The Tenants of Malory, Volume 1 Read online

  Produced by Iona Vaughan, woodie4, Mark Akrigg and theOnline Distributed Proofreading Canada Team athttps://www.pgdpcanada.net (This file was produced fromimages generously made available by The InternetArchive/American Libraries.)

  THE

  TENANTS OF MALORY.

  (Reprinted from the "Dublin University Magazine")

  A Novel.

  BY

  JOSEPH SHERIDAN LE FANU,

  AUTHOR OF "UNCLE SILAS," "GUY DEVERELL," "THE HOUSE BY THE CHURCHYARD," ETC. ETC.

  IN THREE VOLUMES.

  VOL. I.

  LONDON: TINSLEY BROTHERS, 18, CATHERINE ST., STRAND.

  1867.

  [_The Right of Translation is reserved._]

  LONDON;

  BRADBURY, EVANS, AND CO., PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.

  TO THE

  RIGHT HON. THE LADY DUFFERIN,

  This Tale is inscribed,

  BY

  THE AUTHOR.

  CONTENTS.

  CHAP. PAGE

  I.--CONCERNING TWO LADIES WHO SAT IN THE MALORY PEW 1

  II.--ALL THAT THE DRAPER'S WIFE COULD TELL 13

  III.--HOME TO WARE 21

  IV.--ON THE GREEN OF CARDYLLIAN 29

  V.--A VISIT TO HAZELDEN 40

  VI.--MALORY BY MOONLIGHT 51

  VII.--A VIEW FROM THE REFECTORY WINDOW 62

  VIII.--A NIGHT SAIL 70

  IX.--THE REVEREND ISAAC DIXIE 81

  X.--READING AN EPITAPH 93

  XI.--FAREWELL 104

  XII.--IN WHICH CLEVE VERNEY WAYLAYS AN OLD LADY 114

  XIII.--THE BOY WITH THE CAGE 122

  XIV.--NEWS ABOUT THE OLD MAN OF THE MOUNTAINS 135

  XV.--WITHIN THE SANCTUARY 154

  XVI.--AN UNLOOKED-FOR VISITOR 170

  XVII.--THEY VISIT THE CHAPEL OF PENRUTHYN AGAIN 184

  XVIII.--CLEVE AGAIN BEFORE HIS IDOL 203

  XIX.--CLEVE VERNEY TAKES A BOLD STEP 214

  XX.--HIS FATE 227

  XXI.--CAPTAIN SHRAPNELL 236

  XXII.--SIR BOOTH SPEAKS 246

  XXIII.--MARGARET HAS HER WARNING 256

  XXIV.--SIR BOOTH IN A PASSION 263

  XXV.--IN WHICH THE LADIES PEEP INTO CARDYLLIAN 271

  THE

  TENANTS OF MALORY.

  CHAPTER I.

  CONCERNING TWO LADIES WHO SAT IN THE MALORY PEW.

  THERE were tenants at last in Malory; and the curiosity of the honestresidents of Cardyllian, the small and antique town close by, was atonce piqued and mortified by the unaccountable reserve of these people.

  For four years, except from one twisted chimney in the far corner of theold house, no smoke had risen from its flues. Tufts of grass had grownup between the paving-stones of the silent stable-yard, grass had creptover the dark avenue, which, making a curve near the gate, is soon lostamong the sombre trees that throw a perpetual shadow upon it; the grovesof nettles had spread and thickened among their trunks; and in thesigns of neglect and decay, the monastic old place grew more than ever_triste_.

  The pretty little Welsh town of Cardyllian stands near the shingle of abroad estuary, beyond which tower the noble Cambrian mountains. High anddim, tier above tier, undulating hills, broken by misty glens, andclothed with woods, rise from the opposite shore, and are backed, rangebehind range, by the dim outlines of Alpine peaks and slopes, andflanked by purple and gold-tinted headlands, rising dome-like from thesea.

  Between the town and the gray shingle stretches a strip of bright greensward, the Green of Cardyllian, along which rows of pleasant houses,with little gardens in front, look over the sea to the mountains.

  It is a town quaint, old, and quiet. Many of the houses bear dateanterior to the great civil wars of England, and on the oak beams ofsome are carved years of grace during which Shakespeare was still livingamong his friends, in Stratford-on-Avon.

  At the end of long Castle Street rise the battlements and rooflesstowers of that grand old feudal fortress which helped to hold theconquest of Wales for the English crown in the days of tabards, lances,and the long-bow. Its other chief street strikes off at right angles,and up hill from this, taking its name from the ancient church, which,with its churchyard, stands divided from it by a low wall of redsandstone, surmounted by one of those tall and fanciful iron rails, theknack of designing which seems to be a lost art in these countries.

  There are other smaller streets and by-lanes, some dark with a monasticstillness, others thinly built, with little gardens and old plum andpear trees peeping over grass-grown walls, and here and there you lightupon a fragment of that ancient town wall from which, in the greattroubles which have helped to build up the glory of England, plumedcavaliers once parleyed with steel-capped Puritans. Thus the tints andshadows of a great history rest faintly even upon this out-of-the-wayand serene little town.

  The permanent residents of Cardyllian for half the year are idle, andfor mere occupation are led to inquire into and report one another'ssins, vanities, and mishaps. Necessity thus educates them in that mutualinterest in one another's affairs, and that taste for narrative, whichpusillanimous people call prying and tattle. That the people nowresiding in Malory, scarcely a mile away, should have so totallydefeated them was painful and even irritating.

  It was next to impossible to take a walk near Cardyllian without seeingMalory; and thus their failure perpetually stared them in the face.

  You can best see Malory from the high grounds which, westward of thetown, overlook the estuary. About a mile away you descry a dark andrather wide-spread mass of wood, lying in a gentle hollow, which, Ithink, deepens its sombre tint. It approaches closely to the long rippleof the sea, and through the foliage are visible some old chimneys andglimpses of gray gables. The refectory of the friary that once stoodthere, built of gray and reddish stones, half hid in ivy, now does dutyas a barn. It is so embowered in trees, that you can scarcely, here andthere, gain a peep from without at its tinted walls; and the whole placeis overhung by a sadness and silence that well accord with itscloistered traditions. That is Malory.

  It was Sunday now. Over the graves and tombstones of those who will hearits sweet music no more, the bell had summoned the townsfolk andvisitors to the old church of Cardyllian.

  The little town boasts, indeed, a beautiful old church, Gothic, withside-aisles, and an antique stained window, from which gloried saintsand martyrs look down, in robes as rich and brilliant as we seenow-a-days only upon the kings and queens of our court cards. It hasalso some fine old monuments of the Verney family. The light is solemnand subdued. There is a very sweet-toned organ, which they say is as oldas the reign of Charles I., but I do not know how truly. In the porchare hung in chains two sacrilegious round-shot, which entered the churchwhen Cromwell's general opened his fire, in those days of sorrow whenthe liberties of England were in the throes of birth. Beside thebrilliant stained window, engraven upon a brass plate, is a record ofthe same "solemn times," relating how certain careful men, t
o whom weare obliged, had taken down, enclosed in boxes, and buried, in hope of atypical resurrection, the ancient window which had for so longbeautified "this church," and thus saved it from the hands of "violentand fanatical men."

  When "the season" is still flourishing at Cardyllian, the church issometimes very full. On the Sunday I speak of it was so. One pew,indeed, was quite relieved from the general pressure. It was the largepanelled enclosure which stands near the communion rails, at the rightas you look up the aisle toward the glowing window. Its flooring israised a full foot higher than the surrounding level. This is the seatof the Verney family.

  But one person performed his devotions in it, upon the day of which Ispeak. This was a tall, elegantly slight young man, with theindescribable air of careless fashion; and I am afraid he was much morepeeped at and watched than he ought to have been by good Christiansduring divine service.

  Sometimes people saw but the edge of his black whisker, and the waves ofhis dark hair, and his lavender-gloved hand resting on the edge of thepew. At other times--when, for instance, during the Litany, he leanedover with his arms resting on the edge of the pew--he was verysatisfactorily revealed, and elicited a considerable variety ofcriticism. Most people said he was very handsome, and so, I think, hewas--a dark young man, with very large, soft eyes, and very brillianteven teeth. Some people said he was spoiled by an insolent and selfishexpression of countenance. Some ladies again said that his figure wasperfect, while others alleged that there was a slight curve--not astoop, but a bend at the shoulder, which they could not quite sanction.

  The interest, and even anxiety with which this young gentleman wasobserved and afterwards discussed, were due to the fact that he was Mr.Cleve Verney, the nephew, not of the present Viscount Verney, but ofthe man who must very soon be so, and heir presumptive to the title--aposition in the town of Cardyllian, hardly inferior to that of Prince ofWales.

  But the title of Verney, or rather the right claimant of that title, wasthen, and had been for many years, in an extremely odd position. In moresenses than one, a cloud rested upon him. For strong reasons, and greatdanger, he had vanished more than twenty years ago, and lived, eversince, in a remote part of the world, and in a jealous and eccentricmystery.

  While this young gentleman was causing so many reprehensibledistractions in the minds of other Christians, he was himself, thoughnot a creature observed it, undergoing a rather wilder aberration of asimilar sort himself.

  In a small seat at the other side, which seems built for privacy, with ahigh panelling at the sides and back, sat a young lady, whose beautyriveted and engrossed his attention in a way that seemed to the younggentleman, of many London seasons, almost unaccountable.

  There was an old lady with her--a lady-like old woman, he thoughther--slight of figure, and rubrically punctual in her up-risings, anddown-sittings. The seat holds four with comfort, but no more. The oakcasing round it is high. The light visits it through the glorious oldeastern window, mellowed and solemnized--and in this chiar'oscuro, theyoung lady's beauty had a transparent and saddened character which hethought quite peculiar. Altogether he felt it acting upon him with theinsidious power of a spell.

  The old lady--for the halo of interest of which the girl was the centre,included her--was dressed, he at first thought, in black, but now he wasnearly sure it was a purple silk.

  Though she wore a grave countenance, suitable to the scene and occasion,it was by no means sombre--a cheerful and engaging countenance on thecontrary.

  The young lady's dress was one of those rich Welsh linseys, whichexhibit a drapery of thick ribbed, dark gray silk, in great measureconcealed by a short but ample cloak or coat of black velvet--altogethera costume, the gravity of which struck him as demure and piquant.

  Leaning over the side of his pew, Mr. Cleve Verney prayed with aremarkable persistence in the direction of this seat. After the Litanyhe thought her a great deal more beautiful than he had before it, and bythe time the Communion service closed, he was sure he had never seen anyone at all so lovely. He could not have fancied, in flesh and blood, sowonderful an embodiment of Guido's portrait of Beatrice Cenci. Theexquisite brow, and large hazel eye, so clear and soft, so bold and shy.The face voluptuous, yet pure; _funeste_ but innocent. The rich chestnuthair, the pearly whiteness, and scarlet lips, and the strange, wild,melancholy look--and a shadow of fate. Three-quarters, or full face, ormomentary profile--in shade, now--in light--the same wonderful likenessstill. The phantom of Beatrice was before him.

  I can't say whether the young lady or the old observed the irregularworship directed towards their pew. Cleve did not think they did. He hadno particular wish that they should. In fact, his interest was growingso strangely absorbing that something of that jealousy of observationwhich indicates a deeper sentiment than mere admiration, had supervened,and Mr. Cleve conducted his reconnoitring with slyness and caution.

  That small pew over the way, he was nearly certain, belonged to Malory.Now Malory is a dower house of the Verneys. His own grandmother, theVenerable Dowager Lady Verney, as much to her annoyance the fashionablemorning paper respectfully called her, was at that time the incumbent.But though she held it with the inflexible grip of an old lady whoserights were not to be trifled with, she would not reside, and the placewas, as I have said, utterly neglected, and the old house very much outof repair.

  Why, then, should the Malory pew be thus tenanted? These ladies, he hadno doubt, sat there of right--for if the seat had been opened to thecongregation at large, in the then state of pressure, it would have beenfilled. Could they possibly be of kindred to the Verneys, and sit wherethey did by virtue of an order from the Dowager?

  So Cleve Verney began to count up cousins whom he had never seen, andleft off no wiser.

  Close by this dark Malory pew, is a small side-door of the church. Thereis another like it, a little lower down, in the opposite wall, not farfrom the Verney pew, and through these emerge thin files of worshippers,while the main column shuffles and pushes through the porch. So, whenthe Rector had pronounced his final blessing, Cleve Verney havingimproved the little silence that followed to get his hat and cane intohis hand, glided from his seat before the mass of the congregation wereastir, and emerging on the little gravel walk, stepped lightly down tothe stone stile, from whence you command a view of every exit from thechurchyard.

  He stood with one foot upon it, like a man awaiting a friend, andlooking listlessly toward the church. And as he loitered, a friend didturn up whom he very little expected to see. A young man, though hardlyso young as Cleve--good-looking, decidedly, with light golden moustache,and a face so kind, frank, and merry, it made one happy to look at it.

  "Ah! Sedley! I had not an idea. What brings you here?" said Cleve,smiling, and shaking his hand moderately, but keeping his large eyessteadily on the distant point at which he expected to see the unknownladies emerge.

  "Down here just for a day or two," answered Tom Sedley. "I was above youin the gallery. Did you see that beautiful creature in the Malory seat,right before you? By Jove, she's a stunning girl. There was an old womanwith her. I think I never saw so beautiful a being."

  "Well, I did see a pretty girl at the other side of the church, I_think_; isn't _that_ she?" said Cleve, as he saw the two ladies--theyounger with one of those short black veils which nearly obliterate theface of the wearer behind the intricacies of a thick lace pattern.

  "By Jove! so it is," said Sedley; "come along--let us see where theygo."

  They were walking almost solitarily, followed only by an old servantwho carried their books, toward the entrance at the further side of thechurchyard, a small door opening upon a flight of steps by which youdescend into one of the deserted back streets of Cardyllian.

  Cleve and Sedley pursued as little conspicuously as possible. The quaintstreet, into which the stone stairs led them, follows the moulderingshelter of the old town wall.

  Looking along the perspective of this street, if such the single row ofsmall old houses confrontin
g the dark ivied wall may be termed, the twoyoung gentlemen saw the figures in pursuit of which they had entered it,proceeding in the direction of Malory.

  "We mustn't get _too_ near; let us wait a little, and let them go on,"suggested Sedley in a whisper, as if the ladies could have overheardthem.

  Cleve laughed. He was probably the more eager of the two; but some menhave no turn for confidences, and Cleve Verney was not in the habit ofopening either his plans or his feelings to anyone.