The Gothic Terror MEGAPACK™: 17 Classic Tales (44 page)

“But, Sir,” said Oswald, “I think it will be best not to let John Wyatt know who is to be his companion; only let Joseph tell him that a gentleman is going to visit his master, and, if possible, prevail upon him to set out this night.”

“Do so, my good friend,” said Edmund; “and tell him, further, that this person has business of great consequence to communicate to his master, and cannot delay his journey on any account.”

“I will do this, you may depend,” said Joseph, “and acquaint you with my success as soon as possible; but, sir, you must not go without a guide, at any rate.”

“I trust I shall not,” said Edmund, “though I go alone; he that has received such a call as I have, can want no other, nor fear any danger.”

They conversed on these points till they drew near the castle, when Joseph left them to go on his errand, and Edmund attended his Lord at dinner. The Baron observed that he was silent and reserved; the conversation languished on both sides. As soon as dinner was ended, Edmund asked permission to go up into his own apartment; where he packed up some necessaries, and made a hasty preparation for his departure.

Afterwards he walked into the garden, revolving in his mind the peculiarity of his situation, and the uncertainty of his future prospects; lost in thought, he walked to and fro in a covered walk, with his arms crossed and his eyes cast down, without perceiving that he was observed by two females who stood at a distance watching his motions. It was the Lady Emma, and her attendant, who were thus engaged. At length, he lifted up his eyes and saw them; he stood still, and was irresolute whether to advance or retire. They approached him; and, as they drew near, fair Emma spoke.

“You have been so wrapt in meditation, Edmund, that I am apprehensive of some new vexation that I am yet a stranger to. Would it were in my power to lessen those you have already! But tell me if I guess truly?”

He stood still irresolute, he answered with hesitation. “O, lady—I am—I am grieved, I am concerned, to be the cause of so much confusion in this noble family, to which I am so much indebted; I see no way to lessen these evils but to remove the cause of them.”

“Meaning yourself?” said she.

“Certainly, Madam; and I was meditating on my departure.”

“But,” said she, “by your departure you will not remove the cause.”

“How so, madam?”

“Because you are not the cause, but those you will leave behind you.”

“Lady Emma!”

“How can you affect this ignorance, Edmund? You know well enough it is that odious Wenlock, your enemy and my aversion, that has caused all this mischief among us, and will much more, if he is not removed.”

“This, madam, is a subject that it becomes me to be silent upon. Mr. Wenlock is your kinsman; he is not my friend; and for that reason I ought not to speak against him, nor you to hear it from me. If he has used me ill, I am recompensed by the generous treatment of my lord your father, who is all that is great and good; he has allowed me to justify myself to him, and he has restored me to his good opinion, which I prize among the best gifts of heaven. Your amiable brother William thinks well of me, and his esteem is infinitely dear to me; and you, excellent Lady, permit me to hope that you honour me with your good opinion. Are not these ample amends for the ill-will Mr. Wenlock bears me?”

“My opinion of you, Edmund,” said she, “is fixed and settled. It is not founded upon events of yesterday, but upon long knowledge and experience; upon your whole conduct and character.”

“You honour me, lady! Continue to think well of me, it will excite me to deserve it. When I am far distant from this place, the remembrance of your goodness will be a cordial to my heart.”

“But why will you leave us, Edmund? Stay and defeat the designs of your enemy; you shall have my wishes and assistance.”

“Pardon me, Madam, that is among the things I cannot do, even if it were in my power, which it is not. Mr. Wenlock loves you, lady, and if he is so unhappy as to be your aversion, that is a punishment severe enough. For the rest, I may be unfortunate by the wickedness of others, but if I am unworthy, it must be by my own fault.”

“So then you think it is an unworthy action to oppose Mr. Wenlock! Very well, sir. Then I suppose you wish him success; you wish that I may be married to him?”

“I, Madam!” said Edmund, confused; “what am I that I should give my opinion on an affair of so much consequence? You distress me by the question. May you be happy! may you enjoy your own wishes!”

He sighed, he turned away. She called him back; he trembled, and kept silence.

She seemed to enjoy his confusion; she was cruel enough to repeat the question.

“Tell me, Edmund, and truly, do you wish to see me give my hand to Wenlock? I insist upon your answer.”

All on a sudden he recovered both his voice and courage; he stepped forward, his person erect, his countenance assured, his voice resolute and intrepid.

“Since Lady Emma insists upon my answer, since she avows a dislike to Wenlock, since she condescends to ask my opinion, I will tell her my thoughts, my wishes.”

The fair Emma now trembled in her turn; she blushed, looked down, and was ashamed to have spoken so freely.

Edmund went on. “My most ardent wishes are, that the fair Emma may reserve her heart and hand till a certain person, a friend of mine, is at liberty to solicit them; whose utmost ambition is, first to deserve, and then to obtain them.”

“Your friend, Sir!” said Lady Emma! her brow clouded, her eye disdainful.

Edmund proceeded. “My friend is so particularly circumstanced that he cannot at present with propriety ask for Lady Emma’s favour; but as soon as he has gained a cause that is yet in suspence, he will openly declare his pretensions, and if he is unsuccessful, he will then condemn himself to eternal silence.”

Lady Emma knew not what to think of this declaration; she hoped, she feared, she meditated; but her attention was too strongly excited to be satisfied without some gratification; After a pause, she pursued the subject.

“And this friend of yours, sir, of what degree and fortune is he?”

Edmund smiled; but, commanding his emotion, he replied, “His birth is noble, his degree and fortune uncertain.”

Her countenance fell, she sighed; he proceeded. “It is utterly impossible,” said he, “for any man of inferior degree to aspire to Lady Emma’s favour; her noble birth, the dignity of her beauty and virtues, must awe and keep at their proper distance, all men of inferior degree and merit; they may admire, they may revere; but they must not presume to approach too near, lest their presumption should meet with its punishment.”

“Well, sir,” said she, suddenly; “and so this friend of yours has commissioned you to speak in his behalf?”

“He has, Madam.”

“Then I must tell you, that I think his assurance is very great, and yours not much less.”

“I am sorry for that, Madam.”

“Tell him, that I shall reserve my heart and hand for the man to whom my father shall bid me give them.”

“Very well, Lady; I am certain my lord loves you too well to dispose of them against your inclination.”

“How do you know that, sir? But tell him, that the man that hopes for my favour must apply to my lord for his.”

“That is my friend’s intention—his resolution, I should say—as soon as he can do it with propriety; and I accept your permission for him to do so.”

“My permission did you say? I am astonished at your assurance! tell me no more of your friend; But perhaps you are pleading for Wenlock all this time; It is all one to me; only, say no more.”

“Are you offended with me, madam?”

“No matter, sir.”

“Yes, it is.”

“I am surprised at you, Edmund.”

“I am surprised at my own temerity; but, forgive me.”

“It does not signify; good bye ty’e, sir.”

“Don’t leave me in anger, madam; I cannot bear that. Perhaps I may not see you again for a long time.”

He looked afflicted; she turned back. “I do forgive you, Edmund; I was concerned for you; but, it seems, you are more concerned for every body than for yourself.” She sighed; “Farewell!” said she.

Edmund gazed on her with tenderness; he approached her, he just touched her hand; his heart was rising to his lips, but he recollected his situation; he checked himself immediately; he retired back, he sighed deeply, bowed low, and hastily quitted her.

The lady turning into another walk, he reached the house first, and went up again to his chamber; he threw himself upon his knees; prayed for a thousand blessings upon every one of the family of his benefactor, and involuntarily wept at mentioning the name of the charming Emma, whom he was about to leave abruptly, and perhaps for ever. He then endeavoured to compose himself, and once more attended the Baron; wished him a good night; and withdrew to his chamber, till he was called upon to go again to the haunted apartment.

He came down equipped for his journey, and went hastily for fear of observation; he paid his customary devotions, and soon after Oswald tapped at the door. They conferred together upon the interesting subject that engrossed their attention, until Joseph came to them, who brought the rest of Edmund’s baggage, and some refreshment for him before he set out. Edmund promised to give them the earliest information of his situation and success. At the hour of twelve they heard the same groans as the night before in the lower apartment; but, being somewhat familiarized to it, they were not so strongly affected. Oswald crossed himself, and prayed for the departed soul; he also prayed for Edmund, and recommended him to the Divine protection. He then arose, and embraced that young man; who, also, took a tender leave of his friend Joseph. They then went, with silence and caution, through a long gallery; they descended the stairs in the same manner; they crossed the hall in profound silence, and hardly dared to breathe, lest they should be overheard; they found some difficulty in opening one of the folding doors, which at last they accomplished; they were again in jeopardy at the outward gate. At length they conveyed him safely into the stables; there they again embraced him, and prayed for his prosperity.

He then mounted his horse, and set forward to Wyatt’s cottage; he hallooed at the door, and was answered from within. In a few minutes John came out to him.

“What, is it you, Master Edmund?”

“Hush!” said he; “not a word of who I am; I go upon private business, and would not wish to be known.”

“If you will go forward, sir, I will soon overtake you.” He did so; and they pursued their journey to the north. In the mean time, Oswald and Joseph returned in silence into the house; they retired to their respective apartments without hearing or being heard by any one.

THE OLD ENGLISH BARON, by Clara Reeve (Part 2)

About the dawn of day Oswald intended to lay his packets in the way of those to whom they were addressed; after much contrivance he determined to take a bold step, and, if he were discovered, to frame some excuse. Encouraged by his late success, he went on tip-toe into Master William’s chamber, placed a letter upon his pillow, and withdrew unheard. Exulting in his heart, he attempted the Baron’s apartment, but found it fastened within. Finding this scheme frustrated, he waited till the hour the Baron was expected down to breakfast, and laid the letter and the key of the haunted apartment upon the table. Soon after, he saw the Baron enter the breakfast room; he got out of sight, but staid within call, preparing himself for a summons. The Baron sat down to breakfast; he saw a letter directed to himself—he opened it, and to his great surprise, read as follows:—

“The guardian of the haunted apartment to Baron Fitz-Owen. To thee I remit the key of my charge, until the right owner shall come, who will both discover and avenge my wrongs; then, woe be to the guilty!—But let the innocent rest in peace. In the mean time, let none presume to explore the secrets of my apartment, lest they suffer for their temerity.”

The Baron was struck with amazement at the letter. He took up the key, examined it, then laid it down, and took up the letter; he was in such confusion of thought, he knew not what to do or say for several minutes. At length he called his servants about him; the first question he asked was—

“Where is Edmund?”

“They could not tell.

“Has he been called?”

“Yes, my Lord, but nobody answered, and the key was not in the door.”

“Where is Joseph?”

“Gone into the stables.”

“Where is father Oswald?”

“In his study.”

“Seek him, and desire him to come hither.”

By the time the Baron had read the letter over again, he came.

He had been framing a steady countenance to answer to all interrogatories. As he came in he attentively observed the Baron, whose features were in strong agitation; as soon as he saw Oswald, he spoke as one out of breath.

“Take that key, and read this letter!”

He did so, shrugged up his shoulders, and remained silent.

“Father,” said my lord, “what think you of this letter?”

“It is a very surprising one.”

“The contents are alarming. Where is Edmund?”

“I do not know.”

“Has nobody seen him?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Call my sons, my kinsmen, my servants.”

The servants came in.

“Have any of you seen or heard of Edmund?”

“No,” was the answer.

“Father, step upstairs to my sons and kinsmen, and desire them to come down immediately.”

Oswald withdrew; and went, first, to Mr. William’s chamber.

“My dear sir, you must come to my lord now directly—he has something extraordinary to communicate to you.”

“And so have I, father—see what I have found upon my pillow!”

“Pray, sir, read it to me before you shew it to any body; my lord is alarmed too much already, and wants nothing to increase his consternation.”

William read his letter, while Oswald looked as if he was an utter stranger to the contents, which were these:—

“Whatever may be heard or seen, let the seal of friendship be upon thy lips. The peasant Edmund is no more; but there still lives a man who hopes to acknowledge, and repay, the Lord Fitz-Owen’s generous care and protection; to return his beloved William’s vowed affection, and to claim his friendship on terms of equality.”

“What,” said William, “can this mean?”

“It is not easy to say,” replied Oswald.

“Can you tell what is the cause of this alarm?”

“I can tell you nothing, but that my lord desires to see you directly—pray make haste down; I must go up to your brothers and kinsmen, nobody knows what to think, or believe.”

Master William went down stairs, and Father Oswald went to the malcontents. As soon as he entered the outward door of their apartment, Mr. Wenlock called out. “Here comes the friend—now for some new proposal!”

“Gentlemen,” said Oswald, “my lord desires your company immediately in the breakfast parlour.”

“What! to meet your favourite Edmund, I suppose?” said Mr. Wenlock.

“No, sir.”

“What, then, is the matter?” said Sir Robert.

“Something very extraordinary has happened, gentlemen. Edmund is not to be found—he disappeared from the haunted apartment, the key of which was conveyed to my lord in a strange manner, with a letter from an unknown hand; my lord is both surprised and concerned, and wishes to have your opinion and advice on the occasion.”

“Tell him,” said Sir Robert, “we will wait upon him immediately.”

As Oswald went away, he heard Wenlock say, “So Edmund is gone, it is no matter how, or whither.”

Another said, “I hope the ghost has taken him out of the way.” The rest laughed at the conceit, as they followed Oswald down stairs. They found the Baron, and his son William, commenting upon the key and the letter. My lord gave them to Sir Robert, who looked on them with marks of surprise and confusion.