Chapter XXII: The Ghost Appears at the Ball

In the meantime Lady Selina Bugginfield came up, and endeavoured to draw me into conversation; but Aunt Jane, whose quick eyes discerned her look of curiosity, said in a gruff voice,

“Come, you promised to show me the tapestry-room.” And by a rapid movement she contrived to get me into another part of the room, and interposed the barrier of the quadrilles between us and Lady Selina. Then a waltz began, and presently we saw Cunigunda, in her own sylph-like attire, while triumphant joy beamed on her radiant countenance, begin the waltz with Carlo.

All eyes seemed to be fixed on this pair; and no wonder, for such a wonderfully handsome couple could scarcely ever have been before seen. To many of the spectators it was the first time they had seen this pair (about whom so many reports were in circulation) dance together; and even the other couples who were ready to begin, paused to gaze on them before they joined the dance.

Twice round the large circle they flew, when suddenly Cunigunda uttered a piercing shriek, and seemed to fall forwards and hide her eyes on Carlo’s shoulder. At the same moment a kind of wail was heard, which seemed to proceed from a voice high up in the old carved gallery.

I heard it plainly, and immediately looked up, for I had seen on Cunigunda’s face, when she uttered the shriek, a look of horror directed up to that spot; then I saw a pale lovely form disappearing in the shadowy dimness behind the carved projection of the gallery. The figure was clothed in a kind of white drapery, which waved behind her as she retreated; and I turned towards the crowd of lookers-on, wondering if others had seen the strange apparition.

Cunigunda had now raised her head and looked up to the gallery, and seeing that the figure had disappeared, she seemed to make a wild determination to proceed with the waltz--when, to my unutterable astonishment and horror, the next moment the floor beneath them seemed to give way, and with a tottering struggle and shrieks for help, she and Carlo disappeared with a crash into an opening beneath.

“Save them! save them!” I cried, and we ran to the spot where they had disappeared, and whence shrieks still proceeded, but nothing but black darkness could be seen!

A whole medallion of the floor had given way, and rested tipped up cornerways, disclosing, in the stone floor beneath on which the parquet rested, an open trap-door, with a flight of steep and narrow stone steps leading to a vault beneath. Horror and helpless dismay were on every one’s face, but no one seemed capable of doing anything except Aunt Jane, who rushed to the end of the room and brought a candle, when it occurred to others to do the same; and on lowering them down into the open space, the glitter of Cunigunda’s silver dress was seen far below, while cries of agony continued to be heard.

“A ladder! bring a ladder!” cried Aunt Jane, “and send for the Count. Go,” she said to me, “go and send him, for he is certainly not in this hall.”

I therefore ran into the other rooms, giving the alarm as I went to all whom I met, imploring them to get a ladder and send for the housekeeper, Mrs. Lacy, as it occurred to me she might know something about this most mysterious trap-door.

At last I found the Count, who was in the entrance-hall, assisting some ladies to get their cloaks, who were beginning to leave the ball.

“Come,” I said, “quick; the Countess has fallen through a trap-door, and--.” Without waiting to hear more he ran to the ball-room, while I soon succeeded in finding Mrs. Lacy, and hastened to bring her to the spot. But she could give no explanation of the mysterious opening, nor where the steps beneath it were likely to lead.

“Perhaps it’s the old opening into the smuggler’s lurking holes,” she muttered. “I knew no good could come of making a ball-room of that old chapel--a place, too, I heard tell the smugglers used in ancient times.”

We found that a ladder had been procured, and that Aunt Jane and one or two others who had thrown off their masks and dominoes, had been the first to climb down with a light.

“They are still living,” she exclaimed, “but how they are to be got up this narrow space I cannot imagine--does no one know where that staircase leads?”

I looked round for the Count, who, when I came up, had been tearing off from their fastenings some of the gilded ropes which divided the dances, and endeavouring with shawls to make a padded support, by which the poor sufferers could be hoisted up.

He was standing just behind, and as I turned to repeat to him Aunt Jane’s inquiry, as to where the passage led, I saw that he was deadly white, and gazing fixedly up into the oak gallery.

Following the direction of his eyes, I again distinctly saw the white figure. She seemed to be looking down at the scene below with a frightened and horror-struck expression, and as light fell clearly on her, I saw that it was the living image of the lady in Vandyck’s picture.

“Look!--look there!” I said, pulling Mrs. Lacy’s arm. “What is that? The Count sees it too.”

But before the stately dame could turn round to look, the figure had vanished.

“Pooh, nonsense, Miss!--when things like this happen, everybody is off their heads. That must be the crypt where her poor ladyship is buried alive, and----”

I think the Count heard her words, for he passed his hand across his forehead, as if to brush away some terrible recollection, and heaving a gasping sigh, he seized the ropes which he had collected, and descended with them to the abyss.

By this time all the servants had come to the place, and among them Cattarina Diabelli, who evinced the greatest anxiety for the fate of her mistress. She, too, went down, and found that their efforts had been unsuccessful to raise the bodies, and that by reason of the narrow space they could not get them up.

Aunt Jane called out that there was a door which seemed to lead out of the narrow space, if it could be opened on the other side.

On hearing this, Cattarina struck her forehead, and exclaimed,

“Ah, capisco, lo cercherò!” and rushing madly through the crowd, she hastened out of the room, when she called out,

“Mr. Naylor, Joe Naylor--find me dat man, for he can save my lady’s life! Send Joe Naylor, he is one deaf man in de stables.”

The rumour had probably reached the stables by this time, and even the deaf ear of Joe Naylor.

His first impulse was to run away, but when he heard that Mrs. Catering Devilry was calling for him, he thought better of it, and resolved to see her. So he came into the hall, and she took him into one of the cloak-rooms, where no one was left--everyone having hastened back into the ball-room.

A short conversation ensued, and the result was that he called for four strong stable boys, and getting lanterns, he ordered them to climb after him up the side of the hill.

A doctor, who happened to be among the maskers, volunteered to attempt this path, in order to reach the way leading to the secret door in the vaults, and thus extricate the unfortunate pair from their most painful situation.

Poor Carlo seemed to absorb my whole thoughts, as I continued to stand on the brink of the horrible opening, breathlessly awaiting the confirmation of my fears as to whether he was really killed by the fall. I called down to Aunt Jane that Cattarina seemed to hope the other door beneath could be soon opened.

“I hope so, for they are crushed up in the narrow space at the bottom. I could not reach them, and I only hope they will live to be extricated.”

So she climbed up the ladder again, and we stood in horrible suspense, listening intently to the moans of agony which rose now and then from the depths below.

“I think she is alive, but I fear the Count is killed. He has uttered no cry. As far as I could see, his eyes were closed, and he did not seem to move.”

Poor Carlo! to be doomed thus to die, just as some good instincts seemed awakening in his mind, I thought; and, of course, his awful danger revived a hundredfold the newly-awakening interest I felt in his fate. Poor Carlo! oh! if he could but survive, perhaps the pain, the escape might serve to revive the good qualities he possessed in former days--in early youth.

It seemed hours that we stood there listening to the plaintive moans, and now and then a sharper shriek of agony, which I knew proceeded from poor Cunigunda. But I heard no sound that resembled Carlo’s sweet and melodious, and formerly deeply-loved voice.

Many persons had quitted the room, probably to obtain some news from the Count, who had accompanied the party that went outside the hill. At last we heard a dull sound down below. The lights were again lowered, and we could see a small door just behind Carlo’s head gradually opening.

“Take care, gently!” called out Aunt Jane. “Do not let him fall back too suddenly. There, lift him gently up. I can be of use, now that the opening of the door is accomplished.”

She climbed down, and helped to lift the mangled bodies through the door into a kind of winding staircase, down which they were carried till they reached the vast open space forming the crypts beneath the old chapel.

The doctor then examined the wounds of the sufferers, and declared it would be impossible to carry them out by the way by which the party came up, for they had been obliged to climb down the narrow mossy path, along the perpendicular rocks which I described in a preceding chapter. He added that, if the old door which he showed us, and which had been built up, could be broken open, it would probably lead at once into the flat green in the centre of the walls of the old Castle.

So labourers were sent for, and the doctor proceeded with the examination of the sufferers’ wounds, while the men broke open the ancient doorway. It may be imagined that I soon followed Aunt Jane down the ladder, and went with the others into the crypt. I could not help feeling Carlo’s heart, to see if it still beat, and fancied I felt a slight movement.

“He _is_ alive,” I said to the doctor.

“I hope so, miss, but I fear the brain has received a most severe contusion. He has a deep wound on the side of his head. If he recovers, it will be a most tedious affair, and--I fear for the mind.”

Cunigunda had now ceased to moan, and we all thought she was dead; but Dr. Johnson declared that she had fainted from pain, as her shoulder was dislocated and leg broken, and also a severe wound in her forehead. These, and other injuries, must have caused the greatest agony, and Dr. Johnson much feared that she could not long survive.