Array Коллектив авторов - 30 лучших рассказов британских писателей / 30 Best British Short Stories

It was not till after he had swallowed a dram of brandy that he found his voice, and said:

‘We’ve the deaul himsel’ in t’ house! By Jen! ye’d best send fo t’ sir’ (the clergyman). ‘Happen he’ll tak him in hand wi’ holy writ, and send him elsewhidder deftly. Lord atween us and harm! I’m a sinfu’ man. I tell ye, Mr. Turnbull, I dar’ n’t stop in t’ George to-night under the same roof wi’ him.’

‘Ye mean the ra-beyoned, black-feyaced lad, wi’ the brocken neb? Why, that’s a gentleman wi’ a pocket ful o’ guineas, man, and a horse worth fifty pounds!’

‘That horse is no better nor his rider. The nags that were in the stable wi’ him, they all tuk the creepins, and sweated like rain down a thack. I tuk them all out o’ that, away from him, into the hack-stable, and I thocht I cud never get them past him. But that’s not all. When I was keekin inta t’ winda at the nags, he comes behint me and claps his claw on ma shouther, and he gars me gang wi’ him, and open the aad coach-house door, and haad the cannle for him, till he pearked into the deed man’t feyace; and, as God’s my judge, I sid the corpse open its eyes and wark its mouth, like a man smoorin’ and strivin’ to talk. I cudna move or say a word, though I felt my hair rising on my heed; but at lang-last I gev a yelloch, and say I, “La! what is that?” And he himsel’ looked round on me, like the devil he is; and, wi’ a skirl o’ a laugh, he strikes the lantern out o’ my hand. When I cum to myself we were outside the coach-house door. The moon was shinin’ in, and I cud see the corpse stretched on the table whar we left it; and he kicked the door to wi’ a purr o’ his foot. ‘Lock it,’ says he; and so I did. And here’s the key for ye – tak it yoursel’, sir. He offer’d me money: he said he’d mak me a rich man if I’d sell him the corpse, and help him awa’ wi’ it.’

‘Hout, man! What cud he want o’ t’ corpse? He’s not doctor, to do a’ that lids. He was takin’ a rise out o’ ye, lad,’ said Turnbull.

‘Na, na – he wants the corpse. There’s summat you a’ me can’t tell he wants to do wi’ ’t; and he’d liefer get it wi’ sin and thievin’, and the damage of my soul. He’s one of them freytens a boo or a dobbies off Dardale Moss, that’s always astir wi’ the like after nightfall; unless – Lord save us! – he be the deaul himsel’.’

‘Whar is he noo?’ asked the landlord, who was growing uncomfortable.

‘He spang’d up the back stair to his room. I wonder you didn’t hear him trampin’ like a wild horse; and he clapt his door that the house shook again – but Lord knows whar he is noo. Let us gang awa’s up to the Vicar’s, and gan him come down, and talk wi’ him.’

‘Hoity toity, man – you’re too easy scared,’ said the landlord, pale enough by this time. ‘’Twould be a fine thing, truly, to send abroad that the house was haunted by the deaul himsel’! Why, ’twould be the ruin o’ the George. You’re sure ye locked the door on the corpse?’

‘Aye, sir – sartain.’

‘Come wi’ me, Tom – we’ll gi’ a last look round the yard.’

So, side by side, with many a jealous look right and left, and over their shoulders, they went in silence. On entering the old-fashioned quadrangle, surrounded by stables and other offices – built in the antique cage-work fashion – they stopped for a while under the shadow of the inn gable, and looked round the yard, and listened. All was silent – nothing stirring.

The stable lantern was lighted; and with it in his hand Tony Turnbull, holding Tom Scales by the shoulder, advanced. He hauled Tom after him for a step or two; then stood still and shoved him before him for a step or two more; and thus cautiously – as a pair of skirmishers under fire – they approached the coach-house door.

‘There, ye see – all safe,’ whispered Tom, pointing to the lock, which hung – distinct in the moonlight – in its place. ‘Cum back, I say!’

‘Cum on, say I!’ retorted the landlord valorously. ‘It would never do to allow any tricks to be played with the chap in there’ – he pointed to the coach-house door.

‘The coroner here in the morning, and never a corpse to sit on!’ He unlocked the padlock with these words, having handed the lantern to Tom. ‘Here, keck in, Tom,’ he continued; ‘ye hev the lantern – and see if all’s as ye left it.’

‘Not me – na, not for the George and a’ that’s in it!’ said Tom, with a shudder, sternly, as he took a step backward.

‘What the – what are ye afraid on? Gi’ me the lantern – it is all one: I will.’

And cautiously, little by little, he opened the door; and, holding the lantern over his head in the narrow slit, he peeped in – frowning and pale – with one eye, as if he expected something to fly in his face. He closed the door without speaking, and locked it again.

‘As safe as a thief in a mill,’ he whispered with a nod to his companion. And at that moment a harsh laugh overhead broke the silence startlingly, and set all the poultry in the yard gabbling.

‘Thar he be!’ said Tom, clutching the landlord’s arm – ‘in the winda – see!’

The window of the cedar-room, up two pair of stairs, was open; and in the shadow a darker outline was visible of a man, with his elbows on the window-stone, looking down upon them.

‘Look at his eyes – like two live coals!’ gasped Tom.

The landlord could not see all this so sharply, being confused, and not so long-sighted as Tom.

‘Time, sir,’ called Tony Turnbull, turning cold as he thought he saw a pair of eyes shining down redly at him – ‘time for honest folk to be in their beds, and asleep!’

‘As sound as your sexton!’ said the jeering voice from above.

‘Come out of this,’ whispered the landlord fiercely to his hostler, plucking him hard by the sleeve.

They got into the house, and shut the door.

‘I wish we were shot of him,’ said the landlord, with something like a groan, as he leaned against the wall of the passage. ‘I’ll sit up, anyhow – and, Tom, you’ll sit wi’ me. Cum into the gun-room. No one shall steal the dead man out of my yard while I can draw a trigger.’

The gun-room in the George is about twelve feet square. It projects into the stable-yard and commands a full view of the old coach-house; and, through a narrow side window, a flanking view of the back door of the inn, through which the yard is reached.

Tony Turnbull took down the blunderbuss – which was the great ordnance of the house – and loaded it with a stiff charge of pistol bullets.

He put on a great-coat which hung there, and was his covering when he went out at night, to shoot wild ducks. Tom made himself comfortable likewise. They then sat down at the window, which was open, looking into the yard, the opposite side of which was white in the brilliant moonlight.

The landlord laid the blunderbuss across his knees, and stared into the yard. His comrade stared also. The door of the gun-room was locked; so they felt tolerably secure.

An hour passed; nothing had occurred. Another. The clock struck one. The shadows had shifted a little; but still the moon shone full on the old coach-house, and the stable where the guest’s horse stood.

Turnbull thought he heard a step on the back-stair. Tom was watching the back-door through the side window, with eyes glazing with the intensity of his stare. Anthony Turnbull, holding his breath, listened at the room door. It was a false alarm.

When he came back to the window looking into the yard:

‘Hish! Look thar!’ said he in a vehement whisper.

From the shadow at the left they saw the figure of the gaunt horseman, in short cloak and jack-boots, emerge. He pushed open the stable door, and led out his powerful black horse. He walked it across the front of the building till he reached the old coach-house door; and there, with its bridle on its neck, he left it standing, while he stalked to the yard gate; and, dealing it a kick with his heel, it sprang back with the rebound, shaking from top to bottom, and stood open. The stranger returned to the side of his horse; and the door which secured the corpse of the dead sexton seemed to swing slowly open of itself as he entered, and returned with the corpse in his arms, and swung it across the shoulders of the horse, and instantly sprang into the saddle.