CHAPTER XI
CONCERNS THE WHISPERS
What had startled Gabrielle was certainly extraordinary and decidedlyuncanny. She was standing near the southern wall, when, of a sudden, sheheard low but distinct whispers. Again she listened. Yes. The soundswere not due to her excited imagination at the recollection of thoseromantic traditions of love and hatred, or of those gruesome stories ofhow the Wolf of Badenoch had been kept prisoner there for five years andput to frightful tortures, or how the Laird of Weem was deliberatelypoisoned in that old banqueting-hall, the huge open fireplace of whichstill existed near where she stood.
There was the distinct sound of low, whispered words! She held herbreath to listen. She tried to distinguish what the words were, but invain. Then she endeavoured to determine whence they emanated, but wasunable to do so. Again they sounded--again--and yet again. Then therewas another voice, still low, still whispering, but not quite so deep asthe first. It sounded like a woman's.
Local tradition had it that the place held the ghosts of those who haddied in agony within its noisome dungeons; but she had always been fartoo matter-of-fact to accept stories of the supernatural. Yet at thatmoment her ears did not deceive her. That pile of grim, gaunt ruins wasa House of Whispers!
Again she listened, never moving a muscle. An owl hooted weirdly in theivy far above her, while near, at her feet, a rabbit scuttled awaythrough the grass. Such noises she was used to. She knew everynight-sound of the country-side; for when she had finished her work inthe library she often went, unknown to the household, with Stewart uponhis nocturnal rounds, and walked miles through the woods in the night.The grey-eyed, thin-nosed head-keeper was her particular favourite. Heknew so much of natural history, and he taught her all he knew. Shecould distinguish the cries of birds in the night, and could tell bycertain sounds made by them, as they were disturbed, that no otherintruders were in the vicinity. But that weird whispering, coming as itdid from an undiscovered source, was inhuman and utterly uncanny.
Was it possible that her ears had deceived her? Was it one of the omensbelieved in by the superstitious? The wall whence the voices appeared toemanate was, she knew, about seven feet thick--an outer wall of the oldkeep. She was aware of this because in one of the folio tomes in thelibrary was a picture of the castle as it appeared in 1510, taken fromsome manuscript of that period preserved in the British Museum. She, whohad explored the ruins dozens of times, knew well that at the pointwhere she was standing there could be no place of concealment. Beyondthat wall, the hill, covered with bushes and brushwood, descended sheerfor three hundred feet or so to the bottom of the glen. Had the voicessounded from one or other of the half-choked chambers which remainedmore or less intact she would not have been so puzzled; but, as it was,the weird whisperings seemed to come forth from space. Sometimes theysounded so low that she could scarcely hear them; at others they were soloud that she could almost distinguish the words uttered by the unseen.Was it merely a phenomenon caused by the wind blowing through some crackin the ponderous lichen-covered wall?
She looked beyond at the great dark yew, the justice-tree of theGrahams. The night was perfectly calm. Not a leaf stirred either uponthat or upon the other trees. The ivy, high above and exposed to theslightest breath of a breeze, was motionless; only the going and comingof the night-birds moved it. No. She decided once and for all that thenoise was that of voices, spectral voices though they might be.
Again she strained her eyes, when still again those soft, sibilantwhisperings sounded weird and quite inexplicable.
Slowly, and with greatest caution, she moved along beneath the wall, butas she did so she seemed to recede from the sound. So back she went tothe spot where she had previously stood, and there again remainedlistening.
There were two distinct voices; at least that was the conclusion atwhich she arrived after nearly a quarter of an hour of most minuteinvestigation.
Once she fancied, in her excitement, that away in the farther corner ofthe ruined courtyard she saw a slowly moving form like a thin column ofmist. Was it the Lady of Glencardine--the apparition of the hapless LadyJane Glencardine? But on closer inspection she decided that it wasmerely due to her own distorted imagination, and dismissed it from hermind.
Those low, curious whisperings alone puzzled her. They were certainlynot sounds that could be made by any rodents within the walls, becausethey were voices, distinctly and indisputably _voices_, which at somemoments were raised in argument, and then fell away into sounds ofindistinct murmuring. Whence did they come? She again moved noiselesslyfrom place to place, at length deciding that only at one point--thepoint where she had first stood--could the sounds be heard distinctly.So to that spot once more the girl returned, standing there like astatue, her ears strained for every sound, waiting and wondering. Butthe Whispers had now ceased. In the distance the stable-clock chimedtwo. Yet she remained at her post, determined to solve the mystery, andnot in the least afraid of those weird stories which the country-folk inthe Highlands so entirely believed. No ghost, of whatever form, couldfrighten her, she told herself. She had never believed in omens orsuperstitions, and she steeled herself not to believe in them now. Soshe remained there in patience, seeking some natural solution of theextraordinary enigma.
But though she waited until the chimes rang out three o'clock and themoon was going down, she heard no other sound. The Whispers had suddenlyended, and the silence of those gaunt, frowning old walls wasundisturbed. A slight wind had now sprung up, sweeping across the hills,and causing her to feel chill. Therefore, at last she was reluctantlycompelled to quit her post of observation, and retrace her steps by therough byroad to the house, entering by one of the windows of themorning-room, of which the burglar-alarm was broken, and which on manyoccasions she had unfastened after her nocturnal rambles with Stewart.Indeed, concealed under the walls she kept an old rusted table-knife,and by its aid it was her habit to push back the catch and so gainentrance, after reconcealing the knife for use on a future occasion.
On reaching her own room she stood for a few moments reflecting deeplyupon her remarkable and inexplicable discovery. Had the story of thosewhisperings been told to her she would certainly have scouted them; butshe had heard them with her own ears, and was certain that she had notbeen deceived. It was a mystery, absolute and complete; and, regardingit as such, she retired to bed.
But her thoughts were very naturally full of the weird story told of thedead and gone owners of Glencardine. She recollected that horrible storyof the Ghaist of Manse and of the spectre of Bridgend. In the libraryshe had, a year ago, discovered a strange old book--one which sixtyyears before had been in universal circulation--entitled _Satan'sInvisible World Discovered_, and she had read it from beginning to end.This book had, perhaps, more influence upon the simple-minded countrypeople in Scotland than any other work. It consisted entirely ofrelations of ghosts of murdered persons, witches, warlocks, and fairies;and as it was read as an indoor amusement in the presence of children,and followed up by unfounded tales of the same description, theyoungsters were afraid to turn round in case they might be grasped bythe "Old One." So strong, indeed, became this impression that evengrown-up people would not venture, through fear, into another room ordown a stair after nightfall.
Her experience in the old castle had, to say the least, been remarkable.Those weird whisperings were extraordinary. For hours she lay reflectingupon the many traditions of the old place, some recorded in the historicnotices of the House of the Montrose, and others which had gathered fromlocal sources--the farmers of the neighbourhood, the keepers, andservants. Those noises in the night were mysterious and puzzling.
Next morning she went alone to the kennels to find Stewart and toquestion him. He had told her many weird stories and traditions of theold place, and it struck her that he might be able to furnish her withsome information regarding her strange discovery. Had anyone else heardthose Whispers besides herself, she wondered.
She met several of the guests, but assiduously
avoided them, until atlast she saw the thin, long-legged keeper going towards his cottage withDash, the faithful old spaniel, at his heels.
When she hailed him he touched his cap respectfully, changed his gun tothe other arm, and wished her "Guid-mornin', Miss Gabrielle," in hisstrong Scotch accent.
She bade him put down his gun and walk with her up the hill towards theruins.
"Look here, Stewart," she commanded in a confidential tone, "I'm goingto take you into my confidence. I know I can trust you with a secret."
"Ye may, miss," replied the keen-eyed Scot. "I houp Sir Henry trusts meas a faithfu' servant. I've been on Glencardine estate noo, miss, thaeforty year."
"Stewart, we all know you are faithful, and that you can keep yourtongue still. What I'm about to tell you is in strictest confidence. Noteven my father knows it."
"Ah! then it's a secret e'en frae the laird, eh?"
"Yes," she replied. "I want you to come up to the old castle with me,"pointing to the great ruined pile standing boldly in the summersunlight, "and I want you to tell me all you know. I've had a veryuncanny experience there."
"What, miss!" exclaimed the man, halting and looking her seriously inthe face; "ha'e ye seen the ghaist?"
"No, I haven't seen any ghost," replied the girl; "but last night Iheard most extraordinary sounds, as though people were within the oldwalls."
"Guid sake, miss! an' ha'e ye actually h'ard the Whispers?" he gasped.
"Then other people have heard them, eh?" inquired the girl quickly."Tell me all you know about the matter, Stewart."
"A'?" he said, slowly shaking his head. "I ken but a wee bittie abootthe noises."
"Who has heard them besides myself?"
"Maxwell o'Tullichuil's girl. She said she h'ard the Whispers ae nichtaboot a year syne. They're a bad omen, miss, for the lassie deed suddena fortnicht later."
"Did anyone else hear them?"
"Auld Willie Buchan, wha lived doon in Auchterarder village, declaredthat ae nicht, while poachin' for rabbits, he h'ard the voices. He teltthe doctor sae when he lay in bed a-deein' aboot three weeksaifterwards. Ay, miss, I'm sair sorry ye've h'ard the Whispers."
"Then they're regarded as a bad omen to those who overhear them?" sheremarked.
"That's sae. There's bin ithers wha acted as eavesdroppers, an' they a'deed very sune aifterwards. There was Jean Kirkwood an' GeordieMenteith. The latter was a young keeper I had here aboot a year syne. Hecam' tae me ae mornin' an' said that while lyin' up for poachers thenicht afore, he distinc'ly h'ard the Whispers. Kennin' what folk sayaboot the owerhearin' o' them bein' fatal, I lauched at 'im an' told 'imno' to tak' ony tent o' auld wives' gossip. But, miss, sure enough,within a week he got blood-pizinin', an', though they took 'im to thehospital in Perth, he deed."
"Then popular superstition points to the fact that anyone whoaccidentally acts as eavesdropper is doomed to death, eh? A very niceoutlook for me!" she remarked.
"Oh, Miss Gabrielle!" exclaimed the man, greatly concerned, "dinna treatthe maitter lichtly, I beg o' ye. I did, wi' puir Menteith, an' he deedjuist like the ithers."
"But what does it all mean?" asked the daughter of the house in a calm,matter-of-fact voice. She knew well that Stewart was just assuperstitious as any of his class, for some of the stories he had toldher had been most fearful and wonderful elaborations of historical fact.
"It means, I'm fear'd, miss," he replied, "that the Whispers which comefrae naewhere are fore-warnin's o' daith."