Dracula's Guest And Other Weird Tales (14 page)

That very evening she came into the hall after her drive and found him there sitting moodily by the deserted fireplace. She spoke to him directly.

‘Geoffrey, I have been spoken to by that fellow Delandre, and he says horrible things. He tells to me that a week ago his sister returned to his house, the wreck and ruin of her former self, with only her golden hair as of old, and announced some fell intention. He asked me where she is – and oh, Geoffrey, she is dead, she is dead! So how can she have returned? Oh! I am in dread, and I know not where to turn!’

For answer, Geoffrey burst into a torrent of blasphemy which made her shudder. He cursed Delandre and his sister and all their kind, and in especial he hurled curse after curse on her golden hair.

‘Oh, hush! hush!’ she said, and was then silent, for she feared her husband when she saw the evil effect of his humour. Geoffrey, in the torrent of his anger, stood up and moved away from the hearth; but suddenly stopped as he saw a new look of terror in his wife’s eyes. He followed their glance, and then he, too, shuddered – for there on the broken hearth-stone lay a golden streak as the points of the hair rose through the crack.

‘Look, look!’ she shrieked. ‘Is it some ghost of the dead! Come away – come away!’ and seizing her husband by the wrist with the frenzy of madness, she pulled him from the room.

That night she was in a raging fever. The doctor of the district attended her at once, and special aid was telegraphed for to London. Geoffrey was in despair, and in his anguish at the danger of his young wife almost forgot his own crime and its consequences. In the evening the doctor had to leave to attend to others; but he left Geoffrey in charge of his wife. His last words were:

‘Remember, you must humour her till I come in the morning, or till some other doctor has her case in hand. What you have to dread is another attack of emotion. See that she is kept warm. Nothing more can be done.’

Late in the evening, when the rest of the household had retired, Geoffrey’s wife got up from her bed and called to her husband.

‘Come!’ she said. ‘Come to the old hall! I know where the gold comes from! I want to see it grow!’

Geoffrey would fain have stopped her, but he feared for her
life or reason on the one hand, and lest in a paroxysm she should shriek out her terrible suspicion, and seeing that it was useless to try to prevent her, wrapped a warm rug around her and went with her to the old hall. When they entered, she turned and shut the door and locked it.

‘We want no strangers amongst us three to-night!’ she whispered with a wan smile.

‘We three! nay we are but two, ’ said Geoffrey with a shudder; he feared to say more.

‘Sit here, ’ said his wife as she put out the light. ‘Sit here by the hearth and watch the gold growing. The silver moonlight is jealous! See it steals along the floor towards the gold – our gold!’ Geoffrey looked with growing horror, and saw that during the hours that had passed the golden hair had protruded further through the broken hearth-stone. He tried to hide it by placing his feet over the broken place; and his wife, drawing her chair beside him, leant over and laid her head on his shoulder.

‘Now do not stir, dear, ’ she said; ‘let us sit still and watch. We shall find the secret of the growing gold!’ He passed his arm round her and sat silent; and as the moonlight stole along the floor she sank to sleep.

He feared to wake her; and so sat silent and miserable as the hours stole away.

Before his horror-struck eyes the golden hair from the broken stone grew and grew; and as it increased, so his heart got colder and colder, till at last he had not power to stir, and sat with eyes full of terror watching his doom.

In the morning when the London doctor came, neither Geoffrey nor his wife could be found. Search was made in all the rooms, but without avail. As a last resource the great door of the old hall was broken open, and those who entered saw a grim and sorry sight.

There by the deserted hearth Geoffrey Brent and his young wife sat cold and white and dead. Her face was peaceful, and her eyes were closed in sleep; but his face was a sight that made all who saw it shudder, for there was on it a look of unutterable
horror. The eyes were open and stared glassily at his feet, which were twined with tresses of golden hair, streaked with grey, which came through the broken hearth-stone.

‘I really think, ’ said the Doctor, ‘that, at any rate, one of us should go and try whether or not the thing is an imposture.’

‘Good!’ said Considine. ‘After dinner we will take our cigars and stroll over to the camp.’

Accordingly, when the dinner was over, and the
La Tour
¹
finished, Joshua Considine and his friend, Dr Burleigh, went over to the east side of the moor, where the gipsy encampment lay. As they were leaving, Mary Considine, who had walked as far as the end of the garden where it opened into the laneway, called after her husband:

‘Mind, Joshua, you are to give them a fair chance, but don’t give them any clue to a fortune – and don’t you get flirting with any of the gipsy maidens – and take care to keep Gerald out of harm.’

For answer Considine held up his hand, as if taking a stage oath, and whistled the air of the old song, ‘The Gipsy Countess.’ Gerald joined in the strain, and then, breaking into merry laughter, the two men passed along the laneway to the common, turning now and then to wave their hands to Mary, who leaned over the gate, in the twilight, looking after them.

It was a lovely evening in the summer; the very air was full of rest and quiet happiness, as though an outward type of the peacefulness and joy which made a heaven of the home of the young married folk. Considine’s life had not been an eventful one. The only disturbing element which he had ever known was in his wooing of Mary Winston, and the long-continued objection of her ambitious parents, who expected a brilliant match for their only daughter. When Mr and Mrs Winston had discovered
the attachment of the young barrister,
²
they had tried to keep the young people apart by sending their daughter away for a long round of visits, having made her promise not to correspond with her lover during her absence. Love, however, had stood the test. Neither absence nor neglect seemed to cool the passion of the young man, and jealousy seemed a thing unknown to his sanguine nature; so, after a long period of waiting, the parents had given in, and the young folk were married.

They had been living in the cottage a few months, and were just beginning to feel at home. Gerald Burleigh, Joshua’s old college chum, and himself a sometime victim of Mary’s beauty, had arrived a week before, to stay with them for as long a time as he could tear himself away from his work in London.

When her husband had quite disappeared Mary went into the house, and, sitting down at the piano, gave an hour to Mendelssohn.
³

It was but a short walk across the common, and before the cigars required renewing the two men had reached the gipsy camp. The place was as picturesque as gipsy camps – when in villages and when business is good – usually are. There were some few persons round the fire, investing their money in prophecy, and a large number of others, poorer or more parsimonious, who stayed just outside the bounds, but near enough to see all that went on.

As the two gentlemen approached, the villagers, who knew Joshua, made way a little, and a pretty, keen-eyed gipsy girl tripped up and asked to tell their fortunes. Joshua held out his hand, but the girl, without seeming to see it, stared at his face in a very odd manner. Gerald nudged him:

‘You must cross her hand with silver, ’ he said. ‘It is one of the most important parts of the mystery.’ Joshua took from his pocket a half-crown and held it out to her, but, without looking at it, she answered:

‘You must cross the gipsy’s hand with gold.’

Gerald laughed. ‘You are at a premium as a subject, ’ he said. Joshua was of the kind of man – the universal kind – who can tolerate being stared at by a pretty girl; so, with some little deliberation, he answered:

‘All right; here you are, my pretty girl; but you must give me a real good fortune for it, ’ and he handed her a half sovereign, which she took, saying:

‘It is not for me to give good fortune or bad, but only to read what the Stars have said.’ She took his right hand and turned it palm upward; but the instant her eyes met it she dropped it as though it had been red hot, and, with a startled look, glided swiftly away. Lifting the curtain of the large tent, which occupied the centre of the camp, she disappeared within.

‘Sold again!’ said the cynical Gerald. Joshua stood a little amazed, and not altogether satisfied. They both watched the large tent. In a few moments there emerged from the opening not the young girl, but a stately looking woman of middle age and commanding presence.

The instant she appeared the whole camp seemed to stand still. The clamour of tongues, the laughter and noise of the work were, for a second or two, arrested, and every man or woman who sat, or crouched, or lay, stood up and faced the imperial looking gipsy.

‘The Queen, of course, ’ murmured Gerald. ‘We are in luck to-night.’

The gipsy Queen threw a searching glance around the camp, and then, without hesitating an instant, came straight over and stood before Joshua.

‘Hold out your hand, ’ she said in a commanding tone.

Again Gerald spoke,
sotto voce
: ‘I have not been spoken to in that way since I was at school.’

‘Your hand must be crossed with gold.’

‘A hundred per cent at this game, ’ whispered Gerald, as Joshua laid another half sovereign on his upturned palm.

The gipsy looked at the hand with knitted brows; then suddenly looking up into his face, said:

‘Have you a strong will – have you a true heart that can be brave for one you love?’

‘I hope so; but I am afraid I have not vanity enough to say “yes.” ’

‘Then I will answer for you; for I read resolution in your face – resolution desperate and determined if need be. You have a wife you love?’

‘Yes, ’ emphatically.

‘Then leave her at once – never see her face again. Go from her now, while love is fresh and your heart is free from wicked intent. Go quick – go far, and never see her face again!’

Joshua drew away his hand quickly, and said: ‘Thank you!’ stiffly but sarcastically, as he began to move away.

‘I say!’ said Gerald, ‘you’re not going like that, old man; no use in being indignant with the Stars or their prophet – and, moreover, your sovereign – what of it? At least, hear the matter out.’

‘Silence, ribald!’ commanded the Queen, ‘you know not what you do. Let him go – and go ignorant, if he will not be warned.’

Joshua immediately turned back. ‘At all events, we will see this thing out, ’ he said. ‘Now, madam, you have given me advice, but I paid for a fortune.’

‘Be warned!’ said the gipsy. ‘The Stars have been silent for long; let the mystery still wrap them round.’

‘My dear madam, I do not get within touch of a mystery every day, and I prefer for my money knowledge rather than ignorance. I can get the latter commodity for nothing when I want any of it.’

Gerald echoed the sentiment. ‘As for me I have a large and unsaleable stock on hand.’

The gipsy Queen eyed the two men sternly, and then said: ‘As you wish. You have chosen for yourself, and have met warning with scorn, and appeal with levity. On your own heads be the doom!’

‘Amen!’ said Gerald.

With an imperious gesture the Queen took Joshua’s hand again, and began to tell his fortune.

‘I see here the flowing of blood; it will flow before long; it is running in my sight. It flows through the broken circle of a severed ring.’

‘Go on!’ said Joshua, smiling. Gerald was silent.

‘Must I speak plainer?’

‘Certainly; we commonplace mortals want something definite. The Stars are a long way off, and their words get somewhat dulled in the message.’

The gipsy shuddered, and then spoke impressively. ‘This is
the hand of a murderer – the murderer of his wife!’ She dropped the hand and turned away.

Joshua laughed. ‘Do you know, ’ said he, ‘I think if I were you I should prophesy some jurisprudence into my system. For instance, you say “this hand is the hand of a murderer.” Well, whatever it may be in the future – or potentially – it is at present not one. You ought to give your prophecy in such terms as “the hand which will be a murderer’s, ” or, rather, “the hand of one who will be the murderer of his wife.” The Stars are really not good on technical questions.’

The gipsy made no reply of any kind, but, with drooping head and despondent mien, walked slowly to her tent, and, lifting the curtain, disappeared.

Without speaking the two men turned homewards, and walked across the moor. Presently, after some little hesitation, Gerald spoke.

‘Of course, old man, this is all a joke; a ghastly one, but still a joke. But would it not be well to keep it to ourselves?’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Well, not to tell your wife. It might alarm her.’

‘Alarm her! My dear Gerald, what are you thinking of? Why, she would not be alarmed or afraid of me if all the gipsies that ever didn’t come from Bohemia
⁴
agreed that I was to murder her, or even to have a hard thought of her, whilst so long as she was saying “Jack Robinson.” ’

Gerald remonstrated. ‘Old fellow, women are superstitious – far more than we men are; and, also, they are blessed – or cursed – with a nervous system to which we are strangers. I see too much of it in my work not to realise it. Take my advice and do not let her know, or you will frighten her.’

Joshua’s lips unconsciously hardened as he answered: ‘My dear fellow, I would not have a secret from my wife. Why, it would be the beginning of a new order of things between us. We have no secrets from each other. If we ever have, then you may begin to look out for something odd between us.’

‘Still, ’ said Gerald, ‘at the risk of unwelcome interference, I say again be warned in time.’

‘The gipsy’s very words, ’ said Joshua. ‘You and she seem
quite of one accord. Tell me, old man, is this a put-up thing? You told me of the gipsy camp – did you arrange it all with Her Majesty?’ This was said with an air of bantering earnestness. Gerald assured him that he only heard of the camp that morning; but he made fun of every answer of his friend, and, in the process of this raillery, the time passed, and they entered the cottage.