But before that night was over, even Fletcher was shaken.
Chapter V.
The Reckavile Horror
The constable had gone. Being off duty, he had volunteered to fetch Fletcher’s bag from the station, while he remained as he said to ‘get the atmosphere of the place.’ A large fire had been kindled, and the room certainly looked more cheerful, but Fletcher wanted to damp down the feeling of uneasiness which the surroundings had aroused. He was sure this was a straightforward problem, if he could only get a clue to start with. He wandered round the room, pausing to listen to the wind, which had now risen to a gale. The boughs of the trees, which had grown close to the house, were scraping against the windows, as if trying to get in, and all the timbers were groaning and creaking in desire to tell him something. He shook himself; this would never do, he would have a look at the books as he was getting morbid.
Someone had said that a man can be known by his books, but here was a catholicity of choice, books on science, art, history, and novels. He picked out volumes, but his mind was still on the strange noises all over the house.
At last he found a leather-bound book without title and idly opened it. To his surprise the writing inside was in manuscript; the ink faded, but by the spelling he judged it was not of very ancient date.
It was called Tales of the Reckaviles.
As he turned the pages and read the horrors recorded there, he first wondered that these things could have happened, and then that anyone should have set himself in cold blood to write them out.
He came to a tale which arrested his attention. It was called How the Curse Came, and was one of the milder stories:
A certain Sir Hugh Reckavile was a very evil knight. He feared neither God nor Devil. He was shunned by all men of good repute and consorted with vile men, cutthroats and worse. This knight had conceived a great desire for the young wife of the Lord of Glarne, though he had a wife and children of his own, and nothing would stay his purpose. As he was revelling with his companions, as his custom was, he took a dreadful oath that he would that night carry off the lady from her room in the Tower, and staked his soul on the venture, calling down a Curse on his family if he lost. His companions tried to dissuade him, but he would have none of their advice, and rode off. There was one at the table not all besotted in crime, who mounted and rode fast and hard, and came to the Castle before him, and told the Lord of Glarne.
When Sir Hugh came to the Tower, he saw a fair damsel beckoning him from her high window, who was a maid dressed as the lady, and he essayed to climb the wall. They who had laid the trap looked to see him fall, but he came at the window, where men were waiting who bound him fast. For three days they left him there and then one was sent to see how he fared, returned all of a sweat, saying that he had heard Sir Hugh talking with One who told him of his damnation, and that a perpetual Curse would be laid on his family.
That night there were howlings and dreadful crying heard. The next morning Sir Hugh lay on the grass, thrown from the window by no mortal hand, and his face was stamped with horror unspeakable. And so it is in life, for thus by the impious act of trafficking with the Devil, this evil man brought a Curse upon his innocent family which abides even to this day.
Fletcher got thus far. “Pooh!” he said, “it’s the usual stuff one finds in these old chronicles, still it throws a light on the Reckaviles.”