21. CHAPTER XXI.
THE GREAT ORGAN.
A few weeks after the ball, the post brought in a letter from Mrs.
Livingstone to Neria, in which among other matters she mentioned that
Dr. Luttrell was looking for a quiet house upon the sea-shore where he might
spend the summer with his wife, who was very much of an invalid, and suggested
that Cragness would probably suit him exactly, and give some pleasant
neighbors to Bonniemeer. In fact she acknowledged she had already mentioned
the house to Dr. Luttrell, who was much pleased with her description of
it, and only waited for her permission to formally apply for it.
This suggestion Neria referred at once to Vaughn, without even confessing a
certain repugnance in her own mind, to seeing strangers installed in the shadowy
rooms so associated in her mind with her old friend and teacher, Gillies.
Vaughn, however, who had seldom been at Cragness, and regarded it simply as
a piece of property, thought it very well to turn it to account, and in compliance
with his advice, Neria answered Claudia's quasi application so favorably that
in the course of a few days, Dr. Luttrell himself came down to look at the premises,
previous to engaging them.
Mr, Vaughn drove over with him to Cragness, to the consternation of Mrs.
Brume, who was, as she expressed the situation, “all in the suds”—a dilemma
shared by her lord and master, who, as the gentlemen drove up, was to be seen
at the back door, with rueful face and reluctant arms, splashing a heavy “pounder”
up and down in a barrel half filled with dirty clothes and hot water.
Nancy, who, through the mists of her tub, had seen the approaching visitors,
found time, before they fairly stopped at the door, to clutch off the uncomely
cap adorning her grey hairs, to replace it with a smarter one, to put on
a collar and stern brooch of Scotch pebble, and to tie a white apron about her waist
as tightly as if, like a Hindoo devotee, she sought to cut herself in twain, by
way of penance for her sins. Finally, she wiped her face so vigorously upon
the discarded tow apron as to impart to her features a genial glow, not unlike
that of the sun setting behind a fog-bank. Then she darted to the back door,
and, catching Reuben by the arm, said, in a rapid undertone:
“Go round to the door—there's folks!”
And, after all this by-play, the daughter of Eve stood in her door, a minute
later, the picture of innocent surprise, as she exclaimed:
“Well, I declare for it, Mr. Vaughn! I don't see how you got up 'thout
some of us seeing you.”
Vaughn returned her greeting with the debonair manner which made him the
idol of his humble neighbors, introduced his companion, and mentioned their
errand.
Mrs. Brune readily accompanied them through the house, not unwilling, perhaps,
that her employer should see how faithful she had been to her duties, although
left without supervision or control.
In the library all stood as it had done upon the night when its last master
departed thence to voyage upon unknown seas, with an unknown pilot at the
helm. Over the fireplace, the knight in golden armor, his face covered with his
helmet bars, still guarded the secret of the place, and, from the scroll at his
feet, still faintly glimmered the proud device, “Dieu, le roy, et le foy du
Vaughn.”
“A somewhat gloomy chamber, this,” said Dr. Luttrell, looking about him,
with a slight shiver.
“Decidedly so,” assented Vaughn, striding to the window.
“The last proprietor and one of the servants died here very suddenly, I understand,”
pursued Luttrell. “Was it in this room?”
“Yes, I believe so. Do such associations disturb you?” asked Vaughn.
“Certainly not. I am not superstitious by nature, and a medical education
blunts one's mind to imaginative terrors very thoroughly. I was wondering
whether there is anything unhealthy about the place. Mrs. Luttrell, as you
know, is quite an invalid.”
“Candidly speaking,” returned Vaughn, “I should think the gloom and
darkness of this room would be very depressing to an invalid; and what affects
the spirits is apt to affect the body, especially when the latter is unsound.”
“That is true in some cases,” said Luttrell, reflectively; but my wife is not
in the least fanciful, and cares very little for the moral or imaginative atmosphere
surrounding her, so that she does not miss the material luxuries to which
she is accustomed.”
Vaughn simply bowed, not choosing to enter into a discussion of Mrs. Luttrell's
peculiarities, especially with Mrs. Luttrell's husband.
“What is this, an organ?” asked the doctor, penetrating, with his keen
gaze, the dusky corner where poor Gillies's familiar was niched into a recess built
to accommodate it.
“Yes, and a fine one, as I am informed. Mr. Gillies imported it, at a considerable
cost, from Germany.”
“Ah? I have done a little in this way myself. Indeed, there are few
things I have not tried, and still fewer which I have not found wanting,” said
Dr. Luttrell, turning the key in the door of the organ and throwing it open.
“Yes,” continued he, “this looks like quite a grand affair. I should like to try
it, if you will not be bored, Mr. Vaughn.”
Of course Vaughn was delighted at the prospect, and courteously seated himself
to listen.
“But the bellows—how is that managed? Does some one outside attend to
it?” asked Luttrell, looking about him.
Vaughn did not know; but Mrs. Brume, on being summoned, explained that
Mr. Gillies, not choosing to be dependent on human aid for his capricious minstrelsy,
had invented a piece of mechanism, and had it attached to the organ in
such manner that he could introduce air by his own action.
This machinery was set in motion by turning a crank, which she pointed out.
“Aha, that is easily done,” said Luttrell, seizing the handle and attempting
to move it; but the rusted wheels refused to turn, and when, applying more
force, he jerked and pushed the handle violently; it suddenly gave way, and a
loud whirring noise within the organ told that some fatal injury had been committed.
“The organ is faithful to its master. It will serve no other man,” said
Vaughn, lightly, as Luttrell, half angry, half mortified, began an apology for the
mischief he had done.
“With your consent I will make it serve me, if I send to Germany for the
man who built it to repair it,” said Luttrell, eyeing, with grim determination,
the thing that had foiled him.
“Pray do as you like with it, if you come here,” said Vaughn, rising; “but
the air of this gloomy room is chill as that of a tomb. Let us go.”
“As chill as that of a tomb,” repeated Doctor Luttrell, softly, as he followed
his host from the room.
A few days later Vaughn received a letter announcing that his late guest engaged
the house and domain of Cragness, upon terms already specified, and
would take possession as soon as the summer weather should be fairly established.
