A True Horror Tale!

"Setting the scene" this is a longer story than first thought, so I split it up into parts, please be patient and wait till the next part soon!





(by John Berwick Harwood)



I was but nineteen years of age when the incident occurred which has thrown a shadow over my life; and ah me! how many and many a weary year has dragged by since then. Young, happy and beloved I was in those long-departed days. They said I was beautiful. The mirror now relects a haggard old woman, with ashen lips and face of deadly pallor. It is not the flight of years that has brought me to be this wreck of my former self: had it been so I could have borne the loss cheerfully, patiently, as the common lot of all; but it was no natural progress of decay which has robbed me of bloom, of youth, of the hopes and joys that belong to youth, snapped the link that bound my heart to another's, and doomed me to a lone old age. I try to be patient, but my cross has been heavy, and my heart is empty and weary, and I long for the death that comes so slowly to those who pray to die.

I will try and relate, exactly as it happened the event which blighted my life. Though it occurred many years ago, there is no fear that I should have forgotton any of the minutest circumstances: they were stamped on my brain to clearly and burningly, like the brand of a red hot iron. I see them written in the wrinkles of my brow, in the dead whiteness of my hair, which was a glossy brown once, and has known no gradual change from dark to gray, from gray to white, as with those happy ones who were the companions of my girlhood, and whose honored age is soothed by the love of children and grandchildren. But I must not envy them. I only meant to say that the difficulty of my task has no connection with want of memory--I remember but too well. But as I take my pen my hand trembles, my head swims, the old rushing faintness and Horror comes over me again, and the well-remembered fear is upon me. Yet I will go on.

This briefly is my story: I was a great heiress. I believe though I cared little for the fact, but so it was. My father had great possessions, and no son to inherit after him. His three daughters of whom I was the youngest, were to share the broad acres among themselves. I have said, and truly, that I cared little for the circumstances, and indeed I was so rich then in health and youth and love that I felt myself quite indifferent to all else. The possessions of all the treasures of the earth could never have made up for what I then had - and lost, as I am about to relate. Of course, we girls knew that we were heiresses, but I do not think Lucy and Minnie were any the prouder or the happier on that account. I know I was not. Reginald dod not court me for my money. Of that I felt assured. He proved it, Heaven be praised! When he shrank from my side after the change. Yes, in all my lonely age, I can still be thankful that he did not keep his word, as some would have done - did not clasp at the alter a hand he had learned to loathe and shudder at, because it was full of gold - much gold. At least he spared me that. And I know that I was loved, and the knowledge has kept me from going mad through many a weary day and restless night, when my hot eyeballs had not a tear to shed, and even to weep was a luxury denied me.

Our house was an old Tudar mansion. My father was very particular in keeping the smallest peculiarities of his home unaltered. Thus the many peaks and gables, the numerous turrets, and the mullioned windows with their quaint lozenge panes set in lead, remained very nearly as they had been three centries back. Over and above the quaint melancholy of our dwelling, with the deep woods of its park and the sullen waters of the mere, our neighborhood was thinly peopled and primitive, and the people round us were ignorant, and tenacious of ancient ideas and traditions. Thus it was a superstitious atmosphere that we children were reared in, and we heard, from our infancy, countless tales of horror, some mere fables doubtless, others legends of dark deeds of the olden time, exaggerated by credulity and the love of the marvelous. Our mother had died when we were young, and our other parent being, though a kind father, much absorbed in affairs of various kinds, as an active magistrate and landlord, there was no one to check the unwholesome stream of tradition with which our plastic minds were inundated in the company of nurses and servants. As years went on, however, the old ghostly tales partially lost their effects, and our undisciplined minds were turned more towards balls, dress, and partners, and other matters airy and trival, more welcome to our riper age. It was at a country assembly that Reginald and I first met, met and loved. It was not as deep a heart as some, I have thought in my grief and anger; but I never doubted its truth and honesty. Reginalds father and mine approved of our growing attachment; and as for myself, I know I was so happy then, that I look back upon those fleeting moments as on some delicious dream. I now come to the change. I have lingered on my childish reminiscences, my bright and happy youth, and now I must tell the rest - the blight and the sorrow.

It was christmas, always a joyful and a hospitable time in the country, especially in such an old hall as our home, where quaint customs and frolics were much clung to, as part and parcel of the very dwelling itself. The hall was full of guests, so full, indeed, that there was great difficulty in providing sleeping accomodation for all. Several narrow and dark chambers in the turrets-mere pigeon-holes, as we irreverently called what had been thought good enough for the stately gentlemen of Elizabeth's regin - were now allotted to bachelor vistors, after having been empty for a century. All the spare rooms in the body and wings of the hall were occupied, of course; and the servants who had been brought down were lodged at the farm and at the keeper's, so great was the demand for space. At least the unexpected arrival of an elderly relative, who had been asked months before, but scarcely expected, caused great commotion. My aunts went about wringing their hands distracedly. Lady Speldhurst was a personage of some consequence; she was a distant cousin, and had been for years on cool terms with us all, on account of some fancied affront or slight when she had paid her last visit, about the time of my christening. She was seventy years old; she was infirm, rich and testy, moreover, she was my godmother, though I had forgotton the fact; but it seems that though I had formed no expectations of a legacy in my favor, my aunts had done so for me. Aunt Margaret was especially eloquent on the subject. "There isnt a room left" she said; "was ever anything so unfortunate!" We cannot put Ladt Speldhurst into the turrets, and yet where is she to sleep? And Rosa's godmother too! Poor dear child, how dreadful! After all these years of estrangement, and with a hundred thousand in the funds, and no comfortable, warm room at her own unlimited disposal - and christmas, of the the times in the year. What was to be done? My aunts could not resign their own chambers to Lady Speldhurst because they had already given them up to some of the married guests. My father was the most hospitable of men, but he was rheumatic, gouty, and methodical. His sister-in-law dared not propose to shift his quarters; and indeed he would have far sooner dined on prison fare than have been translated to a strange reluctance to making the offer, which surprised myself. Was it a boding of evil to come? I cannot say. We are strangely and wonderfully made. It MAY have been. At any rate, I do not think it was any selfish unwillingness to make an old infirm lady comfortable by a trifling sacrifice. I was perfectly healthy and strong. The weather was not cold for the time of the year. It was a dark, moist yule - not snowy one, though snow brooded overhead in the darkling clouds. I DID make the offer, which became me, I said with a laugh, as the youngest. My sisters laughed too and made a jest of my evident wish to propitiate my godmother. "She is a fairy godmother, Rosa" said Minnie, "and you know she was affronted at your christening, and went away muttering vengeance. Here she is coming back to see you, I hope she brings you golden gifts with her".

I thought little of Lady Speldhurst and her possible golden gifts. I cared nothing for the wonderful fortune in the funds that my aunts whispered and nodded about so mysteriously. But since then I have wondered whether, had I then showed myself peevish or obstinate, had I refused to give up my room for the expected kinswoman - it would not have altered the whole of my life? But then Lucy or Minnie would have offered in my stead, and been sacrificed - what do I say? better that the blow should have fallen as it did than on those dear ones?????



End of Part One

[Edited on 30-7-2003 by blackwidow666]