Bungay Castle: A Novel. v. 1

Early in the morning, Roseline carried every little nicety she could procure, and left them at the foot of the stairs, – then hurried back to her room, not daring to stop and make inquiries, lest the person who supplied the object of her pity with his daily food should discover and betray her benevolent designs.

Madeline was now making a rapid progress in her recovery, and was every hour in fear of receiving a summons from the abbess to return to the nunnery. Edwin participated in all her fears, and lamented, in the language of tender affection, the cruel necessity which compelled her to leave the castle, protesting neither walls nor vows should long divide them, and swearing to release her from a situation, which, though sanctioned by religion, only bigotry, superstition, and priestcraft, could justify; which he knew would not only destroy all his prospects of happiness, but, as he could not disbelieve the fascinating hopes he had not absolutely been forbidden to cherish, the happiness also of a beloved object, dearer to him than life, without whom fortune, honour, prosperity, and youth, would be robbed of all their value.

The next day, accompanied by Bertrand, Edwin stole by another entrance into the lower recesses of the castle, not mentioning a word of the prisoner, and carefully avoiding that quarter in which he was confined. They first explored the subterraneous passage, leading to the nunnery, and found fewer impediments in their way than they expected. They easily gained an entrance into the chapel, having fixed upon an hour when they knew all the fathers and nuns would be engaged in their cells. They found the opening under the organ, and in that part of the chapel appropriated to the use of the nuns, the door being concealed from observation by a very curious tomb, belonging to the ancient family of De G – .

They entered next the passage leading to Mettingham-castle, and determined to see the whole of it. Here they met with many difficulties: in some places huge stones had fallen from the walls, – in others the arch-way was so low they were almost obliged to crawl, – while toads, snakes, and various kinds of reptiles impeded their progress; when, at length, they reached the end of this wonderful labyrinth, the production of labour and art, they found themselves close to the ballium of Mettingham-castle, and under a strong machiolated and embattled gate.

They now discovered another short passage, which was terminated by a door that opened to the outer ballium, and through which the cavalry could sally in any case of emergency. They ventured cautiously to look around them. Edwin's mind, however, was chiefly occupied by one dear object, and he secretly rejoiced at having found the means of escaping with Madeline, should the obstinacy of her parents, or the ambition of his own, leave him no other resource.

He likewise, in the course of the day, but unaccompanied by any one, opened the door on the stair-case leading to the South tower. He felt a kind of repugnance at taking this step, but determined, as matters were now circumstanced, to go through the whole of this unpleasant business at once, that nothing might be left to conjecture. He also recollected that it would not only put an end to that restless curiosity which had long dwelt upon his mind, but enable him to judge whether it would be possible to remove the dying prisoner into a more airy and convenient room, without the hazard of a discovery.

This wind of the castle he knew was totally unoccupied, as in his boyish days he had frequently, and at all times gone that way to the ramparts to lodge his playthings in a secret apartment in one of the highest towers, and never in his peregrination had met with a human being.

On attempting first to open the door, he was a good deal startled at the noise it occasioned, and was almost buried beneath the heap of cobwebs and dirt which fell and enveloped him in a cloud of dust. – Some birds too, that had here found a sage asylum, flew in terror around him. Not willing to disturb them more than was necessary, he unfastened a narrow casement, to give those opportunity of escaping who wished to obtain their liberty. He then stole softly and cautiously across the room to an opposite door, which opened without any difficulty, and he entered a second apartment, much larger and more commodious than the first. It was hung with ancient tapestry, on which time and moth had made many depredations; but, in some parts of it, the full-length figures remained perfect, and the colours retained some of their beautiful shades. He soon discovered that it represented the most striking and interesting scenes in the well-known history of Hero and Leander, from his first seeing her, in the temple of Venus, at Seftos, in Thrace, till the last closing scene of their unfortunate loves.

The figures of the lovers were fine, and in excellent preservation, and the tapestry was of so superior a kind, that it gave as full force and expression to the faces and drapery as the finest painting could have conveyed. The temple, the palace, the turret, and the Hellespont, upon whose waves the rising and setting sun were alternately reflected, with the downy swan, in snowy dignity, which was seen laving on its bosom were admirably depicted.

The nurse, or attendant of the faithful Hero stood at full length on the edge of the water, which gently undulated near the walls of the palace, pointing to the waves, and as if in the act of telling her fond, impatient mistress her lover was coming, while she, with modest sweetness, seemed fearful of stealing a look at the element which contained a treasure dearer to her soul that the whole of her ambitious father's dominions.

In another part, he saw the lifeless body of Leander, and the despairing Hero in the act of throwing herself into the Hellespont, which had unfortunately proved the grave of her lover.

Edwin stood a long time, silently admiring this pathetic tale: it had an instantaneous effect upon his feelings; it served to remind him of the difficulties he should have to encounter in his attachment to Madeline, and he could have kissed the senseless portrait of the old Egyptian woman for her kind and faithful attentions to the persecuted lovers.

In the middle of the room stood a square table, on which were carelessly spread a number of papers. Four massy silver candlesticks were likewise placed upon it, each of which contained a wax-candle, that had never been lighted, and an old writing, to which was annexed a vast many seals, laid folded up under them.

This he concluded was the mystic bond which held in captivity the restless spirit it was supposed to confine. Edwin opened and attempted to read it. In some parts the writing was defaced, and the whole of the language so unintelligible, he very soon replaced it in its former situation, imagining that, if the ghost was not to regain its liberty till the bond could be read, it would rest in peace for ever, and suffer others to do the same.

In the chimney stood an antique grate, that had once been bright, and still shewed some of its brilliant features through the rust by which it was enveloped. A few chairs were standing here and there, but they were falling to decay. He then opened another door, which led him into a vaulted chamber, in which were placed the tattered remains of a bed, that had been handsome, and could be repaired. A book of devotion was lying upon it. The windows were high and narrow, admitting but little light, notwithstanding which they were secured by iron bars of immense thickness, so strongly, that, had they been lower, it would have been impossible for the arm of the strongest man to remove or shake them.

This led him to conclude it was originally designed for the security of prisoners of rank, its distance from the ground precluding any communication with the people on guard; and he shuddered as he recollected how many, like the poor prisoner in the cells, might have lingered away their wretched existence in this very apartment, in the hopeless expectation of meeting with a release.

He next carefully searched in every part of the room, to discover if there was not a more secret entrance, but found none. – He put the key into his pocket, as he had before done that of the trap-door, and in the morning, unobserved by Bertrand, had the precaution not to lock the door of the subterraneous passage, leaving it well secured by the bolts and bars which were on the inside.

He now hastened to replace all the rest of the keys in the repository from whence he had taken them, and was satisfied those he retained in his own possession would not be missed by his father or any one else.

After this he returned to join the family, and said not a word of what he had seen, nor the plans which floated in his own mind, in consequence of the morning peregrinations he had taken.

CHAP. VI

In the course of the day, Roseline asked a thousand questions, with apparent indifference, of De Clavering, respecting the nature of consumptive cases, their symptoms, progress, &c. and how people ought to manage themselves in regard to diet, who were confined in damp regions of a dungeon, or immured in the narrow precincts of a prison; to all which she received such plain, direct, and experienced answers, as she cherished hopes would enable her, with the approbation of heaven, to be the humble means of restoring to health, or a more promising degree of convalescence, the interesting object whose secret sufferings hap stimulated her to make these unusual inquiries; and what gave new life and added energy to her benevolent hopes was the arrival of a letter from Sir Philip to Lady de Morney, in which he was reluctantly obliged to inform her that his stay in London was unfortunately prolonged, and he was sorry to find his absence from the castle was likely to be protracted a considerable length of time from the slow progress of the law, and the difficulties thrown in the way by his opponents. This account would have given her paid a few days before; it was now a source of pleasure, which produced the most sanguine expectations of preserving, under Providence, the life of a fellow-creature, or, at least, of rendering its closing scene less hopeless and more comfortable.

A sensibility, like that which was lodged in the bosom of the artless and innocent Roseline, I would wish all my sex to possess. So far from tempting her to run from misery, it led her in search of it, and, when found, it awakened every gentle passion of the mind into immediate and resolute action; while the fictitious feeling, the affected sensibility of a modern miss is confined to kicking, fainting, or squalling at sight of a wretched object, and the little they may really have will evaporate in the trouble of acting their part so as to impose on the minds of others an unjust sense of their own delicate and extreme compassion.