Chesterleigh

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume LXXXIII, Issue 19846, 21 May 1927, Page 20 (Supplement)

Chesterleigh

COMPLETE STORY

By

ELIZABETH BEVERIDGE

On a golden afternoon in the golden month oi September, a long grey touring car was speeding noiselessly through the pleasant lanes of shire. Its occupants were two good-looking young Englishmen, apparently of the 2 Lass known as “the idle rich”.; but there the likeness ended, the man at the steering-wheel being very fair and slightly built, with an air of imdiolence and physical delicacy somewhat belied by his record in athletics and mathematics at Cambridge; the other was of a more robust and virile type, dark and masterful. As they passed through the picturesque village of Leigh Chester, which looked as if it had fallen into an enchanted sleep on just such an afternoon as this 400 years ago, and had remained unchanged and peaceful slumbering ever since, and as the towers of Chesterleigh became visible above the oak and beech woods on a rising ground some three miles further on, Rupert Castleton, the driver and owner of the car, suddenly broke silence. “See here, Ransome,” he said, in the quiet but final tone of one who has at last made up his mind to say something which may prove disagreeable to his companion, “You had things pretty much to yourself at Rouen in June; now I intend to have my innings, if you don’t minds.” Ransome Flower regarded his friend in not too pleased surprise. “You must admit you gave me a pretty clear field,” he said. “You cultivated Merrion and the old man most assiduously. 11 “They would have had a thin time of it if I’d left them to you, old: fellow —schoolgirls and old gentlemen not being much in your line. Oh, don’t imagine I was a martyr! I thoroughly enjoyed trotting them round; two more naive and delightful children than Merrion and her father I never encountered; and Miss Chesterleigh didn’t need both of us dancing attendance on her, so I chose the course that was pleasantest for everyone, myself included. But this time it’s a different matter. If it was only a flirtation (excuse me, but I know you of oW, my boy!), I’m going to ask you to stand aside. If it’s serious, I only ask for fair play, and let the better man win. “Well—it is serious,” gruffly, after a pause. “Do you think she cares at all!*’ “Can’t tell. You know how she plays with a fellow —you never know where you have her. But I hoped this time . .

“Well, whatever happens, for goodness sake don’t let there be any illfeeling over it. If the luck’s yours, I’ll say, ‘God bless you. old chap’; ami if it’s mine—well. I hope you’ll say the same.”

“I’m afraid I’m not quite so charitable as all that, Castleton; but I’ll promise you fair play, at all events. And here we are. What a magnificent place! ” They had passed the lodge gates, and were gliding up.the avenue of Chesterleigh. As they emerged suddenly from the shade of the bushes into the flooding sunshine and drew up before the old manor house, Rupert uttered an exc famation. and sat for Quite half a minute with his han/1 still on the steering wheel, taking in the whole beauti- 1 ful frontage in a slow, puzzled, deliberate survey. “Verv odd,’’ he said, half to himself. “I must have seen a photo of it somewhere. ” Olga Chesterleigh welcomed them with her usual imperious grace, cool and sparkling as a diamond —so sparkling that few people, at least of the male sex. paused to wonder whether, like the diamond, she was also hard and cold. But on the part of Merrion and her father was nothing but friendliness and delight. Their acquaintance had begun in a very trifling manner three modnths before at Rouen where the two young men had given up the best rooms on the first floor of their crowded’ hotel, and contented themselves with two very tiny chambers on the top flat of the’ crazy old Norman building, in order to accommodate the little party newly arrived from Havre to finri the hotels all full. From this piece of natural courtesy a friendship had rapidly sprung up between them. The two chums had both been seriously smitten by the charms of the elder girl: but’ Rupert, whether from diffidence, or indolence, or a certain ineradicable impulse of chivalry he always felt towards old people and children, had devoted himself chiefly to little brown-haired, brown-eyed Merrion. a frank, eager schoolgirl of fourteen, and h«r father, a harmless, garrulous old gentleman whom his adored elder daughter treated with an indifference almost amounting to contempt. The two sisters were a complete contrast both in appearance and in temperament. a contrast heightened by the ten years’ difference in age.

Lovelier than ever looked Olga Ohesterleigh in the sombre sitting of the old oak-panelled hall where tea was served beside an open fire of logs, made welcome by the slight touch of autumn in the air. She was not tall, but her imperious carriage seemed to give height to her slender, willowy figure; her hair and skin were of an almost ethereal fairness, but the delicately pencilled brows and sweeping lashes were so dark as to give quite startling significance to eyes of such melting heavenly blue —what young man could fail to lose his head if she chose to smile upon him! Yet, as Rupert Castleton watched' her sparkling and sparring in a gay battle of wits with Ransome in the same old way. a curious sensation crept over him which made him involuntarily shiver. He had felt the san» sinister foreboding in her radiant beauty, ♦hough only for a moment, when he had seen her for the first time, and in his mind it seemed linked with some association which he sought in vain to recapture. He looked from her to the great open hearth, the oak ceiling, beams black with age. the rare beauty of the linenfold panelling on the walls, the high narrow windows with the arms of the Chesterleighs glowing blood-red and amber as the warm light of afternoon streamed through; till Merrion’s laughing voice, and the cheerful prattle of the old gentleman beside him, seemed strange and far away.

Suddenly he put down his cup with an exclamation which made the others turn to him in surprise. “It’s the strangest thing,” he said, “but I could swear 1 have been in this house before. I felt it the moment we passed the lodge, and now the feeling is growing so strong that I believe if you gave me time I could make a plan of the whole house. ’ ’ “Are you gifted with second sight,” Mr Castleton! asked Olga mockingly. Mr Chesterleigh and Merrion were silent, looking at him in an oddly attentive fashion. “I don’t know,” he replied absently. “Let me see” and leaning his elbows on his knees he pressed his hands oVer his eyes. Presently he said. “On the first floor, in the left wing, there is a long portrait gallery—or is it a ballroom?—with a narrow balcony for musicians or spectators running round two sides, terminating at the door of a very old tower or donjon. Isn’t that so ’ ’ “Perfectly correct,” returned Olga, composedly. “Did you see it in the Sphere under “Old English Manors” a year or two ago?” “In the right wing, on the first floor,” he continued dreamily, his face still buried in bls hands, “the third door on the left is the nursery. The old oak panels have been painted white, and in the centre of each is pasted a square of wallpaper with flower and animal designs alternately.” There was dead silence, then Olga laughed suddenly. “I see Merrion has been entertaining you ip •ouen last June with .detailed descriptions of our ‘lnterior!’ ” she remarked. “Did you, Merrion ” asked* Rupert, looking up, quite pale with the effort of recollection. “Quite possibly,’-’ she answered, “but” (with a scornful glance at her sister) “it certainly never occurred to me to bore Mr Castleton with details of the nursery wall-paper.” “This is very uncanny,” said Olga carelessly, rising to ring the bell. “Perhaps you haunt this house in dreams. Have you read Kipling’s ‘ Brushwood Boy ’ ? ” ♦ ’♦ * ♦

The first week at Chesterleigh passed ' strangely to the two young men. ' Whereas in June, Olga had almost ignored Rupert in favour of his more forceful friend, now she encouraged him with a fascinating graciousness ' which intoxicated him, and it was ; Ransome who was left out in the cold, arud went about sulky and depressed, though it is only fair to Rupert to mention that he made way for his rival whenever he reasonably could be expected to do so. Mr Chesterleigh’s i manner had also changed, and was ; sometimes timid and conciliating, sometimes as irritable and resentful as was compatible with his extreme mildness of disposition; both of which attitudes greatly puzzled Rupert. His little friend, Merrion, alone was always the same to him, although he sometimes surprised a wistful or even anxious look in her ingenuous face, especially when Olga was more than usually gracious towards him. One showery afternoon, Ransome and Olga were in the billiard room, and Rupert and Merrion were strolling arm-in-arm round and round the long ballroom, talking nonsense, and for the time being thoroughly enjoying themselves. The walls were hung with faded portraits of bygone Chesterleighs which did not interest Rupert, but to-day one of them caught his eye and he stopped suddenly in front of it. It was the unfinished picture >f a very fair and slender woman, in a billowy white gown, -with a net of goki braid on the paler gold of her hair, and a curious brooding look of tragedy in the blue eyes with their shadowy lashes and dark knitted brows. Only the head and shoulders were complete, the rest being roughly sketched in, which gave a curiously ghostly effect to the singular face. “That explains it!” exclaimed: Rupert. “If, as your sister says, I must have haunted this house in my dreams, of course I must have seen this portrait before —indeed, I know I have —and that explains the odd feeling I had when I first caught sight of her, that I had seen her somewhere before.”

Merrion was looking at him with the perplexed and wistful look he had observed already. “Yes, Olga is rather like her. That’s our family ghost, you know — ‘The Wraith of the Chesterleighs,’ Olga loves to call her. Hasn’t she told you the legend?” And she related how a beautiful girl, three hundred years ago, had fallen in love with an artist staying in the house to paint the very portrait before themj but finding that he had dared to transfer his admiration to a young cousin of hers who was a guest at the same time, she had contrived in the course of a game of hide-and-seek in the dusk of a winter afternoon to lead them both into a mysterious death-trap, and, whether by accident or design, had fallen and perished with them. “At least, that’s the story, ’ ’ concluded Merrion, “and there really are any number of trap-doors and secret panels in the room. Olga glories in them. Personally, I hate ghosts, and tragedies, and—all mysteries of all kinds, don’t you?” She gave him a direct and searching look which puzzled Rupert. “What other mysteries, for instance?” he asked. “Well —you, for instance,” she said bluntly. “Me? But, my dear Merrion, I assure yon I am a most transparent and straight-forward individual. I do beseech you to put me out of suspense, and explain why you—er hate me, as you so politely say?” “Oh, I don’t hate you —I like you very much indeed . . . You don’t seem to know—l thought you didn’t, but I wasn’t sure. Well, I’ll tell you.” She turned from the portrait and sat down in a deep window embrasure, patting the seat beside her to indicate that that there was room for him too. “There is a mystery about the inheritance of Chesterleigh.” she began. ‘The heir disappeared when he was a little boy of two. They were staying in London, and the under-nurse had taken him for a walk in Kensington Gardens; and while she was talking to

some Tommies who made up to her, the little boy wandered away and; was lost or stolen. They were never able to trace him.”

“Did they look on the island in the Serpentine?” asked Rupert helpfully. “Don’t try to be funny. This isn’t Peter Pan we’re talking about. So at last Chesterleigh came to us, through mama,-who was a Chesterleigh. Girls can inherit it, if there’s no near male heir; or husbands through their wives, but they have to take the name, as we did. We are the last representatives, and if the heir never turns up it will belong to Olga and her children. Father is so proud of the name end the place, and of Olga, who is a typical Chesterleigh, that I think he would be heart-broken if . . .” “And your sister?” “Oh, she would either marry the heir or murder him, I think,” said Merrion laughing. Then, with a sudden shiver, “Oh, not really you know; but she would never forgive you—him, I mean. ’ ’

“But may I ask what all this has to do with me? ”

“Are you just pretending not to understand? You make no secret of the fact that you don’t know who your parents were.” “True; I couldn’t come here under false pretences. I’m sure they were nice people, my dear, being a fastidious mortal; but the fact remains that old Miss Castleton adopted me out of a foundling home when I was five, and I can’t remember anything before that — except in queer fragmentary glimpses now and then. ’ ’

“There, you see! It’s those queer fragmentary glimpses that are so suspicious. How did you know about the nursery wallpaper? And you seem to belong here, somehow; and you know Mrs Richards, the old housekeeper, and Hollings the butler, who have been here more than thirty years, both declare they knew your voice the moment they heard it.”

“Nonsense!” said Rupert. “If the child was only two when he disappeared, really—l ” “Well, they said there was something familiar about it, and you, which they couldn’t get over. But Olga dared them to speak to yon. They’re all afraid of Olga. I think she has a sort of mesmeric influence over them—over most of us.” This was said quite calmly, looking over her shoulder at the blue distance through the yellowing trees

“All imagination,” said Rupert decidedly, after a long pause. “No, my dear little girl; delightful as it would be to have the cousinly privilege of kissing you, which I feel like doing to drive away that anxious worried look on your face, so far as I am concerned the long-lost heir may be with Peter and Wendy in the Never-Never-Land. There may he stay! .. . The rain’s off. Put on your hat and we ’ll take the dogs for a run before tea.” ♦ ♦ ♦ *

Ransome also had heard of the Wraith of the Chesterleighs, for Olga loved to curdle people’s blood with gruesome versions of the tragedy, especially on stormy nights when the wind howled like a lost soul round the crumbling turrets and gables of the old manor house. Mr Chesterleigh was divided between pride in the possession of a family ghost, and dread of experiencing its malice, and usually became testy and uncomfortable when the subject was broached in his hearing. “Give ghosts a wide berth, that’s my principle,” he exclaimed. “People who go investigating mysteries, and especially ghost-hunting at mid-night, are only looking for trouble. A house like this is full of mantraps, dating from the gold old fuedal days, and more than one young fool who has tried to track the Wraith of the Chesterleighs has never been seen again. There was your grand-uncle, Olga, who declared the Wraith was haunting him, and one night he rose from the dinner table, vowing that she was calling him, and no one ever saw him again. ’ ’ “He was mad, of course,” said Ransome cheerfully. “And there have been other cases, too —you’ll find them in the old chronicles in the library. No, no; leave ghosts alone and they’ll let you alone. Not that I mind having one in the family, you understand, for it gives a kind of distinction to a house, I always think.” So he would ramble on, no one paying a great deal of attention to him save when Rupert or Merrion remembered to throw in an encouraging remark.

The last evening of their stay had come. Olga, lovelier and more sparkling than ever in her gay wit and selfpossession, had bid them a laughing good-night, urging them to pay no heed if they heard the Wraith calling, as it often did on such windy nights. Shortly afterwards they left* Mr Chesterleigh nodding by the fire, and retired to Rupert’s room, where they talked and smoked till midnight. They had agreed that on returning to London each would write to Olga, asking her to marry him, taking care that both letters should arrive on the same day. Oddly enough, there was no sense of jealousy or constraint between them; Ransome perhaps being too confident to have much fear of a rival, while Rupert was too much troubled by various incidents in his visit to be perfectly certain any longer that he would be heartbroken if she preferred nis friend. At last Ransome said good-night, and went to his own room, which adjoined his chum’s. Rupert still sat thoughtfully smoking for a little while, revolving a score of mysteries in his mind; then rose and 4 stretched himself with a yawn preparatory to going to bed. “How the wind has risen!” he remarked aloud. “Equinoctial gales, I suppose. ’>

All at once he was conscious of an extraordinary sensation; his skin pricked and tingled all over, and his hair felt as if it rose on end. It was as if an invisible net had been flung over him, and every fibre in his body were being drawn towards the door. For the first time in his life he felt afraid. He found himself half-way across the floor, then, with a violent effort, turned sharply and went into Ransome’s room. “Do you hear anything—feel anything?” he asked, almost stuttering in the effort at self-control.

‘ Hear? I hear the wind howling like the furies all through this ramshackle old place. ’ ’ Rupert noticed that his friend looked haggard and uneasy. He was still fully dressed, and sitting with a slip of paper in his hand, at which he had been staring when the other entered.

“I’m going to see,’’ said Rupert shortly. Ransome laid a sudden hand on his arm. ‘‘ y ou ’re a d '-d fool if you do,” he said hoarsely. “What do you make of that?”

On the sheet of paper he thrust before his chum were scribbled the words: “If you love me, don’t stir from your room to-night.—O.C.’»

Rupert stared at it till the words danced before him. They conveyed more to him than to his friend, and his soul sickened at what it might mean. Suddenly he gave a bitter laugh.

“She doesn’t want you to come to harm, that’s all. It doesn’t apply to me.” And he made for the door. “Then I come, too,” said Ransome doggedly, and together they entered the corridor. Here all was in inky I darkness, but some invisible force seemed to seize them both and hurry them i irresistibly along the passage towards the ballroom gallery to which it gave access. In a few seconds they had turned’ the corner, and simultaneously both held their breath and stopped abruptly, staring along the dark gallery and groping for the ballustrade with uncertain hands. At the farther end, in the little music-loft under the old tower, the low door of which stood open behind her like a black frame, surrounded by a glimmering pearly radiance in the dense gloom, stood a lovely figure, fair and slender, in a gown of billowy, shimmering white, a gold net over her glistening hair, one mittened hand holding aloft a lighted taper, the other beckoning, beckoning, as if it would draw the very soul out of their bodies. Powerless to hold back, they moved blindly toward the radian vision, Rupert clutching desperately at the wall behind him —anything to cling to, to hold him back! —but the rotten, moth-eaten tapestry came away in his hand, and still unconsciously dragging them with him in a last violent effort at resistance, he flung himself on Ransome, and grappling with him, brought him to the floor. At the same moment the moon burst suddenly through the high latticed windows of the ballroom. What was that piercing shriek of terror which rang through the gallery, above the noise of the wind that rocked the tower? They stumbled to their feet, just in time to see the white figure draw swiftly backward, the darkness of the low doorway engulfed her from the streaming moonlight; a gust of wind shook the crazy structure to its very base, and through it rang another scream of utter anguish. The wind ceased suddenly, and silence ensued that was more terrible than all.

The spell that held the two men had suddenly snapped. Ransome staggered against the wainscot, the cold sweat standing in beads on his brow. “Thank Heaven, it’s gone!” he breathed.

“Fool!” cried Rupert. “It’s Olga herself,” and he rushed along the gallery, then stopped dead as he realised that he was running back th,, way he had come. The vanishing vision with its gesture of despair had been a reflection in a long mirror from whose face his unconcsious touch had torn the curtain just as the moon burst into the hall * * * *

The days that followed were very dreadful to the household at Chesterleigh. Rupert had to take upon himself the whole direction of affairs from the ghastly search for the body to the whole ordering of the funeral, which was kept as private as possible under the circumstances. The servants were panic-stricken, old Mr Chesterleigh, quite erased with the shock of the tragedy, and Ransome so utterly unnerved that with difficulty could he be induced to wait for the Coroner’s inquest, and in giving his evidence he broke down and sobbed like a child. Verdict of accidental death was returned. She had been impersonating the family ghost—a girlish frolic —swore the perjured Rupert, and terrified at her own reflection in a mirror, which she probably imagined was the actual wraith of the Chesterleighs, had lost her footing and fallen through an old and broken trapdoor at tne foot of the turret-stair. (Her note of warning to his friend he had carefully destroyed.) Ransome left immediately after this, but Rupert could not leave the household with which his fate seemed so strangely intertwined. Everyone seemed to learn on him; even Merrion clung to him as to an elder brother, -her eager, independent spirit for the time being quite subdued. When she went back to school a few weeks later, he still remained at Chesterleigh, playing chess with the poor old gentlejjian who could hardly bear him out of his sight; writing cheery letters full of affectionate nonsense and small household news of puppies and what-not to Merrion; looking after the estate in an unobstrusive fashion, and generally making himself indispensable. It was a curious position, but he accepted it with a whimsical sense of duty, half sad, half humorous, and a certain real satisfaction to find himself necessary to anyone, fie had no ties, no home even, since the death of his adopted aunt, and, as Merrion said, in 'an odd way, he seemed “to belong here.” No protestations on his part could eradicate from the mind of the old gentleman and the servants the firm conviction that he was himself the missing heir, till one day, the following March, the matter was solved beyond a doubt. He had wandered idly into the nursery where the old housekeeper was busy overhauling a cupboard, which, for convenience, had been moved out of its wonted position against the wall. Some thing caught his eye on the panelling thus exposed, viz., a whole series of uncouth figures scratched on the white paint which to the uninitiated could have conveyed nothing, but which he instantly recognised with a shock as representing scenes in the “Pilgrim’s Progress. ’’ For a moment he was shaken with this discovery, then he asked as carefully as he could:—

“Was it little Ralph Chesterleigh who scratched those drawings on the wall, Mrs Richards?” “Bless your heart, no, sir; it was one of the orphans. After Master Ralph was lost, you see, Mrs Chesterleigh used to go to all the foundling homes in .hopes of finding him; and she got very interested in the poor mites, and used to have some of the sickly ones staying here with a nurse for weeks at a time. There was one pretty little fellow she took a great fancy to, he was so like her own Master Ralph; he stayed here two whole summers running, before he was adopted by a rich lady; and once he found a nail and scratched those pictures on the wall one afternoon the nurse was out. My word, he did get a talking to when we found out!—though the mistress only laughed and didn’t mind.” “Yes, you had a hard hand in those days, Mrs Richards,” said Rupert, with a smile. “I think it’s Meredith who says:— ‘lf thou wouldst fix remembrance—thwack! ’Tis that oblivion controls. ’ I remember that spanking yet, by Jove! ” ♦ ♦ * ♦ Rupert continued to manage the estate for Mr Chesterleigh till Merrion was of age, and after that for his wife. When he asked her to marry him, on her 20th birthday, her reply was not precisely romantic but very characteristi cof this frank damsel. “There now, you see! ” she said, with extreme satisfaction, “you’ll have to be the heir of the Chesterleurhs after all!”