The Red Chancellor

by Sir William Magnay

I thought of the grave-diggers and their cassocks and cowls. Pretty monks! A veritable house of mercy!

On our arrival at the pier, the drawbridge was let down. I saw that it would have been impossible to gain a secret entrance that way. We crossed the great courtyard, the door was thrown open, and at last I was under the roof of Asta von Winterstein’s prison. If the exterior of the building was gloomy, it seemed positively gay compared with the interior, which was dark, cold, gaunt, and depressing enough to make a sexton shiver. The great entrance hall, in spite of the faded tapestry with which it was hung, was inexpressibly bare and gloomy. What, I thought, must that poor girl’s feelings have been when she was brought in? My own were such that it called for a strong effort of will to keep my nerves steady. The Count led the way to a passage leading from the hall, he opened a door and ushered me into a room which was furnished in a style of luxurious snugness, in cheerful contrast to its approach. As we entered, a lady rose, whom the Count made known as his sister. There was not much likeness, however, between them; still, it was hardly worth while to doubt the statement.

A handsome woman she must have been once, indeed was so still, but the lines of the face were hard, and about the eyes was a suggestion of a sad history. She looked at me curiously, the expression was but momentary; then she seemed to resume a mask which for that instant she had inadvertently let fall, and chatted pleasantly enough until the Count suggested our getting ready for dinner. He conducted me himself across the gloomy hall, thence upstairs to a well-appointed dressing-room, like the rest of the house charged with a chilling atmosphere of dreariness. Left alone, the sense of my great danger came strong upon me. Knowing what I did of the Count, it was, I told myself, sheer madness to touch food in his company. On the other hand I argued that he, or rather Rallenstein, his master, would think twice before attempting foul play with me. I might regard my host’s polite attention more as a means of keeping observation on me and my movements than as a death-trap. It was hardly conceivable that they could have even an inkling of my being aware that Fräulein von Winterstein was alive and under that very roof. Anyhow, I was committed to the adventure; I had an object to gain in going through with it; and must now trust to fate and to my own alertness to bring me safely out.

It was my purpose to note as much of the interior of the Monastery as I could. A glance out of the window explained the total darkness and silence of the house as seen from without. It was built in the form of a hollow parallelogram, round an open space on which, presumably, the windows of the principal inhabited rooms looked out. By keeping, then, the outer line of rooms dark and empty, no watcher from outside could have any idea of what was going on within, nor tell whether the place was deserted or occupied by a large household. The outlook upon this middle space was no less dismal than the rest of the building. The masonry was green from age and neglect, the lower windows were crossed and recrossed by rusty bars, and the more than usually hideous gargoyles did not detract from the cheerlessness of the aspect. I wondered if any one of these barred windows was that of Asta von Winterstein’s prison. If so, a further scrutiny told me an attempt to rescue her by anything short of force was practically hopeless. Still, I resolved to keep my eyes on the alert for anything chance might have to show me; it had so favoured me hitherto that I was inclined to hope more from it. My reflections were interrupted by the knock of a footman, who came to conduct me downstairs, an attention which, in my spying mood, I did not appreciate so much as I did its probable reason.

In what I suppose would be called the drawing-room the Count and his sister were waiting for me, he dressed in a dining-suit of dark blue velvet which rather accentuated his peculiar characteristics. As dinner was announced I discovered that we were not three, but four, as a man, whom, if he had been in the room on my entrance, I had not noticed, came forward from behind me.

“Ah, let me present Herr Bleisst, my good friend and secretary,” the Count said with a flourish. The good friend and secretary bowed low, and as he straightened himself his face suggested to me that whatever his merits as a secretary might be, those as a good friend to any one were at least problematical. Then I offered my arm to the hostess and we went in followed by the two men.

If I had any doubts as to a sinister motive behind the Count’s hospitality they were now dispelled in startling fashion.

As we entered the dining-room the Count and Bleisst, walking behind us, separated, and for a moment turned their backs on us as each went towards his place at the table. My hostess let her handkerchief fall and we both by, as it were, a common impulse, stooped to pick it up. At this instant, our heads being close together, she whispered hurriedly, “Only pretend to eat the sweetmeats—for your life.” As we rose she was thanking me, and apologizing for her carelessness, and we took our seats at the table.

I was inwardly not a little excited by her secret warning, but flattered myself I showed nothing of it to the Count’s restless, vigilant eye. Before each of us was a gilt dish of sweetmeats, specimens of the most perfect dainties of the confectioner’s art. At least, I should be able to eat the other dishes without fear—or was this a trick within a trick? I thought not, but resolved all the same to let my companions serve as tasters and to touch nothing they refused.

The dinner passed off with less dreariness than might have been expected, considering all things. It was not exactly a lively meal, but the Count had a fund of talk; he was, for such a scoundrel, a man of considerable culture, and I even wondered how, amid the less innocent pursuits to which he was addicted, he had found time to become as well read, both in classical literature and the topics of the day, as he showed himself to be. He was certainly an amusing talker, and although some of his arguments were supported by reasoning shallow to the verge of flippancy, yet they were none the less entertaining, and that just then was everything. My appetite after a day in the keen air of the hills was so good that not even the sight of what I might call the second murderer of the establishment, that is, the man who had fetched the priest from Carlzig, could quite spoil it. This fellow glided in and out of the room occasionally, and seemed to combine the duties of major-domo with those of the functionary I have just mentioned. The two men who waited upon us I had never seen before, and from their faces I set them down as being comparatively virtuous, which is not saying much.