Haunted Lives

JOSEPH

SHERIDAN LE FANU

HAUNTED

LIVES

Москва, 2018

УДК 82 ББК 84(0)

Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu

Haunted Lives / J. S. Le Fanu. – М. : T8RUGRAM / Original, 2018. – 276 с.

ISBN 978-5-521-07124-1

Joseph Thomas Sheridan Le Fanu (1814 –1873) was an Irish writer of Gothic novels, one of the most influential ghost story writers of the nineteenth century. “Haunted Lives” follows the story of young and independent woman Laura Gray, who at one point of her life refuses to free a man from his debt to her family. She starts receiving threatening letters, and that is when mysterious man Alfred Dacre appears in her life, ready to solve all her problems.

УДК 82 ББК 84(0) BIC FC

BISAC FIC000000

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .7 CHAPTER II . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15 CHAPTER III . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 22 CHAPTER IV . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 30 CHAPTER V . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 38 CHAPTER VI . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 46 CHAPTER VII . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 51 CHAPTER VIII . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 58 CHAPTER IX . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 65 CHAPTER X . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 70 CHAPTER XI . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 75 CHAPTER XII . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 81 CHAPTER XIII . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 88 CHAPTER XIV . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 97 CHAPTER XV . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .105 CHAPTER XVI . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .111 CHAPTER XVII . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .117 CHAPTER XVIII . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .123 CHAPTER XIX. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .133 CHAPTER XX . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .139

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CHAPTER XXI. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .147 CHAPTER XXII. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .153 CHAPTER XXIII . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .158 CHAPTER XXIV. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .165 CHAPTER XXV. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .171 CHAPTER XXVI. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .175 CHAPTER XXVII . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .183 CHAPTER XXVIII . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .189 CHAPTER XXIX . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .195 CHAPTER XXX . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .200 CHAPTER XXXI . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .206 CHAPTER XXXII . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .211 CHAPTER XXXIII . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .216 CHAPTER XXXIV . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .222 CHAPTER XXXV . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .229 CHAPTER XXXVI . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .234 CHAPTER XXXVII . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .243 CHAPTER XXXVIII . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .249 CHAPTER XXXIX . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .254 CHAPTER XL. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .264

CHAPTER I

LAURA CHALLYS GRAY

THE Old Brompton of my earlier recollections, with its silent lanes, its grass-plots, and flower-knots, its towering trees, and those sober old houses of dusky red brick faced with white stone, which, set round with tall flower-pots and flowering shrubs and roses, had a character of old-world comfort, and even grace, has faded and broken up like a sunset city of cloud.

When regretful memory names a place, as I name Old Brompton, I always find it call up a special picture, and always the same. Mine is no bigger than a cabinet picture. Through a short perspective, the rugged columns of half-a-dozen old trees, under shadow, with a patch of broken flickering light, I see little more than the lower half of the tall old drawingroom window – dusky brick, and a worn setting of old Caen stone. On the broad window-stone stand some flower-pots; I know not the names of the flowers, trembling stars and cups of blue and crimson; and from the chiar’oscuro of the room within leans over them the prettiest face, I almost think, this mortal world ever saw.

Beautiful cousin, Laura Challys Gray! A pretty music rings in your name, for me – with those sad notes that come from the distant past, and die in the far future.

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I close my eyes, and I see you, your violet eyes, and rich brown tresses, with their golden folds, the delicate oval of your face, and your crimson lips. Oh! pretty Laura – odd, wayward, misunderstood, full of faults – with many perfections, I am sure, that others possessed not – I am going to jot down my recollections of you, and what I know of a story as odd as your character.

In this house, at the open drawing-room window, Charles Mannering – a tall young man, with a face kind, frank, and also sensitive – was standing, looking westward, where the sun was nearing the horizon, with the glow of a coming sunset. I think there is a pleasant sentiment in the artificial rurality of such a scene, and he could fancy, among the urns and roses under the distant groups of ruddy chimneys, melting in the misty light of evening, a pretty powdered Daphne ogling her piping Philander across her crook.

He liked being employed, too, by his pretty cousin. Here was a commission which had given him a world of trouble – to find her just such a house in the old-fashioned suburbs of London as he had lighted upon.

She ought to have arrived half an hour before. He was standing, as I have said, at the open drawing-room window. He was nervous about her decision upon the manner in which he had executed his commission. Her letter was in his pocket; and, while he was amusing himself with an imaginary dialogue with her, the carriage arrived at the gate, and was admitted. It was a chariot, prettiest of all carriages – why discarded now I cannot imagine – four post-horses, and two postillions. They had travelled up from Gray Forest in the old-fashioned way – by

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the road and posting stations – not then on that line, superseded by rail. Hot and dusty were the horses that were pulled up at the steps. He ran down, and handed his pretty cousin from the carriage, and then her elderly kinswoman and companion, fat and rather amiable, and not very active. The springs yielded to her weight, of which that sagacious lady was as conscious as the elephant, and she leaned upon his shoulder, and then upon his arm, with a cautious emphasis that made him stagger.

Good Mrs. Wardell – that was her name – came in, very red, talking and giggling, and wheezing a little, and sat down in the dining-room to divide her journey, and recruit before essaying the stairs, under care of her maid, much the more elegantly got up of the two. Charles ran upstairs to the drawing-room, where he had seen his cousin, light of foot, already looking from the window, as he lent Mrs. Wardell his arm up the steps.

Miss Laura Challys Gray was still standing between the voluminous silk curtains, looking out through one of the tall windows, as he entered the room. In shadow and reflected lights there is sometimes a transparent effect which heightens beauty; and I think he never saw her look so lovely as when she turned towards him from the light, as he entered. I pause for a moment to recall that pretty image.

She had removed her little bonnet, which dangled by its ribbon at one side from her slender fingers. Her rich brown hair, so wonderfully voluminous, in the shadow showed its golden glimmer where the dusky sunset touched it. Her large violet eyes, under the long curve of their lashes, were turned upon him. Nearly in shadow, her beautiful lips, with a light just touched in crimson, parted, and very grave. What a beauti-

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ful oval that little face was, and how richly her shadowy brown hair parted low above her brows. As she looked at him this pretty face was thoughtful and nun-like, and after a little silence she said, with a very imposing seriousness: –

“I think I shall like this out-of-the-way house, and the fifteen trees, and the half-acre of grass.”

“Oh, I assure you, there’s a good deal more than you see from this. I should say there are at least two acres altogether, and fifty trees, reckoning –”

“Reckoning the roses?” she laughed.

“No; the lilacs and laburnums, which are enormous, and deserve to be counted in,” said he.

“I think I shall like it,” she repeated a little imperiously, as much as to say, “It is your place to listen at present, and mine to speak.” “It looks old, and homely, and secluded. It has a monastic air; and has not the slightest pretension to elegance, and is perfectly dull – thank you. You have acquitted yourself, so far as I see, to admiration. I can’t pronounce absolutely, however, until I look about me a little more.”

She spoke with such perfect good faith, and such an air of gravity and wisdom, that he was on the point of laughing.

But that would not have done: for Challys Gray, as she liked to style herself, was an imperious little queen; and when she was serious, expected all the world to be grave also.

There was not a folding door between the front and back drawing-rooms, but an ordinary door, with a very heavily carved casing, like the others in that house, which projected almost like a porch. Under this passed Miss Gray, and looked slowly round the other drawing-room.

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