R. Lafferty - The 7th Ghost Story Megapack

Morning broke—one of those lovely autumn days, after a night of frost, which hastens on the winter, and reminds the lingering blossoms that their days are well nigh done—and as I got up and dressed myself I almost persuaded myself that it had been a dream, and that my imagination had run riot with me. Still it had been very real, and even as I walked down the gallery on my way to the breakfast-room, with the broad prosaic sunlight shining in through the windows, I again had that same conviction, if possible more strongly than before, that I was not alone, and I began to feel quite glad that my visit was to be a short one.

After breakfast I reminded Lord Glencoine of his promise to show me the house, and specially the picture. He readily consented; and Lady Mary, being also a new corner, begged to accompany us, and we left the breakfast-room.

We followed our host along a small passage which led straight from the dining-room, and throwing open a door almost opposite, he ushered us into his sitting-room, which was a large and spacious apartment, more or less hung (like the drawing-room) with old English tapestry, with the exception of one side of the room, and that had one large oak panel which reached from the window at one end to the tapestry at the other, and into which was let a life-sized picture of Eleanor, Lady Glencoine. The likeness was so startling, the face so exactly what I had seen both in the crystal and in my room, that I was quite staggered for a moment, and caught hold of a chair for support.

“There,” said Lord Glencoine, “is the lady you described last night, do you see: is it not exact, Mrs. Haywood?”

“Yes,” I answered slowly, recovering myself with an effort—“the same, the very same, only several years younger.”

“Isn’t it most extraordinary,” he continued in an excited voice, turning to Lady Mary, who also seemed like me, quite fascinated by the picture, “that Mrs. Haywood had never seen it?—never been here before, had you?” to me.

“Never,” I answered; “never—it is the most curious thing I have ever known.” But I thought to myself he did not know how curious.

I remained gazing at the picture. The details, the hands, the dress, that wonderful ring—everything was as I had seen it: what did it mean? Was there more to come? And something within me—or did it pass by?—told me there was more still to come, and with this consciousness my heart sank within me. We passed on to the other rooms; at another time I should have enjoyed seeing them, but now all interest had suddenly left me. I was either worn out physically, or troubled mentally; and though I tried hard to shake it off and rouse myself, still all that day it was with me—driving, walking, eating—I lived in a sort of dream, seeing nothing but that one lady, hearing nothing but that indefinable sound, which yet was not a sound, but only a feeling: it absorbed me, while it troubled me, and I think, if I had not been ashamed to do so, I should have gone away that afternoon. Also, my mind was in a whirl: if she came again that night and beckoned to me, should I go, should I face what she had to show me, and would my courage last? Then I smiled at my folly, and remembered my decision that it was only a dream, and nothing supernatural—no message from the spirit world.

The night was approaching, and we were at dinner again. Every one but myself seemed to be even gayer than the night before. When it was over, and we were in the drawing-room, all alike clamoured for more crystal-gazing; but here I was firm in a refusal, and luckily for me Lady Glencoine came to my rescue. She was an observant woman, and, I think, had noticed my preoccupation and depression; and when they had settled down to whist and music she came up to me, and, remarking my tired appearance, begged me not to sit up, but to slip out of the room with her. I was really thankful to accede to her request, and together we went upstairs and entered the gallery.

“How beautiful!” she exclaimed, pausing for a moment to look out of the window on to the moonlit terrace below, “but how weird! Are you sure, my dear, you do not mind sleeping alone in this part of the house? You looked, this morning, as if you had not slept, and I know so many people are nervous.”

Just for a moment—only for a moment—my courage completely left me, and it was on my lips to say I was nervous, and would she allow me to change my room, but something stopped me: was it that feeling again of some one standing beside me, that froze the words on my lips, and left me standing looking at Lady Glencoine, who was, I think, beginning to wonder at my silence?

“Oh no, thank you,” I said hurriedly. “I really like that room, it is so pretty; and it would be quite wrong to make a change, I think,” and I laughed nervously.

She looked at me for a moment, and seemed as if she were about to say something more; but evidently changed her mind, for, taking me to my room, she said good-night, and left me, and I heard her steps growing fainter and fainter in the distance.

I hastily rang for my maid, and, to give myself an excuse for detaining her, I insisted upon having my hair thoroughly washed and brushed. But, keep her as long as I could, the time went slowly, and it was not yet midnight when she left me, and I knew now I was alone for the night, to face it as best I could.

I noticed the blinds had been left up, and the curtains were not drawn—the housemaid, I suppose, having thought I liked this; and I left it so, preferring even the ghostly moonlight to the utter loneliness of darkness. I determined to keep awake, to listen and to watch; but gradually my eyelids drooped over my tired eyes, and sleep stole over me, and being, I suppose, exhausted by the events of the night before, I fell into a troubled, restless slumber. Again I was awaked, and I opened my eyes. I knew what they would fall on. For a moment the room was in slight shadow, caused by a cloud passing over the moon; but as it cleared away, and left it in brilliant light again, it revealed the figure of Eleanor, Lady Glencoine, standing there with the same dress, jewels, and expression of the night before, still with her finger upraised, beckoning, almost entreating. There was no doubt in my mind as to what I should do: an irresistible force compelled me to follow her. Did we open the door, or did we go through it? I never knew, but in a moment we were in the gallery. Here, even in spite of the terror which possessed me, I could not help noticing the strange beauty of the scene.

The gallery was flooded almost from one end to the other with the moonlight, imparting to the pictures a lifelike appearance, making them into a living audience watching us as we flitted by; I with my strange guide always going on, sometimes passing into the deep shadows that were cast here and there, and then emerging again into the light which lit up the radiant jewels she was wearing, and I felt as if I were in a dream that had no awakening, or maybe had passed into another world of silence and spirits.

Quite at the far end she paused, and I noticed her hand with the ring on it felt up and down the last panel but one , and then she pushed back what seemed a bolt, it looked so easy, and I felt sure I had seen how she did it: the panel opened, and she went through a small stone archway, I still following, into a vaulted passage, and then for a moment I lost sight of her, but only for a moment, and as I turned what seemed to be a corner, I came upon a room, a small vaulted chamber, and as I looked into it, the certainty flashed across me that it was the room I had seen in my crystal. I held my breath: the lady was on her knees, almost tearing off her jewels, and throwing them into what seemed to be an aperture in the floor. When she had done, she took a stone which was lying by, and covered them with it; and then she stood for a moment wringing her hands over the spot, and I saw the ring, the only ornament that she had not divested herself of, slip off her finger on to the floor, and then, without appearing to notice it, she left the room. I stooped for one second, picked up the ring, and followed her.