The Ancient Allan by H. Rider Haggard (smart books to read TXT) 📖

writing which I regret I cannot give in full as I neglected to copy it at the time.

I may add that it seemed extremely strange to me that it and the other which dealt with a particular temple in Egypt should have passed into Lady Ragnall’s hands over two thousand years later in a distant part of Africa, and that subsequently her husband should have been killed in her presence whilst excavating the very temple to which they referred, whence too in all probability they were taken. Moreover, oddly enough Lady Ragnall had herself for a while filled the rôle of Isis in a shrine whereof these two papyri had been part of the sacred appurtenances for unknown ages, and one of her official titles there was Prophetess and Lady of the Moon, whose symbol she wore upon her breast.

Although I have always recognized that there are a great many more things in the world than are dreamt of in our philosophy, I say with truth and confidence that I am not a superstitious man. Yet I confess that these papers and the circumstances connected with them, made me feel afraid.

Also they made me wish that I had not come to Ragnall Castle.

Well, the Atterby-Smiths had so far effectually put a stop to any talk of such matters and even if Lady Ragnall should succeed in getting rid of them by that morning train, as to which I was doubtful, there remained but a single day of my visit during which it ought not to be hard to stave off the subject. Thus I reflected, standing face to face with those mummies, till presently I observed that the Singer of Amen who wore a staring, gold mask, seemed to be watching me with her oblong painted eyes. To my fancy a sardonic smile gathered in them and spread to the mouth.

“That’s what you think,” this smile seemed to say, “as once before you thought that Fate could be escaped. Wait and see, my friend. Wait and see!”

“Not in this room any way,” I remarked aloud, and departed in a hurry down the passage which led to the main staircase.

Before I reached its end a remarkable sight caused me to halt in the shadow. The Atterby-Smith family were going to bed en bloc. They marched in single file up the great stair, each of them carrying a hand candle. Papa led and young Hopeful brought up the rear. Their countenances were full of war, even the twins looked like angry lambs, but something written on them informed me that they had suffered defeat recent and grievous. So they vanished up the stairway and out of my ken for ever.

When they had gone I started again and ran straight into Lady Ragnall. If her guests had been angry, it was clear that she was furious, almost weeping with rage, indeed. Moreover, she turned and rent me.

“You are a wretch,” she said, “to run away and leave me all day long with those horrible people. Well, they will never come here again, for I have told them that if they do the servants have orders to shut the door in their faces.”

Not knowing what to say I remarked that I had spent a most instructive evening in the museum, which seemed to make her angrier than ever. At any rate she whisked off without even saying “good night” and left me standing there. Afterwards I learned that the A.-S.‘s had calmly informed Lady Ragnall that she had stolen their property and demanded that “as an act of justice” she should make a will leaving everything she possessed to them, and meanwhile furnish them with an allowance of £4,000 a year. What I did not learn were the exact terms of her answer.

Next morning Alfred, when he called me, brought me a note from his mistress which I fully expected would contain a request that I should depart by the same train as her other guests. Its real contents, however, were very different.

“MY DEAR FRIEND,” it ran, “I am so ashamed of myself and so sorry for my rudeness last night, for which I deeply apologise. If you knew all that I had gone through at the hands of those dreadful mendicants, you would forgive me.—L.R.”

“P.S.—I have ordered breakfast at 10. Don’t go down much before, for your own sake.”

Somewhat relieved in my mind, for I thought she was really angry with me, not altogether without cause, I rose, dressed and set to work to write some letters. While I was doing so I heard the wheels of a carriage beneath and opening my window, saw the Atterby-Smith family in the act of departing in the Castle bus. Smith himself seemed to be still enraged, but the others looked depressed. Indeed I heard the wife of his bosom say to him,

“Calm yourself, my dear. Remember that Providence knows what is best for us and that beggars on horseback are always unjust and ungrateful.”

To which her spouse replied,

“Hold your infernal tongue, will you,” and then began to rate the servants about the luggage.

Well, off they went. Glaring through the door of the bus, Mr. Smith caught sight of me leaning out of the window, seeing which I waved my hand to him in adieu. His only reply to this courtesy was to shake his fist, though whether at me or at the Castle and its inhabitants in general, I neither know nor care.

When I was quite sure that they had gone and were not coming back again to find something they had forgotten, I went downstairs and surprised a conclave between the butler, Moxley, and his satellites, reinforced by Lady Ragnall’s maid and two other female servants.

“Gratuities!” Moxley was exclaiming, which I thought a fine word for tips, “not a smell of them! His gratuities were—‘Damn your eyes, you fat bottle-washer,’ being his name for butler. My eyes, mind you, Ann, not Alfred’s or William’s, and that because he had tumbled over his own rugs. Gentleman! Why, I name him a hog with his litter.”

“Hogs don’t have litters, Mr. Moxley,” observed Ann smartly.

“Well, young woman, if there weren’t no hogs, there’d be no litters, so there! However, he won’t root about in this castle no more, for I happened to catch a word or two of what passed between him and her Ladyship last night. He said straight out that she was making love to that little Mr. Quatermain who wanted her money, and probably not for the first time as they had forgathered in Africa. A gentleman, mind you, Ann, who although peculiar, I like, and who, the keeper Charles tells me, is the best shot in the whole world.”

“And what did she say to that?” asked Ann.

“What did she say? What didn’t she say, that’s the question. It was just as though all the furniture in the room got up and went for them Smiths. Well, having heard enough, and more than I wanted, I stepped off with the tray and next minute out they all come and grab the bedroom candlesticks. That’s all and there’s her Ladyship’s bell. Alfred, don’t stand gaping there but go and light the hot-plates.”

So they melted away and I descended from the landing, indignant but laughing. No wonder that Lady Ragnall lost her temper!

Ten minutes later she arrived in the dining-room, waving a lighted ribbon that disseminated perfume.

“What on earth are you doing?” I asked.

“Fumigating the house,” she said. “It is unnecessary as I don’t think they were infectious, but the ceremony has a moral significance—like incense. Anyway it relieves my feelings.”

Then she laughed and threw the remains of the ribbon into the fire, adding,

“If you say a word about those people I’ll leave the room.”

I think we had one of the jolliest breakfasts I ever remember. To begin with we were both hungry since our miseries of the night before had prevented us from eating any dinner. Indeed she swore that she had scarcely tasted food since Saturday. Then we had such a lot to talk about. With short intervals we talked all that day, either in the house or while walking through the gardens and grounds. Passing through the latter I came to the spot on the back drive where once I had saved her from being abducted by Harût and Marût, and as I recognized it, uttered an exclamation. She asked me why and the end of it was that I told her all that story which to this moment she had never heard, for Ragnall had thought well to keep it from her.

She listened intently, then said,

“So I owe you more than I knew. Yet, I’m not sure, for you see I was abducted after all. Also if I had been taken there, probably George would never have married me or seen me again, and that might have been better for him.”

“Why?” I asked. “You were all the world to him.”

“Is any woman ever all the world to a man, Mr. Quatermain?”

I hesitated, expecting some attack.

“Don’t answer,” she went on, “it would be too long and you wouldn’t convince me who have been in the East. However, he was all the world to me. Therefore his welfare was what I wished and wish, and I think he would have had more of it if he had never married me.”

“Why?” I asked again.

“Because I brought him no good luck, did I? I needn’t go through all the story as you know it. And in the end it was through me that he was killed in Egypt.”

“Or through the goddess Isis,” I broke in rather nervously.

“Yes, the goddess Isis, a part I have played in my time, or something like it. And he was killed in the temple of the goddess Isis. And those papyri of which you read the translations in the museum, which were given to me in Kendah Land, seem to have come from that same temple. And—how about the Ivory Child? Isis in the temple evidently held a child in her arms, but when we found her it had gone. Supposing this child was the same as that of which I was guardian! It might have been, since the papyri came from that temple. What do you think?”

“I don’t think anything,” I answered, “except that it is all very odd. I don’t even understand what Isis and the child Horus represent. They were not mere images either in Egypt or Kendah Land. There must be an idea behind them somewhere.”

“Oh! there was. Isis was the universal Mother, Nature herself with all the powers, seen and unseen, that are hidden in Nature; Love personified also, although not actually the queen of Love like Hathor, her sister goddess. The Horus child, whom the old Egyptians called Heru-Hennu, signified eternal regeneration, eternal youth, eternal strength and beauty. Also he was the Avenger who overthrew Set, the Prince of Darkness, and thus in a way opened the Door of Life to men.”

“It seems to me that all religions have much in common,” I said.

“Yes, a great deal. It was easy for the old Egyptians to become Christian, since for many of them it only meant worshipping Isis and Horus under new and holier names. But come in, it grows cold.”

We had tea in Lady Ragnall’s boudoir and after it had been taken away our conversation died. She sat there on the other side of the fire with a cigarette between her lips, looking at me through the perfumed smoke till I began to grow uncomfortable and to feel that a crisis of some sort was at hand. This proved perfectly correct, for it was. Presently she said,

“We took a long journey once together, Mr. Quatermain, did we not?”

“Undoubtedly,” I answered, and began to talk of it until she cut me short with a wave of her hand, and went on,

“Well, we are going to take a longer one together after dinner to-night.”

“What! Where! How!” I exclaimed much alarmed.

“I don’t know where, but as for how—look in that box,” and she pointed to a little carved Eastern chest made of rose or sandal wood, that stood upon a table between us.

With a groan I rose and opened it. Inside was another box made of silver. This I opened also and perceived that within lay bundles of dried leaves that looked like tobacco, from which floated an enervating and well-remembered scent that clouded my brain for a moment. Then I shut down the lids and returned to my seat.

“Taduki,” I murmured.

“Yes, Taduki, and I believe in perfect order with all its virtue intact.”

“Virtue!” I exclaimed. “I don’t think there is any virtue about that hateful and magical herb which I believe grew in the devil’s garden. Moreover, Lady Ragnall, although there are few things in the world