Page:Once a Week June to Dec 1863.pdf/97

18, 1863.] different tastes and inclinations, and assembled again when dinner-time approached. The evening came, and the time had passed away very quickly, we all thought, when some prudent person, the old grey-headed clergyman, I believe it was, reminded the company that it was drawing close upon midnight. Knowing our host’s dislike to late hours, we arose to take our candles and depart.

“And where am I to perch?” demanded the Major, as we were shaking hands and bidding each other good night.

“Oh, you are to go into your own room; you recollect it, don’t you, Charles? I fancied you would like it best.”

“To be sure I do—recollect it, indeed! I’m not likely to forget your almost blowing me up with gunpowder, one New Year’s night, in that room—singed half the hair off my head! ’Tis a wonder that I recovered my beauty as I did. Yes, I remember it; the third door on the right hand side, opposite—ah, by the by, who sleeps there? The old housekeeper, in your good father’s time, used to try to frighten us boys about that room: she declared that nobody—”

“Foolish old woman!” interrupted our host rather hastily; “he was obliged to threaten her with instant dismissal if she spread such absurd reports; why, you would hardly believe it, but I assure you, at one time, my father could scarcely get a servant to live in the house—you know how superstitious most of our rural population is; however, the thing is forgotten now.”

I was struck with the hurried manner in which these words were uttered, and still more with the uneasiness which the Squire betrayed when several of the younger part of the company, whose curiosity had naturally been roused by the foregoing conversation, began eagerly asking questions as to what the housekeeper had related. It was in vain that he tried to put an end to the conversation, or to turn it to some other subject; our curiosity was excited, and we were not satisfied till we heard all that the Major could tell us about the matter. It was not much, certainly.

“Mrs. Lofty—that was her name—used to tell us that nobody could sleep in that room; there was something so very dreadful to be seen, or to be heard, or both perhaps; for the old dame never would tell us all that she knew, or pretended to know; she declared, too, that no one had ever dared to pass a second night in it—was not that the story, Squire? We boys used to laugh at her superstition, but, to confess the truth, I believe at that time neither of us would have been very willing to spend a night in that room by himself.”

We took up our several candlesticks, and proceeded upstairs to bed.

“Let us take a look at this mysterious apartment,” said I, as we were about to pass the door, which was closed, but not locked; “let us see what is to be seen,” and several of us walked in. It was a large, comfortable-looking room. The windows looked towards the east, catching a glimpse of the restless ocean at the end of the fine old avenue which led up to that side of the house. It was a still night; the moon, which was near the full, had but just risen, throwing a bright path of light across the rippling water, and causing the massy foliage of the elms to look black against the sky. For a night view, I thought I had never seen anything more lovely.

The furniture in the room was heavy-looking and old-fashioned, unlike that in the other apartments, which had all been handsomely furnished when the Squire took possession of the place; this remained just as it was in his father’s time. Between the windows was a large oval mirror of the fashion of the last century; the frame, which was white and gold, seemed intended to represent a confusion of deer’s horns, dripping foliage, and icicles intermixed, the effect of which, though the connection between these objects is not very obvious, was undoubtedly pleasing. On each side of the fireplace was a large, high-backed, well-stuffed arm-chair; there were also other chairs of probably the same antiquity, if I may judge from their ample size, the elaborate carvings on the dark mahogany, and the faded worsted work which covered the seats. Besides these there was a table, a large oak chest with brass clasps, such as our great-grandmothers used to keep their linen or their blankets in, and a bedstead, on which, however, there were neither hangings nor bedding of any sort. The walls were of painted wainscot, the floor was well carpeted, and the room had merely the appearance of being disused, not the least of dirt or neglect.

The Major seated himself in one of the large easy chairs, and made a scrutinizing survey of the room.

“So this room is given up to the—”

“Come, come,” interrupted the Squire; “there’s the clock striking twelve, and—”

“Upon my honour, Jack, I believe you know a good deal more about the housekeeper’s story than you choose to tell us—what is it now? Nay, don’t look so grim. I’ve a great mind to take up my quarters here for the night. I wish I may never have a worse berth to sleep in than this great downy chair; it fits me exactly.” And the old boy stretched out his legs, threw his head back into the soft cushions, and yawned as if he had finally settled himself for the night.

“Major, you’ll oblige me by going into your own room,” urged our host.

“Squire, you’ll oblige me by letting me have my own way,” retorted his friend; “and with your leave,” continued he, rising, “I’ll just look into that big chest, too. Oh! empty; then I will keep it so,” and locking it, he put the key into his pocket.

Amongst the guests was an old clergyman, who many years ago had been rector of the parish, which he quitted on being presented to a better living in a distant part of England; he was now on a visit to the Squire, with whom, and with his father before him, he had lived on terms of considerable intimacy. Whilst the Major was making his observations, Mr. Bradley was carefully examining the wainscot, now and then tapping it, as if to ascertain whether it were hollow in any place.

“Is there any closet in this room?” asked Mr. Bradley.

“No—and no other door than the one we came