The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Lost Door, by Dorothy Quick
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Title: The Lost Door
Author: Dorothy Quick
Release Date: June 16, 2010 [EBook #32831]
Language: English
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The Lost Door
By DOROTHY QUICK
[Transcriber Note: This etext was produced from Weird Tales October
1936. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S.
copyright on this publication was renewed.]
[Sidenote: _An alluring but deadly horror out of past centuries menaced
the life of the young American--a fascinating tale of a strange and eery
love_]
I have often wondered whether I would have urged Wrexler to come with me
if I had known what Rougemont would do to him. I think--looking
back--that even if I could have glimpsed the future, I would have acted
in the same way, and that I would have brought him to Rougemont to
fulfill his destiny.
As the boat cut its swift way through the waters on its journey to
France, I had no thought of this. Nor had Wrexler. He was happier than I
had ever seen him. He had never been abroad before, and the boat was a
source of wonder and enjoyment to him.
I myself was full of an eager anticipation of happy months to come. It
hardly seemed possible that only a week had elapsed since I received the
cable that had made such a change in my fortunes:
Your father died yesterday. You are sole heir, provided you
comply with conditions of his will, the principal one being
that you spend six months of each year at Rougemont. If
satisfactory, come at once.
It was signed by my father's lawyer.
I had no sorrow over my father's passing, except a deep regret that we
could not have known the true relationship of father and son. At the
death of my mother, my father had grown bitter and refused to see the
innocent cause of her untimely passing. As a baby I had been brought up
in the lodge of Rougemont, my father's magnificent château near Vichy.
When I reached the age of four, I had been sent away to boarding-school.
After that, my life had been a succession of schools; first in France,
the adopted land of my father, then England, and finally St. Paul's in
America.
In all justice to my parent, I must admit he gave me every advantage
except the affection I would have cherished. By his own wish, I had
never seen him in life; nor would I see him in death, for a later cable
advised me that the funeral was over and his body already at rest in the
beautiful Gothic mausoleum he had had built in his lifetime, after the
manner of the ancients.
He had left me everything with only two injunctions, that a certain sum
of money be set aside to keep the château always in its present
condition and that I should spend at least half my time in it, and my
children after me--a condition I was only too pleased to accept. All my
life I had longed for a home.
I cabled at once that I would sail. A return cable brought me the news
that I had unlimited funds to draw upon. It was then that I urged
Wrexler to come with me.
* * * * *
Wrexler and I had been friends since the day when two lonely boys had
been put by chance into the same room at school. We were so utterly
unlike, it was perhaps the difference between us that held us together
through the years. At St. Paul's, and later at Princeton, Gordon Wrexler
had always been at the head of his class, whereas I inevitably tagged
along at the bottom. The contrast between us was expressed not only in
the color of our hair and eyes, but also in our dispositions. My
greatest gift from fate was a sense of humor, and I suppose it was this
quality of mine that particularly appealed to Wrexler. It seems as
though I was the only one who could lift him out of the despondency into
which he often plunged. As the years passed, and his tendency to
depression intensified, he came to depend more and more upon me, and we
grew closer together.
Strangely enough, the whiteness of his face and the gloom that exuded
from him did not detract from his good looks. It only added to them. For
the translucence of his skin made the thick, black hair that lay close
to his head all the darker, while at the same time it brought out the
deep black of his eyes, and the firm cut of his lips.
The night before we landed, we were standing on deck, at the rail,
looking over the side straining our eyes for the first glimpse of the
lights of Cherbourg, and Wrexler spoke of himself for the first time
since we had left New York.
"You know, Jim, for perhaps the only time in my life I feel at peace, as
though something that I should have done long ago has been at last
accomplished."
He was so solemn that I laughed a little. He stopped me suddenly: "It's
true--I've always felt an urge within me, a blinding force pushing me
toward something that is waiting for me: where, I do not know; what, I
have no idea. For the first time, it's gone--that nameless urge that I
knew not how to satisfy, and I feel that the call's being answered."
With the usual inanity of people at a loss for words, I said the first
thing that came into my mind: "Perhaps Rougemont has been calling you."
"You've no idea what a relief it is," he continued, "not to feel
constantly pulled with no way of knowing toward what, or how to go about
answering the summons. I have often thought that I should take my
life--that that was what was meant----" His voice trailed off.
This time I was not at a loss for words. I started to read him a lecture
that would have done credit to Martin Luther or John Knox. At the end of
my harangue Wrexler laughed, a rare thing for him, and put his arm
through mine.
"All that's gone now. Didn't I tell you that at last in some strange way
I am at peace?"
* * * * *
Rougemont's towers were visible long before we reached the great iron
gates that had to be swung open to let us pass. For miles the great
edifice dominated the landscape. The huge building had a soft, reddish
tinge, from which I supposed it derived its name--Red Mountain. It was a
fairy-tale palace perched on a mountain top. A great thrill went through
me as I realized that this beautiful château was mine, and as we drove
through the gates, up the winding road, through my own forest, the pride
of possession swelled up in me and for the first time I began to
understand why my father had never put his foot outside the great gates
and the high wall that enclosed the acres that now belonged to me.
As we drove on, up the winding, narrow road, over the drawbridge that
spanned the moat, into the courtyard, I understood more and more. Here
was everything: beauty such as I had never dreamed, forests stocked with
game, running brooks full of fish, a lake, and farther off, a farm--I
could glimpse its thatched roofs--to supply our wants. Rougemont was a
world in itself.
The high carved door was swung open as Wrexler and I got out of the car.
Monsieur de Carrier, my father's lawyer, advanced to meet us, a friendly
smile on his Santa Claus countenance. I shook hands, introduced Wrexler
as "a very good friend who is going to stay with me."
Monsieur Carrier's face fell. Clearly Wrexler's being with me was a
disappointment. Nevertheless, he greeted him politely, as he ushered us
in.
That moment Rougemont took me to its heart and won me for its own.
Imagine Amboise, or any of the great French châteaux, suddenly restored
to itself as it was in the days of the Medici, and you have a small idea
of Rougemont. For we had stepped out of the present into the past.
Carrier, Wrexler and I were anachronisms; everything else was in keeping
with the dead centuries. Even the servants were in doublet and hose of a
sort of cerulean blue, with great slashes puffed with crimson silk.
I think I gasped. At any rate, Monsieur Carrier saw my astonishment. "It
is your father's will, my boy. He always kept it so, and wore the
costume of former days, himself. He greatly admired the first Francis.
In your rooms you will find costumes prepared for you. For the last six
months of his life, he was making ready for his son." There was an odd
sort of pride in Carrier's voice.
I remembered now that my father had written for my measurements. I had
thought he meant to make me a present, but when time passed and I heard
nothing, the incident had slipped from my mind. I looked at Wrexler,
expecting to see some sign of amusement on his face, but he stood
quietly looking at the tapestry that hung half-way up the grand
stairway. There was a dreamy, far-away expression in his eyes.
"May I speak before your friend?" Carrier asked.
I nodded. The servants had already disappeared with our luggage. I threw
myself down on a long, low bench, and Carrier sat opposite me.
"You understood the terms of your father's will, of course," Carrier
began, "that you must live here six months, but you did not know that
you must live here, as he did, in the past. If you do not, then
Rougemont goes to your father's steward, with the same conditions--to be
kept always as it is; with only a small sum set aside for you."
I said nothing. Driving along the road from Paris, it would have seemed
fantastic, but here--under the spell of Rougemont--it seemed as though
anything else would be impossible.
* * * * *
Carrier went on, "You will be Grand Seigneur--Lord of the Manor, in the
old style. You may have your guests if you like, but they too must
conform with the rules." Here he glanced at Wrexler, who still stood as
though he were in a trance. "The other six months you are free to do as
you please, spend what you like of the money not needed for
Rougemont--that is, _if you want to go anywhere else_."
Evidently he had finished his speech. At the time I did not recognize
the significance of his last words. "I am willing to submit to the
conditions; only"--a sudden thought struck me--"I don't want to lose all
touch with the outside world. Can I go to Vichy--to get papers and so
forth? I don't suppose they had papers in Francis First's time."
Monsieur de Carrier smiled. "My dear boy, your father didn't wish to
make a prisoner of you. You may go to Vichy if you like. But you must
not be away from Rougemont more than twenty-four consecutive hours
during the six months you are in residence.
"So far as the papers, etc., are concerned, they will be at the lodge.
There is also a telephone, and your own clothes will be kept there.
After tonight, nothing of 1935 must come within these halls, but you are
free to go to the lodge any time you want to. You can get in touch with
me also, if you desire further information. De Lacy, the steward, will
look out for you. He knows your father's ways. Now permit me to
congratulate you and say _au revoir_, my young friend."
Monsieur de Carrier got up on his stubby fat legs, made a little bow to
me, another to Wrexler which went unheeded.
I too arose. "It will seem strange, but I'll do my best."
"One other thing," Monsieur de Carrier was all of a sudden very grave.
"In two weeks' time you will be given a key. It unlocks a casket you
will find in the library. In it you will find a message from your
father. Adieu, my boy, I wish you well."
With a click of the heels and a friendly smile, he was gone.
I turned to Wrexler. "What do you think of it?" I asked.
Wrexler did not answer. He still stood gazing up at the stairway. The
wide, marble steps curved upward. Along the sides, the intricate carving
was beautiful in its lacy delicateness.
At that moment, however, I was alarmed for my friend. His attitude was
rigid, and his eyes were glassy. I put my hand on his shoulder.
"Wrexler!"
My action galvanized him to life. "Another minute and she would have
reached the last step! Now she is gone."
This was madness! There had been no one there. I said as much.
Wrexler turned and faced me. "But there was," he said eagerly, "the most
beautiful girl I have ever seen, all done up in some old costume: great,
wide skirts, little waist, and a high lace collar. She had bronze curls,
great blue eyes and the loveliest face! I saw her immediately we came
in. She looked at both of us, but she smiled at me!"
I was in a quandary. Until now I had not given the staircase more than a
perfunctory glance. For all I knew, she might have been one of the
servants, peeping to see her new master. To Wrexler, impressionable,
strange creature that he was, the one glance might have so registered on
his mind that he kept on seeing her; for certainly she had not been
there when I looked. It seemed best to make light of the whole matter.
"Anyway, she's gone now. At least I can explain the costume. I take it
you didn't hear Carrier's announcements?"
Wrexler shook his head. I proceeded to enlighten him.
Instead of teasing me about the strange conditions my father's will had
imposed upon me, he was enthusiastic about the idea. "It's the one
period in history that has always interested me! Jim, we're in luck!
Imagine stepping back into Medici France for six months, shutting out
the world! Who knows but that Catherine herself may have stayed here, or
Marguerite de Valois--the Marguerite of Marguerites! Beautiful, but no
more beautiful than that girl on the stairs. I can hardly wait to see
her again."
I heartily hoped that he would see her, and that she was not entirely a
creature of his imagination. If she was real, I too was eager to meet
her.
Wrexler interrupted my thoughts.
"I feel as though I had come home," he said. "I'm crazy to explore.
Let's go shed these ugly things and begin to really live. Why, it's been
this I've been waiting for! It's lucky we're the same size."
* * * * *
Out of his irrelevance, I gathered the trend of his thought. "I wonder
where we go," I began.
Almost as though he had heard my words, a tall, commanding figure
stepped into the hall. He was attired richly in damask of a lovely, soft
blue with the same slashes of crimson that the servant livery had shown,
but in this case of finer material. He was a handsome man of about
thirty-four. His beard was pointed and he had a small mustache. His long
legs were encased in silken hose and he wore a dagger thrust through his
belt.
"De Lacy, at your service, my lord," he announced as he made a deep bow.
I extended my hand, somewhat at a loss to know how to greet my father's
steward, who was clearly a man of some importance and who, but for me,
would be owner of Rougemont.
Instead of shaking hands, he dropped on one knee and kissed my hand--a
proceeding which embarrassed me very much.
On my motioning him to rise, he did so with a lithe grace: "I suppose
you want to change your strange clothes, my lord, and see your
quarters?"
I nodded and introduced Wrexler. De Lacy bowed. "Monsieur Wrexler would
like to be near you?" Then he added, "We have some twenty or thirty
suites, my lord."
Wrexler said he would prefer to be close at hand, and together we
followed de Lacy up the marble stairway into a new world.
Wrexler was at ease immediately in his doublet and hose. The rich,
embroidered garments seemed to suit him as modern clothes never did. He
looked handsomer than ever. He also told me that the costume of the
Medici was becoming to me, and truly when I caught a glimpse of myself
mirrored in the pond--for the château did not possess a large mirror--I
was not ill pleased with the result. But, by the end of the week, I
still felt strange in my new attire, whereas Wrexler from the beginning
wore his as if to the manor born.
But I anticipate. That first night we donned two of the outfits which
the valet whom de Lacy introduced to me had put out. Our own clothes
disappeared, and much to my annoyance, with them my cigarettes.
* * * * *
We ate dinner in state, upon a raised dais at one end of a great hall.
At either side below us were long, narrow tables filled with people.
Dressed also in keeping with the period, they made a wonderful picture
and comprised, I supposed, my court or retinue. De Lacy presented me to
them with a flourish, and they all filed by and kissed my hand, then
went to their places.
When Wrexler and I were seated, they too sat down. When I began to talk,
they filled the hall with gay chattering. From a minstrel gallery at the
other end of the room came soft strains of music.
De Lacy stood behind me pouring my wine. One thing I noticed was that in
the whole room--and there must have been two hundred people at
least--there were no older men or women. In fact, de Lacy was the oldest
of the lot; the others ranged from about sixteen to thirty.
"How did my father get all these people together?" I asked de Lacy.
"Most of them, my lord, were born at Rougemont. Still others were
adopted and brought here almost as soon as they were born. None of us
has ever been outside Rougemont gates." De Lacy was quite matter-of-fact
as he made his statement.
Wrexler was searching the hall with his eyes, as he listened to my
steward.
"And you?" I looked at de Lacy.
"I, too, my lord, know nothing of your outside world, nor do I want to.
Why should I, who am happy here? My family live down at the farm, but
his Highness, your father, became interested in me. He brought me into
the château, had me educated, and looked after me, himself. Eventually
he made me steward of Rougemont. It is a great honor he conferred upon
me and I shall do my best to help you, my lord."
Of a sudden I saw what my father's life-work had been: to rear a court
to people Rougemont. My father had been twenty-five at my mother's
death. He had died at fifty-eight. He had had thirty-three years to make
his dream come true.
"Where are the parents of the ones who were born at Rougemont?"
"At their own places, or the farms, my lord. Rougemont has over a
thousand acres and several manors upon it, where people whom his
Highness your father advanced over others, live. They all serve their
ruler in some way, in return for what is given them. Only the people of
the lodge are in touch with the Outside, which we have been taught to
look upon with scorn. Here we have everything, and to be taken to the
château itself is the ambition of everyone on the estate."
I saw it all; not, of course, every intricacy of the elaborate system my
father had evolved, but at least a glimmer of the truth. And I marveled
at the character of a man who had taken children out of the world to
make his own world and then had the patience to wait for them to grow
up; to form his court--the court he planned for me. Yes, in my egotism I
thought it was for me! Two weeks were to pass before I learned what his
real reason had been.
Into my reflections, Wrexler broke abruptly, "She is not here. Ask de
Lacy about her; her beauty haunts me. Already I am in love with her."
I was not surprized. Nothing, I felt, could at this point surprize me,
so much had happened in the last few hours. If my father had arisen from
the floor like Hamlet's ghost, I would have greeted him quite casually.
"Is there a young girl here with bronze curls and blue eyes?" I asked
obediently.
A shadow crossed de Lacy's handsome face. For the first time he
hesitated. "There is no one here that answers that description. May I
ask why you----"
"My friend saw her on the stairway."
I caught a murmur from de Lacy's lips, "So soon!" it sounded like, but
before I could question further, he said aloud, "I have leave to depart
and join my lady?" And before I could answer, he bowed himself away to
take a seat at one of the tables below.
Wrexler looked over his wine goblet. "The man lied. I saw recognition of
the description in his eyes."
"We'll get the truth out of him later," I countered. "Isn't it fine to
actually eat chicken with your fingers, and not feel you are committing
a social error!"
* * * * *
We did not get any information out of de Lacy later. To Wrexler's
insistent questionings he was at first non-committal, and after a bit,
downright curt. I poured oil on the troubled waters by suggesting that
as it was late, we would wait until morning to see the library and the
left wing of the château.
With a smile of relief, de Lacy ushered us to our chambers. My retiring
was a kind of ceremony. It amused me, but I had a nagging little thought
in the back of my mind that all this etiquette would become boring after
a while.
As the last man bowed himself out of my room, de Lacy bent low. "My
lord, there are guards at your door. You have only to call if you
require anything."
I thanked him once more. Greatly to my embarrassment, he again kissed my
hand. "Your servant to the death!" he cried, and drew the curtains about
my high-canopied bed.
I knew that outside the red damask, two huge candles were burning, but
the curtain shut out their light and I was smothered in darkness. I made
a mental note that I must arrange somehow for air in my room. The French
idea of banishing night air did not coincide with my American habits.
Tonight I was too weary to get up and attend to it. My thoughts were
racing back and forth among the strange events of the day, but before I
could focus them into any kind of order, sleep descended upon me.
I had a strange dream. In it, the most beautiful woman I had ever seen
came and parted the red damask curtains. Framed against the dark oak
panels of my room, she stood looking down upon me. Her hair was red
gold, and her eyes had all the sapphire tints of the world stored in
their depths. Her pale, white face was oval in shape and balanced
perfectly upon a slender neck. Her lips were sweetly curved and her nose
delicately shaped. As she bent over me, I could see the rounded curve of
her bosom. One slim hand reached out and touched my cheek. It was like
the touch of a falling rose petal.
In my dream I lay asleep, yet I was conscious of this lovely creature. I
watched her through closed eyelids, and held my breath, hoping she would
kiss me. It seemed as though I had never desired anything so much.
A half-smile hovered on her lips, but her eyes told me nothing. She
leaned lower. A faint perfume pervaded my senses, and then I felt her
lips upon my forehead. A great cold swept over me at her touch--swept me
down, down into blackness, and I knew no more.
* * * * *
When I awoke, the sun was pouring through the opened curtains. I reached
for a cigarette--my first conscious thought upon awakening--and not
finding my case under the pillow, suddenly realized my new surroundings.
At the same time, I remembered my dream. "Wrexler and his talk of a
red-haired beauty is responsible for that," I thought as I clapped my
hands.
De Lacy came in so quickly I knew he must have been waiting outside the
door. He started when he saw the curtain of my bed had been opened. "Did
you not pull them?" I asked.
He shook his head. I said no more, and the ceremony of my arising began.
When I had bathed in a great sunken tub--fortunately Diana de Poictiers
had had her daily bath in the far-off time--I sought Wrexler.
Together we breakfasted, and then I announced to de Lacy that we wished
to inspect the rest of the château. He led us to the left wing, and took
us through suite after suite. Beautifully furnished, the château was a
veritable treasure house. An antiquarian would have gone mad with
delight.
I noticed that de Lacy had avoided two heavily built doors opposite the
ballroom. When we had returned from our tour, I stopped before them.
"And here?" I asked.
"The picture gallery, my lord," he responded unwillingly, and swung the
doors open. There was an unhappy expression on his face.
The room was long and narrow, and the walls except for the windows were
lined with portraits. We walked slowly down the length of the room,
looking at the portraits of a dead and gone race.
"The former owners of the château?" I asked. De Lacy nodded.
Suddenly I looked at the part of the room facing the door which he had
entered. At first we had been too far away to distinguish anything about
it except that there was only one large painting hanging in the center.
Now that I was nearer, I could see the painting, and I caught my breath
in astonishment; for there was the portrait of the lady of my dream,
smiling down on me.
Wrexler caught my arm, "That's the girl--the one I saw on the stairs."
"That is the portrait of Helene, Mademoiselle d'Harcourt, daughter of
the Lord of Harcourt, who owned this château," de Lacy's voice broke in.
Wrexler and I exclaimed simultaneously, "But I----" and "She is----"
De Lacy looked at us strangely. "It is from her that the château got its
new name Rougemont--_Red Mountain_. Before that, it was called Hôtel
d'Harcourt. Mademoiselle Helene was very beautiful, as you can see,
_Messieurs_, and she had many suitors. At last, from among them, she
chose an English lord. One of the discarded lovers, Black George--_le
Georges Noir_--vowed that she should not belong to the Englishman, or
ever leave Rougemont.
"She laughed, Mademoiselle Helene, and her father, the Lord d'Harcourt,
laughed too, for he had many men at arms and was rich and powerful.
Black George did not laugh, he only set his lips grimly. The wedding day
came and the beautiful Helene married the English lord in the great
hall, but just as he took her in his arms for the nuptial kiss, there
arose a great noise outside. It was Black George attacking the château.
"The English lord, with Helene's kiss warm upon his lips, went forth to
battle. There was a fight such as these peaceful lands had never seen,
and the mountain ran red with blood. Black George was the victor. He
slew the Englishman, he slew the Lord of Harcourt, and his men hacked to
pieces the defenders of the château.
"Black George, followed by his men, their swords red with blood, came
into the great hall where Helene d'Harcourt sat on the throne, her face
whiter than her wedding dress. Black George flung her lover's body at
her feet, and the women of the household who were crouched about the
throne cried aloud with terror. The fair Helene did not cry, nor did she
moan; she only looked straight at Black George, and there was that in
her gaze that silenced everyone in the great hall; even Black George
stepped back a pace.
"Then Helene d'Harcourt rose and went down to her love, the English lord
who for a brief moment had been her husband. She knelt beside him and
kissed his cold lips; then she took her wedding veil and laid it over
his body.
"All the while there was silence in the great hall, while men and women
watched the slim girl say farewell to the man she loved. They watched
almost as though they were under a spell. But as the veil fell into
place, Black George laughed a long laugh that rang through the room;
then he turned to his followers, and cried loudly, 'The women are
yours--take them as you will, all but that one who belongs to me.' He
gestured toward Helene and laughed again.
"Helene d'Harcourt stood erect and pointed her slender hand at Black
George. 'Wait,' she cried, and there was a quality in her voice that
made her listeners tremble. 'I shall belong to no one until my lover
comes for me, and till he comes, wo to you, Black George, who are well
named! Wo to you and to all men, for I curse you with a mighty curse,
the curse of a broken heart. And I curse all men for their black and
bitter deeds. Year after year, century after century, I will take my
vengeance for the wrongs I have suffered, and no man shall be free until
my lover comes again and we find bliss together.'
"And while the eyes of the whole hall were riveted upon her, she plunged
the dagger she had taken from her lover's belt into her heart. For a
second she stood swaying; then she crumpled and fell beside the English
lord.
"Black George caught her and held her in his arms. 'My curse upon you,
Black George!' she cried.
[Illustration: "My curse upon you, Black George," she cried.]
"Black George could also curse--'Never shall you leave Rougemont to find
your lover, and never shall he come, until----' and then his voice died
away as her head fell backward over his arm. The fair Helene was beyond
his reach.
"For a minute more the people in the great hall were paralyzed by the
force of the terrible words that they had heard, but with the girl's
death they were released from the spell and a fury swept over the men.
They rushed upon the women and dragged them forth. Black George took
Helene's body and carried it away, but where he buried her no one knew,
nor could any discover; for the next day he was found in the great hall
raving mad, and the people said that Helene's curse was a potent one,
that already it had wreaked vengeance on the one who had wronged her
most.
"From that day, the château was called Rougemont. The d'Harcourts were
all dead and the place fell into other hands. Then there grew up the
rumor that the château was haunted, that the fair Helene roamed through
its halls, cut off from her lover, and doomed to stay within these walls
by Black George's curse."
* * * * *
De Lacy silent, Wrexler and I looked at the portrait. My own feelings
were in a turmoil. It had been a ghost's lips that had touched me last
night; yet surely no ghosts could have been so beautiful or seemed so
real.
Wrexler turned to me, "It would be the curse that has always been upon
me that when I fell in love it would be with a ghost!" His eyes were
vivid, shining brightly in his pale face. "I knew when I saw her on the
stairway that I loved her."
"There is a rumor," said de Lacy, "that the man who sees the fair Helene
will meet with some misadventure, unless she gives him a kiss. Then he
is protected from her wrath."
I started. Wrexler smiled. "She kissed me with her eyes. I am not
afraid."
"The fair Helene makes men suffer to make up for the wrong Black George
did her. For years she has not been seen at Rougemont. Last night when
you described her, I was afraid. My lord," de Lacy turned to me, "send
your friend away. If she only looked at him and smiled, there is a grave
and deadly danger for him, more deadly because it may be unexplainable.
Men upon whom the fair Helene has smiled have met strange deaths."
As Wrexler looked up at the portrait, an inward light illumined his
countenance. "I am not afraid," he repeated.
"There are many deaths. There is the death of the spirit as well as that
of the body. I beg you to go while there is time, friend of my lord."
There was real feeling in de Lacy's voice.
I too felt afraid for Wrexler. The strange, unworldly feeling he had
always had, the pulling toward something he knew not what, made me
doubly fearful. Had the fair Helene been calling him all this time,
across the world? For myself I had no fear. She had kissed me, and
besides, even death at her hands would have been preferable to never
seeing her again. In these last few minutes I had realized that I too
was in love with Helene, that I could hardly wait for the night, in
hopes that she might visit me again.
Resolutely I put my own feelings in the background, for at the moment
Wrexler was of paramount importance. If there was anything in de Lacy's
story--and from my own experience I was sure there was--Wrexler was in
danger. I turned to him. "If anything happened to you, I could never
forgive myself. Perhaps you'd better go. I could arrange a trip for you,
and later--meet you."
Somehow de Lacy seemed one of us. I had no hesitancy in speaking before
him. He seemed a part of my new life. With the strange suddenness that
comes on rare occasions, we were already friends.
Wrexler looked at me, then back at the portrait. Helene d'Harcourt, her
red hair gleaming, smiled down upon us. Before he spoke, I knew what he
would say, because in his place I would have said the same, "Unless you
kick me out, I want to stay."
I put my hand on Wrexler's shoulder. "So be it. Come along, let's see
the library, then we'll know all of Rougemont. We've seen everything
else."
Wrenching his eyes away from the portrait, Wrexler followed us.
The library was beautiful, with paneled walls that had rows and rows of
books sunk in their depths. There was a long, oaken table, and on the
center of it stood a carved, gilded box, the casket which held my
father's letter. I wished then that I could read it at once. I wish now
that I could have, but perhaps it is better that I did not; at least
things moved as the fates ordained, and the responsibility for what
occurred was not mine.
* * * * *
The next three days were quiet, happy ones. Nothing occurred. I had no
ghostly visitant and Wrexler saw nothing of Helene. Under de Lacy's
expert guidance, we rode over the estate, hunted with falcons, a
pleasing sport which we both took to our hearts; mingled with my court,
found the people charming and highly cultivated. We took lessons in the
old dances, visited the manor houses. It was all very gay and amusing,
and I had no longing for the outside world. I did not even go down to
the lodge for news.
There were many details of the estate management that I had to go into
with de Lacy. We spent several hours each morning going over the affairs
of Rougemont. It was virtually a small kingdom, and everything was
referred to me.
Necessarily, the time I spent with de Lacy on such matters, Wrexler was
alone. He had changed a great deal since we had come to Rougemont. He
had come alive, and he threw himself into everything with a curious
intensity. He was like a person who has been very ill, who suddenly
finding himself better and fearing it is only temporary, clutches life
with both hands. He devoted long hours to reading the records of the
d'Harcourts, until he knew the family history as well as his own.
I did not mention Helene, although there was seldom a moment when she
was out of my thoughts. I found myself watching for her day and night,
and I caught the same tension in Wrexler's eyes as he searched the
shadows.
The third night she came again, not to me, but to Wrexler; and although
he was my friend, I almost hated him because he had seen her and I had
not. He told me next morning as we walked along the lake shore.
"Jim," he said suddenly, "I saw her last night. She came to my room. She
drew aside the curtains of the bed, and leaned over me. I can't describe
my sensations. It was almost as though life were suspended in
space--like a bridge over a timeless sea."
I had nothing to say. I knew so well how he felt.
"She leaned closer and closer to me," Wrexler went on; "then she smiled,
and before I could find my breath to speak, she was gone. This is the
second time she has smiled at me. I felt a nameless fear, as though
there was a threatening quality in those red lips. She looked at me as
though I might have been Black George himself."
In that moment, all my envy was swept away by anxiety for my friend.
Indeed, I wished she had kissed him, for then he would have been safe. I
started to speak, to beg Wrexler to leave Rougemont, but before the
words could leave my mouth, I saw her. She was standing in the path some
distance away, directly in line with my eyes, and she was shaking her
head impressively.
I knew instantly what she meant. I was not to send Wrexler away. He
could not see her, because at the moment he was facing me, his hand on
my arm. His fingers touching me were not quite steady. It brought me
back to reality. "Wrexler," I cried, "you--could leave Rougemont."
Her eyes clouded with anger. She looked at me reproachfully,
commandingly. As though I were dreaming, I heard my own voice, "I don't
want you to go, I would be lonely without you. Perhaps there is no
danger."
Wrexler looked at me curiously. "There is risk, I know that, but I do
not care, I am like a man who has eaten a strange and terrible drug, who
knows the danger, but can not resist it. I will stay."
Beyond him Helene smiled a satisfied smile, as she looked at Wrexler's
broad back. It made me feel afraid. Then suddenly her gaze swept to me,
and the smile changed into a languorous one that promised all things. My
heart beat faster, and I forgot my fear.
Wrexler moved restlessly, turning so that we were side by side. Even in
that second Helene had vanished--how, I do not know. One minute she was
there, the next she was not.
We walked along slowly. Finally Wrexler spoke. "No matter what happens,
and I mean that widely, my friend, you are not to regret. For a little
time I have been happy. I have come alive. I have loved, even though the
woman that I love is a wraith. I have felt a sensation I thought never
to feel. If I could hold her in my arms and press my lips to hers, I
would count the world well lost."
I could say nothing, because--God pity me!--I knew just how he felt.
* * * * *
The days slipped away quickly. I did not see Helene again, but Wrexler
did. Almost every day he met her in the rose garden, where they spent
long hours.
He told me that she was always elusive, but at the same time promising
that some day she would be kinder. He said her voice was like golden
honey and that without her he could not face life.
Once I saw them myself, as I came from an interview with de Lacy. As I
approached the rose garden through an opening in the arches, I saw them
sitting side by side on the marble bench, and of the two, Helene looked
the more earthly. For Wrexler had grown paler and more ethereal every
day. His eyes were luminous as he looked at her adoringly.
She saw me first, and her lips curved sweetly. She rose in a leisurely
fashion, turned her back to me and dropped a low curtsy to Wrexler; then
while I still watched, she extended one slender hand to him. He bent
over it, his lips touched its soft whiteness. A little laugh like the
tinkle of silver bells swept through the garden; then she was gone.
Wrexler stood like a man in a trance. I came quickly forward. "You are
playing with fire!" I cried.
Wrexler roused. "You saw?"
I nodded.
"Have you ever seen anything more beautiful, more lovely?"
I shook my head.
"I'm not afraid any more. She has promised me----"
But what Helene had promised I was not to know, for Wrexler's mouth shut
with a snap. When I pressed him, he shook his head. Finally he said,
carefully choosing his words with a reluctance that was strange to him:
"To me is to be granted something beyond the knowledge of mortal man. I
can tell you no more, but some day you will know." There was an
expression on his face that transcended earth.
The next night I spoke to de Lacy and told him my fears. Wrexler was
spending more and more time in the rose garden. I hardly saw him, and he
would not discuss anything with me. Even at the stately, elegantly
served meals, he barely spoke. He always seemed to be listening,
waiting.
De Lacy shared my fears, but he suggested nothing to help. "He has been
marked, my lord," he said gravely. "We can only pray. But even in
prayers there is no refuge, for Helene is beyond such things."
"Surely----" I began to remonstrate.
"The power of evil is as strong as the power of good, or at least there
is little between them. Helene herself is bound fast by hate of Black
George."
Curses live, I knew that--witness the lasting quality of the curses and
spells of the Egyptian priests. But Helene was not evil. I said as much.
De Lacy shook his head. "She is cut off from her lover. She does not
feel kindly toward men. Remember she promised vengeance century after
century, that day in the great hall."
That night in the silence of my chamber I called her name. "Helene!
Helene!" I flung my agonized summons into the night, but there was no
answer.
I went over in my mind the tales de Lacy had told me of the havoc she
had caused; how one man had cast himself down from the highest turret,
crying her name; how another had been found dead in the rose garden,
horror frozen on his face. There were still others who had looked upon
her, and death or madness came as the result.
The more I thought of these tales of terror, the more I feared for
Wrexler. At last I could stand no more. I thrust my arms into the rich
velvet robe that had taken the place of my bath gown, and went to
Wrexler's room. The guards stood back to let me pass.
* * * * *
I did not mean to wake him, but some inner foreboding made me feel I
must know that he was safe.
As I drew aside the curtains of his bed, I could not entirely stifle the
cry that came to my lips, for the bed was empty. But upon the pillow lay
a small, white rose. It was the kind they use in funeral wreaths in
France. My heart almost stopped beating.
The rose garden!--or perhaps the library. A more normal thought struck
me. Wrexler might have wanted to read. I rushed into the hall, to find
de Lacy waiting for me, summoned by the guards. He held a silver
candle-stick in which a tall, white candle burned.
"The library!" I gasped. That was nearest, we should try it first. De
Lacy knew my meaning. He had instantly grasped the situation and his
face was white and tense.
Together we descended the curving stairway. Together we reached the
library. Then, motioning de Lacy behind me, I swung open the door.
The room was brightly illuminated, although not one of the candles had
been lit. In the middle of it stood Wrexler, with Helene in his arms.
Their lips were close-locked.
It was a picture that an artist would have delighted to paint: the
stiff, crimson skirts of Helene d'Harcourt's gown stood wide on either
side, and Wrexler's blue doublet and hose against them was in bold
relief. His long over-sleeves edged with fur hung gracefully.
I could not speak. This mating of man with ghost was almost more than my
poor mortal brain could bear, yet with every atom of my being I wished
that I could have been in Wrexler's place. I remembered the one chaste
kiss I had had from her, and I almost fainted at the thought of
possessing those lips for my own, as Wrexler was doing. Strangely
enough, mingling with this emotion was another--a feeling of fear and
anxiety for my friend. Cold horror that froze my blood kept me rooted to
the spot.
Behind me de Lacy had fallen to his knees. I could hear him repeating
the Latin words of a prayer. All at once I saw where the light was
coming from. The entire north wall, ordinarily lined with books, had
gone. In its stead was a stone wall, and in the center of the wall was a
low-hung Gothic door, carved and ornate. It was standing open, and
beyond was a pale, luminous yellow mist. I could see nothing of what
else was beyond the door, for the yellow haze filled the entire space.
It was like a golden fog, and its radiance lighted the library with a
strange, unearthly glow. Its luminosity glowed upon Helene and Wrexler
like a spotlight.
For a moment I thought Rougemont, de Lacy, everything of the past weeks,
must have been a dream and that I was watching a cinema of past days.
All at once, before my astonished eyes Helene gently drew her lips away
from Wrexler's. She slipped from his arms and extended her hands to him.
"Come," I heard her say.
Wrexler had been right: her voice was like golden honey. It was like the
music of willow trees in early spring. Wrexler grasped her hands. For
the first time I saw his face. Joy transfigured it, such joy as I have
never seen before, and never shall see again.
Helene moved backward, slowly but surely, drawing him toward the little
Gothic door that stood open. With her soft lips half parted, she
whispered, "Come."
"Wrexler," I cried suddenly.
He did not hear me. As he looked into her eyes, he might have been a
bird charmed by a snake. Nothing could break through the spell that
bound him.
They were nearer the door. Each second brought them closer to it. Now
Helene was on the other side. The golden mist concentrated upon her,
until she looked like a goddess in its eery light.
"Wrexler! Wrexler!" The words tore through my throat.
Wrexler stepped over the threshold. Through the golden mist I saw him
clasp Helene in his arms again. I saw her smile triumphantly at me, as
she raised her lips to his. There was something in her eyes that filled
me with horror.
The mist swirled about them until I could barely discover the outlines
of their figures through its gleaming haze. Then the door swung slowly
shut.
I awoke to feverish activity. "Wrexler! Wrexler!" I shouted and rushed
forward to the door.
I grasped the iron ring that hung in its center. I pulled on it with all
my might. When I found that it resisted all my efforts I began beating
against the door itself. Presently I felt myself being pulled away.
"There is no use, my lord," de Lacy's voice was saying. "The door is
gone."
"Gone!" I ejaculated, and even as I spoke I saw what he meant. The north
wall of the library was lined with books as it always had been. I had
been beating upon them impotently.
I looked down at my hands; the knuckles were raw and bleeding, just as
they would have been from pounding on a heavily carved wooden door. De
Lacy caught my meaning. "The door was there, my lord. It was the lost
door--the door behind which Black George buried Helene d'Harcourt. It
had been lost for centuries."
I sank into a chair, weakly, for now the fact that I had lost Wrexler,
my friend, was paramount. "I will tear down the walls until I find it."
"That has been done, my lord, and it has never been found. It will never
be found again. Only for a brief moment you and I have been granted a
glimpse of something we can not understand."
"And Wrexler----" I groaned.
"He was happy," de Lacy comforted. "No matter what happened after, he
has had happiness such as I have never seen before."
My head pitched forward and I knew no more.
* * * * *
Three days later, I was escorted to the library by de Lacy, to whom
since Wrexler's loss I was more devoted than ever. With great ceremony I
was given the key to the gilded casket, then left alone.
Seated in the great chair before the oaken table, I unlocked the casket.
It contained many pages closely written in my father's hand. In them
were instructions as to my future conduct, my care of Rougemont, what he
had done and what he expected me to do. But the lines that interested me
most were these:
"_I bought Rougemont for your mother, shortly after your birth, because
when riding through this country, she saw and loved it. It was a
purchase that cost me dear. For Rougemont held a curse and an avenging
spirit in the form of a beautiful young girl who could not bear to see
others' happiness. So my wife died._
"_Two months after your mother's death, I first saw la belle Helene. We
fought a long battle, she and I, but I was strong, my son, because I
loved your mother. No other woman's charms could lure me to my doom.
Finally I made a bargain with a ghost._
"_She hated modern things and longed for Rougemont to be great again. I
promised to restore the château to its former splendor, to make it just
as it had been in her days, and in return she promised immunity to me,
and afterward to you, and to all my court when I should have established
it._
"_I restored Rougemont. I repeopled it. With her help and advice, I have
made it as it was in her own day._
"_She showed me the hidden treasure vaults of the d'Harcourts so that I
would have enough money to purchase the things she wanted._
"_She too has kept her bargain, for I and my court have lived happily
here unmolested. Only when an outsider came or someone disobeyed or
longed for the outside world, has she wreaked vengeance._
"_She has sworn to give you the kiss that promises immunity, the night
you come. Only, beware, my son, whom you bring here from the world you
know, and beware of the lovely Helene. Old man as I am, devoted to your
mother's memory as I am, she can still make my pulses leap._
"_Above all things, if she shows you the Lost Door, do not be tempted to
cross its threshold, for that way, unless you are the reincarnation of
the Englishman, annihilation lies._"
There was more, pages more, of other matters, but I left them for
another day. Alone there in the library, I let my eyes wander to where
the little Gothic door had been.
Had Wrexler been the Englishman come back to earth to claim his bride?
Could that account for the strange, unsatisfied longings he had always
had, his unearthly feelings, his unlikeness to other people? Or was he
Black George, lured back to Rougemont for Helene's vengeance? I hope for
his sake that was not the explanation; that he and Helene would find
bliss waiting for them behind the Lost Door and I would never see Helene
again.
The days pass. I do what my father set out for me to do. I keep his
bargain with the ghost of the fair Helene. I never leave Rougemont. I
have no desire to, for I am always hoping that some day I shall again
find the Lost Door.
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