A moment of madness, and other stories (vol. 2 of 3)Marryat, Florence
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A moment of madness, and other stories (vol. 2 of 3)
Marryat, Florence
English fiction -- 19th century; Short stories, English
‘My blood seemed to curdle in my veins. I could not stir until it was
gone. I heard it leave the room distinctly, although the door was never
opened, and walk upon the landing as though to go downstairs. I was still
sitting up in bed listening—listening—only waiting till the dreadful
thing had quite gone away, to seek your presence, when I heard a heavy
step clumping downstairs, then the report of a gun. I don’t know _what_ I
thought. I remember nothing that followed; but I suppose I jumped out of
bed with the intention of finding you, and fainted before I could reach
the dressing-room. Oh, Arthur! what was it? What is it that haunts this
house, and makes even the sunshine look as gloomy as night? Oh, take us
away from it, or I am sure that something terrible will happen!’
‘I _will_ take you away from it, my dear. We will none of us sleep
another night beneath its roof. What curse hangs over it, I cannot tell;
but whether the strange sounds we have heard proceed from natural or
supernatural causes, they alike render Rushmere no home for us. We will
go to the hotel at —— this very day, Janie, and deliver up the keys of
Rushmere again to Messrs Quibble & Lye.’
I then related to her my own experience, and that of Dawson; and though
she trembled a little whilst listening to me, the idea of leaving the
place before nightfall rendered the heavy fear less alarming than it
would otherwise have been.
The servants, upon learning the resolution we had arrived at, were only
too ready to help us to carry it out. Our personal possessions were
packed in an incredibly short time, and we sat down that evening to a
comfortable family dinner in the good old-fashioned inn at ——. As soon as
the meal was concluded, and the children sent to bed, I said to my wife,—
‘Janie, I am going to ring for the landlord, to see if he can throw any
light on the cause of our experiences. I never told you that, when we
came to this inn to try for a nurse to supply Mary’s place, he informed
me that nobody from his countryside would live at Rushmere; and asked me,
in a manner which assured me he could have said more if he had chosen, if
we had not heard anything whilst there. I laughed at the question then,
but I do not feel so disposed to laugh at it now; and I am going to beg
him to tell me all he may know. If nothing more, his story may form the
stratum of a curious psychological study. Would you like to be present at
our interview?’
‘Oh yes, Arthur; I have quite recovered my nerves since I’ve lost sight
of Rushmere, and I feel even curious to learn all I can upon the subject.
That poor, sobbing voice that whispered “Emily”—I shall not forget its
sound to my dying day.’
‘Ring the bell, dear, and let us ask if the landlord is at leisure. To my
mind, your experience of the details of this little tragedy appears the
most interesting of all.’
The landlord, a Mr Browser, entered at once; and as soon as he heard my
request, made himself completely at home with us.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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