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House of Whispers

<h3 id="id00614" style="margin-top: 3em">CHAPTER XII</h3> <h5 id="id00615">EXPLAINS SOME CURIOUS FACTS</h5> Gabrielle was silent for a moment. No doubt Stewart meant what he said; he was not endeavouring to alarm her unduly, but thoroughly believed in supernatural agencies. "I suppose you've already examined the ruins thoroughly, eh?" she asked at last. "Examined them?" echoed the gray-bearded man. "I should think sae, aifter forty-odd years here. Why, as a laddie I used to play there ilka day, an' ha'e been in ilka neuk an' cranny." "Nevertheless, come up now with me," she said. "I want to explain to you exactly where and how I heard the voices." "The Whispers are an uncanny thing," said the keeper, with his broad accent. "I dinna like them, miss; I dinna like tae hear what ye tell me ava." "Oh, don't worry about me, Stewart," she laughed. "I'm not afraid of any omen. I only mean to fathom the mystery, and I want your assistance in doing so. But, of course, you'll say no word to a soul. Remember that." "If it be yer wush, Miss Gabrielle, I'll say naething," he promised. And together they descended the steep grass-slope and overgrown foundations of the castle until they stood in the old courtyard, close to the ancient justice-tree, the exact spot where the girl had stood on the previous night. "I could hear plainly as I stood just here," she said. "The sound of voices seemed to come from that wall there"; and she pointed to the gray flint wall, half-overgrown with ivy, about six yards away. Stewart made no remark. It was not the first occasion on which he had examined that place in an attempt to solve the mystery of the nocturnal whisperings. He walked across to the wall, tapping it with his hand, while the faithful spaniel began sniffing in expectancy of something to bolt. "There's naething here, miss—absolutely naething," he declared, as they both examined the wall minutely. Its depth did not admit of any chamber, for it was an inner wall; and, according to the gamekeeper's statement, he had already tested it years ago, and found it solid masonry. "If I went forward or backward, then the sounds were lost to me," Gabrielle explained, much puzzled. "Ay. That's juist what they a' said," remarked the keeper, with an apprehensive look upon his face. "The Whispers are only h'ard at ae spot, whaur ye've juist stood. I've seen the lady a' in green masel', miss—aince when I was a laddie, an' again aboot ten year syne." "You mean, Stewart, that you imagined that you saw an apparition. You were alone, I suppose?" "Yes, miss, I was alane." "Well, you thought you saw the Lady of Glencardine. Where was she?" "On the drive, in front o' the hoose." "Perhaps somebody played a practical joke on you. The Green Lady is Glencardine's favourite spectre, isn't she—perfectly harmless, I mean?" "Ay, miss. Lots o' folk saw her ten year syne. But nooadays she seems to ha'e been laid. Somebody said they saw her last Glesca holidays, but I dinna believe 't." "Neither do I, Stewart. But don't let's trouble about the unfortunate lady, who ought to have been at rest long ago. It's those weird whisperings I mean to investigate." And she looked blankly around her at the great, cyclopean walls and high, weather-beaten towers, gaunt yet picturesque in the morning sunshine. The keeper shook his shaggy head. "I'm afear'd, Miss Gabrielle, that ye'll ne'er solve the mystery. There's somethin' sae fatal aboot the whisperin's," he said, speaking in his pleasant Highland tongue, "that naebody cares tae attempt the investigation. They div say that the Whispers are the voice o' the De'il himsel'." The girl, in her short blue serge skirt, white cotton blouse, and blue tam-o'-shanter, laughed at the man's dread. There must be a distinct cause for this noise she had heard, she argued. Yet, though they both spent half-an-hour wandering among the ruins, standing in the roofless banqueting hall, and traversing stone corridors and lichen-covered, moss-grown, ruined chambers choked with weeds, their efforts to obtain any clue were all in vain. To Gabrielle it was quite evident that the old keeper regarded the incident of the previous night as a fatal omen, for he was most solicitous of her welfare. He went so far as to crave permission to go to Sir Henry and put the whole of the mysterious facts before him. But she would not hear of it. She meant to solve the mystery herself. If her father learnt of the affair, and of the ill-omen connected with it, the matter would surely cause him great uneasiness. Why should he be worried on her account? No, she would never allow it, and told Stewart plainly of her disapproval of such a course. "But, tell me," she asked at last, as returning to the courtyard, they stood together at the spot where she had stood in that moonlit hour and heard with her own ears those weird, mysterious voices coming from nowhere—"tell me, Stewart, is there any legend connected with the Whispers? Have you ever heard any story concerning their origin?" "Of coorse, miss. Through all Perthshire it's weel kent," replied the man slowly, not, it seemed, without considerable reluctance. "What is h'ard by those doomed tae daith is the conspiracy o' Charles Lord Glencardine an' the Earl o' Kintyre for the murder o' the infamous Cardinal Setoun o' St. Andrews, wha, as I dare say ye ken fra history, miss, was assassinated here, on this very spot whaur we stan'. The Earl o' Kintyre, thegither wi' Lord Glencardine, his dochter Mary, an' ane o' the M'Intyres o' Talnetry, an' Wemyss o' Strathblane, were a year later tried by a commission issued under the name o' Mary Queen o' Scots; but sae popular was the murder o' the Cardinal that the accused were acquitted." "Yes," exclaimed the girl, "I remember reading something about it in Scottish history. And the Whispers are, I suppose, said to be the ghostly conspirators in conclave." "That's what folk say, miss. They div say as weel that Auld Nick himsel' was present, an' gied the decision that the Cardinal, wha was to be askit ower frae Stirlin', should dee. It is his evil counsel that is h'ard by those whom death will quickly overtake." "Really, Stewart," she laughed, "you make me feel quite uncomfortable." "But, miss, Sir Henry already kens a' aboot the Whispers," said the man. "I h'ard him tellin' a young gentleman wha cam' doon last shootin' season a guid dale aboot it. They veesited the auld castle thegither, an' I happened tae be hereaboots." This caused the girl to resolve to learn from her father what she could. He was an antiquary, and had the history of Glencardine at his finger-ends. So presently she strolled back to Stewart's cottage, and after receiving from the faithful servant urgent injunctions to "have a care" of herself, she walked on to the tennis-lawn, where, shaded by the high trees, Lady Heyburn, in white serge, and three of her male guests were playing. "Father," she said that same evening, when they had settled down to commence work upon those ever-arriving documents from Paris, "what was the cause of Glencardine becoming a ruin?" "Well, the reason of its downfall was Lord Glencardine's change of front," he answered. "In 1638 he became a stalwart supporter of Episcopacy and Divine Right, a course which proved equally fatal to himself and to his ancient Castle of Glencardine. Reid, in his Annals of Auchterarder, relates how, after the Civil War, Lord Dundrennan, in company with his cousin, George Lochan of Ochiltree, and burgess of Auchterarder and the Laird of M'Nab, descended into Strathearn and occupied the castle with about fifty men. He hurriedly put it into a state of defence. General Overton besieged the place in person, with his army, consisting of eighteen hundred foot and eleven hundred horse, and battered the walls with cannon, having brought a number of great ordnance from Stirling Castle. For ten days the castle was held by the small but resolute garrison, and might have held out longer had not the well failed. With the prospect of death before them in the event of the place being taken, Dundrennan and Lochan contrived to break through the enemy, who surrounded the castle on all sides. A page of the name of John Hamilton, in attendance upon Lord Dundrennan, well acquainted with the localities of Glencardine, undertook to be their guide. When the moon was down, Dundrennan and Lochan issued from the castle by a small postern, where they found Hamilton waiting for them with three horses. They mounted, and, passing quietly through the enemy's force, they escaped, and reached Lord Glencardine in safety to the north. On the morning after their escape the castle was surrendered, and thirty-five of the garrison were sent to the Tolbooth of Edinburgh. General Overton ordered the remaining twelve of those who had surrendered to be shot at a post, and the castle to be burned, which was accordingly done." "The country-folk in the neighbourhood are full of strange stories about ghostly whisperings being heard in the castle ruins," she remarked. Her father started, and raising his expressionless face to hers, asked in almost a snappish tone, "Well, and who has heard them now, pray?" "Several people, I believe." "And they're gossiping as usual, eh?" he remarked in a hard, dry tone. "Up here in the Highlands they are ridiculously superstitious. Who's been telling you about the Whispers, child?" "Oh, I've learnt of them from several people," she replied evasively. "Mysterious voices were heard, they say, last night, and for several nights previously. It's also a local tradition that all those who hear the whispered warning die within forty days." "Bosh, my dear! utter rubbish!" the old man laughed. "Who's been trying to frighten you?" "Nobody, dad. I merely tell you what the country people say." "Yes," he remarked, "I know. The story is a gruesome one, and in the Highlands a story is not attractive unless it has some fatality in it. Up here the belief in demonology and witchcraft has died very hard. Get down Penny's Traditions of Perth—first shelf to the left beyond the second window, right-hand corner. It will explain to you how very superstitious the people have ever been." "I know all that, dad," persisted the girl; "but I'm interested in this extraordinary story of the Whispers. You, as an antiquary, have, no doubt, investigated all the legendary lore connected with Glencardine. The people declare that the Whispers are heard, and, I am told, believe some extraordinary theory regarding them." "A theory!" he exclaimed quickly. "What theory? What has been discovered?" "Nothing, as far as I know." "No, and nothing ever will be discovered," he said. "Why not, dad?" she asked. "Do you deny that strange noises are heard there when there is so much evidence in the affirmative?" "I really don't know, my dear. I've never had the pleasure of hearing them myself, though I've been told of them ever since I bought the place." "But there is a legend which is supposed to account for them, is there not, dad? Do tell me what you know," she urged. "I'm so very much interested in the old place and its bygone history." "The less you know concerning the Whispers the better, my dear," he replied abruptly. Her father's ominous words surprised her. Did he, too, believe in the fatal omen, though he was trying to mislead her and poke fun at the local superstition? "But why shouldn't I know?" she protested. "This is the first time, dad, that you've tried to withhold from me any antiquarian knowledge that you possess. Besides, the story of Glencardine and its lords is intensely fascinating to me." "So might be the Whispers, if ever you had the misfortune to hear them." "Misfortune!" she gasped, turning pale. "Why do you say misfortune?" But he laughed a strange, hollow laugh, and, endeavouring to turn his seriousness into humour, said, "Well, they might give you a turn, perhaps. They would make me start, I feel sure. From what I've been told, they seem to come from nowhere. It is practically an unseen spectre who has the rather unusual gift of speech." It was on the tip of her tongue to explain how, on the previous night, she had actually listened to the Whispers. But she refrained. She recognised that, though he would not admit it, he was nevertheless superstitious of ill results following the hearing of those weird whisperings. So she made eager pretence of wishing to know the historical facts of the incident referred to by the gamekeeper. "No," exclaimed the blind man softly but firmly, taking her hand and stroking her arm tenderly, as was his habit when he wished to persuade her. "No, Gabrielle dear," he said; "we will change the subject now. Do not bother your head about absurd country legends of that sort. There are so many concerning Glencardine and its lords that a whole volume might be filled with them." "But I want to know all about this particular one, dad," she said. "From me you will never know, my dear," was his answer, as his gray, serious face was upturned to hers. "You have never heard the Whispers, and I sincerely hope that you never will." <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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