Читать книгу The Curse - Fergus Hume - Страница 5

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Dr Minister, as an accomplished traveller, was accustomed to the wild and wonderful, upon which he stumbled constantly. In fact it was his love for the unexpected which had sent him roaming in dangerous lands. He knew tales as strange as those of The Thousand and One Nights, and could very easily make an ordinary person’s hair stand on end with a recital of his adventures. Therefore he was less surprised than pleased to discover that a mystery existed in the neighbourhood, and determined by hook or by crook to fathom the same. In all that concerned men, he was devoured by an insatiable curiosity, and Mrs Heasy’s fragmentary hints piqued this to an extraordinary degree. If she had told a plain, straightforward story, the doctor would not have been so interested, but her nods and winks and ejaculations and shudderings made him desperately earnest to arrive at the truth. That—so far as he could gather—was connected with a black cell; but what the black cell might be it was impossible to say at the moment. Still the two words thus connected, suggested the weird and terrible.

“I shan’t hurry myself,” chuckled Minister, changing rapidly into a serge suit still more untidy and rumpled than the one he wore. “A few months in this place with an original landlady, and Borrin at hand won’t bore me. Mark Bally!—humph! I mustn’t question him, for he’ll only tell lies. Ida!—humph! She won’t know. It’s difficult to know how to start. There’s Lavinia Venery to be sure. She’s a magpie for chattering, and is sure to know something if her daughter has any idea of marrying this young man. Then there’s the twins. I see—three Richmonds in the field. Well! Well! well! the more haste the less speed: I must be cautious and slow. Where the deuce is that box? Ah, here!”

Fishing about amongst his luggage which Medway had piled in the bedroom. Minister hauled out from under a heap of clothes a rather large dispatch-box of black japanned tin with a brass lock. Opening this by means of a key which dangled from his watch-chain he took from the box a small parcel, which, when unrolled, revealed a dozen or more dry leaves of a reddish colour. With a nod of satisfaction the old man thrust these into his pocket and huddled into his rough frieze overcoat. Then he opened the window to admit air into the somewhat stuffy room, and thereby saw that the darkness had shut down, a discovery which led him again to fumble in his trunk. Finally, after possessing himself of an electric torch, he extinguished the two candles which he had lighted and went into the passage. This, now illuminated with a small oil lamp giving out a feeble light, conducted him to the front door of the inn, and he emerged into the damp, dark night.

In the tap-room, the yokels were engaged in their autumn pleasures of drinking beer and singing songs, seemingly very cheerful in their mirth. A glance through the half-curtained window showed that Medway was amusing them and entertaining himself at their expense, so the doctor with a nod of approval passed along the crooked little street, knowing that his smart chauffeur was quite at home in these rustic wilds. Owing to the misty gloom it was difficult to see what Hepworth village was like; but being Saturday night the tiny shops were yet open, and filled with customers. An inquiry here and there from a passing woman or child—the men apparently were all collected in the tap-room—directed Minister in the right way, and shortly he found himself beyond the village in a windy lane, which curved round to end in two iron half-gates swung wide open between stone pillars. From the description of Mrs Heasy this appeared to be the hospitable entrance to the Manor, so Minister walked up a wet and dripping avenue, waving his torch here and there to see where he was going. Five minutes brought him into an open space, where a large rambling house bulked on a rise, blacker than the blackness of the night. Light streaming from many windows did away with the necessity for the electric torch. Minister therefore economically dispensed with the same and strode ponderously up to the front door, which loomed under a mighty porch like the portal to an ogre’s castle. An ivory button to the right of this showed him that the Manor was up to date in the way of civilisation.

The shrill vibration of the bell brought a fat footman to the door, and the visitor was informed that Dr Borrin was at home. No. Dr Borrin was not at dinner, as he dined at five o’clock in quite an old-fashioned style. He was in the drawing-room, and did not mind being disturbed. Yes! The fat footman would take in the gentleman’s card, and this he did leaving the said gentleman standing in the hall. And a very quaint old-world hall it was, of dark panelled oak with the heads of deer and bison and fox on the walls; a fire-place with a cheerful fire, and a stone floor carpeted with Persian praying-mats. Nothing very original to be sure, but the aspect of the whole was home-like and inviting. Minister, wandering round, was beginning to think that he would like just such another habitation, when the fat footman returned preceded by a lean dry little man in evening dress. With outstretched hands Dr Borrin hurried up to Dr Minister, and greeted him warmly.

“Theo, well, I am glad; to think of your coming here so unexpectedly. How are you, my dear friend? But I needn’t ask, you are just the same, just like that head with your shaggy hair and beard,” he pointed to a staring glass-eyed buffalo head on the wall. “Dear, dear, and it’s ten years since we met. Have you dropped from the moon, Theo? and have you come to stay, and—?”

“You talk as much as ever, Josiah,” interrupted Minister, banging his friend on the back until he winced. “I have come by motor from London and have put up at the Harper Inn, where I intend to stay for a few weeks.”

“No! no! Theo. You must stay with me. Lavinia will be so pleased, and Ida and the boys. We have quite a merry party here.”

“The deuce!” Minister surveyed his host’s accurate evening-dress and then glanced down at his own untidy serge suit. “I’m not trimmed up for a party.”

“You always were a sloven,” sighed Borrin, shaking his head which was neatly adorned with a brown wig. “But you have a heart of gold, Theo. Don’t deny it for I won’t be contradicted. William,” to the fat footman, “take Dr Minister’s coat off. Do you wish to wash your hands, Theo? Will you have a glass of wine, my dear fellow? Bless me,” he caught Minister’s hands to shake them once more, “I am glad to see you, old bear. Come along; come along!” and thrusting his little arm under Minister’s big one the host dragged his unexpected guest into a vast room with a low ceiling, lighted with many lamps.

Here a girl was seated at a grand piano with a young man on either side of her, and another girl was seated near the fire, close to a solemn, thin lady, wrinkled and elderly and remarkably sedate. The soft glow of the lamps showed that the prevailing colour of the room was a pale green; walls, hangings, carpet, and the upholstering of chairs and couches were as emerald as grass in spring-time. The atmosphere was restful and serene, and Minister felt like a bear blundering into a flower-garden, as Dr Borrin dragged him forward. Five pair of eyes stared at his shaggy looks, and smiles beamed on five faces as the little host presented him.

“Lavinia, I needn’t tell you who this is. Theophilus Minister, my dear, whom we have not seen for ten long years. Ida, you were a small girl when you saw our friend last. Miss Gurth, Edwin, Edgar, this is the first time you have seen the greatest traveller and the cleverest physician of the present day.”

“Come, come, Josiah, draw it mild,” said Minister, smiling broadly and in his deep mellow voice, as he advanced. “How are you all, you young people? Ha, I needn’t ask: happy and merry, quite unaware of the troubles of life that are ahead of you. Lavinia has been through them.” He halted before the solemn and lean lady who had risen to her feet. “Lavinia, what is the meaning of this?”

“Of what, Theophilus?” faltered Mrs Venery primly, as she took his big hand.

“Of your funeral looks and black dress and want of tongue?”

“I have suffered agonies during these ten years of your absence,” said Mrs Venery sighing, and seating herself again.

“Pooh! pooh! We all think that we suffer agonies; it is vanity that makes us think so. Brisk up, Lavinia, and be the merry happy chatterbox I knew when I saw you last in London, looking about for your second.”

“I never did look about for a second,” cried Mrs Venery indignantly. “My heart is buried in the grave of Ida’s father.”

“No wonder you look like a person who has lost a sovereign and found a penny, my dear woman. Dig it up again and smile on your old admirer.”

“Theophilus! Theophilus!” Mrs Venery shook her head sadly, “you have not changed in the least. Still rough and honest.”

“Only fit for the Naked Lands, eh? Well, I shall go back there if you don’t want me.”

“Don’t be an ass, Theo,” cried Borrin, who was listening with his hands behind his back and his head on one side like a pert cock-sparrow. “Now we have got you we don’t intend to let you go. Lavinia, he is staying at the Harper Inn, and won’t come here.”

“Oh, but you must come here, Uncle Theo,” cried Ida, advancing.

“Humph!” Minister looked very pleased, “Since when have you learned to call me uncle, my dear?”

“Why, I did so when I was a small girl, and Uncle Josiah is always talking of you. He is one uncle and you are another.”

“Ha!” said the doctor, more pleased than ever. “Out of sight I have been, but not out of mind.”

“I’m sure I have never forgotten what a bear you were,” said Mrs Venery in a melancholy tone, “quite a rough diamond.”

“You don’t say such nice things as Ida does, Lavinia. Yet you were full of gush when we last met. Well, well, it’s old age, I presume.”

“Nothing of the sort,” said Mrs Venery indignantly, as the young men laughed, “a woman is as old—”

“As she says she is. I’ve heard that before. Well I shall stay at Hepworth and come here daily if only to make you merry again. Miss Gurth, you look a sensible young lady, why don’t you bully Mrs Venery into brighter looks?”

The girl addressed looked up from a silk tie she was knitting and laughed in a sedate manner. “Mrs Venery is quite happy,” she observed.

“The Lord save me from such happiness. Humph! So you are twins, are you, young sirs. Which is Edwin and which is Edgar? Where’s your red and blue badges? I’m hanged if I can tell you together.”

With a simultaneous smile the young men each produced handkerchiefs, one of blue silk and one of red, whereby, remembering what Mrs Heasy had said, the doctor was able to identify. “You are the barrister,” he said to the twin with the blue handkerchief, “and you are the solicitor,” looking at the other.

“How did you know our professions?” asked the twins together in one breath.

“Made inquiries at the Harper Inn,” said Minister coolly. “I always get to know my ground you know, gentlemen.”

“Oh, that Mrs Heasy,” groaned Lavinia, “she forgets that the tongue is a raging fire which destroys many.”

“Nonsense, she’s a dear old newspaper worth reading.”

“Really, Theophilus, you say strange things.”

“Oh, there’s no end to my eccentricities, Lavinia. What else can you expect from a wild man of the West? Josiah, I shall sit down although you have not asked me. Ida—Niece Ida—be good enough to go on with the firework piece you were playing when I blundered in. I want to look at you all, and as the music will reduce you to silence if you have any manners, there will be a chance of my forming my judgment on the lot.”

Minister’s rough humour made the assembled party laugh, although Mrs Venery, as in duty bound, sighed deeply. However, she made a sign to her daughter to obey and shortly Ida with a twin on either side was seated again at the piano, while the good lady took up her tatting, an early Victorian industry which she largely indulged in, and Miss Gurth went on knitting. As for the little host, he hid himself in a gigantic arm-chair and gazed affectionately at his best friend, who had been absent for so long. When the music started, Minister with his big hands on his big knees looked round calmly first at this person and then on that. He was pleased with what he saw, and contrasted this peaceful haven with the wild and stormy ocean of life upon which he had been tossing for so long.

Ida was tall, graceful, and beautiful, and of a Saxon fairness, with calm blue eyes, golden locks and a complexion of roses and lilies; she was as lovely as Edith of the Swan-neck whom Harold adored to his destruction. And Minister was glad to see that there was nothing fragile, or neurotic about her. She was as stately as a Norse goddess, largely made and deep-bosomed: a woman of nerve and brains who would be a helpmate for an ambitious man dealing with the rough and tumble of life. The doctor was not quite sure if the two young men who hung over her were worthy of such blooming health and majestic beauty. To describe one of course means to describe both, since Edgar and Edwin were twins. They were tall and slim, with dark hair and dark eyes, possessed of the fire of youth to the full and evidently very determined natures. As both had clean-cut features and were clean-shaven it was difficult to tell one from the other; but on the whole Minister approved of Edwin most, as his gaze was franker and less lowering than that of his brother. Being both in evening-dress the wonderful resemblance was accentuated. All the same the doctor shrewdly concluded that their natures differed considerably. But whether this was positively the case he could not determine until he saw more of them.

As to the sister, she was a dark-haired girl of no great beauty, as it was evident that her brothers had monopolised the good looks of the Gurth family. But she appeared to be sensible and domesticated, the kind of woman who would make an admirable wife and a conscientious mother. There was nothing particularly original about her, but Minister, a restless man himself, liked her serene manner and quiet looks. She appeared to have quite a maternal adoration for the handsome twins and glanced at them every now and then in a silently affectionate manner.

“Yes! Yes!” said Minister loudly, and rubbing his hands. “There’s luck in store for the man who gets her.”

This unexpected observation was made just as the music came to a gentle conclusion, and Ida swung round on the piano stool to ask what the visitor meant. The faces of the others also looked inquiring, and Minister came back to a sense of his surroundings with a start. “Don’t be alarmed any of you good people,” he said, raking his beard as usual; “I have an odd habit of picking up my thoughts and putting them into speech at the wrong moment.”

“You are full of odd habits, Theophilus,” said Mrs Venery severely.

“Ah, old age and passing years,” grunted Minister staring hard at her. “You dressed like a parrot and chattered like one when I last saw you, Lavinia, now you are a raven, croaking disaster in black plumage. You haven’t been told the secret of the Bally family, have you, which is said to stop all smiles?”

Everyone started, and Borrin made himself the spokesman for all. “Where on earth did you hear about the Bally secret, Theo?”

“My newspaper, my gazette, my old wife gossip at the inn.”

“She told you the story—the legend?” asked Ida excitedly.

“No. She did worse. Mrs Heasy hinted and shivered and roused my curiosity to such a degree that I wanted to shake the tale out of her. Tell it.”

“There is nothing to tell,” said Mrs Venery crossly. “It’s all rubbish.”

“Even the rumours about the black cell?”

Edgar Gurth laughed mockingly. “Mrs Heasy has been playing with her imagination, doctor,” he said with a shrug. “There is no black cell and no legend of any particularly dreadful kind.”

“Humph!” murmured Minister disbelievingly, “You don’t deny but what there is some sort of legend. What it is I want to know.”

“We must ask Mark Bally to show you the family records,” said Borrin briskly, and looking more bright-eyed than ever, “then you can try and guess the secret, if there is one. For my part I think the whole thing is merely moonshine. Moreover, Theo, you are not here to waste time over the fireside stories of our country-side, but to tell us all about yourself. I have scarcely received a single letter since we parted at Lima ten years ago. Where have you been? What have you been doing? How are you—?”

“One thing at a time, Josiah,” interrupted the traveller throwing up his big hand with a deep, mellow laugh. “If Lavinia has left off talking you have not. I shall tell you of my wanderings when you tell me about yourself.”

“There is little to tell, Theo,” said Borrin modestly. “When we last parted, you remember, it was when we arrived at Lima with the Inca treasure which we found in the Andes.”

“I know all about that,” retorted Minister, impatiently. “You took your share and came home to settle down, while I took my share and spent the most of it in prosecuting my archaeological inquiries. Well?”

“Well,” echoed the host placidly, “what more do you wish to know? I turned my share of the treasure into coin of the realm and invested the money. Aided by Edwin’s father, and later by Edwin himself, I have prospered exceedingly with my investments and I am now very wealthy. So if you are in want of money—”

“I am not. It is true that I have lived on my capital, and did not invest the proceeds of the treasure as you did, Josiah, but there is enough left to keep me in comfort, and even in luxury, for the rest of my misspent life.”

“Well, well! Remember you always have a home here, Theo. And when I am gone, Ida, who is my heiress, will afford you shelter should you need it.”

“That I will, Uncle Theo,” said the girl heartily, “but now that you know all about Uncle Josiah tell us about your adventures.”

“Do I know all about Uncle Josiah?” questioned Minister, smiling broadly.

“Certainly,” replied the little doctor quickly. “I have been here for close upon a decade, having bought this tumble-down old family mansion and repaired it, I asked Lavinia and Ida to stay with me and look after the house. A very dull record compared with yours, Theo.”

“A very noble record,” put in Edwin suddenly. “He does not tell you, Dr Minister, that he is known throughout the length and breadth of Essex for his large-minded charity, and—”

“There! there!” interrupted Borrin hurriedly, “I have not hired you to be my trumpeter, Edwin.”

“I don’t think Josiah requires one,” observed Mrs Venery sadly. “The noble charity which led him to take under his roof a pauper widow and her—”

Borrin interrupted again, blushing like a schoolgirl. “I shall leave the room if you talk such rubbish, Lavinia. Why, you and Ida are my blessings. Now, Theo, tell us about yourself.”

Minister laughed gruffly, and cast a kindly look towards his small and amiable friend. Then he settled his big-boned frame more comfortably in the arm-chair he occupied and began his recital. It embraced wanderings all over the South American continent, hairbreadth escapes, the witnessing of weird ceremonies, the hospitality of strange races, and the exploration of steaming tropical forests. From Panama in the north, to Tierra del Fuego in the far south. Minister had wandered on foot and on mule-back, inquiring into the manners and customs and morals and histories of queer dark-skinned people, hearing prehistoric secrets and discovering hidden civilisations.

“And what I have learned convinces me of one thing,” said the doctor, as his fascinating narrative drew to a conclusion, “and that is, that the great lost continent of Atlantis, alluded to by Plato, actually existed. Thence came the civilisation of Peru and Mexico and Yucatan; the learning of Egypt and Chaldea, and the buried cities of the West African coast. I intend to write a book about my discoveries, and its writing will occupy my declining years.”

“It’s wonderful to hear you, doctor,” said Edgar Gurth, drawing a long breath. “You have talked yards of marketable stuff to-night. Did you bring anything back from these wilds?”

“Idols and pottery; inscriptions and photographs of mighty buildings,” said Minister, smiling. “Also these,” and he suddenly produced the packet of red leaves which he had taken out of his dispatch-box. As he did so he looked inquiringly at Borrin. “Do you know what these are?”

The little man took the leaves, examined them, smelt them, and shook his head gravely. “Something to do with medicine, I suppose,” he remarked, returning the packet with a smile.

The traveller put away the leaves carefully after the rest of the party had looked at them. “Do you remember that root we found together near Cuzco—the root which the mountain and forest Indians used in their sacred ceremonies to part soul from body?”

“Yes,” replied Borrin after a pause, “but I have put what roots I had away, and quite forgot about them until you spoke now.”

“What root is this?” inquired Mrs Venery severely.

“That of a certain plant known to the Indians who are the descendants of the Inca Indians,” said Minister quietly. “They pressed it and boiled it and extracted a kind of juice in which they steeped arrowheads and sharp flints. The arrow-heads they used in war to kill people, but the flints thus tainted were used during sacred ceremonies to scratch chosen people, who then were paralysed—”

“Paralysed,” cried Edwin startled, “and what had that to do with any sacred ceremony, doctor?”

“When paralysed,” explained Minister gravely, “the soul of the person went into the unseen world, and returned with information for the priests.”

“What rubbish,” muttered Edgar contemptuously.

“There was less rubbish and more wisdom in the knowledge of these elderly races than you think, young man,” retorted Minister bending his bushy brows. “Several times I saw the ceremony and witnessed the fact that the soul by this process could be separated from the body. Josiah saw that also. Do you remember, Josiah, how one of the Indians thus paralysed went to England to describe your parents’ home?”

“Well, yes,” admitted Borrin reluctantly, “but that might have been a kind of telepathy. However, I know that the juice of the root produces death when used largely and paralyses when administered in small quantities. But the leaves, Theo, what have they to do with what you are talking about?”

Minister shrugged his broad shoulders and smiled pityingly. “Your brains are growing mouldy in this place, Josiah. There was only one antidote to the poison of the root, and the Indian priests refused to reveal from what plant it could be taken. This is the plant—I mean these are the leaves of the plant—which when boiled and pressed in the same way as the root revive the person paralysed.”

“Not the person who is dead?” said Mrs Venery curiously.

“No. Only the paralysed person could be revived. So you, Josiah, have the root which paralyses, and I have the leaves which revive.”

“What is the use of either? “asked Borrin with a shrug.

Minister rose to take his leave. “One never knows. I only mentioned this to satisfy your curiosity, Josiah, as formerly you were so curious about the matter of the separation of soul from body.”

“Oh, I have forgotten all such unprofitable things,” smiled Borrin. “It is better to be charitable and helpful than to possess vain knowledge. Don’t go yet.”

“I must,” said Minister resolutely. “Mrs Heasy locks up at ten, and as I intend to stay at the Harper Inn I must keep in her good graces.”

Everyone laughed and approved, so Dr Minister departed very pleased with his successful visit.