THE EXECUTIONER.

Otago Witness, Issue 3854, 24 January 1928, Page 82

THE EXECUTIONER.

By

Ethel F. Heddle.

“ There’s nothing for it. We must go up and throw ourselves on these people’s mercy.” Harry Adeane looked back at Angela ruefylly. “We are miles from anywhere, and there isn’t the slightest hope of petrol or an ‘A.A.’ man on a night like this! By jove! the fog gets thicker every minute. Come on, Angela! It looks a lovely old place. We can explain! We’ll tell them we’ll sleep anywhere! Billiard table, if they the bathroom! Any port—even two-and-sixpenny port—in a storm! ” “I don’t believe they have a billiard table, Harry,” Angela said. ?he stood at his side looking through he old wrought iron gates eagerly. “ I believe this must be the place thev call ‘ Pynchley Hall.’ Someone odd * lives in it, I gathered; I couldn’t catch all the story. Someone called Amvas Pynchley, I think—l half heard the story, or bits of it—in the last inn we stopped for tea. You would keep reading bits of the Rugger match out to me from The Times—with your usual idiotic belief that nothing matters except Rugger and ‘tries’ and things—most important matter in the world, of course.”

“It is to me,” Harry said doggedly. He was in a very bad key indeed, and it did not mend it to have Angela, his sister, throwing aspersions on the game. Miles from their destination, out of petrol, very cold and foggy, and a certain “topping” girl waiting for him at the place to which they were supposed to be speeding. Rotten luck!

“ Oh, come on, Angela! ” he cried, impatiently, as she stood peering in at the old gate. “Odd or no, if he will give us food and shelter, nothing else matters. I’m ravenous' ”

“No, of course not,” Angela said absently. She was trying to remember the odd bits of the story she had overheard while Harry would maunder on about the match. Something this Pynchley had done—or someone connected with him had done. Well, it didn’t matter—and he had “ bats in the belfry ” about it. She gave a little shiver. The place looked ghostly - haunted! It was like a dream house in a nightmare— vagu» and shadowy, impalpable. She found herself, however, at the door, and pulled the bell, Harry crossly muttering at her side something about having forgotten his cigarettes, and “ could he touch her for a gasper.” “ No, you could not,” Angela said. “ For there is someone coming. Pull yourself together, Harry! We’ve got to be humble and suppliant.” ° Another vengeful mutter, and the door opened. An old maid, looking as if she had stepped out of an early Victorian novel when maids did wear neat black gowns and large aprons and caps, and looked, and felt, respectful. “ Can we—could we see the lady of the house? We—we have been obliged to leave our car—no petrol—and we do not know the way—the fog ” “Ask the lady to come in, Susan,” a dignified voice said from the hall, and Angela, with a relieved, “ Oh, thank you so much! ” was shown into a dark old library lined with books and lit by a low fire of logs. The lady of the voice, though rather silent and taciturn, was very kind. Of course they could be put up. Her brother, Amyas Pinchley, was. rather an invalid’ but she would be very pleased to do all she could for them; Would they allow Susan to show them to their rooms? The staff was depleted. Had they anything with them ? a.

Angela found herself in a dark old bedroom, a little later; two candles lit on the toilet - table, a vast bed with purple velvet curtains almost filling up the room. A little flight of carpeted steps led up it. Angela gazed at them delightedly, and at the old oval mirror on the wall. Everything in the room was old, old and in most.

instances worm-eaten, but it was scrupulously clean, and over the lattice windows, against which ivy tapped now and then in a slight chilly wind, were old rep curtains of the same dreary colour. As Angela did all she could in the way of toilet with a comb from her vanity bag, a handmaiden answered her “ Come in, and entered with a can of hot water. She looked at the town girl with wide eye s of country curiosity and interest—the short skirts, the silk-clad legs, the dainty beige wool dress and cape that had a deceptive air of simplicity and plainness. “ The missis asked if I would tell you that dinner would be at 7,” she said gaspingly. “ The master is to dine. He doirt always, but h e took a fancy—thought—being the night—it keeps him from thinking——” “Thinking?” What did she mean? “ Oh, it’s his trouble,” said the girl. “ He ain’t quite right, you know, poor master! Not bad—oh! nothing to frighten you. He’s all right, saving he will brood over old things—the silly old stories —him being a Pynchley, and, of course, this is the night, you know. We servants have orders never to take no notice, and the missis she tries to hide all the calendars i n February. But he always remembers. And he remembered to-night, and said he’d dine with the—strangers to keep him himself—from thinking—and her! But there, I must go. Or Susan will eat me! ” A bell clanged loudly, a voice called “Charlotte!” in the passage in a way a voice could call “ Charlotte ” in bygone days. Angela stood in delighted curiosity, giving her cheeks a last dab with the powder puff, and taking a last glance into the old mirror. “ To think we really do seem to have stepped straight into a ghost story. It’s the most heavenly luck,” she told herself. “I do hope Harry will not say anything dreadful about this ‘ her,’ or ‘ touch ’ his host for a cigarette. Harry would ‘ touch ’ the Angel Gabriel for a gasper if no one else had one. Do angels smoke? ” She "was in the passage then, and could se e Charlotte at the other end waiting to show her down. Charlotte, now dumb and civil and speechless, the flame of her confidence having apparently died down. It s the “ Aurora ” drawing room,” she whispered to Angela, “ and the master is in the dining room.” In the ‘‘ Aurora ” drawing room Miss Pynchley waited for them, and was stateD and polite. She looked rather anxious and harassed, Angela decided, and poor Harry rather wilted before her. In the dining room they found the host waiting at his chair. A tall, thin, emaciated old man, with wide grey eyes a °f parchment, and nervous, terrified lips. The eyes wandered over Harrv, and rested on Angela with faint pleasure He took the girl’s little white hand and pressed it, he talked to her in odd ierks but quite rationally. Harry, after soup and hot joint and an excellent pudding, and a glass of good wine, had quite recovered. He rattled on about everything in general ; he even told Miss Pynchlev about the last footer match, and the tw'o old people listened smilingly. Their polite, if rather strained, attention seemed to Angela pathetic. It was almost as if -hey were glad, glad of the talk and the light and the frothy cheerfulness of vouth —as if they tried to warm their chilly hands at the fire of young life It appeared that there wal a "billiard table When dessert had been placed o n the able, and Susan and Charlotte had re likS ganm P ?? chle - V askcd they would 11, i ? k- Harr .Y answered eagerly and she led him away. Angela had wailed to stoodT n . t a . R r e ’ V b >' her host wh° great solemn &t the K ’’ rl with his n shadowy eyes. Miss Pynchlev had looked back at that moment rathe anxiousiy and then gone rat he r Its beautiful!” Angela had began Sr I - ?’ aS suddenl y aware of her cMII 1 ° n ber arm ’ Tt se emed to chd * ler throu gh her sleeve: k '^ V what ni «ht this is?” startled °” She felt a little “The eighth of February. Do you happen to remember what happened on the eighth of February, 1587’ ” “I-I-I’m afraid not!” You wouldn’t,” he said wearily. “ Of course not. No one does. It matters to no one. Dates don’t matter, nor tragedies—old tragedies. The colours fade, as they do in a picture. ‘ God’s Passion ! Who cares? ’ That was one or the oaths she used!—Elizabeth of England. And I keep thinking of her, too, to-night. Do you think she slept? IX ot much more than I do. Do you know who I am, young lady? ” The odd thing was that Angela had no sensation of fear at all during this remarkable speech. He was, of course, a little “ off,” but so frail and gentle and sad! No one could fear him. Angela had a feeling that the sword had almost worn through the scabbard. A bright, light sword, and a frail scabbard. “You are Mr Amyas Pynchley, are you not?” “ Yes. But you don’t know—who—from whom I am descended? And you don’t remember the date? ” “ No, I’m afraid not,” the girl said. They could hear the sound of the balls from the other room. Angela could discern Harry’s cheerful voice. “ Polo, perhaps—a chap could get iqad on polo and chukkers. I know a chap who does. But Rugger ” “ On the eighth of. February. 1587, they beheaded Mary CMieen of Scots at Fotheringay Castle; over yonder ”—he pointed vaguely—“ and I—l’m descended from—from the executioner! ” , He shivered violently. He put up his hand and passed it wearily over his lips. “ This man, taking his fees, left the country. Ho. prospered abroad, and came back rich, and married an English lady

of good family. He bought this place. He was very rich, but he never told her his story—he changed his name. She couldn’t stand it when she knew; and when every eighth of February he saw Her—and the scene! His wife died—of the disgrace—when he confessed. And then the son saw it—we all see it! It is the curse he handed down. Some not so clearly. It grows worse as we grow ohier. .. . But I ”he shivered again— I shall see it till I die! I shall see it to-night! ”

It it must be horrible! You mean you see her—the Queen of Scots?” Angela faltered. It was foolish, of course, but someone had once told her she was psychic, and she shivered as she listened. The old man’s hand—it burned nowseemed to scorch her through her dress. “ I see the whole scene, down in the hall there, after midnight! ” he whispered. “ I come down—l tell no one. My sister Althea, or Susan, or even that little Charlotte would prevent me if they knew. I was obliged to get a second key; they took mine, and locked me in. I see it all. I hear, too. I am descended from that man—that wicked man ! He —he actually struck the blow—the other tried to rob her; he did not do that—and though she. forgave them, r.nd said (you remember, when they knelt before her) : ‘I forgive you with all my heart, for I hope this death will give me an end of all my troubles I never forget.’ ‘ Of so careless a regard,’ they said, as if the business did not concern her at all. Still, of course, the stain could not be washed out. Yes, yes! I have to see it. To-night I will come down at 12, unknown to Althea. It is my penance out in the hall there, and I shall see it all.”

He wandered then to the door, as if drifting away from her, and Angela could see him enter another room, and close the door. Harry called, and came for her. They played billiards. Miss Althea knitted placidly a chair. The evening passed, and they went up to bed about 10.30. Their hostess said she would send Charlotte to the village, three miles off, to order petrol when the fog lifted in the morning. At present they must make themselves at home. She looked at Angela a little anx’ously, the girl thought, but she said nothing. They did not see their host again. Angela did not have any opportunity of telling Harry of her little scene with the poor old man. She did not know if she would tell him. Harry always jeered and mocked at anything like that, summing it all up with a careless: “ Oh, rot! ”

“ But I don’t care,” Angela told herself, combing out her shining curls before the old mirror. “ And more than that, I’m going down at 12 to the old hall, too, to see if I see anything. One never knows. Yes, I'll go.”

She lay awake easily till 12 o’clock struck from the deep bell of the old clock in the hall. Pynchley Hall was wrapped iu silence. She opened the door, taking the candle from the side o2 her bed, and wearing her fur coat, brought from the car, over her nightdress. Even then she shivered as she crept down the stairs, and could see the old hall in shad.wy gloom before her. There were still a few red embers in the grate, no other light, but by their glow she could see the outline of the old man’s figure, huddled up in the oak chair facing the stairs on the left. They branched into two flights, and Angela had come d >wn by the righthand side. When she slid up to him, whispering his name, he paid her no heed at all, and Angela could see his eyes were fixed and his lips' moved. The girl knelt down on the old fender stool, and laid her hand on his arm. As she did so she was conscious of a strange electric thrill, as if something—a new sense, passed from her to him. She passed her hand over her eyes, bewildered, terrified for a moment, chilled through and through! For—what was that? What did she see? That strange, shadowy procession—coming down the stairs? It was a little while before she could realise it—before her leaping heart stilled. Then she could make out the old man’s whispering. It was as if he repeated something—described something he saw —quite clearly in that strange, unearthly moonlight. What did she, Angela, see? Vague, yet distinct. Who walked there? A tall woman, hazel-eyed, in a gown of black satin with long sleeves set in with acorn buttons of jet, and trimmed with pearl. Short under-sleeves of crimson velvet and a crimson velvet underskirt, a kittle of figured black satin, shoes of Spanish leather, and over all. a long, floating, filmy veil-,of finest lawn. A wonderful face, pale, yet unaffrighted, ftiajestic and calm, and yet the sorrow of the world seemed pooled in the great, gold eyes. The perfect lips were marble white, as was the face. . . . An old man, in black velvet, knelt and wrung his hands—behind her, two women in black; they, too, wept and faltered. Below in the hall came a dim, confused swaying sound ... as of a crowd. Then the unctuous voice of a cleric. ... “ Stand back—the halberdiers,” Something about “ the Earls of Kent and Shrewsbury ” —and “ the Dean ” —and then she was aware of the whispering voice by her side repeating murmurously, mechanically, as if after someone: “ Farewell, good Melville. Pray for your Queen and Mistress.”

The procession seemed to sweep on in shadow. A tall map came first with a white baton. Six men and two weeping black-gowned women—something about “.They had laid in, her. chamber—Elizabeth Curie and Jane Kennedy,” and then

the dim procession floated into the hall and there at the other end she could discern the gruesome outline of, a scaffold, hung with black, and see two stools and one chair. . . . Something’—like tlie ghostly outline of a block, and a stool before it, and the gleaming edge of an axe—the edge turned towards tho woman's figure! Angela could see tho inchoate faces of the crowd then, kept back by the halberdiers, and the Dean had pressed forward to the rail and had begun what seemed a long polemic. The woman raised her crucifix and her lips moved, and Angela could hear again the whisper at her side as she clutched the old man’s sleeve with convulsive force. “ Even as Thy arms, O Jesu Christ, were spread out upon the cross, so receive me into the arms of Thy mercy.” A sob —a cry— a moan ! _ They made her ready, and the executioners masked and aproned, knelt before her.

“ I forgive you with all my heart. ’’ came the repeating whispef. ’ “ For I hope thi s death will make an end to all my troubles ...”

Then a woman advanced, kissed the gqld-bordered handkerchief, bedewed it with tears.’ The Earl of Shrewsbury raised his baton, averted his face . . . hid it. . . . Angela could hear a long shudder at her side. A stifled moan. A veil of blackness seemed to engulf her then. Shuddering, she heard a blow—a little yelp as from a dog ... a slight moan . . . then the whisper came through a darkness that enveloped her, and it was like passing into a blackness of death.

“ They carry her away . . . the old cloth from the billiard table!—my God • . . and the dog, covered with her blood! They carry her away. . Bo you see the poor, grey head coming out from its coif?—and the veil is crimson—crimson ! Everything is crimson—even her little dog*! He died—died! they carry her upstairs . . . her women are locked up . . . old Melville, too, sobbing and mourning—and outside they are. playing * Jumping Joan music for the witches I A. witch! They called her a witch in the old days . - . And they are clearing away the scaffold . . . everything must* be washed . . . washed clean ! Call Amyas Bawood to paint the head . . . H e never sleeps again . . . never sleeps, and outside do you hear the horses’ feet? Galloping to tell all. London, and set the bonfires ablaze, and the bells a-ringing ! One poor woman, and against her all th e realm of England! Oh. it is a great victory, is it not ? . . . Do you see that figure slinking down by the hedge? He does not speak—he takes the axe with him—the axe—to wash it too ! So much washing—so much blood ! He too, escapes—gets away’—to Virginia, they say . . . and made so much money . . . and came back. But now he slinks away, and that horror goes with him—the horror—and will never leave him ! The dream—the dream—for -him and his. . . . He creeps away! Away ! The whispering voice fell into silence; ended. The old man seemed to sleep. Angela came to herself with a start, and took her hand from his arm. And then it was as if she saw nothing; Nothing but the dying fire, and the dark old hall, and two branches of the staircase on either side. And there was no block, and no halberdiers, and no railing, and no eager, gaping, horrified crowd ; and no. queenly and tragic figure with the bright chestnut eyes, and the “ calm regard,” and the little jest—a jest on the scaffold, about her “ odd tirewoman! ” No block, or groping, lovely hands—all had gone! All wag a dream, a mirage ! Had she been as'eep? She looked at the old man. His head vv.ig resting back in the n’Ooky corner of the chair. He was peacefully asleep. Angela crept away and into her own room shivering. She got into bed and drew the clothes over her. And she, too, slept. * * * Charlotte, round-eyed, woke her with a cup of tea. The fog had gone, and someone, the gardener’s boy, had been sent for petrol. “ Susan is ever so angry,” sb e said. ‘ For the master got up somehow, crept down last night, though they locked him in, and slept- in his chair in the hall! Susan found him in the morning there ' ” “ Is lie ill ? ” “ Oh, no, Miss, I don’t think so,” Charlotte said, drawing the blinds. “ February is his bad month, you know—for his fancies ! ” His “ fancies ! ” Angela did not see her host again till just before they were leaving, the car at the door, and the tank filled, and Hany making pretty speeches to his hostess in the hall. The old man came out and took Angela’s hand, and looked down at her gropingly. “ My dear,” he said, “ I know vou. do I not? You and I—you and I—w"e made a journey together—did we not? And —held my hand ? A journey into the Unseen ? ” •

les, ’ Angela said. The old feeling swept over her, the old magic and allurement. It was as if she were,someone else and had known him in another life. “We did make a journey together —and I—l held your hand.” He nodded vaguely. Harrv put her in, and then leaped in at the other side. Rum old boy ! ” he said cheerfully, as they swept off. Bats in Die belfrv, hasn t he? ”

Scotsman Said nothing at all —Weekly