A moment of madness, and other stories (vol. 3 of 3)Marryat, Florence
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A moment of madness, and other stories (vol. 3 of 3)
Marryat, Florence
English fiction -- 19th century; Short stories, English
Meanwhile, the sounds overhead had increased in number and become
continuous, as though some one had commenced to walk up and down the
room. Surely no midnight thief would dare to create so much disturbance
as that! Detection of his crime would be inevitable. Or did he trust
to the sound sleep of the porter and his wife in the kitchen below,
not knowing that I, existent and wakeful, intervened between himself
and them? In another minute I believe that I should have cast all
consequences to the winds, and rushed, not _in_, but _up_ to the
rescue, forgetting I was a husband and a father, and armed with Jones’
patent self-acting leveller, alone have ascended to the upper story
to investigate the cause of the midnight disturbance I heard. Only—_I
didn’t!_ For before I had had time to shoulder my weapons and screw my
courage up to the sticking-point, another sound reached my ears that made
the patent levellers drop on the table again with a thump,—the sound,
not of a step, but a groan—a deep, hollow, unmistakable groan, that
chilled the marrow in my bones to such a degree that it would have been a
disgrace to any cook to send them up to table.
I knew then that I must have been mistaken in my first theory, and that
the sounds I overheard, whether they proceeded from mortals or not, had
no connection with the nefarious occupation of housebreakers. But they
had become a thousand times more interesting, and I listened attentively.
The groan was followed by some muttered words that sounded like a curse,
succeeded by louder tones of reproach or anger. Then the footsteps
traversed the floor again, and seemed to be chasing someone or something
round and round the room. At last I heard another groan, followed by a
heavy fall.
I started to my feet. Surely Mr and Mrs Bizzey must have been roused by
such an unusual commotion, and would come upstairs to learn the reason!
But no!—they did not stir. All was silent as the grave below, and above
also. The noises had suddenly ceased. I appeared to be alone in the empty
house. It was all so strange that I put my hands up to my head and asked
myself if I were properly awake. I was hardly satisfied on this point
before the sounds recommenced overhead, and precisely in the same order
as before. Again I listened to the pacing feet—the groan—the curse—the
chase—the fall! Each phase of the ghostly tragedy—for such I now felt
sure it must be—was repeated in rotation, not once, but a couple of dozen
or more times; and then at last the disturbance ceased as suddenly and as
unexpectedly as it had commenced.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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