The Castle of Wolfenbach - Eliza Parsons (little red riding hood ebook free .txt) 📗

door; you can take the keys of the places below to your own kitchen, and now and then come through the passage to see if all is safe.’ Poor Joseph, with a heavy heart, agreed to this.

They had now stayed some time, and thought it best to separate and meet again after dinner: they gladly left these horrid rooms, and returned by different ways to their own habitation.

When Matilda came to her apartment, the terror of her mind was unspeakable; all she had seen, all she had heard crowded upon her remembrance, and gave her the most horrible ideas. She could not think Joseph’s fears unreasonable if he was supposed to be in the secret, his life was not safe, and in his fate the whole family might be involved: ‘What can I - what ought I to do?’ cried she, shedding a torrent of tears, ‘no friend to advise me, no certainty of a place to receive me, if I go from hence, and a probability, that, if I stay, I may be murdered; - what a dreadful alternative is mine!’ After giving free vent to her tears, she endeavoured to compose her mind, by addressing the Almighty Power to protect her.

Sweet are the consolations which religion affords! In all our difficulties and distresses, when supplicating the Supreme Being with fervor and a perfect reliance on his goodness, we feel a resignation and confidence, that enable us to support present evils, and look forward with hope to happier days. Such were the feelings of Matilda: she rose from her knees with serenity; she recovered resolution and firmness; ‘I will not despair,’ said she, ‘the Almighty will preserve a friendless orphan, unconscious of guilt, that relies on his protection.’ She dried up her tears, and met the family as usual.

When dinner was over, she returned to the library; Joseph soon joined her, they went down to the deserted parlour, Matilda could not help shuddering: Joseph found a trunk, the drawers were opened, and she took out such necessaries of every kind as she thought she must want, yet left plenty behind. In one drawer she found a purse, with a good deal of money in it; here she hesitated; the lady had told her she would supply her, yet she knew not to what amount: Joseph persuaded her to take the whole, ‘Be assured, madam, my dear lady will never return,’ cried he. After much hesitation and reluctance, she at length divided it, and then taking a pen and ink, she took an inventory of the clothes and money, with an acknowledgement to repay it when able, and locked it in the drawer with the purse.

Having packed up those few things she had selected, and requested Joseph would take it, by and bye, to a room near hers, she said, ‘I cannot be easy under the idea, that the poor woman above should lie there to decay; is there no way to place her in a decent manner?’ After some pause Joseph said, ‘there is a large chest in the back-kitchen, with old trumpery in it, if I take them out, perhaps we might get the body there, but I fear I have not strength to bring it down.’ ‘Let us see the chest first,’ replied Matilda, ‘and then we will consider of the other.’ She followed him into the back-kitchen, saw the chest, and its contents were soon tumbled into one corner. ‘Now, Joseph,’ said she, ‘I will assist you to bring the body down.’ ‘You, my lady!’ cried he, staring at her. ‘Yes,’ rejoined she; ‘let us go up.’ She led the way and he followed; having unlocked and entered the room she could not help shuddering; yet took more observation of the gloomy apartment than she had been enabled to do in the morning; and recollecting what she had heard about inscriptions; she got upon a chair, and from thence to a kind of window seat very high from the ground: standing on this she examined the window; it looked out towards a sort of battlement, which surrounded the back part of the castle, the north wind blew full upon it, the only prospects were the walls and distant mountains. On the window she saw several lines apparently cut with a diamond; in one place she read,

I am dumb, as solemn sorrow ought to be;

Could my griefs speak, my tale I ‘d tell to thee.

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In another place these lines were written;

A wife, a mother - sweet endearing ties!

Torn from my arms, and heedless of my cries;

Here I am doomed to waste my wretched life,

No more a mother - a discarded wife.

And again, in another place,

Would you be happy, fly this hated room,

For here the lost Victoria meets her doom

O sweet oblivion calm my tortur’d mind

To grief, to sorrow, to despair consigned.

Let gentle sleep my heavy eye-lids close,

Or friendly death, the cure for all our woes,

By one kind stroke, give lasting sure repose.

Several other lines, expressive of misery though not of poetical talents, were written in different places, that proved the unhappy writer sought to amuse her painful ideas by her melancholy employment.

Poor Matilda, concluded the wretched victim to some merciless man was sacrificed in that closet where the hand was deeply imprinted in blood on the floor; she viewed it with horror, and getting down from the window; as Joseph had wrapt the body in the counterpane which lay on one side; he tried to lift it, and found the weight less than he expected, ‘I can carry it myself, my lady,’ and crept out of the room with it. Matilda, shutting the door hastily, followed him. They deposited the unfortunate woman in the chest, which was fastened down, and without speaking a single word returned to the parlour: here Matilda burst into tears, her resolution and spirits began to fail; the scenes she had witnessed, added to her own distresses, were indeed sufficient to wound and terrify a stouter heart than this young creature’s; little acquainted with the calamities of life, she had flown from approaching danger, without the least idea of the miseries she might encounter in her journey! Joseph sympathized in her sorrow, and waited without speaking ‘till she grew more composed: ‘Come, dear lady, let us leave this sorrowful place; I will take some oil and trim the lamps, for I shall come here every day, though, God knows, with very little hope of ever seeing my dear mistress again.’ Matilda, opprest and languid, rose from her chair; he followed her with the box to the apartment next hers, and having deposited it, returned to lock up the doors and trim the lamps in the passage, assuring her he would call daily at the post to seek for letters, as all came directed to him.

She threw herself on the bed after his departure, and gave her mind up to the most melancholy reflections; ‘Good heavens!’ cried she, ‘what scenes of murder and atrocious crimes must have been perpetrated in this castle; how great is my curiosity to know more of the unhappy Victoria so recently the cause of joy and sorrow, and her unfortunate attendant, but their fate is enveloped in mystery and horror, what mine may be, heaven only knows.’

When it grew near dark she went upstairs, but so altered by the agitations of her mind, that Bertha started and exclaimed, ‘Dear, my lady, are you ill.’ ‘I am not very well,’ replied Matilda; ‘I shall take an early supper, and retire to bed.’ The poor women, with great nimbleness prepared her supper, of which her guest ate but sparingly, and after sending for Albert, who appeared very sorrowful for her indisposition; she comforted him by an assurance of its being very trifling, and that she should be better after a night’s rest; which was indeed verified; for having commended herself to the protection of the Father to the fatherless, she dropped into a soft slumber, and arose the following morning quite refreshed and composed.

For several days nothing particular occurred; her friends at the cottage called often to see her; Joseph visited the deserted apartments every day, all remained quiet; the uncertainty of the lady’s fate gave them great disquietude, but there was no hope of obtaining any information of an event which seemed buried in obscurity. One day when Joseph returned from town, he whispered the lady to go into the garden; she walked thither it directly, he soon followed, and delivered to her the expected letter from the Marchioness; she made no scruple of opening it. After lamenting the unhappy situation of her sister, and expressing her wishes that she would quit her gloomy abode, she thanks her most cordially for her recommendation of the young lady, whose company will be highly acceptable to her, and assures her sister she will endeavour, by every kindness and attention in her power, to make the young lady’s situation agreeable, and shall esteem her acceptance of their protection as a very particular favor. She admires her resolution in visiting the apartments in the castle, and is only sorry her sister cannot participate in the pleasures of society. She concludes with requesting the young lady may join them at Paris, soon as possible, within a fortnight; and assure herself that her old and faithful servant will be received and retained in the family with kindness and ease to himself. This letter, so gratifying to the wishes of Matilda, was read with transport; she determined to set forwards on her journey within two or three days. Joseph undertook to procure her a carriage from the next town, and she intended leaving the horse for his use, and take Albert in the chaise with her. The next consideration was in what manner to account to the latter for her sudden intention of going to Paris, and his reception in the family of the Marquis: after some deliberation, she returned to the kitchen, and calling Albert aside, told him, by the most fortunate and unexpected intelligence she had heard of an asylum for herself and him, at Paris, in the house of a worthy family, where she hoped they should both meet rest and happiness; and that it was her design to proceed on her journey the third day from that. Albert stared with wonder, but never interrupted her ‘till she stopt speaking, then, in a hesitating manner, ‘Paris is a long journey - I have no friends there; are you sure, madam?’ ‘Yes, Albert,’ said she, ‘I am very sure we shall find friends there to receive us; I cannot explain every thing to you now, some time hence perhaps you shall be informed of every thing.’ ‘God bless you, my dear young lady!’ cried he, ‘if you are satisfied I am sure I ought to be so, and will go with you when and wherever you please.’ She was affected by his love and confidence; she assured him, she never should forget the obligations she owed to him, and that his ease and tranquillity would ever be her first care. The old man hurried from her with tears in his eyes. Bertha was next informed of her intended departure, and was truly sorry, because, as she said, ‘twas comfortable to have some kind body in that lonely place, and because the lady having plenty of money, they had very good living now, which, to say truth, she was sorry to lose. The day previous to her departure she sent for Pierre and Jaqueline: the honest couple were vexed to hear she was about to leave them. She gave them some money, and assured both families, whenever she had it in her power, she would remember their kindness and reward it in a more ample manner than she now could do They bestowed a thousand blessings on her, and declared