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

bye, I wish to speak with you.’ ‘Directly after dinner, madam, I will wait upon your ladyship; I will look about a little, I think no one will come here in the open day.’ Matilda retired, with trembling limbs and a beating heart, to her own apartment; here she ruminated on what had happened to her friend so recently gained, and so irrecoverably lost - ‘Alas! poor lady,’ said she, ‘who knows what evils she may have to encounter with; a stranger as I am to her story, I have no clue to guide me who may have carried her off, or by whom the cruel action was committed; doubtless it must have been her cries that alarmed Jaqueline - What will become of me? How are all my flattering prospects vanished?’ With these bitter reflections she passed the hours ‘till dinner time came; she then went down, but with a countenance so altered, that Bertha started back and cried out, ‘O, for a certain young madam has seen something and been frightened!’ Albert looked with anxious curiosity, ‘Be not uneasy, my good friends,’ said she: I assure you neither ghosts nor noises have terrified me, but I am not very well; after dinner perhaps I may be better,’ ‘Heaven send it,’ cried Bertha. Albert joined in the wish and Matilda, affected by their kindness, went into the parlour, where her dinner was served up, not in state or profusion indeed, but good wild fowls, eggs, salads, and fruit. She waited impatiently until she thought Joseph had nearly dined, and then walked towards the garden; in a little time Joseph joined her, and walking before, conducted her to a distant part of it, where a small arbour in a shrubbery appeared almost choaked with weeds; he led her into it, she sat down - ‘Now, Joseph, for heaven’s sake, tell me every thing about the dear lady.’ ‘That I cannot do,’ replied Joseph shaking his head: ‘my oath will not permit me; but underneath this stone,’ said he, stamping his foot, ‘is an underground passage, one end of which goes to that part of the castle, and opens into a private place behind the kitchen; the other end goes through to the end of the wood, I believe, for I never had courage to go so far on, but this morning, when I went down the passage, and came round, I found both doors forced off their hinges below, and was much afraid to come up, where I found you, madam: who it is that has been so wicked, I can only guess, and Lord have mercy on the poor lady, I fear no good will come to her.’ ‘But how come the garden door open; could they convey her through that into the road?’ ‘Yes,’ replied Joseph, ‘that was the way, for after you went up stairs I went into the garden, and the great gate, at the end, was unbolted just at the end of the wood, and I do suppose they had horses waiting there, or a carriage. The few jewels my poor lady had is taken from her little chest, but there are no locks broke on the drawers, and her pockets are left behind, on a stool, with every thing in them; ‘twas no robbers, my lady, I fear.’ ‘I fear so too,’ answered Matilda, with a deep sigh; ‘I dread that she is fallen into worse hands - ‘ ‘Into worse than I fear has got her,’ said Joseph, ‘she cannot be fallen - Lord how I rejoiced she had got your ladyship with her.’ ‘Aye, Joseph,’ resumed Matilda, ‘I grieve for her and feel my own loss; - Do you know her sister the Marchioness?’ ‘I saw her once after my lady was married; they say she is very happy - God help us, ‘twasn’t so here.’ ‘Your lady has wrote to the Marchioness relative to me; did not you take a letter yesterday?’ ‘Yes, my lady, and if there be any answer to it I shall be sure to have it, and you may open it, you know, because the good lady never wrote to any one else.’ Poor Matilda knew not what to do; she was desirous of staying ‘till this answer arrived. She was anxious to explore those apartments that were locked, and after some hesitation asked Joseph if he would meet her there, to morrow morning. ‘Aye, sure, that I will,’ returned he, ‘and as I left the lamps burning in the passage, if you like, I will go down this way with you now.’ ‘No,’ said she, ‘not now; I will meet you tomorrow in the library, and we may return this way, for I own I should like to see it, though ‘tis plain the passage must be known.’

They now separated, and Matilda found no possibility of gratifying her curiosity, Joseph’s oath being against her, and she too much respected her friend to urge a violation of it on any grounds.

She returned to her apartment and amused herself for a short time with a book; but the agitation of her mind would not admit of entertainment; she threw it aside and called for Albert; he instantly attended her. ‘My good friend,’ said she, ‘I propose remaining here a week or ten days, perhaps not so long, to refresh myself; how far are we from Zurich?’ ‘About a day and a half’s journey, not much more.’ ‘Well then, Albert, we will wait a few days until I am more in health unless you are very anxious to get there.’ ‘Me, my dear young lady, Lord bless you, I want to go only on your account, it’s all one to me where I am, if you are safe.’ Matilda was pleased at his answer and exprest her gratitude for his kindness in such terms as brought tears into his eyes. ‘God bless you, madam, I’ll go with you all the world over.’ He bowed and retired. ‘Good creature!’ exclaimed Matilda, ‘heaven has blest you with an honest feeling heart; how much superior are thy sentiments to those of better understanding and cultivated talents, when their minds are depraved by the indulgence of irregular passions!’

She sought to compose her spirits, and wait with patience for the expected letter, which she thought must determine her future destiny. She had recommended to Albert not to stir from the house, lest he might be seen by any one that knew him in passing the road, which caution she observed herself.

The following morning after breakfast she repaired to the library; ah! thought she, what transport, if I should find the dear lady returned! but no such happiness awaited her; she entered the apartments with a beating heart, and remained near ten minutes in the library before Joseph made his appearance. ‘Well, Joseph,’ said she, hastily, on his entering the room, ‘how are things below stairs?’ ‘All the same as they were yesterday, madam; the doors were fast, and every thing as I left them.’ ‘I have a very great desire,’ said she, ‘to see that room where the inscriptions are, and which I find is locked up, can you open it?’ ‘Yes, I can; the key is below, but if I may speak my mind, I think you had better not go.’ ‘Why so,’ demanded she. ‘Why, because, to my thinking, it’s a dismal place, and will put me in mind of sad doings.’ ‘You make me more curious - pray indulge me, Joseph?’ ‘Well, madam, I’ll go with you, but ‘tis sore against my mind.’ He went down, and soon returned with two keys, but with evident reluctance in his countenance; ‘I believe one of these is the key,’ said he; ‘there used to hang three upon the peg the other is gone, or left in the closet door perhaps yet: I don’t think my lady ever came up to open these rooms.’ Whilst he was talking he was trying the keys; neither of them would open the first door, the second he unlocked presently; they entered, it was a dressing-room, handsomely furnished; they tried the door which opened into the other room, it was fastened on the inside. ‘This is very strange,’ said Joseph; ‘I will go down again and see if I can find the other key, if you are not afraid to stay alone.’ ‘Not in the least,’ said Matilda, who was examining the room very carefully. The windows were very high and grated with bars of iron, the hangings were dark green damask, every thing was handsome, yet the grated windows made it appear gloomy.

Joseph now returned with a countenance of horror and dismay’O, my lady, I can find no key, but looking about the kitchen, behind the door I found a large knife, all over blood.’ ‘Gracious heaven!’ cried Matilda, ‘what is it you tell me; I tremble with apprehension; let us force that door, at all events.’ ‘I intend it,’ answered Joseph, ‘and have brought a bar with me for the purpose.’ The door in the dressing-room being the slightest, after a good deal of labour, the old man burst it open. What a scene presented itself! a woman on the bed weltring in blood! Both uttered a cry of horror, and ran to the bed; it was the elderly attendant of the lady dead, by a wound in her throat.

The sight was too much for poor Matilda, she sunk fainting into a chair; Joseph was frightened out of his wits; he flew down as fast as possible, and returned with water, he bathed her face and hands and she revived.

‘O, Joseph!’ cried she, ‘the lady - the dear lady! what is become of her in such bloody hands?’ ‘The Lord only knows,’ answered he, looking with terror towards the closet. Directed by his eye Matilda. arose and walked to the door; the key was in it; she unlocked it, and was about to enter, when casting her eyes on the floor, she saw it was all over stained with blood, dried into the floor - she started, and involuntarily retreated, but Joseph, who had looked round said, ‘You may enter, madam, nothing is here.’ With trembling steps, she entered the closet, her heart beating with terror; it was a large light closet, with a very high window, grated like the other, hung with dark green stuff; two stools covered with the same, and a large wardrobe in it. On the floor was plainly mark’d the shape of a hand and fingers traced in blood, which seemed to have flowed in great quantities. ‘Good heavens!’ cried she, ‘some person was doubtless murdered here too.’ ‘Intended to have been murdered,’ answered Joseph, wiping his eyes, ‘but thank God she escaped then.’ He said no more. Matilda, extremely terrified, hastened out of the closet, when the poor creature on the bed met her eyes. ‘O, Joseph!’ exclaimed she, turning with horror from the scene, ‘what is to be done with this unfortunate woman?’ ‘Dear, my lady, I can’t tell; I have neither strength to dig a grave, nor can I carry her down.’ ‘It is plain,’ said Matilda, ‘the wretches who have carried of the lady, murdered the servant to prevent discovery.’ ‘I fear,’ cried Joseph, ‘my turn will be next - my mouth will be stopt from the same fear.’ ‘God forbid,’ said Matilda; ‘but as I have now no hopes of finding the lady, and it will be dangerous to entrust another person with the secret, I think, Joseph, if we can find a small trunk or chest, to fill it with the linen and necessaries your lady offered me, and convey it to one of the rooms in the other wing; I will write a line and leave it on the table: yet, on second thought, it will be useless, should she escape, she can never think of coming here again: we will therefore lock and bolt up every