The Enchanted Castle, E. Nesbit [books to read fiction .txt] 📗

Mabel said: “This is a wishing-ring, and I wish all the American’s weapons of all sorts were here.”

Instantly the room was full⁠—six feet up the wall⁠—of a tangle and mass of weapons, swords, spears, arrows, tomahawks, fowling pieces, blunderbusses, pistols, revolvers, scimitars, kreeses⁠—every kind of weapon you can think of⁠—and the four children wedged in among all these weapons of death hardly dared to breathe.

“He collects arms, I expect,” said Gerald, “and the arrows are poisoned, I shouldn’t wonder. Wish them back where they came from, Mabel, for goodness sake, and try again.”

Mabel wished the weapons away, and at once the four children stood safe in a bare panelled room. But⁠—

“No,” Mabel said, “I can’t stand it. We’ll work the ghost another way. I wish the American may think he sees a ghost when he goes to bed. Sir Rupert with his head under his arm will do.”

“Is it tonight he sleeps there?”

“I don’t know. I wish he may see Sir Rupert every night that’ll make it all serene.”

“It’s rather dull,” said Gerald; “we shan’t know whether he’s seen Sir Rupert or not.”

“We shall know in the morning, when he takes the house.”

This being settled, Mabel’s aunt was found to be desirous of Mabel’s company, so the others went home.

It was when they were at supper that Lord Yalding suddenly appeared, and said: “Mr. Jefferson Conway wants you boys to spend the night with him in the state chamber. I’ve had beds put up. You don’t mind, do you? He seems to think you’ve got some idea of playing ghost-tricks on him.”

It was difficult to refuse, so difficult that it proved impossible.

Ten o’clock found the boys each in a narrow white bed that looked quite absurdly small in that high, dark chamber, and in face of that tall gaunt four-poster hung with tapestry and ornamented with funereal-looking plumes.

“I hope to goodness there isn’t a real ghost,” Jimmy whispered.

“Not likely,” Gerald whispered back.

“But I don’t want to see Sir Rupert’s ghost with its head under its arm,” Jimmy insisted.

“You won’t. The most you’ll see’ll be the millionaire seeing it. Mabel said he was to see it, not us. Very likely you’ll sleep all night and not see anything. Shut your eyes and count up to a million and don’t be a goat!”

As soon as Mabel had learned from her drab-haired aunt that this was indeed the night when Mr. Jefferson D. Conway would sleep at the castle she had hastened to add a wish, “that Sir Rupert and his head may appear tonight in the state bedroom.”

Jimmy shut his eyes and began to count a million. Before he had counted it he fell asleep. So did his brother.

They were awakened by the loud echoing bang of a pistol shot. Each thought of the shot that had been fired that morning, and opened eyes that expected to see a sunshiny terrace and red-rose petals strewn upon warm white stone.

Instead, there was the dark, lofty state chamber, lighted but little by six tall candles; there was the American in shirt and trousers, a smoking pistol in his hand; and there, advancing from the door of the powdering-room, a figure in doublet and hose, a ruff round its neck and no head! The head, sure enough, was there; but it was under the right arm, held close in the slashed-velvet sleeve of the doublet. The face looking from under the arm wore a pleasant smile. Both boys, I am sorry to say, screamed. The American fired again. The bullet passed through Sir Rupert, who advanced without appearing to notice it.

Then, suddenly, the lights went out. The next thing the boys knew it was morning. A grey daylight shone blankly through the tall windows and wild rain was beating upon the glass, and the American was gone.

“Where are we?” said Jimmy, sitting up with tangled hair and looking round him. “Oh, I remember. Ugh! it was horrid. I’m about fed up with that ring, so I don’t mind telling you.”

“Nonsense!” said Gerald. “I enjoyed it. I wasn’t a bit frightened, were you?”

“No,” said Jimmy, “of course I wasn’t.”

“We’ve done the trick,” said Gerald later when they learned that the American had breakfasted early with Lord Yalding and taken the first train to London; “he’s gone to get rid of his other house, and take this one. The old ring’s beginning to do really useful things.”

“Perhaps you’ll believe in the ring now,” said Jimmy to Lord Yalding, whom he met later on in the picture-gallery; “it’s all our doing that Mr. Jefferson saw the ghost. He told us he’d take the house if he saw a ghost, so of course we took care he did see one.”

“Oh, you did, did you?” said Lord Yalding in rather an odd voice. “I’m very much obliged, I’m sure.”

“Don’t mention it,” said Jimmy kindly. “I thought you’d be pleased and him too.”

“Perhaps you’ll be interested to learn,” said Lord Yalding, putting his hands in his pockets and staring down at Jimmy, “that Mr. Jefferson D. Conway was so pleased with your ghost that he got me out of bed at six o’clock this morning to talk about it.”

“Oh, ripping!” said Jimmy. “What did he say?”

“He said, as far as I can remember,” said Lord Yalding, still in the same strange voice⁠—“he said: ‘My lord, your ancestral pile is A1. It is, in fact, The Limit. Its luxury is palatial, its grounds are nothing short of Edenesque. No expense has been spared, I should surmise. Your ancestors were whole-hoggers. They have done the thing as it should be done⁠—every detail attended to. I like your tapestry, and I like your oak, and I like your secret stairs. But I think your ancestors should have left well enough alone, and stopped at that.’ So I said they had, as far as I knew, and he shook his head and said:

“ ‘No, Sir. Your ancestors take the air of a night with their heads under their arms. A ghost that sighed or glided or rustled I