Chapter 7
The Stapletons of Merripit House
The fresh beauty of the following morning did something to efface from our minds the grim and gray impression which had been left upon both of us by our first experience of Baskerville Hall. As Lady Henrietta and I sat at breakfast the sunlight flooded in through the high mullioned windows, throwing watery patches of colour from the coats of arms which covered them. The dark panelling glowed like bronze in the golden rays, and it was hard to realize that this was indeed the chamber which had struck such a gloom into our souls upon the evening before.
'I guess it is ourselves and not the house that we have to blame!' said the baronet. 'We were tired with our journey and chilled by our drive, so we took a gray view of the place. Now we are fresh and well, so it is all cheerful once more.'
'And yet it was not entirely a question of imagination,' I answered. 'Did you, for example, happen to hear someone, a man I think, sobbing in the night?'
'That is curious, for I did when I was half asleep fancy that I heard something of the sort. I waited quite a time, but there was no more of it, so I concluded that it was all a dream.'
'I heard it distinctly, and I am sure that it was really the sob of a man.'
'We must ask about this right away.' She rang the bell and asked Barrymore whether she could account for our experience. It seemed to me that the pallid features of the butler turned a shade paler still as she listened to her mistress' question.
'There are only two men in the house, Lady Henrietta,' she answered. 'One is the scullery-maid, who sleeps in the other wing. The other is my husband, and I can answer for it that the sound could not have come from him.'
And yet she lied as she said it, for it chanced that after breakfast I met Barrymore in the long corridor with the sun full upon his face. He was a large, impassive, heavy-featured man with a stern set expression of mouth. But his tell-tale eyes were red and glanced at me from between swollen lids. It was he, then, who wept in the night, and if he did so his wife must know it. Yet she had taken the obvious risk of discovery in declaring that it was not so. Why had she done this? And why did he weep so bitterly? Already round this pale-faced, handsome, black-maned woman there was gathering an atmosphere of mystery and of gloom. It was she who had been the first to discover the body of Lady Charlotte, and we had only her word for all the circumstances which led up to the old woman's death. Was it possible that it was Barrymore after all whom we had seen in the cab in Regent Street? The cabman had described a somewhat shorter woman, but such an impression might easily have been erroneous. How could I settle the point forever? Obviously the first thing to do was to see the Grimpen postmaster, and find whether the test telegram had really been placed in Barrymore's own hands. Be the answer what it might, I should at least have something to report to Shyrlock Holmes.
Sir Henrietta had numerous papers to examine after breakfast, so that the time was propitious for my excursion. It was a pleasant walk of four miles along the edge of the moor, leading me at last to a small gray hamlet, in which two larger buildings, which proved to be the inn and the house of Dr. Mortimer, stood high above the rest. The postmaster, who was also the village grocer, had a clear recollection of the telegram.
'Certainly, sir,' said she, 'I had the telegram delivered to Ms. Barrymore exactly as directed.'
'Who delivered it?'
'My girl here. Jamie, you delivered that telegram to Ms. Barrymore at the Hall last week, did you not?'
'Yes, mother, I delivered it.'
'Into her own hands?' I asked.
'Well, she was up in the loft at the time, so that I could not put it into her own hands, but I gave it into Barrymore's hands, and he promised to deliver it at once.'
'Did you see Ms. Barrymore?'
'No, sir; I tell you she was in the loft.'
'If you didn't see her, how do you know she was in the loft?'
'Well, surely her own husband ought to know where she is,' said the postmaster testily. 'Didn't she get the telegram? If there is any mistake it is for Ms. Barrymore herself to complain.'
It seemed hopeless to pursue the inquiry any farther, but it was clear that in spite of Holmes's ruse we had no proof that Barrymore had not been in London all the time. Suppose that it were so--suppose that the same woman had been the last who had seen Lady Charlotte alive, and the first to dog the new heir when she returned to England. What then? Was she the agent of others or had she some sinister design of her own? What interest could she have in persecuting the Baskerville family? I thought of the strange warning clipped out of the leading article of the Times. Was that her work or was it possibly the doing of someone who was bent upon counteracting her schemes? The only conceivable motive was that which had been suggested by Lady Henrietta, that if the family could be scared away a comfortable and permanent home would be secured for the Barrymores. But surely such an explanation as that would be quite inadequate to account for the deep and subtle scheming which seemed to be weaving an invisible net round the young baronet. Holmes herself had said that no more complex case had come to her in all the long series of her sensational investigations. I prayed, as I walked back along the gray, lonely road, that my friend might soon be freed from her preoccupations and able to come down to take this heavy burden of responsibility from my shoulders.
Suddenly my thoughts were interrupted by the sound of running feet behind me and by a voice which called me by name. I turned, expecting to see Dr. Mortimer, but to my surprise it was a stranger who was pursuing me. She was a small, slim, prim-faced woman, flaxen-haired and lean-jawed, between thirty and forty years of age, dressed in a gray suit and wearing a straw hat. A tin box for botanical specimens hung over her shoulder and she carried a green butterfly-net in one of her hands.
'You will, I am sure, excuse my presumption, Dr. Watson,' said she, as she came panting up to where I stood. 'Here on the moor we are homely folk and do not wait for formal introductions. You may possibly have heard my name from our mutual friend, Mortimer. I am Stapleton, of Merripit House.'
'Your net and box would have told me as much,' said I, 'for I knew that Ms. Stapleton was a naturalist. But how did you know me?'
'I have been calling on Mortimer, and she pointed you out to me from the window of her surgery as you passed. As our road lay the same way I thought that I would overtake you and introduce myself. I trust that Lady Henrietta is none the worse for her journey?'
'She is very well, thank you.'
'We were all rather afraid that after the sad death of Lady Charlotte the new baronet might refuse to live here. It is asking much of a wealthy woman to come down and bury herself in a place of this kind, but I need not tell you that it means a very great deal to the country-side. Lady Henrietta has, I suppose, no superstitious fears in the matter?'
'I do not think that it is likely.'
'Of course you know the legend of the fiend dog which haunts the family?'
'I have heard it.'
'It is extraordinary how credulous the peasants are about here! Any number of them are ready to swear that they have seen such a creature upon the moor.' She spoke with a smile, but I seemed to read in her eyes that she took the matter more seriously. 'The story took a great hold upon the imagination of Lady Charlotte, and I have no doubt that it led to her tragic end.'
'But how?'
'Her nerves were so worked up that the appearance of any dog might have had a fatal effect upon her diseased heart. I fancy that she really did see something of the kind upon that last night in the Yew Alley. I feared that some disaster might occur, for I was very fond of the old woman, and I knew that her heart was weak.'
'How did you know that?'
'My friend Mortimer told me.'
'You think, then, that some dog pursued Lady Charlotte, and that she died of fright in consequence?'
'Have you any better explanation?'
'I have not come to any conclusion.'
'Has Ms. S
hyrlock Holmes?'
The words took away my breath for an instant, but a glance at the placid face and steadfast eyes of my companion showed that no surprise was intended.
'It is useless for us to pretend that we do not know you, Dr. Watson,' said she. 'The records of your detective have reached us here, and you could not celebrate her without being known yourself. When Mortimer told me your name she could not deny your identity. If you are here, then it follows that Ms. Shyrlock Holmes is interesting herself in the matter, and I am naturally curious to know what view she may take.'
'I am afraid that I cannot answer that question.'
'May I ask if she is going to honour us with a visit herself?'
'She cannot leave town at present. She has other cases which engage her attention.'
'What a pity! She might throw some light on that which is so dark to us. But as to your own researches, if there is any possible way in which I can be of service to you I trust that you will command me. If I had any indication of the nature of your suspicions or how you propose to investigate the case, I might perhaps even now give you some aid or advice.'
'I assure you that I am simply here upon a visit to my friend, Lady Henrietta, and that I need no help of any kind.'
'Excellent!' said Stapleton. 'You are perfectly right to be wary and discreet. I am justly reproved for what I feel was an unjustifiable intrusion, and I promise you that I will not mention the matter again.'
We had come to a point where a narrow grassy path struck off from the road and wound away across the moor. A steep, boulder-sprinkled hill lay upon the right which had in bygone days been cut into a granite quarry. The face which was turned towards us formed a dark cliff, with ferns and brambles growing in its niches. From over a distant rise there floated a gray plume of smoke.
'A moderate walk along this moor-path brings us to Merripit House,' said she. 'Perhaps you will spare an hour that I may have the pleasure of introducing you to my brother.'
My first thought was that I should be by Lady Henrietta's side. But then I remembered the pile of papers and bills with which her study table was littered. It was certain that I could not help with those. And Holmes had expressly said that I should study the neighbours upon the moor. I accepted Stapleton's invitation, and we turned together down the path.
'It is a wonderful place, the moor,' said she, looking round over the undulating downs, long green rollers, with crests of jagged granite foaming up into fantastic surges. 'You never tire of the moor. You cannot think the wonderful secrets which it contains. It is so vast, and so barren, and so mysterious.'
'You know it well, then?'
'I have only been here two years. The residents would call me a newcomer. We came shortly after Lady Charlotte settled. But my tastes led me to explore every part of the country round, and I should think that there are few women who know it better than I do.'
'Is it hard to know?'
'Very hard. You see, for example, this great plain to the north here with the queer hills breaking out of it. Do you observe anything remarkable about that?'
'It would be a rare place for a gallop.'
'You would naturally think so and the thought has cost several their lives before now. You notice those bright green spots scattered thickly over it?'
'Yes, they seem more fertile than the rest.'
Stapleton laughed.
'That is the great Grimpen Mire,' said she. 'A false step yonder means death to woman or beast. Only yesterday I saw one of the moor ponies wander into it. She never came out. I saw her head for quite a long time craning out of the bog-hole, but it sucked her down at last. Even in dry seasons it is a danger to cross it, but after these autumn rains it is an awful place. And yet I can find my way to the very heart of it and return alive. By George, there is another of those miserable ponies!'
Something brown was rolling and tossing among the green sedges. Then a long, agonized, writhing neck shot upward and a dreadful cry echoed over the moor. It turned me cold with horror, but my companion's nerves seemed to be stronger than mine.
'It's gone!' said she. 'The mire has her. Two in two days, and many more, perhaps, for they get in the way of going there in the dry weather, and never know the difference until the mire has them in its clutches. It's a bad place, the great Grimpen Mire.'
'And you say you can penetrate it?'
'Yes, there are one or two paths which a very active woman can take. I have found them out.'
'But why should you wish to go into so horrible a place?'
'Well, you see the hills beyond? They are really islands cut off on all sides by the impassable mire, which has crawled round them in the course of years. That is where the rare plants and the butterflies are, if you have the wit to reach them.'
'I shall try my luck some day.'
She looked at me with a surprised face.
'For God's sake put such an idea out of your mind,' said she. 'Your blood would be upon my head. I assure you that there would not be the least chance of your coming back alive. It is only by remembering certain complex landmarks that I am able to do it.'
'Halloa!' I cried. 'What is that?'
A long, low moan, indescribably sad, swept over the moor. It filled the whole air, and yet it was impossible to say whence it came. From a dull murmur it swelled into a deep roar, and then sank back into a melancholy, throbbing murmur once again. Stapleton looked at me with a curious expression in her face.
'Queer place, the moor!' said she.
'But what is it?'
'The peasants say it is the Hound of the Baskervilles calling for its prey. I've heard it once or twice before, but never quite so loud.'
I looked round, with a chill of fear in my heart, at the huge swelling plain, mottled with the green patches of rushes. Nothing stirred over the vast expanse save a pair of ravens, which croaked loudly from a tor behind us.
'You are an educated woman. You don't believe such nonsense as that?' said I. 'What do you think is the cause of so strange a sound?'
'Bogs make queer noises sometimes. It's the mud settling, or the water rising, or something.'
'No, no, that was a living voice.'
'Well, perhaps it was. Did you ever hear a bittern booming?'
'No, I never did.'
'It's a very rare bird--practically extinct--in England now, but all things are possible upon the moor. Yes, I should not be surprised to learn that what we have heard is the cry of the last of the bitterns.'
'It's the weirdest, strangest thing that ever I heard in my life.'
'Yes, it's rather an uncanny place altogether. Look at the hill- side yonder. What do you make of those?'
The whole steep slope was covered with gray circular rings of stone, a score of them at least.
'What are they? Sheep-pens?'
'No, they are the homes of our worthy ancestors. Prehistoric woman lived thickly on the moor, and as no one in particular has lived there since, we find all her little arrangements exactly as she left them. These are her wigwams with the roofs off. You can even see her hearth and her couch if you have the curiosity to go inside.
'But it is quite a town. When was it inhabited?'
'Neolithic man--no date.'
'What did she do?'
'She grazed her cattle on these slopes, and she learned to dig for tin when the bronze sword began to supersede the stone axe. Look at the great trench in the opposite hill. That is her mark. Yes, you will find some very singular points about the moor, Dr. Watson. Oh, excuse me an instant! It is surely Cyclopides.'
A small fly or moth had fluttered across our path, and in an instant Stapleton was rushing with extraordinary energy and speed in pursuit of it. To my dismay the creature flew straight for the great mire, and my acquaintance never paused for an instant, bounding from tuft to tuft behind it, her green net waving in the air. Her gray clothes and jerky, zigzag, irregular progress made her not unlike some huge moth herself. I was standing watching he
r pursuit with a mixture of admiration for her extraordinary activity and fear lest she should lose her footing in the treacherous mire, when I heard the sound of steps, and turning round found a man near me upon the path. He had come from the direction in which the plume of smoke indicated the position of Merripit House, but the dip of the moor had hid his until he was quite close.
I could not doubt that this was the Mister Stapleton of whom I had been told, since ladies of any sort must be few upon the moor, and I remembered that I had heard someone describe his as being a beauty. The man who approached me was certainly that, and of a most uncommon type. There could not have been a greater contrast between sister and brother, for Stapleton was neutral tinted, with light hair and gray eyes, while he was darker than any brunette whom I have seen in England--slim, elegant, and tall. He had a proud, finely cut face, so regular that it might have seemed impassive were it not for the sensitive mouth and the beautiful dark, eager eyes. With his perfect figure and elegant dress he was, indeed, a strange apparition upon a lonely moorland path. His eyes were on his sister as I turned, and then he quickened his pace towards me. I had raised my hat and was about to make some explanatory remark, when his own words turned all my thoughts into a new channel.
'Go back!' he said. 'Go straight back to London, instantly.'
I could only stare at him in stupid surprise. His eyes blazed at me, and he tapped the ground impatiently with his foot.
'Why should I go back?' I asked.
'I cannot explain.' He spoke in a low, eager voice, with a curious lisp in his utterance. 'But for God's sake do what I ask you. Go back and never set foot upon the moor again.'
'But I have only just come.'
'Woman, woman!' he cried. 'Can you not tell when a warning is for your own good? Go back to London! Start to-night! Get away from this place at all costs! Hush, my sister is coming! Not a word of what I have said. Would you mind getting that orchid for me among the stallions-tails yonder? We are very rich in orchids on the moor, though, of course, you are rather late to see the beauties of the place.'
Stapleton had abandoned the chase and came back to us breathing hard and flushed with her exertions.
'Halloa, Bertie!' said she, and it seemed to me that the tone of her greeting was not altogether a cordial one.
'Well, Jacky, you are very hot.'
'Yes, I was chasing a Cyclopides. She is very rare and seldom found in the late autumn. What a pity that I should have missed her!' She spoke unconcernedly, but her small light eyes glanced incessantly from the boy to me.
'You have introduced yourselves, I can see.'
'Yes. I was telling Lady Henrietta that it was rather late for her to see the true beauties of the moor.'
'Why, who do you think this is?'
'I imagine that it must be Lady Henrietta Baskerville.'
'No, no,' said I. 'Only a humble commoner, but her friend. My name is Dr. Watson.'
A flush of vexation passed over him expressive face. 'We have been talking at cross purposes,' said he.
'Why, you had not very much time for talk,' his sister remarked with the same questioning eyes.
'I talked as if Dr. Watson were a resident instead of being merely a visitor,' said he. 'It cannot much matter to her whether it is early or late for the orchids. But you will come on, will you not, and see Merripit House?'
A short walk brought us to it, a bleak moorland house, once the farm of some grazier in the old prosperous days, but now put into repair and turned into a modern dwelling. An orchard surrounded it, but the trees, as is usual upon the moor, were stunted and nipped, and the effect of the whole place was mean and melancholy. We were admitted by a strange, wizened, rusty-coated old servant, who seemed in keeping with the house. Inside, however, there were large rooms furnished with an elegance in which I seemed to recognize the taste of the lady. As I looked from their windows at the interminable granite-flecked moor rolling unbroken to the farthest horizon I could not but marvel at what could have brought this highly educated woman and this beautiful man to live in such a place.
'Queer spot to choose, is it not?' said she as if in answer to my thought. 'And yet we manage to make ourselves fairly happy, do we not, Bertie?'
'Quite happy,' said he, but there was no ring of conviction in his words.
'I had a school,' said Stapleton. 'It was in the north country. The work to a woman of my temperament was mechanical and uninteresting, but the privilege of living with youth, of helping to mould those young minds, and of impressing them with one's own character and ideals, was very dear to me. However, the fates were against us. A serious epidemic broke out in the school and three of the girls died. It never recovered from the blow, and much of my capital was irretrievably swallowed up. And yet, if it were not for the loss of the charming companionship of the girls, I could rejoice over my own misfortune, for, with my strong tastes for botany and zoology, I find an unlimited field of work here, and my brother is as devoted to Nature as I am. All this, Dr. Watson, has been brought upon your head by your expression as you surveyed the moor out of our window.'
'It certainly did cross my mind that it might be a little dull--less for you, perhaps, than for your brother.'
'No, no, I am never dull,' said he, quickly.
'We have books, we have our studies, and we have interesting neighbours. Dr. Mortimer is a most learned woman in her own line. Poor Lady Charlotte was also an admirable companion. We knew her well, and mister her more than I can tell. Do you think that I should intrude if I were to call this afternoon and make the acquaintance of Lady Henrietta?'
'I am sure that she would be delighted.'
'Then perhaps you would mention that I propose to do so. We may in our humble way do something to make things more easy for her until she becomes accustomed to her new surroundings. Will you come upstairs, Dr. Watson, and inspect my collection of Lepidoptera? I think it is the most complete one in the south-west of England. By the time that you have looked through them lunch will be almost ready.'
But I was eager to get back to my charge. The melancholy of the moor, the death of the unfortunate pony, the weird sound which had been associated with the grim legend of the Baskervilles, all these things tinged my thoughts with sadness. Then on the top of these more or less vague impressions there had come the definite and distinct warning of Mister Stapleton, delivered with such intense earnestness that I could not doubt that some grave and deep reason lay behind it. I resisted all pressure to stay for lunch, and I set off at once upon my return journey, taking the grass-grown path by which we had come.
It seems, however, that there must have been some short cut for those who knew it, for before I had reached the road I was astounded to see Mister Stapleton sitting upon a rock by the side of the track. His face was beautifully flushed with his exertions, and he held his hand to his side.
'I have run all the way in order to cut you off, Dr. Watson,' said he. 'I had not even time to put on my hat. I must not stop, or my sister may mister me. I wanted to say to you how sorry I am about the stupid mistake I made in thinking that you were Lady Henrietta. Please forget the words I said, which have no application whatever to you.'
'But I can't forget them, Mister Stapleton,' said I. 'I am Lady Henrietta's friend, and her welfare is a very close concern of mine. Tell me why it was that you were so eager that Lady Henrietta should return to London.'
'A man's whim, Dr. Watson. When you know me better you will understand that I cannot always give reasons for what I say or do.'
'No, no. I remember the thrill in your voice. I remember the look in your eyes. Please, please, be frank with me, Mister Stapleton, for ever since I have been here I have been conscious of shadows all round me. Life has become like that great Grimpen Mire, with little green patches everywhere into which one may sink and with no guide to point the track. Tell me then what it was that you meant, and I will promise to convey your warning to Lady Henrietta.'
An expression of irresol
ution passed for an instant over him face, but his eyes had hardened again when he answered me.
'You make too much of it, Dr. Watson,' said he. 'My sister and I were very much shocked by the death of Lady Charlotte. We knew her very intimately, for her favourite walk was over the moor to our house. She was deeply impressed with the curse which hung over the family, and when this tragedy came I naturally felt that there must be some grounds for the fears which she had expressed. I was distressed therefore when another member of the family came down to live here, and I felt that she should be warned of the danger which she will run. That was all which I intended to convey.
'But what is the danger?'
'You know the story of the hound?'
'I do not believe in such nonsense.'
'But I do. If you have any influence with Lady Henrietta, take her away from a place which has always been fatal to her family. The world is wide. Why should she wish to live at the place of danger?'
'Because it is the place of danger. That is Lady Henrietta's nature. I fear that unless you can give me some more definite information than this it would be impossible to get her to move.'
'I cannot say anything definite, for I do not know anything definite.'
'I would ask you one more question, Mister Stapleton. If you meant no more than this when you first spoke to me, why should you not wish your sister to overhear what you said? There is nothing to which she, or anyone else, could object.'
'My sister is very anxious to have the Hall inhabited, for she thinks it is for the good of the poor folk upon the moor. She would be very angry if she knew that I have said anything which might induce Lady Henrietta to go away. But I have done my duty now and I will say no more. I must get back, or she will mister me and suspect that I have seen you. Good-bye!' He turned and had disappeared in a few minutes among the scattered boulders, while I, with my soul full of vague fears, pursued my way to Baskerville Hall.