Country life -- Fiction; Vicars, Parochial -- England -- Fiction
the world just as it blows this night, only it was snow in its mouth,
and not rain. Carriage and horses and all would have been blown off the
road for certain. It did blow, to be sure! After dinner was over and
the ladies were gone to the drawing-room, and the gentlemen had been
sitting over their wine for some time, the butler, William Weir—an
honest man, whose wife lived at the lodge—came to my room looking
scared. “Lawks, William!” says I,’ said my aunt, sir, ‘“whatever is the
matter with you?”—“Well, Mrs Prendergast!” says he, and said no more.
“Lawks, William,” says I, “speak out.”—“Well,” says he, “Mrs
Prendergast, it’s a strange wedding, it is! There’s the ladies all
alone in the withdrawing-room, and there’s the gentlemen calling for
more wine, and cursing and swearing that it’s awful to hear. It’s my
belief that swords will be drawn afore long.”—“Tut!” says I, “William,
it will come the sooner if you don’t give them what they want. Go and
get it as fast as you can.”—“I don’t a’most like goin’ down them stairs
alone, in sich a night, ma’am,” says he. “Would you mind coming with
me?”—“Dear me, William,” says I, “a pretty story to tell your wife”—she
was my own half-sister, and younger than me—“a pretty story to tell
your wife, that you wanted an old body like me to go and take care of
you in your own cellar,” says I. “But I’ll go with you, if you like;
for, to tell the truth, it’s a terrible night.” And so down we went,
and brought up six bottles more of the best port. And I really didn’t
wonder, when I was down there, and heard the dull roar of the wind
against the rock below, that William didn’t much like to go alone.—When
he went back with the wine, the captain said, “William, what kept you
so long? Mr Centlivre says that you were afraid to go down into the
cellar.” Now, wasn’t that odd, for it was a real fact? Before William
could reply, Sir Giles said, “A man might well be afraid to go anywhere
alone in a night like this.” Whereupon the captain cried, with an oath,
that he would go down the underground stair, and into every vault on
the way, for the wager of a guinea. And there the matter, according to
William, dropped, for the fresh wine was put on the table. But after
they had drunk the most of it—the captain, according to William,
drinking less than usual—it was brought up again, he couldn’t tell by
which of them. And in five minutes after, they were all at my door,
demanding the key of the room at the top of the stair. I was just going
up to see poor Emily when I heard the noise of their unsteady feet
coming along the passage to my door; and I gave the captain the key at
once, wishing with all my heart he might get a good fright for his
pains. He took a jug with him, too, to bring some water up from the
well, as a proof he had been down. The rest of the gentlemen went with
him into the little cellar-room; but they wouldn’t stop there till he
came up again, they said it was so cold. They all came into my room,
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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