Chapter VII

AN APPARITION IN THE OLD BANQUETING HALL.

The old housekeeper was then called, and came curtseying in, with her picturesque, old-fashioned Brussels lace cap and stomacher, and a brocaded petticoat which had formerly figured at the Court of Queen Charlotte, on one of the beauties of the family.

The old lady declared it was positively unsafe to venture into that old hall--no one had been there since she was quite a child, and, in fact, the doors had been built up, in order to prevent accidents.

“But I saw a lock on the one near the window, which I am sure leads into what you call the dead-room,” said Carlo, “and I think you have got the key.”

The old lady looked perplexed, and seemed at a loss what to say; whereupon the roguish Carlo, suspecting that she had some reason for not wishing them to go there, determined all the more to carry his point, and partly by persuasion, and partly by the force of will, he succeeded in making her go and look for the key. After some minutes she returned, with a ponderous rusty key.

“They do say it was formerly the chapel,” she said, “and Baron Hugh--the one over the door there--turned it into a hall after the Reformation; but, a-lack-a-day! it did not reform him, for he died in dreamland-tremens, and, as the young Count used to say, ‘it did take tree men to carry him to bed o’ nights.’ However, he died in his chair at the feast under the gallery, before he’d time to say a word, good or bad, and he left the property so encumbered that the fine old chapel hall, as we calls it, was left to go to ruin.”

“Then it was never used as a banqueting-hall, except in Baron Hugh’s time?”

“Never; and sure no luck would come of it after that; and so, thank God, none of the family ever tried the trick again.”

“But we want to give a ball there,” said Cunigunda.

“Oh! lack-a-day, my lady, don’t ever think of such a thing! Sure there’s the blue drawing-room, where I’ve seen many a fine dance, and was considered even good enough for Royalty--for our good Queen Charlotte, and the gracious King George, and the four fine young princesses danced there. Well I mind them, bless their fair faces! They came here ofttimes from Weyford.”

“Well, we will go through the blue drawing-room, but we must see the banqueting-room,” said Cunigunda, who, by the old housekeeper’s opposition, was made more anxious to see it.

The blue drawing-room was--like most of the old-fashioned _with_-drawing-rooms--upstairs, and beyond it, on a little higher level, was the library. At the further end of this long room there was a raised gallery, which was approached by a broad flight of stone steps, and in the centre of the gallery there was a high Gothic door, surrounded with a beautifully-carved stone arch.

“This here door,” said the old housekeeper, pointing to the massive oak panels, studded with large iron nails, “was said to have belonged to the cloisters which went round the ancient chapel; and here, ladies and gentlemen,” she said, with an air of triumph, as she swung open the massive door, which ground on its rusty hinges with a most lugubrious moan, “this is the dead-room.”

At the same moment a blast of cold and deadly damp wind blew in, and almost extinguished the candles. Some of the ladies screamed, and declared they would go no further; but Carlo and Cunigunda resolved to proceed, and were followed by one or two gentlemen.

The time-stained walls of the dead-room were supported on arches, and the lofty, pointed roof was of black oak. The stone floor was uneven and damp, and, seen by the flickering light of a few candles, it had a most lugubrious look.

“Now, quick, open the door of the banqueting-room,” said Cunigunda, who was gradually becoming somewhat frightened at the death-like smell and gloomy horror of the place.

The housekeeper applied her rusty key, but could not succeed in turning the lock; nor could the united efforts of Carlo and the other gentlemen produce any effect.

“Send for the men-servants, and send for the carpenter,” said Cunigunda.

Two of the gentlemen obeyed the imperious lady’s request, while she motioned to Carlo to remain with her and the housekeeper, and he continued to work at the lock. In a few seconds, just as the footsteps of the other gentlemen ceased to be heard in the distant apartments, the lock turned, and they entered the vast hall. The few candles they had did not throw any light on the lofty roof, but a faint light shone on the gallery at the farther end, which seemed to project far from the wall.

“See how beautifully carved that gallery is!” said Carlo, and he advanced with his two candles, and held them up aloft, while he looked back at Cunigunda. “Was I not right, and would not this make a splendid ball-room? But what is the matter?--what have you seen up there?” he inquired, as he saw Cunigunda turn deadly pale; then she gave a piercing shriek, as she fell backwards on the floor.

“Alack-a-day! deary me!--whatever has happened?” exclaimed the old housekeeper, as she put down her candles, and tried to lift up her fainting lady.

Carlo looked up with great curiosity towards the spot on the high gallery towards which Cunigunda’s eyes had been directed, but nothing save the black darkness was visible.

“What could it have been?--what did you see?” he eagerly inquired.

“No doubt it was the Baron Hugh’s ghost,” whispered Mrs. Lacy, “as it is said to haunt the place o’ nights, and strange lights have been seen up in the windows, and, deary me! I said all I could to stop her ladyship and the quality from coming here. Come, dear lady, let us get you out of this,” she added, as they half lifted the still pale and trembling Cunigunda out of the banqueting-room, and crossing the dead-room as quickly as possible, did not stop till they laid her on a sofa in the library. Her maid was then sent for, and sal-volatile and other restoratives applied. But she was evidently much shaken by the strange fright, of the cause of which she would give no explanation; and Count Rossi hoped that she had given up all idea of having a ball in the old hall, for since he had heard it was formerly a chapel, he strongly disapproved of its being still further desecrated.

But, to his infinite disappointment, the next morning she laughed at her fears, said it must have been a large white bat or owl she saw up in the gallery, and expressed her determination to send for workmen and have the room properly restored and decorated; for, she added, she was resolved to give a masqued ball and astonish the neighbours with the magnificence of the scene.