed by the tempest; and, to prevent the possibility of doing so, they agreed to go down a winding staircase that led through one of the towers, and which was seldom used by the family. They crept slowly along, when, in one part of it, which was rather wider than the rest, they passed four steps, which led to a door in the wall, and which appeared so well secured by locks and bars, as if it never was intended to be opened.

"For heaven's sake, (whispered Roseline,) to what room does that door lead? I never saw it before."

"I entreat you (said the trembling Madeline) not to stop in this horrid place to ask questions, (for the humid and unwholesome dews of night and noxious vapours hung on the walls.) Though I am not afraid now Edwin is with us, yet I may take cold by staying here."

Edwin pressed the hand which was resting on his arm to his throbbing bosom, and hurried them into the room the family had left, and they were all truly rejoiced to find an excellent fire still blazing on the wide-extended hearth, round which they seated themselves, and neither Madeline nor Edwin uttered a single complaint at having been so unseasonably disturbed.

The tempest having spent it fury, subsided by degrees into a calm, and the party, entering into conversation, almost forgot it had ever been. Roseline however repeated her question respecting the door they had seen in their way down the staircase. Edwin assured her he knew no more than herself to what place it belonged: he had heard that the restless ghost of some one had been bound in the apartments to which it led, and that orders had been given for it never to be opened. He had once made some inquiries of his father, but was desired by him never to ask any questions till he came to years of maturity, nor to explore any of the secret passages or entrances to the castle.

"Then, surely, (said Madeline,) it would be extremely wrong to disobey the commands of Sir Philip, merely to satisfy an idle and perhaps blamable curiosity."

"At the moment (interrupted Edwin) that I admire the complying sweetness of the gentle Madeline, I must beg pardon for retaining my own resolution of seeing those parts of the castle from which I have been so long secluded. I am now arrived at an age that surely deserves to be trusted, or I must be unfit to live in a situation like this. My father's reasons for the secresy he has observed so long, I am unacquainted with; but I will most assuredly avail myself of his absence to gratify my curiosity. I know where the keys are deposited, and in a night or two will begin my nocturnal search. If you and Roseline are in the humour to accompany me, it is well; if not, I shall certainly go by myself."

"As that might be dangerous, (said Roseline, who rejoiced to find him so resolute,) you must promise to take me along with you."

To this he assented, and Madeline agreed, with some little confusion, to be of the party, concluding, Sir Philip must be wrong in not granting his son's request. This matter settled, they retired for the rest of the night, to forget, in the arms of sleep, not only the castle and the nunnery, but the whole world.

The next night they were surprised by an unusual noise, that seemed to be immediately under them. It appeared something like the rattling of a carriage over stones. Groans too they thought they heard; and, after dressing themselves, Roseline called her brother, to convince him their alarms were not the effects of imagination. He heard the same sounds, and, in looking round their apartment, and into an adjoining closet, he discovered a trap-door, that was very curiously concealed under a board, which slided over it. He attempted to lift it up, but found it was secured by a lock which was hid in a small projection of the wall.

Finding it impossible to obtain a passage, they determined to defer their search till the succeeding night, when Edwin promised to secure the keys. He stayed with them till daylight dissipated their fears; they then retired to repose; but sleep deserted their pillows. A thousand vague conjectures occupied their minds, and Madeline, for the first time in her life, wished herself absent from the castle: that there was something to discover appeared beyond a doubt; but, whether the discovery would serve to relieve or increase their anxiety, was as hazardous as it was uncertain; however, as Roseline and Edwin were resolute to make the attempt, she determined not to oppose them.

Edwin revolved in his mind how he might be able to find some clue to guide him, and resolved to apply to an old soldier, whose whole life had been spent in the castle, to give him some account respecting it. He was fond of retracing past scenes, and, when once he began talking, knew not when to stop. From him Edwin learned all he wanted to be informed; by him he was told the use of the keys, and received every necessary direction. The old man, considering himself honoured by holding converse with the governor's son, told him every circumstance he knew or could recollect. The next day was spent in the same manner as usual. De Clavering was uncommonly facetious, De Willows particularly cheerful, Hugh Camelford entertaining, and De Huntingfield busy in the active duties of his important office.

The afternoon being remarkably clear, mild, and serene, the whole party agreed to ascend to the top of the castle, and walk on the ramparts, for the benefit of air and exercise. Edeliza would not quit the arm of De Willows, therefore Madeline was left uninterrupted to the care of Edwin.

The air was reviving, the prospect picturesque and interesting; for notwithstanding the season, nature had still beauties to catch the inquiring eye, and awaken the gratitude of innocent and cheerful hearts. A few evergreens, scattered here and there among the leafless trees afforded shelter to innumerable birds. The red breast warbled his artless song, surrounded by a number of chirping sparrows, who seemed gaily to flutter around, making a most uncommon bustle, which was occasioned by a shower that had lately fallen.

"Confound these impertinent noisy little devils! (said De Clavering,) I wish I had my gun, and I would most assuredly put an end to some of this clatter."

"For shame, toctor, (cried Camelford;) what! would you testroy such pretty harmless creatures as these? Rather save your ammunition for the enemies of your king – that would be coot sport indeed! – then, my man of mettle, we should be petter employed; but let the sparrow-family lif, and enjoy their prating."

"I believe you are nearly allied to that same family, (replied the doctor,) and therefore I do not wonder at your being anxious to preserve your relations."

"Petter not provoke me, toctor. I am in a valiant humour just now, and, as Cot shall pless me, I will not pocket an affront from any one."

"Pack it up in your knapsack, (replied the doctor drily,) and say, as our Saviour did, when tempted, "Get thee behind me, Satan!" – for really Hugh, I often think the devil has jumped into your skull, and, by kicking about your brains, has made you so hot headed."

"Then the best thing I can do (replied Camelford) would be to put myself under your tirection to lay this same tevil, and by the time you had trained me of all my Welch ploot, he would leave my lifeless carcase to be poiled for your improvement; but avaunt, thou cataplasm of cataplasms! – I defy thy incantations, plisters, and pleedings."

"I believe the young dog will live the longer, (cried the doctor, addressing De Willows,) but who among us will deny or defy the sweet influence of these lilies and roses that are now blooming around us."

"I do not pretend to any such philosophic apathy," replied De Willows.

"If you did, your looks would betray you, (retorted Edwin.) To deny the united influence of love and beauty is not the province of a soldier."

"Do all soldiers admire beauty, and fall in love?" inquired the artless Edeliza, looking earnestly at De Willows.

"I believe so, my sweet little girl, (he answered;) love and death are alike inevitable."

"But not equally dangerous, (said the laughing Roseline;) for I never heard of any one dying of the wounds given by the little blind god, though thousands fall victims to the more certain arrows sent from the furnace of war."

"By the crate Cot, (said Camelford,) I had rather tie by the wounds of a pair of pright eyes than by those of a cannon, loaded by the hands of an ugly tog, who like a putcher delights in ploot."

"More fool you, (replied De Clavering;) the death in the one case would be glorious and instantaneous, – in the other, foolish and lingering, – "

"Unless I applied to a toctor to put me out of my misery, and then

I should get rid of it in a trice."

"A truce with your compliments, good folks, (said Roseline;) suppose we endeavour to reconcile ourselves to the world, and all its strange vagaries, by a dance in the great hall. This proposal met with general approbation; to the great hall they descended, and, surrounded by the rusty armour of their hardy forefathers, they enjoyed in the mazy windings of the lively dance, a pleasure as innocent as it was amusing, Lady de Morney herself being a gratified spectator of the scene.

This hall was decorated, if we may use the term, with a vast number of suits of armour, belonging to the family of Norfolk. One, more light and higher finished than the rest, appeared to have belonged to a youth of Edwin's size. He was prevailed on to fit it; and, armed cap-a-pie, strutted about in bold defiance, and threw down his gauntlet, daring any one to single combat who should deny the palm of beauty being due to the lady he should name.

"Suppose I threw down my glove," said de Willows."

"You would soon take it up again, (replied Edwin, somewhat scornfully,) as I fancy our taste in beauty to be the same."

De Willows coloured, – Madeline appeared uneasy, – and Edeliza declared armour was the most frightful dress she ever saw, while the younger part of the family jumped round their brother, and with eagerness made many inquiries concerning the use of every part of his dress, and requested their mother to let them wear some of the nodding plumes which hung in lofty state around them.

In the course of the evening, Edwin gave Madeline a hint to retire early to her chamber, having obtained possession of the keys, and gained such directions as could not fail to satisfy their curiosity and guide them in their researches. Madeline silently acquiesced, and imparted, with trembling impatience, the tidings to her friend. She was thoughtful and absent the rest of the evening, and availed herself of the earliest opportunity of withdrawing to her chamber. Roseline very soon followed her, and, as soon as the family had retired to rest, Edwin stole gently to their apartment. They had anxiously expected his arrival, and therefore gave him immediate admittance.

Roseline rejoiced at seeing her brother, and eagerly inquired if he was sure that he had the keys that would enable them to proceed. He then produced a most enormous bunch, with a dark lantern, which was to guide them through the intricate labyrinths of the castle, and advised Madeline and his sister to guard against the damps of the passages they had to go through, and to arm themselves with their whole stock of resolution, lest their terror should betray him.

Roseline assured him her fears were conquered by her strong desire to explore the secrets of their habitation, and Madeline promised not to let her apprehensions impede their progress. Edwin lighted his candle, and with some difficulty unfastened the trap-door he had discovered in their closet; but, on opening it, a kind of noxious vapour ascended, that almost tempted them to give up their design. A flight of broken brick steps, of amazing depth, carried them into a narrow winding passage, in which it was impossible for more than one person to move forward at once.

Madeline caught hold of Edwin's coat, and Roseline followed her with a lighted candle in her hand. For some time they groped along, frequently stumbling over the stones which had fallen from the mouldering walls, and trembling lest this passage should lead them into danger. Edwin frequently stopped to encourage them to go on, assuring them they had nothing to apprehend. By degrees the path widened, and, on suddenly turning, they entered a kind of square, round which were several doors, but so low, they did not seem made to admit men but dwarfs. Going up to one of them, Edwin pushed it open with his foot, and he was convinced they were the dungeons in which prisoners of war were confined. Some contained only bedsteads, iron rings, and fetters; in one of them they saw a human skull; in another was a coffin, which appeared to have stood there for ages, and with its silent inhabitant was falling to decay.

They proceeded till they came to a door which was so thickly studded over with nails, bolts, bars, and locks, this it impeded their farther progress. Edwin would fain have attempted to open it, but was prevented by his shivering and terrified companions.

"Brother, (cried Roseline,) we have seen quite enough to satisfy us for one night."

"Another time, Edwin, (added Madeline,) I shall feel less repugnance to proceed. But how do you know that door does not lead to some apartment where the restless spirit of another discontented ghost may be confined, by some potent spell, till released by the intrusion of beings who now wander amid the gloomy scenes of life as he once did?"

"No such thing, (replied the intrepid and resolute Edwin;) that door is an entrance to a subterraneous passage, which leads from this castle to Mettingham, merely to give entrance to troops in any case of emergency, or to cover the retreat of others that may want to escape."

"But, as it has not been used, either for the one purpose or the other, since my father resided here, (said Roseline,) it may now be a shelter for thieves and traitors; therefore, for heaven's sake, let us now return to our apartment."

Edwin, whose disposition was as amiable as his manners and person were captivating, no longer contended with their wishes, but led the way for them as he had done before, and, as he was a fine tall youth, was obliged to stoop as he went along.

Just as they came near the foot of the steps which led to their apartment, they saw, or thought they saw, a faint light gleam across a passage which led to another part of these gloomy habitations, and they imagined they perceived the figure of some one disappear at their approach. This alarmed the whole group, and they hurried up the stairs as hastily as their fears would let them. Having cautiously fastened the trap-door, they sat down to recover themselves, and recollected with a degree of horror and disgust the gloomy scenes they had visited; but the light, and the figure they had all caught a transient view of, dwelt most forcibly on their minds. Madeline declared she should never have sufficient resolution to re-visit these abodes of terror, contrived by the stern hands of despotism and ambition.

"When we think, as we surely may, (said she,) with some degree of certainty, how many poor souls have languished out a life of misery in these gloomy cells, can we wonder if they are haunted by all they have entombed? Shut out not only from the world, but from every comfort, nature too recoils and shudders at the cruelties that may have been practised on the poor victims thus buried in the bowels of the earth."

"All this may be very true, my sweet Madeline, (interrupted Edwin,) but I am determined to re-visit them. Perhaps some poor sufferers may still remain in the castle; if so, it would be delightful to soften the rigours of their fate."

"True, my dear brother, (cried Roseline, her eyes illumined with the soft beams of genuine benevolence and philanthropy,) I will certainly attend you."

"To quiet the fears of our lovely friend, (said Edwin,) I will request old Bertrand, who has lived in this castle from the time we came into it, to accompany and direct us in our search after misery. I am told too, (he added,) there is a passage which leads from this castle into the chapel of your nunnery. If I can find it out, I shall certainly pay you a visit, and steal you from your cell; for, my dear Madeline, whatever may be the truth and the virtues of our holy religion, it is doubtless one of its abuses to shut from the world those lovely works of the creation best calculated to enliven and adorn it. Can it be deemed a greater crime to doom a worthless, or, suppose I say, and innocent, man, to languish in a dungeon, that it is to compel an unfortunate female to waste her days in the austere walls of a nunnery, – kneel to the unfeeling image of a saint, – watch the midnight lamp, – seclude herself from all social enjoyments, – and linger through life in solitary sadness without a friend, or a lover, to cheer her on her way?"

"Hush, for heaven's sake! (said the frightened Madeline;) if Father

Anselm heard you talk thus lightly and profanely of our holy religion,

I should be for ever debarred seeing you and Roseline again, for life shut out from the world, and compelled to take the veil."

"Never, by heaven! (cried Edwin, thrown entirely off his guard by the tender confusion and agitation of Madeline:) you shall take no vows but such as love and nature dictate. I would perish a thousand times, – lose a thousand lives to preserve you from a fate that would not only make you wretched, but me for ever miserable. – Roseline has long known that you are dear to my heart. Say, – ease me of the torturing suspense I this moment feel, – do you not find an advocate in your bosom that will plead my cause?"

Madeline trembled violently; her eyes were bent to the ground: She would have fallen, had not Roseline flown to support her. She attempted to speak, but the words died away inarticulately.

"I see how it is, (cried Edwin impassionately;) the happy De Willows has gained by his attentions what I have lost by disgusting you with mine: you hate, you despise me. I will solicit my father to let me join the army: I will for ever remove this detested object from your sight, and pray that the portion of happiness I have lost may be redoubled to you."

Madeline, alarmed by the energy of this speech, was instantly roused from the languor into which she had sunk.

"I hate no one, (said she softly;) but Edwin, you forget it would be a crime in me to love. If, indeed, that had not been the case, – if I were at liberty – "

"You would bless the happy De Willows with your hand."

"Never! – De Willows I regard as a friend: as any thing more I never did, – never could think of him. I am you know banished from all intercourse with the world; – my sentence has been long pronounced; from that sentence there can be no appeal. Would to heaven I had submitted to it, and never quitted the retreat to which parental authority consigned me! At this painful moment my own feelings inflict my punishment."

"Then you do not hate me? (cried Edwin, taking her hand.) – Only say I am not quite indifferent to you, and I will endeavour to rest satisfied, and ask no more; trusting that time may do much in my favour; but, if you attempt to deprive me of all hope, – if you deny me this innocent gratification, I will go to the wars."

"Ah! why will you press me to discover what it would be better to conceal? – why will you tempt me to swerve from my duty to my God and my parents, and make me a perjured, and unworthy sacrifice? – You have, I fear, taught my heart a lesson it ought never to have learned: but it must be the hard task of my future life to atone for the crime I have committed in having suffered a mortal to rival that God, who alone should have occupied all my thoughts and wishes."

Edwin threw himself at the feet of Madeline. His raptures were now as unbounded as the conflict had been severe; and not till she sunk fainting into the arms of her friend, could he be persuaded to quit their apartment.

Happy was it for the party that Roseline had not only a greater share of prudence and understanding that most of her sex, but likewise more fortitude than is usually their portion. She soon recovered, her friend soothed her into some degree of composure, and endeavoured to inspire her with hopes that some plan might be adopted which would remove those difficulties that threatened to divide two hearts love had united, and which appeared formed by nature to make each other happy. Roseline well knew her father would not only be displeased, but shocked, if he discovered this unfortunate attachment, and she blamed herself for having been the innocent cause of involving two people so dear to her in such a hopeless scene of complicated distress.

Notwithstanding the agonizing conflicts which had attended the eclaircissement, the lovers felt a heavy burthen removed from their hearts. Convinced of being mutually beloved, all other sorrows, all other trials appeared light and trivial: they sunk into a more sweet and peaceful slumber than they had long enjoyed, – dreamed of each other, and arose the next morning with renovated spirits and revived hopes.

Madeline wished the hour was arrived they were to renew their midnight ramble, and thought, if she should meet a thousand ghosts, she should not fear them, while Edwin, who loved her so tenderly and sincerely, was near to guard her. She was eager too, but scarcely durst acknowledge to herself she wished the passage might be found which led to the chapel in her nunnery.