Rensselaer Republican, Volume 18, Number 7, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 22 October 1885 — BEHIND THE TAPESTRY. [ARTICLE]

BEHIND THE TAPESTRY.

The first part of the strange story which lam about to relate happened some ten years ago. Ten years ago, I was in the first sorfow of my widowhood. I was childless, too, and, When the grave closed over my husband, I thought that there was no place left for me id the world. I was rich, young, and my friends, and my own reflection in the glass, told me that I was beautiful. Of course I had many acquaintances; what rich young widow has not? But acquaintance s and friends differ widely. I did not care for the people who flattered and made much of me; but I turned, even in the first days of my trouble, to one friend. She, too, was young and beautiful. We were schoolfellows, we were engaged at the same time, and we were married in the same month of the same year. 1 During the three years of my married life we had seen little of each other, but when my husband died, and Mary Clifford wrote to me tenderly, out of her own heart, I answered back her love. She asked me to stay with her, and I went - /... How peaceful were those days spent in her beautiful home! The house and Slace were called Aspen’s Vale. The ouse was many centuries old. Its architecture was remarkable; its rooms curious. It was a rambling old place, and, of course, it had a ghost It stood in the midst of very lovely grounds, overlooking wood and river. Altogether, it was one of the show places in shire.

I stayed with the Cliffords for a couple of months. During that time the house was quiet, visitors few —they eschewed company for my sake. At the end of two months I left them, comforted and helped, and with many promises of a return by and by. Circumstances, however, too varied and too many to mention, prevented that second visit from taking place for a couple of years. At the end of that time a great longing came over me to to see Nary Clifford again. I must write to her, and promise a visit. I did so. By return post, I got a short but characteristic reply: “Dearest Honor—Of course I long to see von, but unfortunate!}- the house is full. Large as it is, it is crammed from cellar to " attic. 7 —' ; —; ■— “My dear, I don’t want to refuse you. I do long to see you. Will *Jrou sleep in the tapestry ropm? for, of course, it is empty. I dare not put anybody else there, but I don’t think you. Honor, will be afraid of the ghost. If the tapestry room will do, come and a thousand welcomes. I can put up your maid. Your loving friend, “ Maby Clifford.” To this letter I made a short answer. “I do not believe in the ghost The tapestry room will do beautifully. Expect me to-morrow.” 1 The next evening I arrived at Aspen’s Vale in time for dinner. The tapestry room looked charming. I fell in love with it on the spot, and vowed, laughingly, that the ghost and I would make friends. - My maid, however, looked grave over my jesting remarks; it was plain that she believed in supernatural visitations. Gayety of heart, however, was over me. I could not resist the cheerful influence of my old friend’s company. I felt happier than I had done since my husband’s death, and after a very delightful evening, retired to my room, feeling brave enough to encounter any number of ghosts that might choose to visit me. The tapestry room was quite away from the rest of the house; it was at the extreme end of the wing. f No other bedrooms were in the wing. There was a smoking-room, a morn-ing-room, and a little oriel chamber, which Mrs. Clifford, m her early married life, had curiously fitted up for herself, but now seldom occupied. Neither did she believe in the ghost, but she confessed-that this little oriel chamber had an eterie feet, The morning room opposite, cheerful and pretty enough, was unused Its furniture was antique, it belonged .to a by-gode day, and its inhabitants were dead. The smoking-room, also, was deserted; even the fumes of tobacco had left it, the Squire preferring a more central apartment in the modern part of the house. Altogether, thia wing of the house •eemed dead. Visitors only came to it out of curiosity; they paid brief visits, and preferred doing so in broad daylight

It must have been quite a hundred years since the tapestry room, in the far end of this wing, had been slept in. Old as the other rooms in the wing looked, the tapestry room bore quite the palm of ancient appearance. There was not an article of furniture in it, not a chair, not a table, which must not have seen the light of centuries. The furniture was all of the blackest oak; ths bedstead the usual fourposter on which our ancestors loved to stretch themselves. But the curious feature of the room, that which gave it its name, was the tapestry. Not an inch of the walls was to be seen; they were hung completely with very ancient and very faded tapestry. There was a story about this tapestry. One Dame Clifford, of long, long by-gone days, had worked it, with the help of her maidens. She had come to an untimely end on the on which the great work of her lifehad been completed. It does not matter to this story what became of the proud and fair dame, but it was her ghost which was said to haunt the wing, and the tapestry chamber in particular. Warden, my maid, as she helped me to undress, looked quite pale with terror. , “They do say, as Dame Clare Clifford appears with her head tucked under her arm, and threads from the old tapestry hanging to her skeleton fingers. She’s dressed in gray silk, that don’t rustle never a bit, though ’tis so think it might stand all alone, they do say. ’Tis awful lonesome for you, madam, to sleep here alone, and I’ll stay with you with pleasure if it comes to that, though my nerves aren’t none of the strongest.” I thanked Warden, however, and assured her that I was not in the least afraid; and she, with a well-relieved face, left me alone. I heard her footsteps echoing down the corridor—they died away. I was now out of reach of all human help, for in this distant room, in this distant wing, no possible sounds could reach any other inhabitants of. Aspen’s Vale. I think I have implied that I was brave. In my girlhood, in my short married life, even in my sad depression of my early widowhood, I had never known physical fear; nevertheless when the last of Warden's footsteps echoed out and died, and that profound stillness followed which can be oppressive, I had a curious sensation. I did not call it fear, I did not know it forthat grim and pale-faced tyrant; but it made me uncomfortable and caused my heart to beat irregularly. The sensation was this—l felt that I was not alone.

Of course it was fancy; and what had I to do with fancy ? I determined to banish this uncomfortable feeling from my mind, and, stirring the fire to a cheerful blaze, I drew one of the black oak chairs near it and sat down. Warden had looked so pale and frightened before she left me, that out of consideration for her feelings I had allowed her to leave the jewels which I had worn that evening on the dressing table. There they lay, a set of very valuable brilliants. There was an oldfashioned mirror over the mantelpiece, and as I sat by the fire I saw the reflection of my diamond? in the glass. As I noticed their sparkle, again that strange sensation returned; this time more strongly, this time with a cold shiver. I was not alone. Who was in the tapestry chamber? ■Whs it the ghost? Was that story true after all? Of course, I did not believe it I laughed aloud as the idea came to me. I felt that I was getting quite silly and nervous. There was nothing for me but but to get into bed as quickly as possible. I was about to rise from my easy chair and go over to the old-fashioned four-poster, when again my attention was attracted to the glass over my head. It was hung in such a way as to reveal a large portion of the room, and I now saw not the diamonds, but something else.

In the folds of the dim and oldworld tapestry I saw something move and glitter. I looked again; there was no mistaking it, it was an eye, a human eye, looking fixedly at me through a hole in the canvas. Now I knew why I felt that I was not alone. There was some one hidden between the tapestry hangings and the wall of the chamber. Some one—not a ghost That eye was human, or I had never looked on human eye before. I was alone with a thief, perhaps with worse, and gems of immense value lay within his reach. 1 was absolutely alone; not a soul could hear the most agonized cry for help in that distant room. Now I knew—if I had never doubted it before —that I was a very brave woman. The imminence of the peril steadied the nerves which a few minutes before were beginning strangely to quiver. I never started nor exclaimed. I felt that I had in no way betrayed my knowledge to my terrible guest. I sat perfectly still, thinking out the situation and my chances of escape. Nothing* but consummate coolness could win the victory., I resolved to be very cool. With a fervent and passionate cry to One above for succor, I rose from chair, and going to the dress-ing-table, I slipped several costly rings off my fingers. I left them scattered carelessly about. I denuded myself of all but my wedding-ring. Then I put the extinguishers on the candles—they were wax and stood in massive silver-candlesticks. The room, however, was still brilliant with the light of the fire on the hearth. I got into bed, laid my head on the pillow, and closed my eyes. 4 . It may have been ten minutes—it Seemed more like an hour to my ed senses—before I heard the faintest movement Then I discovered a little rustle behind the tapestry, and a man got out When he did so I opened my eyes wide; at that distance be could not possibly see whether they were open or shut He was a powerful man, of great height and breadth. He had a black beard, and a quantity of thick black hair. I noticed his features, which were tolerably regular. ’ . I also notice.) another peculiarity; among his raven locks was one perfectly white. Ore rather thick white lock

was flung back off his forehead; so white was it that the fire instantly revealed it to me. The than did not glance toward the bed; he,went straight, with no particularly quiet step, to the dressing-table. I closed my eyes now, but I heard him taking up my trinkets and dropping them again. Then he approached the bedside. I felt him close—l felt his breath as he bent over me. I was lying on my side; my eyes were shut; I was breathing gently. He went away again; he returned to the dressing-table. I heard him rather noisily strike a match, then with a lighted candle in his hand he once more approached the bed. This time he bent very lbw indeed, and I felt the heat of the flame as he passed it softly before my closed eyes. I lay still, however; not a movement, not- a hurried breath betrayed me, I heard him give a short, satisfied sigh. Again, candle in hand, he returned io the dressing-table. Once more I heard the clinking sound of my trinkets as they fell through his fingers. There was a pause, and then, for no reason that I could ever explain, he left the trinkets untouched on the table, and went to the door. He opened the door and went out. I did not know what he went for, perhaps to fetch a companion, certainly to return, but I did know that my opportunity had comh. In an instant, quicker th a# thought, I had started from my feigned slumbers; I was at the door, I had bolted and locked it. There were several bolts to this old-fashioned door, there were even chains. I drew every bolt, I made every rusty chain secure. I was not an instant too soon. I had scarcely fastened the last chain, with fingers that trembled, before the thief returned. He saw that he had been outwitted, and his savage anger knew no bounds. He kicked at the door, he called on me wildly to open it; he assured me that he had accomplices outside, that they would soon burst the old door from its hinges and my life would be the forfeit. To my terror I perceived that his words were no idle boast. The old door, secured by its many fastenings on the one side was weak on the other; its hinges were nearly eaten through with rust; they needed but some vigorous kicks to burst them from their iesting places in the wood. I knew that I was only protecte<l,for a few minutes; that even if the thief was alone he had but to continue to assail the door as vigorously as he was now doing for a little longer, to gain a fresh entrance intp my chamber. I rushed to the window, I threw up the sash and bent half out. Into the clear, calm air of the night I sent my strong young voice. “Help, help!—thietes!—fire!—danger!—help, help 1” I shouted these words over and over, but there was no response except an echo. My room looked into a distant shrubbery; the hour was late, the whole household was in bed.

The thief outside was evidently making way with the rusty hinges; and I was preparing, at the risk of any consequences, the moment he entered the room to leap from the window, when I heard a dog bark. I redoubled my cries. The bark of the dog was followed by footsteps; they came nearer,' treading down fallen branches, which crackled under the welcome steps. The next instant a man came and stood under the window and looked up at me. I perceived by his dress that he was a villager, probably taking a short cut to his housa He stood under the window; he seemed terrified; perhaps he took me for the ghost. He was not, however, all a coward, for he spoke. “What is wrong?” he Said. “This is wrong,” I answered; “lam in extreme danger—extreme danger. There is not a moment to lose. Go instantly—instantly, and wake up the house and say that I, Mrs. Crawford, am in extreme danger in the Tapestry wing. Ge at once—at once!” I spoke distinctly, and the man seemed to understand He flew away, the dog following him. I instantly threw myself on my knees, and in the terrible moments that followed I prayed as I had never prayed before. W ould the man be in time? Must my young life be sacrificed ? Ah! no. God was good. I heard joyful sounds, the thief's attacks on the door ceased suddenly, and the next instant the squire’s hearty voice was heard. “Letme in, Honor! What is. wrong, child?” I did let him in, and his wife, and several alarmed-looking servants who followed after. We instantly began to look for the thief, but—mystery of mysteries—he had disappeared. That terrible man with the black hair and white lock over his forehead had vanished aS completely as though Tie had never been. Excspt for the marks he had made with his feet on the old oak door, there was not a trace of his existence. I believe the servants doubted that he had ever been, and only thought that the young lady who was foolish enough to sleep in the Tapestry chamber had been visited by a new form of a ghost Be that as it may we never got a clew to where or how the man had vanished.

Ten years later I was again on a visit at Aspen’s Vale. 1 his titne I did not seep in the Tapestry room. I now occupied a most cheerful, modern and unghost-like room, and but for one circumstance my visit would have been thoroughly unremarkable. This was the circumstance which seems in a wonderful way to point a moral to my curious tale. I paid my visit to the Cliffords during the Assizes. Squire Clifford, as one of the moist influential county magnates, was necessarily much occupied with his magisterial duties during thia time. Every morning he went early into Lewis, the town where the Assizes were held. One morning v he told us of a case which interested him. ""He is a hardened villain,” he said; “he has again and again been brought before me, but has never yet been convicted. He is unquestionably a thief; indeed, one of the notorious characters of thia place ; but he is suah a slippery

dog, no jury has yet found him guilty. Well, he is to be tried again to-day ( and I do hope we shall have some luck with him this time.” The squire went away, and it came into his wife s head and mine to pay a visit to the court, and see for ourselves the prisoner in whom he was interested. No sooner said than done. We drove into Lewis, and presently found ourselves in the large and crowded building. When we entered the case under discussion had not begun, but a moment after a fresh prisoner was ushered into the dock. What was the-mkttef with me? I found my sight growing dim. I found myself bending forward and peering hard. The memory of an old terror came back, the sensation of a couple of hours of mortal agony returned to me again. Who was in the prisoner’s dock ? I knew the man. He was my guest of the Tapestry Chamber of ten years ago. There he stood, surly, indifferent, with his breadth and height, his raven black hair, and that peculiar white lock flung back from his brow. He did not glance at any one, but kept his eyes on the ground. I could not contain myself; I started to my feet and spoke. "Mr. Clifford, I know that man; he was in, my room ten years ago. Do you remember the night when I got the terrible fright in the Tapestry Chamber in your house ? There is the man who frightened ina I could never forget his face. There he stands.” Whatever effect my words had on the Squire and the Judge, there is no doubt at all of their remarkable significance to the prisoner. His indifference left him; he stared with wideopen and terrified eyes at me. It was plain that if I recognized him, he also recognized me. All his bravado left him; he muttered something, his face was blanched, then suddenly he fell on his knees and covered it with his hands. My evidence was remarkable and conclusive; and that day, for the first time, Hercules Armstrong was committed to prison. He had long been the terror of the neighborhood, and no one regretted the just punishment which had fallen on him. What his subsequent career may be I know not; this is the present end of a strange and perfectly true story.