An Unknown Power. A tale of mystery

Front matter

AN UNKNOWN POWER a DIQBY'S POPULAR NOVEL SERIES In Crown Svo, Handsome Cloth, Price 2/6 each. A HIDDEN CHAIN. By Dora Russell, Author of 'Footprints in the Snow,' ' The Other Bond,' etc. {Second Edition.) THE MYSTERY OF CLEMENT DUN- RAVEN. By Jean Middlemass, Author of 'A Girl in a Thousand,' etc. {Second Edition.) DR JANET OF HARLEY STREET. By Dr Arabella Kenealy, Author of ' Molly and Her Man-o'-War,' etc. With Portrait. {Seventh Edition.) THE JOLLY ROGER. By Hume Xisbet, Author of ' Bail Up,' ' Her Loving Slave,' etc. With Illustrations by the Author. {Fifth Edition.) »% Other Works in same Series in due course. DIGBY, LONG & CO., LONDON AN UNKNOWN POWER A TALE OF MYSTERY BY CHARLES REGINALD BELLAIRS LONDON DIGBY, LONG & CO., PUBLISHERS 18 BOUVERIE STREET, FLEET STREET, E.C. CONTENTS BOOK THE FIRST.

A BEAUTEOUS MAIDEN CLOTHED IN BROWN. CHAP, PAGE I. — "Two Daughters of One Race," . . 1 II. — The Barmaid at the "Signa," . . 6 III. — Vanished, ..... 18 IV. — "Under a Spell," .... 26 V. — "Someone sobbing in the Shadow," . . 34 VI. — He said, "She has a Lovely Face," . 46 VII. — Lord Belton proposes, . . . 54 VIII. — Father and Daughter, ... 64 IX. — "A Terrible Accident," ... 71 X.— Not Dead, ..... 78 XI. — "A Strange Revulsion of Feeling,". . 88 XII. — "Howard Vincent, Lord Countcachel," . 96 XIII. — The Finding of the Silver Crucifix, . 104 BOOK THE SECOND. THE MURDER OF THE DREAM. I.— "Disgrace," . . . . .117 II.— Sir Rupert at Brierley Hall, . . Contents. VI CHAP. rA0E III. — The Green-Eyed Monster, . . .130 IV.— "A Quarrel and a Reconciliation," 141 V. — The Duchess's Revenge. . . 148 VI. — Misunderstood, ..... 155 VII.— Sir Rupert's Proposal, . . . 165 VIII. — "And Someone seemed to speak to Him of Pistols," ..... 172 IX. — Miss De Ramsay to the Rescue, . . 177 X. — "Sir Rupert's Avowal," . . . 187 XI. — The Secret Passage, .... 194 XII. — "Another Proposal of Sir Rupert's," . 210 XIII. —"What the Newsboys cried," . . 220 XIV. — "Sir Rupert goes Down," . . . 230 XV. — "The Murder of the Dream," . . 234 TAGE BOOK THE THIRD.

THE RECKONING. I.— "The Ladt Sybil makes a Request," . 243 II. — "Clotilde," ..... 254 III. — "The Valley of the Shadow," . . 261 IV.— "Roland Wilberforce's Memory awakens," 265 V. — "A Clue," ..... 269 VI. — "Letters of Flame," . . . 273 VII. — Murderess, . . . 279 VIII. — "Confession," . . . BOOK THE FIRST A BEAUTEOUS MAIDEN CLOTHED IN BROWN AN UNKNOWN POWER BOOK THE FIRST.

Chapter I

"Two Daughters of one Race." — Tennyson. The air was still, with a peaceful stillness born only of the evening. In the grounds surrounding Brierley Hall two girls were sitting, tired after the exertions of a long canter in the afternoon. They were very young, the elder being just eighteen. Both were pretty. On a rustic wooden bench they sat beneath a spreading cedar, through the branches of which the sun shot tiny golden shafts, playing coquet tishly, first with one girl, then with the other. The sisters were the daughters of Lord Dun willows, the owner of Brierley Hall, and the A A71 Unk7ioivn Pozver. 2 esteemed magnate of that portion of Leicester shire in which it is situated. That afternoon they had discovered a spot which was, they said, so silent, so beautiful, so entirely shut in from the outside world, that, girl like, they had decided to picnic there on the morrow, and it was with the task of arranging the details of this event that they were now occupied.

Lady Sybil, the younger of the two, was eager to the extent of excitement, but her sister, Lady Margaret, evinced, by her expression, the fact that her mind had something else occupy ing it, although doubtless a go-as-you-please kind of picnic idea possessed the same degree of fascination for her as it did for her sister. " Forest Mount, of all places in the world, is just made for a picnic," the elder girl was saying. "It is lovely down there with the scent of the violet and the primrose, and the brook murmuring through the meadows." " Exactly," went on the less poetic sister, " and we can get water to boil in our kettle, instead of taking it with us and finding everything saturated, as we have always done before." The mating birds were twittering loudly in the ivy, and all around the trees and foliage, the great square windows, the distant lake and the fresh green meadows, were tinted crimson with the " Two Daughters of 07ie Race." 3 sunset, and the whispering breezes now and again disturbed the reigning stillness as these girls sat talking listlessly in the cool air of the eventide.

" We went to a jolly picnic last year with Lord Belton and Mr Braybridge, didn't we, Maidie ? " asked Sybil, recalling an occasion which had been particularly pleasant to her. Maidie noticed the slight colour which suffused her sister's cheek as she spoke, and laughed lightly. " You cannot expect," she said, " to enjoy yourself so much when only Miss Johnson and I are here to accompany you. I fear three girls alone at a picnic generally find it slow without a man to amuse them with his awkwardness. Man's clum siness is always a source of amusement to the feminine mind." She looked over at the trees as she spoke, and an observer would have been struck by the peculiar look in her pretty blue eyes. She was troubled vaguely, mysteriously ; she experienced a strange, uncanny sensation of evil to come, which she was unable to analyse.

Her words were light and trivial, but she was wondering all the while what that strange feeling could mean. She shivered. " I am going to experience some horror, some terrible calamity," she muttered uneasily. Lady Margaret Dewarren was the eldest daughter A71 Unk7iown Power. 4 of the house. She was pretty, and people said she would be a well-known beauty before many suns had set. I shall not weary the reader with a detailed description of her charms, but may, per haps, be allowed to state, in passing, that she had brown hair, dimples, a slender figure and a sweet, pathetic expression, which would have been lovely in the lowliest of work girls. " I wonder Roland Wilberforce does not take advantage of owning such a beautiful place as Forest Mount and visit it occasionally," said Lady Sybil, after a pause.

" He cannot spare the time. He is always singing, either in London or abroad. He was in Paris a few days ago. They say that people rave about him, his voice is so beautiful." She rose as she spoke, and wrapped her pink woollen shawl closely round her shoulders, as though seeking for protection ; while Sybil, gay, light-hearted, hummed as she walked with her sister towards the house. The daylight faded, and fickle shadows chased each other about the pleasant lawn. The plash of the fountains and the last song of the birds blended together, and, if anything, rendered the stillness more intense. A fine, stately old mansion was Brierley Hall. Its terraces and balconies rose one above the other, making it resemble an eastern palace ; its gleam- " Two Daughters of 07ie Race." 5 ing conservatories threw back the glow of the setting sun to lighten up the tennis-courts, gravel walks or cherished rose-beds which skirted their frontage.

It had not for ever been the peaceful pride of a country village. The Roundheads had demolished it in their attempt to capture a Cavalier general who had taken refuge with Sir James Dewarren, the ancestor of Lord Dunwillows. The present noble owner took pride in showing the secret passage (the entrance of which was still to be seen in the cellars below — a square, stone gate way, where still hung the rusty hinges and massive oaken beams, which age and the worm had almost eaten away). It was by taking advantage of this means of escape from the enemies of the King that the gallant officer had rejoined his army in safety. But old Sir James, who had delivered him, held out but a short time, and on The Hall being captured, was summarily shot. He died like a soldier, clasping to the last a massive silver crucifix, which "Pious Anthony," the Colonel of the Cromwellians, hurled away, as being an idol of the blasphemous order.

A tradition sprang up in consequence, which decreed that a fatal blow should be struck at the house of Dewarren when this crucifix should be found. Why, was not quite clear. But the tradition existed all the same.

Chapter II. The Barmaid At The

"SIGNA." The scene described in the previous chapter took place on March 27th, 18 — ; but I have to relate now some incidents which occurred in London on the preceding night. It was evening, and a stiff breeze was blowing down the crowded thoroughfares, chilling the pedestrians who were out in the lighted streets, and causing those in cabs and carriages to close the windows and remark, that although the days were certainly those of March the nights were as cold as at Christmas. It was seven o'clock, and people were preparing for the theatres, w7hich in half-an-hour would open their doors, and the cafes were alive with hungry throngs, eager to snatch a meal before embarking on their evening's amusement. It was cold, very cold, and people com plained the more, because during the daytime they had cried out against the remarkable heat.

The Ba7'maid at the " Signa." 7 A brougham drew up before a fashionable restaurant in Oxford Street, and a young man, tall and good-looking, emerged from it, clad in a thick fur overcoat, beneath which his white shirt front, shining in the rays of the arc-lamps, denoted the fact that he was in evening dress. He entered the crowded cafi, and his appearance created a stir among those who sat drinking their coffee or brandy, as the case might be, for Roland Wilber force, the great operatic singer, was well known to all, and he was recognised by the very gutter boys who sold the latest edition of the evening paper. He nodded to one or two acquaintances, and went up to the bar where a friend of his, Rotherdale the artist, was exchanging pleasantries with a bright little barmaid, who was busy serving brandies and sodas.

" Hallo, Wilberforce ! Going to the theatre ? " " Yes, but as a listener, not as a performer ; I am taking a month's holiday." " So you said," replied Rotherdale. " Where are you going ? " " Well, to tell you the truth, I have scarcely yet decided. What is Drury Lane like this year?" "Ripping; although I doubt if you would care for it. It has had a most successful run, but still the music and acting are not for so partial a critic as yourself." An Unknown Power. 8 " I am o-oino- • not for criticism but for amuse ment," answered the great singer lightly, as he trod upon his cigarette end ; " and even music-hall artists at their worst are laughable." " What shall we have ? " " I have dined already, thanks." " Well, if you won't eat, you must drink," replied the artist. " Here, waiter, a bottle of Monopole, please."

The waiter was deaf to his command, so Rother dale, impatient, went for it himself. "A new harmaid," he said to himself, "and a deuced pretty one, too, with her great hrown eyes." The new barmaid was employed in the manu facture of a lemon squash under the elaborate directions of a fat old man with a red nose. She was certainly pretty, with brown hair coiled up in huge masses, brown eyes, which danced and sparkled vivaciously; she wore a brown dress — in fact, everything concerning her was brown. Rotherdale, taking stock of her charms in a cursory glance, noticed the peculiar flashing of her eyes. They seemed to rivet his attention with a strange fascination. The red-faced man having departed in triumph with his lemon squash, the artist had the girl to himself, and he then saw that she was staring at The Barmaid at the " Signa Wilberforce with the same extraordinary light flashing from her eyes.

"Thank you, miss," he said as the girl turned to him abstractedly, "I should like a bottle of Monopole." " Won't the waiter serve you ? " " No ; he is too preoccupied." " Well, it is his business, you know. The wines are not in my department." Her voice was soft and low, and suggested a cultivation unusual in one of her station. After some bantering, she procured the wine for Rotherdale. He smiled his sweetest smile (which is saying a good deal, for Rotherdale could be particularly fascinating when he chose), but he was greatly chagrined to find that she took no notice of him whatever, but in the same extraordinary way continued to gaze at Wilberforce. The singer was idly lighting a cigarette when Rotherdale, disgusted, took his seat beside him, and he was entirely ignorant of the fact that a spark ling pair of eyes were fixed upon his face.

He looked bored, fatigued, and as he sat back, with his eyes half -closed, an observer, however casual, would have remarked upon his handsome face. " That new barmaid is another victim of yours, Wilberforce," said the artist. " Is she really? " — he spoke dreamilv. A 7i Unknow7t Power. 10 " Rather ! and by Jove she is lovely ! You are in luck's way, my boy." Wilberforce laughed lightly. " She is staring at you now," wrent on Rotherdale, " and, gad ! how her eyes flash." " What a deuced lot of attention you pay to the women," said the singer. -'Where is this new goddess divine . " Rotherdale was about to point her out, when, as if comprehending his action, the girl disappeared behind a huge coffee urn. The co.fi was full of men talking, smoking and drinking, and Wilberforce soon forgot all about the pretty barmaid, nodding to his numerous acquaintances.

" What marvellous eyes that woman possessed ! " said Rotherdale to himself, when he was alone in his hansom. " She had eyes like coals. I don't think I quite liked her looks, although she was certainly most beautiful." Wilberforce had gone off to Drury Lane, having by agreement changed coats with his friend, who found the singer's sables very enjoyable in the cold March wind. " Rum fellow, Wilberforce. Deuced dad he did change coats ; that opera-cloak of mine is horribly thin." The theatre at Drury Lane was crammed, the The Barmaid at the " Signa." 11 lights flashed, and the buzz of conversation echoed from all parts of the building. It was the last night, and people thronged to witness the finishing per formance of one of the most successful pieces Sir Augustus Harris had ever placed before a delighted public.

In the second row7 of the crowded stalls sat Roland Wilberforce. He was unknown in the theatre, because his face was partly covered by his hand, but nevertheless much attention was directed to him by reason of his remarkable attitude. All through the long performance he, never moved, never stirred once, his head was resting on his hand, his eyes were half-shut and gazing at the foot-lights through the semi-closed lids with a curiously terrified expression which might have been looked for on the face of a man conscious of impending ruin. His opera cloak had never been removed, its silk-lined cape carelessly covering the back of the seat, while his feet were stretched out in an attitude of undignified repose. There he sat, gazing at the foot-lights. Some said he was intoxicated. Others shook their heads and remarked on the nervous twitching of his lips.

Before coming out he had dined at his rooms, his meal consisting of roast chicken, apple tart and a small bottle of claret ; a simple repast, and one not calculated to disturb the nerves. He was in An U7iknown Power. 12 the possession of all his faculties on his entrance to the theatre. His step had been firm, and after purchasing a programme he had settled down for a comfortable evening. But his expectations were cruelly frustrated. What was that creeping, yet somewhat soothing sensation which was beginning to steal over him ? It was near akin to an opium effect, causing his brain to whirl and his thoughts to become scattered, so that his doings in the day-time, his acquaint ances and the performers in the pantomime, seemed mixed together in the most complicated, inextricable manner. Had he been suddenly hypnotised .

He roused himself with a strong effort. What did it mean ? It was not exactly disagreeable — and yet — and yet. His head drooped — lower, lower — the lights, the people, the actors swam round. He was unconscious. Yet he dreamed. No ordinary dream ; far from it. A grim, mysterious, murderous dream, rather. It seemed that he was in a field, a drear meadow, w7here only the howl ing of the wind, and the hoarse " caws " of the rooks in the distant trees smote his ear with their dismal sounds. No human habitation was at hand, no homely cottage, with the smoke of the wood fire curling The Barmaid at the " Signa." 13 up through the chimney into the misty atmosphere of the night, no church spire to tell him that the worship of God went on in its peaceful way, as in a country village. Only a sombre, sullen mass of trees to his right, growing thickly out of a hollow on the summit of a hill, their tall tops disappearing in the mist, and in and among them the weird shadow of the rooks, flying hither and thither in mysterious quest, arousing the stillness with their croaking.

He stood as he dreamed, and the raw dampness seemed to penetrate to his very bones. That mass of trees, how ghostly it looked ! And why did the rooks caw in that weird manner so continually . It was a chilling, awe-inspiring scene — awe-inspiring because mysterious. He was in the midst of the trees. A sudden, passionate longing to run hither had taken pos session of him, and he found himself unequal to combat it, even had it been necessary to do so. In the midst of the trees he stood, protected on one side by an ivy-mantled gateway, with a broken gate sunk in the soil, and on the other by a dense mass of undergrowth flourishing among the ruins, of which the square stone gateway was one of the last relics. He stood among the heaps of pine An Unk7iown Power. 14 cones. Suddenly the moon shone with a strange radiance.

What did he see ? There in the gateway, ankle deep in the rotting vegetation which filled the air with its sickly smell, stood a man, dark and good-looking, whose face told plainly of self-indulgence and riotous living. He was bending down, seeking eagerly for some thing which lay hidden there ; turning over the damp leaves, searching hurriedly, impatiently, as if something which was dear to him was lost, some thing which was valuable, something which it was impossible to replace. In the misty moonlight he saw him, yet he dreaded to approach, for a vague warning seemed to tell him that it was not for him to interfere. He watched his handsome face, deep with thought and troubled with anxiety, as he stirred the leaves and pushed aside the ferns which obstructed the entrance to the gateway, with hands trembling with excitement, heaving down fragments of per forated stone, which once had doubtless ornamented the interior of that strange, ghostly passage.

He watched him pause and wipe the perspiration from his forehead. He heard him mutter angrily. Suddenly, with terrible distinctness, rang out the loud report of a pistol shot, which startled the The Bar7naid at the " Sig7ia." 15 rooks, and reverberated among the hills, so that they caught it eagerly and threw it back, until, as though wearying of the game, they flung it away in the distance, where it disappeared to the ear with a far-off roll like a moan from the dead. The man stood for a moment, tall and upright, then with a low, agonised cry, he sank upon the mass of fallen leaves. He was shot through the heart. And the moon, shining brighter, showed a purple stream of blood, and Roland Wilberforce saw it welling slowly from the dead man's mouth, and creeping among the stones which a few moments before the victim had flung down with restless hands.

" My God ! " The singer ejaculated the words in a sense of overwhelming terror, and was conscious, almost im perceptibly, of someone sobbing in the shadow. He paused. Then he looked up, and saw a face looking down at him from the pine tree tops, a face so lovely in its intense innocence that he forgot the terrible crime to which he had been witness, forgot the muffled groan of the victim, the pitiful sobbing, and could only fix his eyes on that beautiful face, which looked down to him with a light of wondrous love depicted in its gaze; wondrous love, yet An U7iknow7t Power. 16 mingled with misery, sorrow and regret. He for got everything connected with the hideous side of his dream, and was wrapt in admiration of that lovely vision face. It was gone. Gradually it had faded, He sank to the ground, the whole grim reality of his terrible dream coming back to him with realistic precision ; it seemed that the rooks cawed in a perfect babel of sound, as though crying down the howling of the wind ; but one sound only gained his attention.

A distant sense of someone being forgotten came to him, a sense of his overlooking or wounding the feelings of someone sobbing in the shadow. He woke with a start. The Harlequinade had already begun, and a great many people had left the building. He sat upright while the perspiration stood heavy on his brow. He gazed around in a wild, half-distracted manner such as those suddenly awakened from an unexpected sleep in a public resort usually exhibit, his eyes being troubled by the excess of light and brilliance, and a sullen, surprised look taking possession of his face. He gazed around him at the rows of faces in the pit and gallery, and at the empty stalls and boxes, as The Bar7naid at the " Sig7ia." 17 though unable to comprehend exactly where he was. Then, rising quickly, he passed from the building.

It was past eleven o'clock and most of the other theatres were closed, having sent forth their pleasure-sated throngs into the lighted streets, where long arrays of hansoms, still hopeful of ending their day's journeyings with a " theatre fare," stood in the bright light of the electric lamps. Having hailed one, Roland Wilberforce lighted a cigarette to steady his nerves, and began to consider what had happened to him. His dream ! He had forgotten it entirely ! Only a dim recollection that it had to do with something ghastly, hideous, uncanny, remained to him, and a vague sense of something wanting, something overlooked, something he had done unkind. What it was he knew not. That, and the mournful sound that still troubled his fevered brain. There was still the sound of someone sobbing in the shadow. B

Chapter III. Vanished

Roland Wilberforce had never been married, and had never been in love. He was well read, could converse freely on any given subject, and possessed a voice which perhaps had hardly an equal in the world. With all these accomplish ments, and despite the fact that he was versed in those pretty little speeches in which all women delight — say what they may — he still remained single, and fond mothers with burdensome daughters, after much struggling, gave up the fight. He delighted in the society of women, and rarely missed the opportunity of paying them a compli ment, but serious he rarely was, and men with lovely young wives were soon willing to admit him into their houses. He thought no more of marrying than he did of renouncing his profession and retiring to a monastery. It was the morning after his extraordinary iS Vanished. 19 dream, and the great tenor was sitting, troubled in spirit, by the open window, a volume of poems on his knees, trying to soothe his shattered senses with the beauty of verse.

The sun was streaming through the trees, which were beginning to brighten the Park with their verdure. Its rays lighted up the room and shone upon the frescoed ceiling. The poem he was reading possessed apparently but little charm for him, his eyes wandering listlessly about, as if seeking some thing which was possessed of horror to his mind. At his feet crouched a dog, a fox-terrier, with one ear black and the other white — a dog whose parentage, doubtless, left much to be desired. But, to all appearances, he troubled little about his pedigree, rejoicing as he did in the realistic, if somewhat opprobrious, name of " Rags." As Wilberforce sat thus occupied, his thoughts running in any but pleasant channels, the door suddenly swung open, and Rotherdale appeared, having on his arm the overcoat which had been given to his charge the previous evening.

The artist was considerably taken aback. " Good gracious ! " he cried, eyeing Roland with wonderment expressed in his glance, " you look as if you had walked out of a tomb." " Do I really ? Will you be surprised when I tell you— ? " " I know, I know ; your conduct, my dear fellow, was disgraceful. It is the talk of the clubs ; you really should be more careful of what you take to drink." Wilberforce shrugged his shoulders. "There is nothing to joke about," he said irritably ; " and look here Rotherdale, you are an artist, and therefore ought to be sensible, man. I wish to speak to you seriously." Rotherdale w7as a happy -looking young man ; his face was far from strictly handsome, but it was brimming over with mirth and good-humour, and his eyes possessed the pow7er of expressing the meaning of his words, a power which added con siderably to his fascinations.

Although but five and-twenty, his painting had been warmly praised by connoisseurs, and people began to point him out as one of the rising artists of the day. Fate had indeed dealt kindly with both of these young men. " I am all ears now that I am comfortable," he said, as he watched the rings of smoke curling upward from his mouth ; " but I have not long to wait, as the pater from the country is coming up to town, and therefore " — with the faintest sneer — " it behoves me, in my own interest, to be close by his side as long as he remains." •'A praiseworthy exhibition of filial devotion," Vanished. 21 said Wilberforce, on whom the irony was lost. " Well, I'll tell you what is troubling me, and shall ask your advice. What do you prescribe for horrible dreams, eh ? " " A strong sleeping-draught, taken after supper.

Why ? — is that the nature of your complaint ? " " Yes, and it also explains my conduct at Drury Lane last evening." " It does ? " laughing increduously. " It does. I had for dinner some roast chicken, some apple tart and half a bottle of claret. That is not calculated to disturb the nerves ? " " Hardly — no." " Well, as soon as I had reached my stall in the theatre, and was comfortably settled, the most uncanny sensation it has ever been my misfortune to experience stole over me. The whole place seemed to dance round and round, and a buzzing filled my ears, like the sensation you feel on taking laughing-gas. After that, everything seemed to be in a jumble — a heterogeneous mass of distortion — and then, falling asleep, I dreamed the most horrible nightmare it is possible to imagine. What were its details, I can't for the life of me remember, although I have tried very hard ever since.

All I can recollect is, that it was weird, terrible, murderous, fantastic, but all else has vanished in oblivion, like darkness at the break of day. Wait, though, I can remember something sad and mournful, some thing which appealed to the sentimental side of my nature in a way it has never been approached before. It was as though by dreaming this strange and horrible fantasy, I had wounded the feelings of someone sobbing, sobbing piteously in the darkness. That is all. The rest is forgotten." " A woman, of course, at the bottom of it," laughed Rotherdale, when his friend had finished speaking " What a true saying that is, by Jove ! " " I agree with you ; but that is neither here nor there. That dream has entirely upset my nerv ous system. I can't sleep, I can't concentrate my thoughts." " Seems as if you had been mesmerised," remarked Rotherdale, pulling the dog's ear.