Tales of the Wonder Club Volume II Part 31

Just then my father entered the room and commenced talking on household matters, so our conversation dropped; nor did I give it a further thought until the evening, when John Archer made his appearance, as he frequently did, to take his tea with us.

"Good evening, Mistress Claribel," said he. "You were in a mighty hurry to quit my company this morning after paying me such an unexpected visit. Methinks you are chary of your presence. It is a mystery to me how you appeared and disappeared from me without my perceiving either the coming or the going of you."

"How say you, Master John?" said my father, p.r.i.c.king up his ears. "Do you say that our Claribel paid you a visit this morning?"

"Ay, sir," replied John; "at about nine o'clock this morning, as I was walking along with my gun, on his lords.h.i.+p's estate, I suddenly saw Mistress Claribel coming straight in front of me. She looked as if she were about to speak to me, when all of a sudden--I'm sure I can't tell how--she disappeared. I looked round about me, and called her, but there was no one.

"Then I began to be alarmed, thinking something must have happened to Mistress Claribel, and that I had seen her ghost. I could not let the day pa.s.s by without dropping in to call to see if she were all right."

"You must be mistaken, John," said I. "I a.s.sure you that Claribel has not left the house all day. She has felt rather unwell."

"Not left the house!" exclaimed Archer. "Why I saw her quite plain this morning."

"You must have been dreaming," said my father.

But I noticed that he gave a glance of peculiar meaning at my friend and self. I knew what was pa.s.sing in his mind. I, too, shared the same apprehensions. John Archer must have re-encountered Claribel's second self, her much dreaded double. I then recalled the words of Claribel that morning.

"_I have seen him. Oh, why did you disturb me?_"

My poor friend, I observed, was dreadfully confused as my father's eye rested on her. The colour mounted to her cheeks, then vanished again, leaving her deadly pale, and she seemed desirous to escape notice. Her restlessness became extreme when John began persisting that he had not been dreaming, that he could vouch for what he had seen, etc., etc.

"You should get yourself bled, Master Archer," said my father; "you can't be well."

"I a.s.sure you I am in the very best of health," persisted John.

"And I a.s.sure you, Master Archer, that Claribel has not quitted this house to-day, to my certain knowledge," said my father.

"What, not for a moment?" went on Archer, most annoyingly. "How say you, Mistress Claribel, was it not you I saw this morning on Lord Edgedown's estate as I was walking along with my gun over my shoulder?"

Claribel grew red and pale by turns, and her lips began to move, as if she felt herself forced to give some answer; but at that moment my father seemed troubled with a violent fit of coughing which drowned her reply. John waited quietly until the coughing was over, and then began again.

"Do you mean to say it was not you I saw this morning?"

The coughing was resumed, and strange enough, always returned just as John Archer began to open his mouth. John looked in wonderment, first at Claribel, then at my father, then at Claribel again, and finally at me. He had unwittingly touched upon a sore place. This he seemed to be aware of; but how he had been to blame was a mystery to him.

He suddenly changed the conversation, and began discoursing on indifferent topics. The coughing ceased for that evening. As he rose to go we followed him to the door, and I observed that Claribel, who was the foremost, whispered something secretly into his ear at parting. I myself was immediately behind her, and overheard the hurried words, "John, you have an enemy. Beware!"

Then she put her finger quickly to her lips, to prevent him giving any outward expression to his wonderment, and the door closed upon our guest.

"You silly girl," said I to my friend as we were undressing that evening, previous to retiring to rest. "What nonsense of you to try and infect that young man with your own ungrounded fears. Do you think I did not overhear what you said?"

She looked a little downcast at this, but then instantly recovering, by way of consoling herself, she e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, "Nevertheless, I have warned him," and she clasped her hands above her head enthusiastically.

No further word was said about John Archer that night. On the following morning I had occasion to call upon a neighbour who lived some four or five miles off. I rose early, and started off on foot. As I was returning home it came on to rain in such torrents that I was forced to take shelter under a little shed that was annexed to a small hut standing alone upon a hill, far from any other human dwelling.

It was the only place at hand, and had it not been for the excessive inclemency of the weather, I might have thought twice before choosing such a place of refuge, for this was the abode of Madge Mandrake as she was called--a personage feared by all, far and wide, both young and old.

She was renowned in the villages round about for her skill in telling fortunes, in concocting drugs of every description, from love philtres to the deadliest poisons, not less than for malice in bringing to pa.s.s all sorts of trouble upon those who had had the misfortune to offend her. If a cow died, it was Madge's doing; if the milk turned sour, or the crops were blighted, Madge was accused of it; if a person died suddenly, or an accident happened to anyone, Madge likewise had the credit of it. Her dwelling, therefore, was shunned by all, and when she ventured to walk abroad and to mix in crowded thoroughfares, she had but to lift her crutch to send the whole populace flying helter-skelter, for fear of being enchanted into unclean beasts, reptiles, and other loathsome things.

You may imagine then, gentlemen, my feelings; though naturally courageous at finding myself obliged to seek shelter near the house of so formidable a personage, I did my utmost to make no stir, so as not to betray my whereabouts.

There was a small window that looked from the cottage into the shed, but so begrimed with dirt that I should not have been able to take a peep into the house, had it not been for a pane of gla.s.s that was wanting.

Through this I was enabled to see the interior of this unhallowed dwelling without being perceived. Before I ventured to peep through it I heard two voices conversing together.

I held my breath, and listened. The former was the harsh, cracked voice of the crone herself; the latter was evidently that of a man, and appeared to belong to a person of culture, for the tones were soft and modulated. I began to fancy I recognised them; nor was I mistaken, as you shall hear soon.

"Well, Master de Chevron, and how have you been progressing in your work since I saw you last?" said the crone.

"Satisfactorily enough for my purpose, my good Madge," replied the other voice. "I have brought it with me for your approval."

Here the speaker, whom I could now recognise as no other than Richard de Chevron, drew from under his cloak something carefully wrapt up in tissue paper. Having unwound the paper, he discovered a small statue of a man, about a foot in height, apparently in wax.

"Why, you have got it as like as could be!" exclaimed the crone. "Yes, that is John Archer, sure enough; there is no mistaking him."

My curiosity began to be roused, and Claribel's apprehensions for John's safety rushed across my mind. Though I was not near to the figure, I could see plainly that it was intended for a likeness of John Archer, and that it carried a gun over one arm. The hag seized the image in one hand with a sort of fiendish glee, and commenced mumbling some inarticulate sounds.

I trembled from the crown of my head to the soles of my feet, for I had heard of this way of working mischief on one's enemies from afar, and I feared lest some dreadful harm should happen to poor John, so I offered up a hasty prayer for his safety.

"The charm is said," croaked the witch. "Now let the work begin."

Here she set the image upright, and taking a long sharp pin she seemed about to transfix the waxen image with it; but I noticed that her hand trembled violently. I still continued to pray fervently, whereupon the witch was seized with such a fit of sneezing and wheezing that she was unable to proceed in her work.

"Why, Madge," said De Chevron, "what is the matter? How have you managed to catch such a cold all of a sudden?"

"Odds blood! I know not," answered the beldam; "it is as if I was in church."

At the word "church" the wheezing came on again.

"Ah! I see," said De Chevron; "It is the wind that is howling through that broken pane of gla.s.s," and he pointed to the very pane through which I was peeping.

I thought my last hour was come, for I was sure to be discovered.

However, I ducked down in a corner, whilst De Chevron stopped up the missing pane with a filthy rag without even catching a sight of me.

Rising again to my feet, I managed to open the little window the least bit ajar, but just enough to see and hear all. My fright was so great all this time that I had unwittingly slacked a little in my prayer, and just at that moment Madge made a desperate plunge with the pin, which appeared aimed at the heart of the image; but as I had now recommenced my prayers, alas, somewhat too late, the pin missed its mark, but pierced the barrel of the gun, which, together with the thumb of the figure, fell upon the table.

"Better next time, Madge," said De Chevron. "Try again."

She made another essay, and then another, but missed the figure altogether.

"I am not as young as I was," she said, by way of apology, "and neither my eyesight nor my hand are to be relied upon as of old."

However, she aimed again and again at the figure, but with the same result.

"Why, you _are_ getting old, Madge!" said De Chevron, surprised at her repeated failures. "Come, let me put the pins in."

Seizing the image with one hand and a long pin with the other--(here again my breath failed me through fear, and I omitted to pray)--he first pierced the arm of the figure that supported the gun in one place, and then in another higher up. He then took a third pin and seemed about to pierce the image in the region of the heart, when I, now really alarmed for the victim, again offered up a short and fervent prayer.

De Chevron instantly dropped the pin, as if it had been red hot; but immediately taking up another, he made a furious thrust at the body of the image, but his hand went off widely from the mark, leaving the image unscathed.

"Why, how is this?" exclaimed De Chevron, in astonishment.