Complete Works of Bram Stoker (393 page)

Then he rubbed his eyes in sheer amazement.  Up the stone steps from the narrow door by which he had entered, glided the white-clad figure of Lady Arabella, the only colour to be seen on her being blood-marks on her face and hands and throat.  Otherwise, she was calm and unruffled, as when earlier she stood aside for him to pass in through the narrow iron door.

CHAPTER XIX  —  AN ENEMY IN THE DARK

Adam Salton went for a walk before returning to Lesser Hill; he felt that it might be well, not only to steady his nerves, shaken by the horrible scene, but to get his thoughts into some sort of order, so as to be ready to enter on the matter with Sir Nathaniel.  He was a little embarrassed as to telling his uncle, for affairs had so vastly progressed beyond his original view that he felt a little doubtful as to what would be the old gentleman’s attitude when he should hear of the strange events for the first time.  Mr. Salton would certainly not be satisfied at being treated as an outsider with regard to such things, most of which had points of contact with the inmates of his own house.  It was with an immense sense of relief that Adam heard that his uncle had telegraphed to the housekeeper that he was detained by business at Walsall, where he would remain for the night; and that he would be back in the morning in time for lunch.

When Adam got home after his walk, he found Sir Nathaniel just going to bed.  He did not say anything to him then of what had happened, but contented himself with arranging that they would walk together in the early morning, as he had much to say that would require serious attention.

Strangely enough he slept well, and awoke at dawn with his mind clear and his nerves in their usual unshaken condition.  The maid brought up, with his early morning cup of tea, a note which had been found in the letter-box.  It was from Lady Arabella, and was evidently intended to put him on his guard as to what he should say about the previous evening.

He read it over carefully several times, before he was satisfied that he had taken in its full import.

“DEAR MR. SALTON,

“I cannot go to bed until I have written to you, so you must forgive me if I disturb you, and at an unseemly time.  Indeed, you must also forgive me if, in trying to do what is right, I err in saying too much or too little.  The fact is that I am quite upset and unnerved by all that has happened in this terrible night.  I find it difficult even to write; my hands shake so that they are not under control, and I am trembling all over with memory of the horrors we saw enacted before our eyes.  I am grieved beyond measure that I should be, however remotely, a cause of this horror coming on you.  Forgive me if you can, and do not think too hardly of me.  This I ask with confidence, for since we shared together the danger  —  the very pangs  —  of death, I feel that we should be to one another something more than mere friends, that I may lean on you and trust you, assured that your sympathy and pity are for me.  You really must let me thank you for the friendliness, the help, the confidence, the real aid at a time of deadly danger and deadly fear which you showed me.  That awful man  —  I shall see him for ever in my dreams.  His black, malignant face will shut out all memory of sunshine and happiness.  I shall eternally see his evil eyes as he threw himself into that well-hole in a vain effort to escape from the consequences of his own misdoing.  The more I think of it, the more apparent it seems to me that he had premeditated the whole thing  —  of course, except his own horrible death.

“Perhaps you have noticed a fur collar I occasionally wear.  It is one of my most valued treasures  —  an ermine collar studded with emeralds.  I had often seen the nigger’s eyes gleam covetously when he looked at it.  Unhappily, I wore it yesterday.  That may have been the cause that lured the poor man to his doom.  On the very brink of the abyss he tore the collar from my neck  —  that was the last I saw of him.  When he sank into the hole, I was rushing to the iron door, which I pulled behind me.  When I heard that soul-sickening yell, which marked his disappearance in the chasm, I was more glad than I can say that my eyes were spared the pain and horror which my ears had to endure.

“When I tore myself out of the negro’s grasp as he sank into the well-hole; I realised what freedom meant.  Freedom!  Freedom!  Not only from that noisome prison-house, which has now such a memory, but from the more noisome embrace of that hideous monster.  Whilst I live, I shall always thank you for my freedom.  A woman must sometimes express her gratitude; otherwise it becomes too great to bear.  I am not a sentimental girl, who merely likes to thank a man; I am a woman who knows all, of bad as well as good, that life can give.  I have known what it is to love and to lose.  But you must not let me bring any unhappiness into your life.  I must live on  —  as I have lived  —  alone, and, in addition, bear with other woes the memory of this latest insult and horror.  In the meantime, I must get away as quickly as possible from Diana’s Grove.  In the morning I shall go up to town, where I shall remain for a week  —  I cannot stay longer, as business affairs demand my presence here.  I think, however, that a week in the rush of busy London, surrounded with multitudes of commonplace people, will help to soften  —  I cannot expect total obliteration  —  the terrible images of the bygone night.  When I can sleep easily  —  which will be, I hope, after a day or two  —  I shall be fit to return home and take up again the burden which will, I suppose, always be with me.

“I shall be most happy to see you on my return  —  or earlier, if my good fortune sends you on any errand to London.  I shall stay at the Mayfair Hotel.  In that busy spot we may forget some of the dangers and horrors we have shared together.  Adieu, and thank you, again and again, for all your kindness and consideration to me.

“ARABELLA MARSH.”

Adam was surprised by this effusive epistle, but he determined to say nothing of it to Sir Nathaniel until he should have thought it well over.  When Adam met Sir Nathaniel at breakfast, he was glad that he had taken time to turn things over in his mind.  The result had been that not only was he familiar with the facts in all their bearings, but he had already so far differentiated them that he was able to arrange them in his own mind according to their values.  Breakfast had been a silent function, so it did not interfere in any way with the process of thought.

So soon as the door was closed, Sir Nathaniel began:

“I see, Adam, that something has occurred, and that you have much to tell me.”

“That is so, sir.  I suppose I had better begin by telling you all I know  —  all that has happened since I left you yesterday?”

Accordingly Adam gave him details of all that had happened during the previous evening.  He confined himself rigidly to the narration of circumstances, taking care not to colour events by any comment of his own, or any opinion of the meaning of things which he did not fully understand.  At first, Sir Nathaniel seemed disposed to ask questions, but shortly gave this up when he recognised that the narration was concise and self-explanatory.  Thenceforth, he contented himself with quick looks and glances, easily interpreted, or by some acquiescent motions of his hands, when such could be convenient, to emphasise his idea of the correctness of any inference.  Until Adam ceased speaking, having evidently come to an end of what he had to say with regard to this section of his story, the elder man made no comment whatever.  Even when Adam took from his pocket Lady Arabella’s letter, with the manifest intention of reading it, he did not make any comment.  Finally, when Adam folded up the letter and put it, in its envelope, back in his pocket, as an intimation that he had now quite finished, the old diplomatist carefully made a few notes in his pocket-book.

“Your narrative, my dear Adam, is altogether admirable.  I think I may now take it that we are both well versed in the actual facts, and that our conference had better take the shape of a mutual exchange of ideas.  Let us both ask questions as they may arise; and I do not doubt that we shall arrive at some enlightening conclusions.”

“Will you kindly begin, sir?  I do not doubt that, with your longer experience, you will be able to dissipate some of the fog which envelops certain of the things which we have to consider.”

“I hope so, my dear boy.  For a beginning, then, let me say that Lady Arabella’s letter makes clear some things which she intended  —  and also some things which she did not intend.  But, before I begin to draw deductions, let me ask you a few questions.  Adam, are you heart-whole, quite heart-whole, in the matter of Lady Arabella?”

His companion answered at once, each looking the other straight in the eyes during question and answer.

“Lady Arabella, sir, is a charming woman, and I should have deemed it a privilege to meet her  —  to talk to her  —  even  —  since I am in the confessional  —  to flirt a little with her.  But if you mean to ask if my affections are in any way engaged, I can emphatically answer ‘No!’  —  as indeed you will understand when presently I give you the reason.  Apart from that, there are the unpleasant details we discussed the other day.”

“Could you  —  would you mind giving me the reason now?  It will help us to understand what is before us, in the way of difficulty.”

“Certainly, sir.  My reason, on which I can fully depend, is that I love another woman!”

“That clinches it.  May I offer my good wishes, and, I hope, my congratulations?”

“I am proud of your good wishes, sir, and I thank you for them.  But it is too soon for congratulations  —  the lady does not even know my hopes yet.  Indeed, I hardly knew them myself, as definite, till this moment.”

“I take it then, Adam, that at the right time I may be allowed to know who the lady is?”

Adam laughed a low, sweet laugh, such as ripples from a happy heart.

“There need not be an hour’s, a minute’s delay.  I shall be glad to share my secret with you, sir.  The lady, sir, whom I am so happy as to love, and in whom my dreams of life-long happiness are centred, is Mimi Watford!”

“Then, my dear Adam, I need not wait to offer congratulations.  She is indeed a very charming young lady.  I do not think I ever saw a girl who united in such perfection the qualities of strength of character and sweetness of disposition.  With all my heart, I congratulate you.  Then I may take it that my question as to your heart-wholeness is answered in the affirmative?”

“Yes; and now, sir, may I ask in turn why the question?”

“Certainly!  I asked because it seems to me that we are coming to a point where my questions might be painful to you.”

“It is not merely that I love Mimi, but I have reason to look on Lady Arabella as her enemy,” Adam continued.

“Her enemy?”

“Yes.  A rank and unscrupulous enemy who is bent on her destruction.”

Sir Nathaniel went to the door, looked outside it and returned, locking it carefully behind him.

CHAPTER XX  —  METABOLISM

“Am I looking grave?” asked Sir Nathaniel inconsequently when he re-entered the room.

“You certainly are, sir.”

“We little thought when first we met that we should be drawn into such a vortex.  Already we are mixed up in robbery, and probably murder, but  —  a thousand times worse than all the crimes in the calendar  —  in an affair of ghastly mystery which has no bottom and no end  —  with forces of the most unnerving kind, which had their origin in an age when the world was different from the world which we know.  We are going back to the origin of superstition  —  to an age when dragons tore each other in their slime.  We must fear nothing  —  no conclusion, however improbable, almost impossible it may be.  Life and death is hanging on our judgment, not only for ourselves, but for others whom we love.  Remember, I count on you as I hope you count on me.”

“I do, with all confidence.”

“Then,” said Sir Nathaniel, “let us think justly and boldly and fear nothing, however terrifying it may seem.  I suppose I am to take as exact in every detail your account of all the strange things which happened whilst you were in Diana’s Grove?”

“So far as I know, yes.  Of course I may be mistaken in recollection of some detail or another, but I am certain that in the main what I have said is correct.”

“You feel sure that you saw Lady Arabella seize the negro round the neck, and drag him down with her into the hole?”

“Absolutely certain, sir, otherwise I should have gone to her assistance.”

“We have, then, an account of what happened from an eye-witness whom we trust  —  that is yourself.  We have also another account, written by Lady Arabella under her own hand.  These two accounts do not agree.  Therefore we must take it that one of the two is lying.”

“Apparently, sir.”

“And that Lady Arabella is the liar!”

“Apparently  —  as I am not.”

“We must, therefore, try to find a reason for her lying.  She has nothing to fear from Oolanga, who is dead.  Therefore the only reason which could actuate her would be to convince someone else that she was blameless.  This ‘someone’ could not be you, for you had the evidence of your own eyes.  There was no one else present; therefore it must have been an absent person.”

“That seems beyond dispute, sir.”

“There is only one other person whose good opinion she could wish to keep  —  Edgar Caswall.  He is the only one who fills the bill.  Her lies point to other things besides the death of the African.  She evidently wanted it to be accepted that his falling into the well was his own act.  I cannot suppose that she expected to convince you, the eye-witness; but if she wished later on to spread the story, it was wise of her to try to get your acceptance of it.”

“That is so!”

“Then there were other matters of untruth.  That, for instance, of the ermine collar embroidered with emeralds.  If an understandable reason be required for this, it would be to draw attention away from the green lights which were seen in the room, and especially in the well-hole.  Any unprejudiced person would accept the green lights to be the eyes of a great snake, such as tradition pointed to living in the well-hole.  In fine, therefore, Lady Arabella wanted the general belief to be that there was no snake of the kind in Diana’s Grove.  For my own part, I don’t believe in a partial liar  —  this art does not deal in veneer; a liar is a liar right through.  Self-interest may prompt falsity of the tongue; but if one prove to be a liar, nothing that he says can ever be believed.  This leads us to the conclusion that because she said or inferred that there was no snake, we should look for one  —  and expect to find it, too.