The Castle of Wolfenbach, Eliza Parsons [hot novels to read txt] 📗

The Castle of Wolfenbach

by Eliza Parsons

1793

The clock from the old castle had just gone eight when the peaceful inhabitants of a neighbouring cottage, on the skirts of the wood, were about to seek that repose which labour had rendered necessary, and minds blest with innocence and tranquillity assured them the enjoyment of. The evening was cold and tempestuous, the rain poured in torrents, and the distant thunders rolled with tremendous noise round the adjacent mountains, whilst the pale lightning added horrors to the scene.

Pierre was already in bed, and Jaqueline preparing to follow, when the trampling of horses was heard, and immediately a loud knocking at the door; they were both alarmed; Pierre listened, Jaqueline trembled; the knocking was repeated with more violence; the peasant threw on his humble garment, and, advancing to the door, demanded who was there? ‘Two travellers,’ answered a gentle voice, ‘overtaken by the storm; pray, friend, afford us shelter.’ ‘O!’ cried Jaqueline, ‘perhaps they may be robbers, and we shall be murdered.’ ‘Pho! simpleton,’ said Pierre, ‘what can they expect to rob us of.’ He opened the door, and discovered a man supporting a lady who appeared almost fainting. ‘Pray, friend,’ said the man, permit this lady to enter your cottage, I fear she has suffered much from the storm.’ ‘Poor soul, I am sorry for her; enter and welcome,’ cried Pierre. Jaqueline placed her wooden arm-chair by the chimney, ran for some wood, and kindled a blaze in a moment, whilst ‘Pierre put the horse into a little out-house which held their firing and his working implements, and returned with a portmantua to the lady. They had only some bread and milk to her, but they made it warm, and prevailed on their guest to take some. The man, who appeared an attendant, did the same. The lady soon got her clothes dry, but she wanted rest, and they had no bed to offer. One single room answered all their purposes of life; their humble bed was on the floor, in a corner of it, but though mean it was whole and clean. Jaqueline entreated the lady to lie down; she refused for some time, but growing faint from exhausted spirits and fatigue, she was compelled to accept the offer; the others sat silently round the fire: but, alas! horror and affliction precluded sleep, and the fair traveller, after laying about two hours, returned again to the fire-side, weary and unrefreshed. ‘Is there any house near this?’ demanded she. ‘No, madam,’ replied Jaqueline, ‘there is no house, but there is a fine old castle just by, where there is room enough, for only one old man and his wife live in it, and, Lord help us, I would not be in their place for all the fine things there.’ ‘Why so?’ said the lady. ‘O! dear madam, why it is haunted; there are bloody floors, prison rooms, and scriptions, they say, on the windows to make a body’s hair stand on end.’ ‘And how far from your cottage is this castle?’ ‘A little step, madam, farther up the wood.’ ‘And do you think we could obtain entrance there?’ ‘O, Lord! yes, madam and thank you too: why the poor old souls rejoice to see a body call there now and then; I go sometimes in the middle of the day, but I take good care to keep from the fine rooms and never to be out after dark.’ ‘I wish,’ said the lady, ‘it was possible to get there.’ Pierre instantly offered his service to conduct her as soon as it was light, and notwithstanding some very horrible stories recounted by Jacqueline she determined to visit this proscribed place.

When the morning came, the inhabitants of the cottage set out for the castle. The lady was so much enfeebled, from fatigue and want of rest, that she was obliged to be placed on the horse, and they found it very difficult to lead him through the thickets. They at length espied a fine old building, with two wings, and a turret on the top, where a large clock stood, a high wall surrounded the house, a pair of great gates gave entrance into a spacious court, surrounded with flowering shrubs, which lay broken and neglected on the ground intermixed with the weeds which were above a foot high in every part.

Whilst the lady’s attendant lifted her from the horse, Pierre repaired to the kitchen door where the old couple lived, which stood in one of the wings, and knocking pretty loudly, the old woman opened it, and, with a look of astonishment, fixed her eyes on the lady and her servant. ‘Good neighbour,’ said Pierre, ‘here is a great gentlewoman cruel ill; she wants food and sleep, we have brought her here, she is not afeared of your ghosts, and so therefore you can give her a good bed, I suppose.’ ‘To be sure I can,’ answered Bertha, which was the woman’s name: ‘to be sure I can make a bed fit for the emperor, when the linen is aired: walk in, madam; you look very weak.’ Indeed the want of rest the preceding night had so much added to her former feeble state, that it was with difficulty they conveyed her into the kitchen. Bertha warmed a little wine, toasted a bit of bread, and leaving Jaqueline to attend the lady, she made a fire in a handsome bed-room that was in that wing, took some fine linen out of a chest and brought it down to air. ‘Dear, my lady,’ cried she, ‘make yourself easy, I’ll take care of you, and if you ar’nt afeared, you will have rooms for a princess.’ Pierre and Jaqueline being about to return to their daily labour, found their kindness amply rewarded by the generosity of the stranger, who gave them money enough, they said, to serve them for six months. With a thousand blessings they retired, promising however to call daily on the lady whilst she staid at the castle, though their hearts misgave them that they should never see her more, from their apprehensions of the ghosts that inhabited the rooms above stairs. When the apartment was arranged, the lady was assisted by Bertha and laid comfortably to rest; she gave her some money to procure food and necessaries, and desired her servant might have a bed also.

This the good woman promised, and, wishing her a good sleep, returned to the kitchen. ‘God bless the poor lady,’ said she, ‘why she is as weak as a child; sure you must have come a great way from home.’ ‘Yes,’ answered Albert, the servant’s name, ‘we have indeed, and my poor lady is worn down by sorrow and fatigue; I fear she must rest some time before she can pursue her journey.’ ‘Well,’ said Bertha, ‘she may stay as long as she likes here, no body will disturb her in the day time, I am sure.’ ‘And what will disturb her at night?’ asked Albert. ‘O, my good friend,’ answered she, ‘nobody will sleep in the rooms up stairs; the gentlefolks who were in it last could not rest, such strange noises, and groans, and screams, and such like terrible things are heard; then at t’other end of the house the rooms are never opened; they say bloody work has been carried on there.’ ‘How comes it, then,’ said Albert, ‘that you and your husband have courage to live here?’ ‘Dear me,’ replied she, ‘why the ghosts never come down stairs, and I take care never to go up o’nights; so that if madam stays here I fear she must sleep by day, or else have a ground room, for they never comes down; they were some of your high gentry, I warrant, who never went into kitchens.’ Albert smiled at the idea, but, resuming his discourse, asked the woman to whom the castle belonged? ‘To a great Baron,’ said she, ‘but I forget his name.’ ‘And how long have you lived here?’ ‘Many a long year, friend; we have a small matter allowed us to live upon, a good garden that gives us plenty of vegetables, for my husband, you must know, is a bit of a gardener, and works in it when he is able.’ ‘And where is he now?’ said Albert. ‘Gone to the village six leagues off to get a little meat, bread and wine.’ ‘What! does he walk?’ ‘Lord help him, poor soul, he walk! no, bless your heart, he rides upon our faithful little ass, and takes care never to overload her, as we don’t want much meat, thank God. But where will you like to sleep?’ added she; ‘will you go up stairs, or shall I bring some bedding in the next room?’ Albert hesitated, but, ashamed to have less courage than his mistress, asked if there was any room near the lady’s? ‘Aye, sure,’ answered Bertha, ‘close to her there is one as good as hers.’ ‘Then I will sleep there,’ said he. His good hostess now nimbly as she could, bestirred herself to put his room in order, and was very careful not to disturb the lady. Albert was soon accommodated and retired to rest.

In the evening the lady came down into the kitchen, much refreshed, and expressed her thanks to the good woman for her kindness. ‘Heavens bless your sweet face,’ cries Bertha. ‘I am glad to my heart you be so well. Ah! as I live, here’s my Joseph and the ass.’ She ran out into the court to acquaint her good man with what had befallen her in his absence. ‘As sure as you be alive, Joseph, she is some great lady under trouble, poor soul, for she does sigh so piteously but she has given me plenty of money to get things for her, so you know it’s nothing to us, if she likes to stay here, so much the better.’ ‘I hope,’ said the old man, ‘she is no bad body.’ No that she an’t, I’ll swear,’ cries Bertha; ‘she looks as mild as the flowers in May.’ They had now unloaded their faithful ass, and entered the kitchen with their provender. Joseph was confounded at the appearance of the lady; he made his humble bow, but was very silent. Bertha prepared some eggs and fruit for her supper; she ate but little, and that little was to oblige the old couple; she then asked for a candle, and said she would retire to her room. Joseph and Bertha looked at each other with terror, both were silent; at length Joseph, with much hesitation of voice and manner, said, ‘I fear, madam, you will not be quiet there, it will be better, to my thinking, if a fire was made in one of the parlours and the bedding brought down’ . ‘There is no occasion for fire,’ answered the lady, but merely to air the room; however I am not in any apprehension of sleeping in the room above, at least I will try it this night.’ It was with great reluctance the honest couple permitted her to retire; Bertha had not even the courage to accompany her, but Albert and Joseph offering to go, she ventured up to make the bed, and her work finished, flew down like one escaped from great danger.

The men having withdrawn, the lady seated herself at the dressing table, and having opened her portmantua to take out some linen for the ensuing day,