Pearl Buck - Death in the Castle

“Why did you wake me?”

Her voice was strangely sad, and Kate was put to confusion. “I was looking for Sir Richard, my lady. These Americans are taking over the castle. They’re everywhere at once. I told him—”

“He?”

Kate took her listless hand. “Your hand’s like ice, my lady. The American, John Blayne … I said, ‘You must all leave at once.’ He paid not the slightest heed, my lady, and so I told the men myself to leave but of course they didn’t obey me and I was trying to find Sir Richard, but he’s not to be found, and I ran here to tell you. You must speak to them, my lady — really you should — the way they’re behaving as though — did you hear me, my lady?”

A strange gray glaze had come over Lady Mary’s eyes. She sank back on her pillows and stared into the tattered canopy above her head.

“It would be best, perhaps,” she muttered. “I’m not sure, after what I–It’s not possible except that I did hear — quite clearly, you know, Kate, while you were so long gone, last night — I’m not imagining — or — or — dreaming or any of those things — two voices — no voice I’d ever heard — mumbling like an old old man, ‘They will kill Richard the Fourth … well hidden here’—and the other voice — oh, such an old trembling voice trying to be brave—‘never betray you, Sire.’ Sire! That’s only for a king. What king, Kate?”

“I don’t know, my lady,” Kate faltered.

“You don’t know,” Lady Mary repeated slowly. “Nobody knows. But I heard those voices — sad, sad old voices — coming from far off somewhere in the walls, Kate. … They can hide in the walls, you know. They don’t have bodies, poor things — Oh, do let’s go away from this castle, Kate — or let the castle go away from us!”

She gazed at Kate in pleading, and Kate saw tears welling into the kind and piteous eyes. “Ah now, my lady,” she said, coaxing. “You’ve been nightmaring, dear — it’s all because of the old silly tales you’ve heard for so long. You don’t feel well, that’s what. I shall call the doctor — your head’s hot and your hands are cold.”

She took Lady Mary’s thin wrist between her thumb and finger. “And your pulse, it’s racing, my lady. Have you a chill?”

Lady Mary turned her face away on the pillow. “They can’t help us, Kate, they’re thinking only of themselves —remembering — that’s all — remembering — remembering — Perhaps it’s the only way they live now. There’s only the past for them —no future. Of course there’s no future—”

She’s raving, Kate thought, or she’s really seen something — Ah no, and nonsense! The room was oppressive and it seemed dark for such a fine day. She put down the slender hand she was still holding and went to the windows to draw the curtains farther back. The morning sun streamed through the ancient glass in broken prisms of color.

“It’s such a day, my lady,” she said cheerfully. “See the lovely sunshine! I do think the way it comes in colors through the glass is so pretty, don’t you? I shall fetch some tea for you, and buttered toast. You’ll feel better when you’ve had a little more to eat. It was a night, wasn’t it! And today not much better — those Americans!”

She busied herself about the room as she talked, straightening the silver brushes on the toilet table, folding the silk dressing gown Lady Mary had dropped on the chaise longue, picking a leaf from the worn Aubusson carpet — the wind, doubtless, in the night—

“If you could see them, my lady,” she went on, “climbing about the castle like — like mountain goats! I’ve never seen mountain goats, of course, but you’d laugh — really you would. Two of them are walking the battlements, measuring. I’d like to see them fall in the moat! They do take over, don’t they? Americans are so beastly healthy — full of eggs and bacon, I daresay, and beefsteak, and those alphabetic vitamins they’re always talking about! You shall have an egg for your breakfast this morning, my lamb. I left an order in the hen house yesterday. There’s such a wise old hen there. An egg, if you please, I said, and she looked at me with one eye and then the other — and went to the nest at once, the darling.”

She glanced at the bed as she talked. There was no sign that she was heard. Lady Mary lay staring into the canopy, motionless, her hand lying where it had dropped. Suddenly she gave a convulsive start. She sat up and looked at the east wall. Her hands flew to her cheeks and she moaned.

Kate ran to her side and poured water from the silver decanter into a tumbler. “Here, my lady — drink this! Yes, indeed, you must. Stop looking at the wall, my lady. … What do you see there? Tell me — tell me—”

She tried to pull her hands away, but Lady Mary was rigid. Kate put down the glass.

“I’ll have to — I’ll find Sir Richard, I’ll be back in a minute, my lady, I promise.”

Lady Mary neither spoke nor moved and Kate ran out of the room into the passage that led to Sir Richard’s room. No use looking for him there — but she glanced into the open door nevertheless, and to her astonishment she saw him sitting now at the table by the open window. He was dressed in his usual tweeds, his hair neatly brushed, his face calm.

“Sir Richard!” she gasped. “Where did you come from? It was only a few minutes ago I was here.”

He did not reply.

She came toward him. “Did you hear me call? You didn’t answer—”

“You forget yourself, woman,” he said sternly. “How dare you come into my room without permission?”

These were his words, spoken in cold, even hostile tones, and Kate could not believe what she heard. He looked so usual, so much himself, and yet this was certainly not he.

“I wanted to tell you — I thought you should know — they’re taking the castle and Lady Mary is ill — very ill — and — and—”

He got to his feet. “Where is Lord Dunsten?”

“Lord Dunsten?”

He pushed her aside. “Get out of my way, stupid woman!”

He strode to the door and shouted. “Dunsten, come here!”

As if he had risen from the floor, Wells was suddenly there. And an instant later Lady Mary had slipped from her bed and Kate saw her standing in the door as Wells entered from the door opposite. She stared from one to the other, these three people, the ones she knew so well and scarcely recognized now.

“Here, Sir Richard,” Wells called.

“Richard!” Lady Mary cried at the door. “You promised me you wouldn’t go there again and you have — I can see you have! Ah, that’s where you were in the night!”

Sir Richard looked at them blankly.

He put his hands to his forehead muttering, “I’ve had a strange dream — very strange!”

“You have been there again,” Lady Mary insisted. She came in and clung to his arm. “What are you hiding in that place? Tell me — you must tell me. I heard something — someone talking — saying such strange things.”

“You know what’s there,” he said. He tried to shake her off but she would not yield. “You’ve been there.”

“I haven’t been there for years.”

“Books,” he said. “Nothing but old books — and — and — a man’s privacy.”

“You’re hiding something!”

“I have nothing,” he cried with sudden anger. “Not even — a—a — a child. I don’t have a child, I tell you!”

Her hands dropped from his arm. She said slowly, “You never forgive me, do you, Richard?”

“No one to — to — take my place … the throne,” he muttered dully.

Wells stepped forward, shaking as if in a palsy, “Sir Richard, please, you’re not yourself.”