The Lady of the Shroud Page 7

  BOOK III: THE COMING OF THE LADY

  Rupert Sent Leger's Journal.

  _April_ 3, 1907.

  I have waited till now--well into midday--before beginning to set downthe details of the strange episode of last night. I have spoken withpersons whom I know to be of normal type. I have breakfasted, as usualheartily, and have every reason to consider myself in perfect health andsanity. So that the record following may be regarded as not only true insubstance, but exact as to details. I have investigated and reported ontoo many cases for the Psychical Research Society to be ignorant of thenecessity for absolute accuracy in such matters of even the minutestdetail.

  Yesterday was Tuesday, the second day of April, 1907. I passed a day ofinterest, with its fair amount of work of varying kinds. Aunt Janet andI lunched together, had a stroll round the gardens after tea--especiallyexamining the site for the new Japanese garden, which we shall call"Janet's Garden." We went in mackintoshes, for the rainy season is inits full, the only sign of its not being a repetition of the Deluge beingthat breaks in the continuance are beginning. They are short at presentbut will doubtless enlarge themselves as the season comes towards an end.We dined together at seven. After dinner I had a cigar, and then joinedAunt Janet for an hour in her drawing-room. I left her at half-past ten,when I went to my own room and wrote some letters. At ten minutes pasteleven I wound my watch, so I know the time accurately. Having preparedfor bed, I drew back the heavy curtain in front of my window, which openson the marble steps into the Italian garden. I had put out my lightbefore drawing back the curtain, for I wanted to have a look at the scenebefore turning in. Aunt Janet has always had an old-fashioned idea ofthe need (or propriety, I hardly know which) of keeping windows closedand curtains drawn. I am gradually getting her to leave my room alone inthis respect, but at present the change is in its fitful stage, and ofcourse I must not hurry matters or be too persistent, as it would hurther feelings. This night was one of those under the old regime. It wasa delight to look out, for the scene was perfect of its own kind. Thelong spell of rain--the ceaseless downpour which had for the time floodedeverywhere--had passed, and water in abnormal places rather trickled thanran. We were now beginning to be in the sloppy rather than the delugedstage. There was plenty of light to see by, for the moon had begun toshow out fitfully through the masses of flying clouds. The uncertainlight made weird shadows with the shrubs and statues in the garden. Thelong straight walk which leads from the marble steps is strewn with finesand white from the quartz strand in the nook to the south of the Castle.Tall shrubs of white holly, yew, juniper, cypress, and variegated mapleand spiraea, which stood at intervals along the walk and its branches,appeared ghost-like in the fitful moonlight. The many vases and statuesand urns, always like phantoms in a half-light, were more than everweird. Last night the moonlight was unusually effective, and showed notonly the gardens down to the defending wall, but the deep gloom of thegreat forest-trees beyond; and beyond that, again, to where the mountainchain began, the forest running up their silvered slopes flamelike inform, deviated here and there by great crags and the outcropping rockysinews of the vast mountains.

  Whilst I was looking at this lovely prospect, I thought I saw somethingwhite flit, like a modified white flash, at odd moments from one toanother of the shrubs or statues--anything which would afford cover fromobservation. At first I was not sure whether I really saw anything ordid not. This was in itself a little disturbing to me, for I have beenso long trained to minute observation of facts surrounding me, on whichoften depend not only my own life, but the lives of others, that I havebecome accustomed to trust my eyes; and anything creating the faintestdoubt in this respect is a cause of more or less anxiety to me. Now,however, that my attention was called to myself, I looked more keenly,and in a very short time was satisfied that something wasmoving--something clad in white. It was natural enough that my thoughtsshould tend towards something uncanny--the belief that this place ishaunted, conveyed in a thousand ways of speech and inference. AuntJanet's eerie beliefs, fortified by her books on occult subjects--and oflate, in our isolation from the rest of the world, the subject of dailyconversations--helped to this end. No wonder, then, that, fully awakeand with senses all on edge, I waited for some further manifestation fromthis ghostly visitor--as in my mind I took it to be. It must surely be aghost or spiritual manifestation of some kind which moved in this silentway. In order to see and hear better, I softly moved back the foldinggrille, opened the French window, and stepped out, bare-footed andpyjama-clad as I was, on the marble terrace. How cold the wet marblewas! How heavy smelled the rain-laden garden! It was as though thenight and the damp, and even the moonlight, were drawing the aroma fromall the flowers that blossomed. The whole night seemed to exhale heavy,half-intoxicating odours! I stood at the head of the marble steps, andall immediately before me was ghostly in the extreme--the white marbleterrace and steps, the white walks of quartz-sand glistening under thefitful moonlight; the shrubs of white or pale green or yellow,--alllooking dim and ghostly in the glamorous light; the white statues andvases. And amongst them, still flitting noiselessly, that mysteriouselusive figure which I could not say was based on fact or imagination. Iheld my breath, listening intently for every sound; but sound there wasnone, save those of the night and its denizens. Owls hooted in theforest; bats, taking advantage of the cessation of the rain, flittedabout silently, like shadows in the air. But there was no more sign ofmoving ghost or phantom, or whatever I had seen might have been--if,indeed, there had been anything except imagination.

  So, after waiting awhile, I returned to my room, closed the window, drewthe grille across again, and dragged the heavy curtain before theopening; then, having extinguished my candles, went to bed in the dark.In a few minutes I must have been asleep.

  "What was that?" I almost heard the words of my own thought as I sat upin bed wide awake. To memory rather than present hearing the disturbingsound had seemed like the faint tapping at the window. For some secondsI listened, mechanically but intently, with bated breath and that quickbeating of the heart which in a timorous person speaks for fear, and forexpectation in another. In the stillness the sound came again--this timea very, very faint but unmistakable tapping at the glass door.

  I jumped up, drew back the curtain, and for a moment stood appalled.

  There, outside on the balcony, in the now brilliant moonlight, stood awoman, wrapped in white grave-clothes saturated with water, which drippedon the marble floor, making a pool which trickled slowly down the wetsteps. Attitude and dress and circumstance all conveyed the idea that,though she moved and spoke, she was not quick, but dead. She was youngand very beautiful, but pale, like the grey pallor of death. Through thestill white of her face, which made her look as cold as the wet marbleshe stood on, her dark eyes seemed to gleam with a strange but enticinglustre. Even in the unsearching moonlight, which is after all ratherdeceptive than illuminative, I could not but notice one rare quality ofher eyes. Each had some quality of refraction which made it look asthough it contained a star. At every movement she made, the starsexhibited new beauties, of more rare and radiant force. She looked at meimploringly as the heavy curtain rolled back, and in eloquent gesturesimplored me to admit her. Instinctively I obeyed; I rolled back thesteel grille, and threw open the French window. I noticed that sheshivered and trembled as the glass door fell open. Indeed, she seemed soovercome with cold as to seem almost unable to move. In the sense of herhelplessness all idea of the strangeness of the situation entirelydisappeared. It was not as if my first idea of death taken from hercerements was negatived. It was simply that I did not think of it atall; I was content to accept things as they were--she was a woman, and insome dreadful trouble; that was enough.

  I am thus particular about my own emotions, as I may have to refer tothem again in matters of comprehension or comparison. The whole thing isso vastly strange and abnormal that th
e least thing may afterwards givesome guiding light or clue to something otherwise not understandable. Ihave always found that in recondite matters first impressions are of morereal value than later conclusions. We humans place far too littlereliance on instinct as against reason; and yet instinct is the greatgift of Nature to all animals for their protection and the fulfilment oftheir functions generally.

  When I stepped out on the balcony, not thinking of my costume, I foundthat the woman was benumbed and hardly able to move. Even when I askedher to enter, and supplemented my words with gestures in case she shouldnot understand my language, she stood stock-still, only rocking slightlyto and fro as though she had just strength enough left to balance herselfon her feet. I was afraid, from the condition in which she was, that shemight drop down dead at any moment. So I took her by the hand to leadher in. But she seemed too weak to even make the attempt. When I pulledher slightly forward, thinking to help her, she tottered, and would havefallen had I not caught her in my arms. Then, half lifting her, I movedher forwards. Her feet, relieved of her weight, now seemed able to makethe necessary effort; and so, I almost carrying her, we moved into theroom. She was at the very end of her strength; I had to lift her overthe sill. In obedience to her motion, I closed the French window andbolted it. I supposed the warmth of the room--though cool, it was warmerthan the damp air without--affected her quickly, for on the instant sheseemed to begin to recover herself. In a few seconds, as though she hadreacquired her strength, she herself pulled the heavy curtain across thewindow. This left us in darkness, through which I heard her say inEnglish:

  "Light. Get a light!"

  I found matches, and at once lit a candle. As the wick flared, she movedover to the door of the room, and tried if the lock and bolt werefastened. Satisfied as to this, she moved towards me, her wet shroudleaving a trail of moisture on the green carpet. By this time the wax ofthe candle had melted sufficiently to let me see her clearly. She wasshaking and quivering as though in an ague; she drew the wet shroudaround her piteously. Instinctively I spoke:

  "Can I do anything for you?"

  She answered, still in English, and in a voice of thrilling, almostpiercing sweetness, which seemed somehow to go straight to my heart, andaffected me strangely: "Give me warmth."

  I hurried to the fireplace. It was empty; there was no fire laid. Iturned to her, and said:

  "Wait just a few minutes here. I shall call someone, and get help--andfire."

  Her voice seemed to ring with intensity as she answered without a pause:

  "No, no! Rather would I be"--here she hesitated for an instant, but asshe caught sight of her cerements went on hurriedly--"as I am. I trustyou--not others; and you must not betray my trust." Almost instantly shefell into a frightful fit of shivering, drawing again her death-clothesclose to her, so piteously that it wrung my heart. I suppose I am apractical man. At any rate, I am accustomed to action. I took from itsplace beside my bed a thick Jaeger dressing-gown of dark brown--it was,of course, of extra length--and held it out to her as I said:

  "Put that on. It is the only warm thing here which would be suitable.Stay; you must remove that wet--wet"--I stumbled about for a word thatwould not be offensive--"that frock--dress--costume--whatever it is." Ipointed to where, in the corner of the room, stood a chintz-coveredfolding-screen which fences in my cold sponge bath, which is laid readyfor me overnight, as I am an early riser.

  She bowed gravely, and taking the dressing-gown in a long, white,finely-shaped hand, bore it behind the screen. There was a slightrustle, and then a hollow "flop" as the wet garment fell on the floor;more rustling and rubbing, and a minute later she emerged wrapped fromhead to foot in the long Jaeger garment, which trailed on the floorbehind her, though she was a tall woman. She was still shiveringpainfully, however. I took a flask of brandy and a glass from acupboard, and offered her some; but with a motion of her hand she refusedit, though she moaned grievously.

  "Oh, I am so cold--so cold!" Her teeth were chattering. I was pained ather sad condition, and said despairingly, for I was at my wits' end toknow what to do:

  "Tell me anything that I can do to help you, and I will do it. I may notcall help; there is no fire--nothing to make it with; you will not takesome brandy. What on earth can I do to give you warmth?"

  Her answer certainly surprised me when it came, though it was practicalenough--so practical that I should not have dared to say it. She lookedme straight in the face for a few seconds before speaking. Then, with anair of girlish innocence which disarmed suspicion and convinced me atonce of her simple faith, she said in a voice that at once thrilled meand evoked all my pity:

  "Let me rest for a while, and cover me up with rugs. That may give mewarmth. I am dying of cold. And I have a deadly fear upon me--a deadlyfear. Sit by me, and let me hold your hand. You are big and strong, andyou look brave. It will reassure me. I am not myself a coward, butto-night fear has got me by the throat. I can hardly breathe. Do let mestay till I am warm. If you only knew what I have gone through, and haveto go through still, I am sure you would pity me and help me."

  To say that I was astonished would be a mild description of my feelings.I was not shocked. The life which I have led was not one which makes forprudery. To travel in strange places amongst strange peoples withstrange views of their own is to have odd experiences and peculiaradventures now and again; a man without human passions is not the typenecessary for an adventurous life, such as I myself have had. But even aman of passions and experiences can, when he respects a woman, beshocked--even prudish--where his own opinion of her is concerned. Suchmust bring to her guarding any generosity which he has, and anyself-restraint also. Even should she place herself in a doubtfulposition, her honour calls to his honour. This is a call which may notbe--_must_ not be--unanswered. Even passion must pause for at least awhile at sound of such a trumpet-call.

  This woman I did respect--much respect. Her youth and beauty; hermanifest ignorance of evil; her superb disdain of convention, which couldonly come through hereditary dignity; her terrible fear andsuffering--for there must be more in her unhappy condition than meets theeye--would all demand respect, even if one did not hasten to yield it.Nevertheless, I thought it necessary to enter a protest against herembarrassing suggestion. I certainly did feel a fool when making it,also a cad. I can truly say it was made only for her good, and out ofthe best of me, such as I am. I felt impossibly awkward; and stutteredand stumbled before I spoke:

  "But surely--the convenances! Your being here alone at night! Mrs.Grundy--convention--the--"

  She interrupted me with an incomparable dignity--a dignity which had theeffect of shutting me up like a clasp-knife and making me feel a decidedinferior--and a poor show at that. There was such a gracious simplicityand honesty in it, too, such self-respecting knowledge of herself and herposition, that I could be neither angry nor hurt. I could only feelashamed of myself, and of my own littleness of mind and morals. Sheseemed in her icy coldness--now spiritual as well as bodily--like anincarnate figure of Pride as she answered:

  "What are convenances or conventions to me! If you only knew where Ihave come from--the existence (if it can be called so) which I havehad--the loneliness--the horror! And besides, it is for me to _make_conventions, not to yield my personal freedom of action to them. Even asI am--even here and in this garb--I am above convention. Convenances donot trouble me or hamper me. That, at least, I have won by what I havegone through, even if it had never come to me through any other way. Letme stay." She said the last words, in spite of all her pride,appealingly. But still, there was a note of high pride in all this--inall she said and did, in her attitude and movement, in the tones of hervoice, in the loftiness of her carriage and the steadfast look of heropen, starlit eyes. Altogether, there was something so rarely lofty inherself and all that clad her that, face to face with it and with her, myfeeble attempt at moral precaution seemed puny, ridiculous, and out ofplace. Without a word i
n the doing, I took from an old chiffonier chestan armful of blankets, several of which I threw over her as she lay, forin the meantime, having replaced the coverlet, she had lain down atlength on the bed. I took a chair, and sat down beside her. When shestretched out her hand from beneath the pile of wraps, I took it in mine,saying:

  "Get warm and rest. Sleep if you can. You need not fear; I shall guardyou with my life."

  She looked at me gratefully, her starry eyes taking a new light more fullof illumination than was afforded by the wax candle, which was shadedfrom her by my body . . . She was horribly cold, and her teeth chatteredso violently that I feared lest she should have incurred some dangerousevil from her wetting and the cold that followed it. I felt, however, soawkward that I could find no words to express my fears; moreover, Ihardly dared say anything at all regarding herself after the haughty wayin which she had received my well-meant protest. Manifestly I was but toher as a sort of refuge and provider of heat, altogether impersonal, andnot to be regarded in any degree as an individual. In these humiliatingcircumstances what could I do but sit quiet--and wait developments?

  Little by little the fierce chattering of her teeth began to abate as thewarmth of her surroundings stole through her. I also felt, even in thisstrangely awakening position, the influence of the quiet; and sleep beganto steal over me. Several times I tried to fend it off, but, as I couldnot make any overt movement without alarming my strange and beautifulcompanion, I had to yield myself to drowsiness. I was still in such anoverwhelming stupor of surprise that I could not even think freely.There was nothing for me but to control myself and wait. Before I couldwell fix my thoughts I was asleep.

  I was recalled to consciousness by hearing, even through the pall ofsleep that bound me, the crowing of a cock in some of the out-offices ofthe castle. At the same instant the figure, lying deathly still but forthe gentle heaving of her bosom, began to struggle wildly. The sound hadwon through the gates of her sleep also. With a swift, gliding motionshe slipped from the bed to the floor, saying in a fierce whisper as shepulled herself up to her full height:

  "Let me out! I must go! I must go!"

  By this time I was fully awake, and the whole position of things came tome in an instant which I shall never--can never--forget: the dim light ofthe candle, now nearly burned down to the socket, all the dimmer from thefact that the first grey gleam of morning was stealing in round the edgesof the heavy curtain; the tall, slim figure in the brown dressing-gownwhose over-length trailed on the floor, the black hair showing glossy inthe light, and increasing by contrast the marble whiteness of the face,in which the black eyes sent through their stars fiery gleams. Sheappeared quite in a frenzy of haste; her eagerness was simplyirresistible.

  I was so stupefied with amazement, as well as with sleep, that I did notattempt to stop her, but began instinctively to help her by furtheringher wishes. As she ran behind the screen, and, as far as sound couldinform me,--began frantically to disrobe herself of the warmdressing-gown and to don again the ice-cold wet shroud, I pulled back thecurtain from the window, and drew the bolt of the glass door. As I didso she was already behind me, shivering. As I threw open the door sheglided out with a swift silent movement, but trembling in an agonizedway. As she passed me, she murmured in a low voice, which was almostlost in the chattering of her teeth:

  "Oh, thank you--thank you a thousand times! But I must go. I _must_! I_must_! I shall come again, and try to show my gratitude. Do notcondemn me as ungrateful--till then." And she was gone.

  I watched her pass the length of the white path, flitting from shrub toshrub or statue as she had come. In the cold grey light of theundeveloped dawn she seemed even more ghostly than she had done in theblack shadow of the night.

  When she disappeared from sight in the shadow of the wood, I stood on theterrace for a long time watching, in case I should be afforded anotherglimpse of her, for there was now no doubt in my mind that she had for mesome strange attraction. I felt even then that the look in thoseglorious starry eyes would be with me always so long as I might live.There was some fascination which went deeper than my eyes or my flesh ormy heart--down deep into the very depths of my soul. My mind was all ina whirl, so that I could hardly think coherently. It all was like adream; the reality seemed far away. It was not possible to doubt thatthe phantom figure which had been so close to me during the dark hours ofthe night was actual flesh and blood. Yet she was so cold, so cold!Altogether I could not fix my mind to either proposition: that it was aliving woman who had held my hand, or a dead body reanimated for the timeor the occasion in some strange manner.

  The difficulty was too great for me to make up my mind upon it, even hadI wanted to. But, in any case, I did not want to. This would, no doubt,come in time. But till then I wished to dream on, as anyone does in adream which can still be blissful though there be pauses of pain, orghastliness, or doubt, or terror.

  So I closed the window and drew the curtain again, feeling for the firsttime the cold in which I had stood on the wet marble floor of the terracewhen my bare feet began to get warm on the soft carpet. To get rid ofthe chill feeling I got into the bed on which _she_ had lain, and as thewarmth restored me tried to think coherently. For a short while I wasgoing over the facts of the night--or what seemed as facts to myremembrance. But as I continued to think, the possibilities of anyresult seemed to get less, and I found myself vainly trying to reconcilewith the logic of life the grim episode of the night. The effort provedto be too much for such concentration as was left to me; moreover,interrupted sleep was clamant, and would not be denied. What I dreamtof--if I dreamt at all--I know not. I only know that I was ready forwaking when the time came. It came with a violent knocking at my door.I sprang from bed, fully awake in a second, drew the bolt, and slippedback to bed. With a hurried "May I come in?" Aunt Janet entered. Sheseemed relieved when she saw me, and gave without my asking anexplanation of her perturbation:

  "Oh, laddie, I hae been so uneasy aboot ye all the nicht. I hae haddreams an' veesions an' a' sorts o' uncanny fancies. I fear that--" Shewas by now drawing back the curtain, and as her eyes took in the marks ofwet all over the floor the current of her thoughts changed:

  "Why, laddie, whativer hae ye been doin' wi' yer baith? Oh, the mess yehae made! 'Tis sinful to gie sic trouble an' waste . . . " And so shewent on. I was glad to hear the tirade, which was only what a goodhousewife, outraged in her sentiments of order, would have made. Ilistened in patience--with pleasure when I thought of what she would havethought (and said) had she known the real facts. I was well pleased tohave got off so easily.