Bungay Castle: A Novel. v. 1

A few days before the young ladies were to return to the nunnery, Madeline was taken ill, and her disorder increased so rapidly, it was not only thought dangerous, but found impracticable to remove her with safety. For some weeks her life was despaired of, and, when immediate danger was over, she was left in so weak and languid a state, that air and exercise were pronounced absolutely necessary to effect a perfect recovery. This sentence was heard with secret delight by the suffering Madeline, as she was certain it would procure leave for her longer continuance at the castle, and the permission, when obtained, had more efficacy in restoring her, than all the medicines she had taken during her illness. Edwin and Roseline, much as they had suffered from the alarming indisposition of their loved companion, rejoiced that it had been productive of an indulgence they had almost despaired of gaining.

As the progress of her recovery was slow and precarious, many symptoms of a decline being visible, every one was eager and anxious to amuse the fair invalid, and none appeared more earnest in their endeavours than Hubert de Willows, captain of the guard, a young man, whose wit, vivacity, and unceasing good humour, had so strongly recommended him to the favour and protection of the governor, as had obtained him a constant invitation to his table. With a lively imagination, he had a turn for satire, so pointed, that, while it rendered him a most entertaining companion, kept many of his enemies in awe, and he had the merit of never shewing his talents at the expence of a friend, nor any worthy character; but he considered vice and folly as fair game, against which he levelled his attacks.

Arthur de Clavering, the acting surgeon, was allowed both judgment and humanity. The practice of physic and surgery was then but obscurely known, compared with the more enlightened practioners of these days. De Clavering, however, patched up many a broken constitution. People lived as long, and had fewer diseases, than has been the lot of succeeding generations, but, whether this is owing to chance or folly, I leave wiser heads to determine.

Arthur de Clavering was rather an extraordinary character; his person was neither tall nor short; of a thin habit; had a countenance so pleasing, and eyes so penetrating, it was impossible not to be struck with him, as something beyond the common race of mortals. He had been abroad, had read much, was acquainted with both men and manners, had a plain and rather awkward address, was singular in his expressions, and formed his opinions with a justness and rapidity that astonished those with whom he associated; told a number of good anecdotes with a delicacy and humour peculiar to himself; public places and general society he avoided so cautiously, that he was considered as a misanthrope by those who did not know him intimately.

Lieutenant de Huntingfield was a Humourous bachelor of forty: he professed himself an admirer of the ladies, and pretended to lament that the state of his finances would not permit him to take a wife to his bosom, and increase the ancient family of the De Huntingfields, which, he apprehended, if fortune proved averse to his accomplishing, would become extinct.

Among the rest of the officers was a Cambrian youth, who was a general favourite in the castle. Hugh Camelford was gay, high spirited, thoughtless, and extravagant; but with all so generous and good humoured, it was impossible not to be pleased even with his eccentricities; he rode good horses, gave good dinners, and was always in good spirits. De Clavering and Hugh Camelford were the best friends in the world. The doctor, as he was generally called, had once, during some indisposition, advised him to be bled; but the fiery youth would neither follow his advice nor submit to his entreaties: he was then threatened with death for his obstinacy.

"In Cot's cood time I am ready to die, (said the invalid;) but, if ever I lose one drop of my Welch bloot, put in the service of my country, may my coot name be plasted with the titles of poltroon and coward!" – He saved his Welch blood, and recovered, and De Clavering, though at first somewhat displeased, treated him as a friend and brother ever afterwards.

There was a still more singular character in the castle than any yet described, – Alexander Elwyn. He was placed there as a school for improvement in tactics and all the relative duties of a soldier: he had good connexions, and a genteel allowance; but was a miser at twenty. This sordid humour made him the butt of the garrison, and De Willows, with the rest of the officers, vowed to laugh him out of a habit as disgusting as it was unnatural and unnecessary.

In a few weeks Madeline was so far recovered, as to be removed into one of the state-apartments for the benefit of air; an adjoining room was likewise fitted up for Roseline, to sleep near her friend during her confinement. They generally parted from their attendants as soon as the rest of the family retired. Being one night earnestly chatting over some occurrence that had afforded them pleasure, they were alarmed by footsteps under their apartment, and a low murmuring sound of voices indistinctly reached their ears. Madeline was a good deal frightened, but Roseline, who had great presence of mind, and more courage, made, or rather appeared to make, very light of the matter, telling her friend the rooms they occupied were, she knew, connected with some passages and offices belonging to the castle, and she doubted not but the noise proceeded from the people on duty. This, in some degree, abated the fears of Madeline, till, after a profound silence of half an hour, they heard a deep groan, followed by the rattling of chains; at the same instant one of the windows flew open with the greatest violence, and as instantly closed again, which was followed by the bell at the corner of the room ringing violently.

Madeline gave a faint scream; Roseline jumped out of bed, and ran for some water, supposing she would have a fainting fit; but she gently put it aside, and with wild affright inquired what was the matter, and what could occasion the unaccountable noises they had heard. "The wind, and the people in some of the lower apartments; no doubt, (replied her friend;) therefore I beg you would not discompose yourself; if you do, you will compel me to disturb the family, and that I am afraid would displease my father; and, in all probability, Edwin would ridicule our childish fears, and the rest of the gentlemen would laugh at us."

This silenced Madeline, and Roseline continued: "I am totally unacquainted with many parts of this castle. I have two of three times wished to explore its secret passages, look at the dungeons, and visit all its subterranean contrivances, but have been forbidden by my father. Edwin did once promise to shew me how well we were secured from outward danger by the immense strength of the fortifications, and equally secure of a retreat, should the castle be attacked; but he cautioned me not to give a hint of his design, either to my father or mother, not to drop a word of his intentions before my brothers or sisters. Eager as I was to have my curiosity satisfied, your illness, my dear girl, and the pleasure we counted of partaking during our visit, drove it from my mind; but I will take the earliest opportunity of claiming my brother's promise."

"Agreed, (cried Roseline;) you and I, my dear Madeline, have yet seen too little of life to be weary of it, and I trust our hearts are both too guiltless to have any fears of those supernatural appearances, of which superstition and ignorance give such improbable accounts."

"Yet I have heard strange tales of this castle being haunted, even in the retired recess to which my adverse fate had in all probability doomed me to spend my hapless days, and – "

"You are too much inclined to believe them, (interrupted her friend;) but, my dear Madeline, be assured of this, – if we had nothing more to fear from the living than we have to apprehend from the dead, we should be perfectly secure, and our lives would pass away in a more serene and placid manner than the turbulent wills of our fellow-mortals will allow. Hark! I am sure I hear the soft and distant sound of a lute. I never yet knew a ghost that had a taste for Mortal harmony."

"I certainly hear music, (sighed Madeline;) from what place can it proceed? – Surely it must be – "

"The amusement, no doubt, of some one either on the ramparts or in the cells; for you have fluttered my spirits so much, I cannot determine from what part of the castle the sound can reach us: let us, however, rest satisfied, that no ghosts would trouble themselves to play a midnight serenade in order to terrify those who could never have injured them. Let us wait till you are quite recovered before we mention a word of the occurrences of this night; for, were my father to hear of our alarm, we should be instantly removed into other apartments, and should not then be able to accomplish our purpose of exploring the intricate recesses of this castle. Good night, Madeline; I hope the musician will not cease his harmony till he has lulled us to repose."

She then jumped into her own bed; but her spirits were not altogether in that composed and courageous state she wished her friend to imagine. She had heard strange stories of lights being seen, of ghosts gliding along the ramparts, of noises being heard; but, as she had not been told of a ghostly musician, she was inclined to hope it would, by some means or other, be explained to her satisfaction.

Till the rising sun, however, peeped over the hills which bounded the view from her windows, she could not rest; she then sunk into repose, and slept so soundly, that it was with difficulty her sister, Edeliza, could convince her that the family waited breakfast till she should be in the humour to join them. Madeline took her's in bed. Roseline hurried on her clothes, and Lady de Morney tenderly inquired if indisposition had prevented her rising at her usual hour. complaining of not having slept till late satisfied all parties, and, after a gentle reproof from Sir Philip, and a joke from Edwin for hugging her pillow so long, the subject was dropped.

The next day was fixed for Madeline to join the family at dinner, for the first time since her long and alarming illness. De Clavering, De Willows, and Hugh Camelford, were invited to be of the party on this joyous occasion, and it was with the utmost difficulty that Edwin de Morney could conceal the rapture he felt in his bosom at the thought of seeing the fair nun once more among them. He had ventured, with the consent of Roseline, to make her several stolen visits, and in those moments of rapturous delight had discovered that Madeline de Glanville reigned sole mistress of his heart. Too young for the practice of deceit, too sanguine and inexperienced to think of the consequence of loving one devoted to the service of her God, he flattered himself the partial indulgence of his mother would enable him to conquer any difficulties thrown in his way, wither by his father, or the designs Madeline's parents had formed for her future destination. He likewise cherished the sweet hope that Madeline would not be averse to accept him as a lover. His own heart had taught him to read the language of the eyes, and in her's he saw, or thought he saw, joy sparkle at his approach, and a soft sadness overcloud them at his departure.

The party met at dinner. Madeline entered the room, leaning on the supporting arm of Edwin, and followed by Roseline. Never, in the full bloom of youth and health, had the fair invalid looked so inexpressibly lovely. A faint blush tinged her cheek upon receiving the congratulations of the company on her recovery. The doctor humourously declared he was entitled to their thanks for the resurrection of their friend.

"A resurrection, methinks, it is in reality, (said de Willows;) 'for the mortal seems to have put on immortality,' and to have brought down from heaven the beauty and form of an angel."

"Hey day! (cried Sir Philip;) why, good people, you all seem to be taking vast pains to make my sweet nun believe a language you yourselves do not seem perfectly to understand. That we are all glad to see her restored to us I hope and trust she believes; but our congratulations must convince her, notwithstanding your high-flown compliments, that she is a mere mortal, like the rest of her sex."

"Not exactly like some of them, (said the doctor;) for, if she were, De Willows would not look at her as if he had a mind to seize the precious morsel from mother-church."

This sally produced a hearty laugh from all but Edwin and Lady de Morney, who, seeing the conversation was become distressing to her young friend, summoned them to sit down to dinner.

"In Cot's name, (cried Camelford,) let us obey orders, for I feel myself all mortal at sight of Sir-loin, who is as coot and entertaining a knight as any on this side the Welch mountains."

"Excellent, faith! (exclaimed De Clavering;) and you look at him with as much pleasure as a goat would at a field of young grass, or as Edwin at his sister Roseline."

Edwin at this moment was gazing at Madeline with an earnestness that struck the doctor, and he took this method of withdrawing his attention from an object which he considered might prove dangerous to the peace of his young friend, to whom he was most sincerely and affectionately attached.

The day was spent with all that serene harmony which attends the society of friends. Madeline's return to the social party was like that of one having been so long absent, that little hope was entertained of ever meeting again. She retired to her room at an early hour, accompanied by Roseline; and the progress of her recovery, though slow, was so visible, as in a few days to remove all anxious fears from every heart but that of the impassioned Edwin, that no further danger was to be apprehended from the effects of the fever.

For more than a week the young ladies heard nothing to disturb them. They were lodged at a great distance from the rest of the family, and Roseline, having informed her brother of Madeline's fears, he had requested his mother to let him sleep in that wing of the castle, lest Madeline should be taken ill in the night, and his sister under the necessity of leaving her to call assistance. His request was granted, at the same time he received his mother's commendations and thanks for this prudent precaution.

CHAP. III

During the time that De Willows was cherishing an increasing affection for Madeline, the youthful Edeliza, now in the sixteenth year, was in a situation more distressing. She had long been accustomed to consider De Willows in the light of a playfellow, and to be gratified by his almost undivided attention, while to him her's was wholly confined. With Camelford she would sometimes romp, if De Willows were absent, but, as soon as he returned, she would fly to him, and complain of the young lieutenant's having wearied her by playing too roughly.

Love even with the inexperienced is generally quick-fighted. Edeliza had observed, with a kind of trembling apprehension, and a fear she knew not how to account for, the attentions De Willows paid to Madeline. She was angry, – she was shocked, – thought her not half so handsome as she once had been, and wondered what the gentlemen could see to admire in so ghostly a figure; her brother, De Clavering, Hugh Camelford, and Elwyn, might make as much fuss as they pleased about the beautiful nun, as they chose to call her, that De Willows should be so blind, so provoking, she could not bear to recollect; however, as she would soon be obliged to return to the nunnery, she hoped De Willows would then forget she had ever left it, and recover his senses.

Thus was the little blind god, who had been the delight and the torment of all ages, beginning to play cross purposes at the castle, and aiming his arrows at hearts too innocent to guard against or repel their attacks. De Willows had ever admired Edeliza as a beautiful and interesting child; he had been in the habit of seeing her, from the time she was ten years old, every day; therefore her progress towards womanhood had passed in a manner unperceived, and he had indulged himself and his little favourite in the same fond and playful endearments as had taken place from the first of their meeting, and that without forming an idea of there being either danger or impropriety in so doing. Had any one informed De Willows that Edeliza was cherishing a growing affection for him, which, if unreturned, would endanger her future peace, he would have treated it as the idle chimera of their own whimsical brain; but, had he once seriously supposed he was destroying her happiness, and planting the thorn of anguish in her innocent bosom, his heart was so much the seat of true honour, he would have stabbed in his own breast rather than have acted unjustly by the daughter of his friend.

It happened about this period that Sir Philip de Morney was obliged to go to London in order to settle a law-suit which had been long depending, and which had harassed his mind very much. De Huntingfield was to take the command of the castle during his absence, being the oldest officer in the place. De Willows, though of higher rank, was too young to be entrusted with a charge of so much importance, and gladly yielded the honour to one so much his superior in years. Sir Philip departed with reluctance, took leave of his family with tenderness, and promised to return the first moment after the affair was settled. – Lady de Morney was reconciled to the temporary absence of her husband by the important business which had called him away.

The young friends, having slept for several nights undisturbed, had almost lost all remembrance of their fears before the departure of Sir Philip, whose absence happened very opportunely to gratify their curiosity in visiting every part of the castle, Edwin having promised to procure the keys, and accompany them.

Two nights after Sir Philip's departure, having spent a cheerful evening, they retired to rest in unusual good spirits, but were awakened about midnight by a war of the elements, and what made the scene more terrific, though it was in the depth of winter, the thunder rolled in tremendous peals over their heads, the sturdy walls of the castle appeared to shake from their centre to the battlements, and the lightning flashed upon the walls, and gleamed along the vaulted passages, as if to make horror visible. The young ladies dressed themselves, and Edwin tapped at the door with a light, inviting them to go down into one of the lower rooms, to which he would accompany them.

Cheered and revived by the sound of his voice, they readily agreed to his proposal, and in a few minutes opened the door to admit their conductor. They made as little noise as possible, fearful of disturbing Lady de Morney, if she was not already alarmed by the tempest; and, to prevent the possibility of doing so, they agreed to go down a winding staircase that led through one of the towers, and which was seldom used by the family. They crept slowly along, when, in one part of it, which was rather wider than the rest, they passed four steps, which led to a door in the wall, and which appeared so well secured by locks and bars, as if it never was intended to be opened.

"For heaven's sake, (whispered Roseline,) to what room does that door lead? I never saw it before."

"I entreat you (said the trembling Madeline) not to stop in this horrid place to ask questions, (for the humid and unwholesome dews of night and noxious vapours hung on the walls.) Though I am not afraid now Edwin is with us, yet I may take cold by staying here."

Edwin pressed the hand which was resting on his arm to his throbbing bosom, and hurried them into the room the family had left, and they were all truly rejoiced to find an excellent fire still blazing on the wide-extended hearth, round which they seated themselves, and neither Madeline nor Edwin uttered a single complaint at having been so unseasonably disturbed.

The tempest having spent it fury, subsided by degrees into a calm, and the party, entering into conversation, almost forgot it had ever been. Roseline however repeated her question respecting the door they had seen in their way down the staircase. Edwin assured her he knew no more than herself to what place it belonged: he had heard that the restless ghost of some one had been bound in the apartments to which it led, and that orders had been given for it never to be opened. He had once made some inquiries of his father, but was desired by him never to ask any questions till he came to years of maturity, nor to explore any of the secret passages or entrances to the castle.

"Then, surely, (said Madeline,) it would be extremely wrong to disobey the commands of Sir Philip, merely to satisfy an idle and perhaps blamable curiosity."

"At the moment (interrupted Edwin) that I admire the complying sweetness of the gentle Madeline, I must beg pardon for retaining my own resolution of seeing those parts of the castle from which I have been so long secluded. I am now arrived at an age that surely deserves to be trusted, or I must be unfit to live in a situation like this. My father's reasons for the secresy he has observed so long, I am unacquainted with; but I will most assuredly avail myself of his absence to gratify my curiosity. I know where the keys are deposited, and in a night or two will begin my nocturnal search. If you and Roseline are in the humour to accompany me, it is well; if not, I shall certainly go by myself."

"As that might be dangerous, (said Roseline, who rejoiced to find him so resolute,) you must promise to take me along with you."

To this he assented, and Madeline agreed, with some little confusion, to be of the party, concluding, Sir Philip must be wrong in not granting his son's request. This matter settled, they retired for the rest of the night, to forget, in the arms of sleep, not only the castle and the nunnery, but the whole world.

The next night they were surprised by an unusual noise, that seemed to be immediately under them. It appeared something like the rattling of a carriage over stones. Groans too they thought they heard; and, after dressing themselves, Roseline called her brother, to convince him their alarms were not the effects of imagination. He heard the same sounds, and, in looking round their apartment, and into an adjoining closet, he discovered a trap-door, that was very curiously concealed under a board, which slided over it. He attempted to lift it up, but found it was secured by a lock which was hid in a small projection of the wall.

Finding it impossible to obtain a passage, they determined to defer their search till the succeeding night, when Edwin promised to secure the keys. He stayed with them till daylight dissipated their fears; they then retired to repose; but sleep deserted their pillows. A thousand vague conjectures occupied their minds, and Madeline, for the first time in her life, wished herself absent from the castle: that there was something to discover appeared beyond a doubt; but, whether the discovery would serve to relieve or increase their anxiety, was as hazardous as it was uncertain; however, as Roseline and Edwin were resolute to make the attempt, she determined not to oppose them.

Edwin revolved in his mind how he might be able to find some clue to guide him, and resolved to apply to an old soldier, whose whole life had been spent in the castle, to give him some account respecting it. He was fond of retracing past scenes, and, when once he began talking, knew not when to stop. From him Edwin learned all he wanted to be informed; by him he was told the use of the keys, and received every necessary direction. The old man, considering himself honoured by holding converse with the governor's son, told him every circumstance he knew or could recollect. The next day was spent in the same manner as usual. De Clavering was uncommonly facetious, De Willows particularly cheerful, Hugh Camelford entertaining, and De Huntingfield busy in the active duties of his important office.

The afternoon being remarkably clear, mild, and serene, the whole party agreed to ascend to the top of the castle, and walk on the ramparts, for the benefit of air and exercise. Edeliza would not quit the arm of De Willows, therefore Madeline was left uninterrupted to the care of Edwin.

The air was reviving, the prospect picturesque and interesting; for notwithstanding the season, nature had still beauties to catch the inquiring eye, and awaken the gratitude of innocent and cheerful hearts. A few evergreens, scattered here and there among the leafless trees afforded shelter to innumerable birds. The red breast warbled his artless song, surrounded by a number of chirping sparrows, who seemed gaily to flutter around, making a most uncommon bustle, which was occasioned by a shower that had lately fallen.