Читать книгу The Dwarf's Chamber - Fergus Hume - Страница 6

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WHEN Warwick came to himself, he was conscious of a dull pain on the top of his head, and of a wet cloth lying across his forehead. Still confused, he did not at once open his eyes, but lay silent and inert, endeavouring to pick up the threads of life where recollection failed him. His soul, lately on an excursion into the unknown, whence it had brought back no report, reunited itself to the body with a sudden shock which thrilled his frame with pain and dread. Then memory awoke, and he recalled his fall into the stream, his scaling of the wall, and finally the utter blank which had whelmed him on the other side of the parapet. Between that and this he could recall nothing. At some indefinite period he had bestridden an ivied wall in the hot sunshine; but he could not even guess at his present situation. So bewildered was his brain, that for the moment he neither opened his eyes nor attempted to comprehend his position.

While thus lying, dead and buried, as it seemed to him, for he had no feeling of contact with the actual world, a sweet voice began piping a song in low tones. It was the same singing he had evoked with his violin; but now shrilled delicately, as though the vocalist were afraid of rousing him from slumber. As in a dream he heard the voice shape itself into song;

Sir James, tae guard his soul fra ill,

Hae plucked the rowan berry,

And walked him, in the moonlicht chill,

Where faery folk dance merry.

Oh, lay ye doon the rowan twig,

An’ taste oor wine o’ broom,

Or mickle dole, on hairt an’ soul,

We’ll gie ye for a doom.

Here the ballad abruptly ended, as a deep voice jarred on the silvery sweetness of the strain.

“Pray be silent, Madam Tot,” said the voice, “you will wake our patient.”

“Not so, doctor,” replied the singer lightly, “his soul is not there, but in the kingdom of faery with my kinsfolk.”

“We must try and bring it back to his body then,” said the doctor. “The lad has been severely shaken by his fall; but as no bones are broken I trust he will soon be all right. You stay beside him, Madam Tot, while I go for some wine.”

“Send Blunderbore to me,” cried the lady, as the other departed. “I wish him to see after my summer-house, broken by the fall of this giant.”

The idea that he was a giant so tickled Warwick, that, notwithstanding his aching head, he could not forbear a quiet laugh, and opened his eyes to see into what odd quarter of the world he had wandered. The sight of the room in which he lay made him doubtful of his sanity, and he began to think that he had been thrust into a doll’s house; everything was on so small a scale that he indeed felt as though he were a giant in the land of Lilliput.

He was lying on the floor with his head resting on a tiny sofa, and on looking upward he saw that the ceiling was so low that he could almost touch it by simply stretching up his arm. Tables and chairs on the same miniature scale were scattered about the apartment, and the doors and windows were commensurate to the size of the chamber. The hangings were of green, as also was the carpet, and everything betrayed daintiness and refinement, as though the room were inhabited by a luxurious doll. It was little wonder that these dwarfish surroundings confused the young man who so unexpectedly found himself amongst them. To lose consciousness in the actual world, and recover sensibility in the land of pigmies, is a rare, almost an inconceivable experience for the average human being.

The doll herself, who was seated on a little chair, started up when she heard his laugh, and hastened lightly towards him. This lady was a dwarf, not more than three feet in height, but so beautifully proportioned that for the moment she did not strike Warwick as anything out of the ordinary. But for her white hair and wrinkled face he would have taken her for a child. She was dressed in a green robe, with a silver belt, and wore a hat of the same hue, adorned with white feathers. Leaning on an ebony cane, she nodded and smiled at Warwick; while he could hardly forbear an exclamation of wonder at this perfect reproduction of a human being on a smaller scale. Head, body, hands, feet, all matched one another, and beyond the fact that she was three feet high instead of five or six, there was nothing incongruous or repellent in her looks. Evidently the chamber had been proportioned and furnished in accordance with her stature; and so strong was the impression created by this congruity, that Warwick looked upon himself, rather than on her, as an abnormal creature, and felt that he had no right to intrude his clumsy bulk into the miniature world presided over by this diminutive beauty.

“Am I in Lilliput?” asked he faintly, with an amazed glance at the green-clad faery.

“You are in my chamber,” replied the dwarf in a sweet, low voice, quite in keeping with her tiny personality. “You fell off the wall on to my summer-house; but that its thatched roof broke your fall, you would have been killed; for you tumbled,” added the little lady solemnly, “from an enormous height.”

Warwick laughed, as he quite conceived how infinitely high the wall would appear in the eyes of this little creature; seeing that he, a full-grown man, found it sufficiently lofty. He looked down at his limbs, which seemed unnaturally large in this chamber, where everything was reduced to suit the physical requirements of its dwarfish inmate, and wondered how he got in at the narrow and low door. Madam Tot, as the doctor had called her, guessed his thoughts, and smiled again, She had a very pretty smile, and revealed a row of pretty teeth as she anticipated his speech by a ready explanation.

“Blunderbore found you, sir, and it was Blunderbore who put you into my room, at my request.”

“Who is Blunderbore?” demanded Warwick, with a vague recollection of some nurse’s story.

“He is my guardian here,” replied the lady in a dignified tone, “and I call him Blunderbore because he is so tall and strong. But his real name is Simon.”

“Is he coming in here? I heard you tell the doctor to send him.”

Madam Tot threw up her tiny hands, and shrieked in a horrified manner—

“My dear young man, Simon couldn’t get inside that door. He’s much over six feet in height. It was as much as we could do to get you in.”

“Why didn’t you leave me in the garden then?”

“Because I wanted you in here,” replied the dwarf in a peremptory tone; “you have surprised a secret, sir, and you shall not leave this place until the will of my brother is known.”

“But, Madam Tot,” expostulated Warwick, remembering that she had been so addressed, “I—”

“Madam Tot, you rude person,” shrieked the lady, stamping a tiny foot, “how dare you call me by that odious name! I am Miss Selina Lelanro.”

“And your brother?”

“Is James, Lord Lelanro! You must call me Miss Lelanro! And now, sir, what were you doing on my wall? No evasions, no lies, no fictions,” cried she sternly, “or I will order Blunderbore to throw you into the river again.”

Thus warned, Warwick was about to attempt an explanation, when the door opened, and a large head framed in red hair and red whiskers filled up the opening. The owner was evidently kneeling in the passage outside, and, unable by reason of his bulk to enter, adopted this mode of learning the commands of his dwarfish mistress. This apparition of a head belonged, as Warwick rightly guessed, to the redoubtable Simon, alias Blunderbore.

“Oh, Blunderbore,” said Miss Lelanro, tripping forward, “go and see after the roof of my summer-house at once.”

“Yes, Madam Tot—”

“Miss Lelanro, you oaf!”

“Yes, Miss Lelanro,” replied the head submissively; “and what about the gentleman? Am I to throw him into the river again?”

“You’ve been listening, I see, Blunderbore,” said the dwarf disdainfully. “No, you are not to touch him. I shall attend to him with Dr. Pryce. But get the Blue Room ready, as he will stay here till Lord Lelanro returns.”

By this time Warwick guessed that he had surprised the secret of the Lelanros. Some hereditary taint in the blood produced at intervals a dwarf in the family, similar to the little being who now stood beside him. On account of their deformity, these poor creatures, suffering through no fault of their own, were shut up within the high wall; and the outside world was ignorant of their existence. Warwick recalled the hints of Mistress Sally, and he no longer wondered that a cloud rested on the faces of the Lelanro family. To have such abnormal creatures prisoned in their country house was quite sufficient to weigh on their spirits, and Warwick thought how many dwarfs, born to solitude and disgrace, had inhabited this tiny chamber.

He expected that, alarmed at the secret being known to a stranger, the servants who attended on the dwarf would not let him depart without the sanction of Lord Lelanro; and foresaw that until the owner of the house returned from London, he would be obliged to regard himself as a prisoner. The gigantic Simon, evidently chosen to prevent such invasions of the dwarf’s chamber, was quite powerful enough to keep him there by force, and moreover there was the doctor to be reckoned with. Warwick wondered what manner of a man he would prove to be, and mentally considered how his story would be received.

At this moment the head of Blunderbore vanished in a magical manner, and Miss Lelanro tripped back to the side of her unexpected guest with a resolute look on her elfish face.

“Now, sir,” said she, with an imperious tap of her ebony cane, “what is your name?”

“Algernon Warwick.”

“What are you, Mr. Warwick?”

“A wandering fiddler!”

“Oh!” cried the lady, “it was you, then, who played this morning!”

“Yes, Miss Lelanro; and it was you who sang?”

“It was I. Your music pleased me very much, but I hardly expected the honour of a visit.”

“I assure you it was quite unintentional on my part,” urged Warwick, anxious not to offend this dainty lady. “I fell into the river by accident, and was carried away by the current. It swept me under your wall, and to save myself from being sucked under, I gripped the roots of the ivy which overhangs the stream. Had I not done so I should have been drowned. As it was I could not hang there indefinitely, so I clambered up the wall, with no intention of invading your privacy, but only intent on saving myself. The sun beating on my bare head turned me giddy, and I fell into your garden; but I assure you, Miss Lelanro, I might just as easily have tumbled out as in, and so into the stream again.”

The dwarf listened gravely to this explanation, with her head cocked on one side like that of a pert sparrow. When he paused she nodded approvingly, and supplied him with the sequel to his adventure.

“I was in my garden, Mr. Warwick, and I saw you fall. It was fortunate I had left my summer-house, else I might have been crushed under its ruins. My cry of alarm brought Blunderbore to my assistance, and seeing that you were stunned he carried you in here by my order. Then I sent for Dr. Pryce, who is now attending to you.”

“Am I to consider myself your prisoner, Miss Lelanro?”

“You are to consider yourself my guest,”’ replied the little creature, with great dignity. “I have given orders that a chamber is to be prepared for you. Not one like this,” added she, looking round the doll’s house with ludicrous complacency, “but a grown-up apartment furnished to suit your size. Dr. Pryce will be here shortly to conduct you there, and in the meantime, Mr. Warwick, I shall take my leave, to see Blunderbore repairing my summer-house.”

“I apologize for my misfortune in having crushed it,” said Warwick gravely, though secretly amused by the dwarf’s self-importance.

“Not at all! not at all!” replied Madam Tot, pausing at the door of her chamber to wave a gracious pardon, “it was not your fault. I exonerate you from all blame, and I shall make your stay at the Manor as pleasant as I possibly can.”

When she disappeared, Warwick fell to thinking of the strange situation in which he had been placed by Fate. Certainly, in leaving the inn but a few hours previously, he had not expected to find himself in such straits. Here he was, in the secret portion of the Lelanros’ house, in possession of a knowledge which they jealously concealed from the world; and he wondered how the head of the family would deal with one who innocently had unmasked the curse which was their hereditary burden. From these considerations, which were somewhat unsatisfactory, Warwick’s thoughts reverted to his violin lying under the oak tree beyond the stream, and he resolved to ask Miss Lelanro to have it brought hither by Blunderbore. It would at least solace his captivity, and moreover, as the dwarf was fond of music, he could hope to entertain her on occasions.

At this point of his reflections Dr. Pryce entered the room. Though not a dwarf, he was considerably under the stature of the average human being, and had no difficulty in penetrating into the chamber. A mild, benign face he owned, with kindly eyes and a white beard; yet he was so lacking in ordinary comeliness that he resembled some gnome king, the father of the dwarfish faery in green. With slow steps he advanced towards Warwick, and presented a glass of wine.

“Drink this, Mr. Warwick,” he said, placing it to the young man’s lips, “and then come with me to your room.”

“You know my name, doctor.”

“Madam Tot has just told me your name and story,” replied Pryce, stroking his beard. “Your entry here was purely accidental, yet none the less regrettable on that account. But we will talk of these things later on. Meanwhile, leave the chamber of Miss Lelanro, and come to your own quarters. Your head still aches?”

“Very badly, and I feel rather sick.”

“Ay, ay! A sleep will do you good. Bend your head, Mr. Warwick, and your shoulders also. Remember,” added the doctor, smiling, as he assisted the young man to leave the room, “you are in the kingdom of Lilliput.”

Whether it was a recurrence of his former vertigo, or that Pryce had put an opiate in the wine, Warwick did not clearly know; but at the door of the chamber his senses again left him, and his last recollection was of being picked up like a child by the gigantic Blunderbore.