Chapter VI Doctor Lamb Again
Night came, and the cell grew profoundly dark. Auriol became impatient for the appearance of his keeper, but hour after hour passed and he did not arrive. Worn out, at length, with doubt and bewildering speculations, the miserable captive was beset with the desire to put an end to his torments by suicide, and he determined to execute his fell purpose without delay. An evil chance seemed also to befriend him, for scarcely was the idea formed, than his foot encountered something on the ground, the rattling of which attracted his attention, and stooping to take it up, he grasped the bare blade of a knife.
“This will, at all events, solve my doubts,” he cried aloud. “I will sheathe this weapon in my heart, and, if I am mortal, my woes will be ended.”
As he spoke, he placed the point to his breast with the full intent to strike, but before he could inflict the slightest wound, his arm was forcibly arrested.
“Would you destroy yourself, madman?” roared a voice. “I thought your violence was abated, and that you might go forth in safety. But I find you are worse than ever.”
Auriol uttered a groan and let the knife fall to the ground. The new-comer kicked it to a distance with his foot.
“You shall be removed to another chamber,” he pursued, “where you can be more strictly watched.”
“Take me forth—oh! take me forth,” cried Auriol. “It was a mere impulse of desperation, which I now repent.”
“I dare not trust you. You will commit some act of insane fury, for which I myself shall have to bear the blame. When I yielded to your entreaties on a former occasion, and took you forth, I narrowly prevented you from doing all we met a mischief.”
“I have no recollection of any such circumstance,” returned Auriol mournfully. “But it may be true, nevertheless. And if so, it only proves the lamentable condition to which I am reduced—memory and reason gone!”
“Ay, both gone,” cried the other, with an irrepressible chuckle.
“Ha!” exclaimed Auriol, starting. “I am not so mad but I recognise in you the Evil Being who tempted me. I am not so oblivious as to forget our terrible interviews.”
“What, you are in your lunes again!” cried Rougemont fiercely. “Nay, then I must call my assistants, and bind you.”
“Let me be—let me be!” implored Auriol, “and I will offend you no more. Whatever thoughts may arise within me, I will not give utterance to them. Only take me forth.”
“I came for that purpose,” said Rougemont; “but I repeat, I dare not. You are not sufficiently master of yourself.”
“Try me,” said Auriol.
“Well,” rejoined the other, “I will see what I can do to calm you.”
So saying, he disappeared for a few moments, and then returning with a torch, placed it on the ground, and producing a phial, handed it to the captive.
“Drink!” he said.
Without a moment’s hesitation Auriol complied.
“It seems to me rather a stimulant than a soothing potion,” he remarked, after emptying the phial.
“You are in no condition to judge,” rejoined the other.
And he proceeded to unfasten Auriol’s chain.
“Now then, come with me,” he said, “and do not make any attempt at evasion, or you will rue it.”
Like one in a dream, Auriol followed his conductor down the flight of stone steps leading from the dungeon, and along a narrow passage. As he proceeded, he thought he heard stealthy footsteps behind him; but he never turned his head, to see whether he was really followed. In this way they reached a short steep staircase, and mounting it, entered a vault, in which Rougemont paused, and placed the torch he had brought with him upon the floor. Its lurid glimmer partially illumined the chamber, and showed that it was built of stone. Rude benches of antique form were set about the vault, and motioning Auriol to be seated upon one of them, Rougemont sounded a silver whistle. The summons was shortly afterwards answered by the dwarf, in whose attire a new change had taken place. He was now clothed in a jerkin of grey serge, fashioned like the garments worn by the common people in Elizabeth’s reign, and wore a trencher-cap on his head. Auriol watched him as he timidly advanced towards Rougemont, and had an indistinct recollection of having seen him before; but could not call to mind how or where.
“Is your master a-bed?” demanded Rougemont.
“A-bed! Good lack, sir!” exclaimed the dwarf, “little of sleep knows Doctor Lamb. He will toil at the furnace till the stars have set.”
“Doctor Lamb!” repeated Auriol. “Surely I have heard that name before?”
“Very likely,” replied Rougemont, “for it is the name borne by your nearest kinsman.”
“How is the poor young gentleman?” asked the dwarf, glancing commiseratingly at Auriol. “My master often makes inquiries after his grandson, and grieves that the state of his mind should render it necessary to confine him.”
“His grandson! I—Doctor Lamb’s grandson!” cried Auriol.
“In sooth are you, young sir,” returned the dwarf. “Were you in your reason, you would be aware that my master’s name is the same as your own—Darcy—Reginald Darcy. He assumes the name of Doctor Lamb to delude the multitude. He told you as much yourself, sweet sir, if your poor wits would enable you to recollect it.”
“Am I in a dream, good fellow, tell me that?” cried Auriol, lost in amazement.
“Alack, no, sir,” replied the dwarf; “to my thinking, you are wide awake. But you know, sir,” he added, touching his forehead, “you have been a little wrong here, and your memory and reason are not of the clearest.”
“Where does my grandsire dwell?” asked Auriol.
“Why here, sir,” replied the dwarf; “and for the matter of locality, the house is situated on the south end of London Bridge.”
“On the bridge—did you say on the bridge, friend?” cried Auriol.
“Ay, on the bridge—where else should it be? You would not have your grandsire live under the river?” rejoined the dwarf; “though, for ought I know, some of these vaults may go under it. They are damp enough.”
Auriol was lost in reflection, and did not observe a sign that passed between the dwarf and Rougemont.
“Will it disturb Doctor Lamb if his grandson goes up to him?” said the latter, after a brief pause.
“My master does not like to be interrupted in his operations, as you know, sir,” replied the dwarf, “and seldom suffers any one, except myself, to enter his laboratory; but I will make so bold as to introduce Master Auriol, if he desires it.”
“You will confer the greatest favour on me by doing so,” cried Auriol, rising.
“Sit down—sit down!” said Rougemont authoritatively. “You cannot go up till the doctor has been apprised. Remain here, while Flapdragon and I ascertain his wishes.” So saying, he quitted the chamber by a farther outlet with the dwarf.
During the short time that Auriol was left alone, he found it vain to attempt to settle his thoughts, or to convince himself that he was not labouring under some strange delusion.
He was aroused at length by the dwarf, who returned alone.
“Your grandsire will see you,” said the mannikin.
“One word before we go,” cried Auriol, seizing his arm.
“Saints! how you frighten me!” exclaimed the dwarf. “You must keep composed, or I dare not take you to my master.”
“Pardon me,” replied Auriol; “I meant not to alarm you. Where is the person who brought me hither?”
“What, your keeper?” said the dwarf. “Oh, he is within call. He will come to you anon. Now follow me.”
And taking up the torch, he led the way out of the chamber. Mounting a spiral staircase, apparently within a turret, they came to a door, which being opened by Flapdragon, disclosed a scene that well-nigh stupefied Auriol.
It was the laboratory precisely as he had seen it above two centuries ago. The floor was strewn with alchemical implements—the table was covered with mystic parchments inscribed with cabalistic characters—the furnace stood in the corner—crucibles and cucurbites decorated the chimney-board—the sphere and brazen lamp hung from the ceiling—the skeletons grinned from behind the chimney-corner—all was there as he had seen it before! There also was Doctor Lamb, in his loose gown of sable silk, with a square black cap upon his venerable head, and his snowy beard streaming to his girdle.
The old man’s gaze was fixed upon a crucible placed upon the furnace, and he was occupied in working the bellows. He moved his head as Auriol entered the chamber, and the features became visible. It was a face never to be forgotten.
“Come in, grandson,” said the old man kindly. “Come in, and close the door after you. The draught affects the furnace—my Athanor, as we adepts term it. So you are better, your keeper tells me—much better.”
“Are you indeed living?” cried Auriol, rushing wildly towards him, and attempting to take his hand.
“Off—off!” cried the old man, drawing back as if alarmed. “You disturb my operations. Keep him calm, Flapdragon, or take him hence. He may do me a mischief.”
“I have no such intention, sir,” said Auriol; “indeed I have not. I only wish to be assured that you are my aged relative.”
“To be sure he is, young sir,” interposed the dwarf. “Why should you doubt it?”
“O sir,” cried Auriol, throwing himself at the old man’s feet, “pity me if I am mad; but offer me some explanation, which may tend to restore me to my senses. My reason seems gone, yet I appear capable of receiving impressions from external objects. I see you, and appear to know you. I see this chamber—these alchemical implements—that furnace—these different objects—and I appear to recognise them. Am I deceived, or is this real?”
“You are not deceived, my son,” replied the old man. “You have been in this room before, and you have seen me before. It would be useless to explain to you now how you have suffered from fever, and what visions your delirium has produced. When you are perfectly restored, we will talk the matter over.”
And, as he said this, he began to blow the fire anew, and watched with great apparent interest the changing colours of the liquid in the cucurbite placed on the furnace.
Auriol looked at him earnestly, but could not catch another glance, so intently was the old man occupied. At length he ventured to break the silence.
“I should feel perfectly convinced, if I might look forth from that window,” he said.
“Convinced of what?” rejoined the old man somewhat sharply.
“That I am what I seem,” replied Auriol.
“Look forth, then,” said the old man. “But do not disturb me by idle talk. There is the rosy colour in the projection for which I have been so long waiting.”
Auriol then walked to the window and gazed through the tinted panes. It was very dark, and objects could only be imperfectly distinguished. Still he fancied he could detect the gleam of the river beneath him, and what seemed a long line of houses on the bridge. He also fancied he discerned other buildings, with the high roofs, the gables, and the other architectural peculiarities of the structures of Elizabeth’s time. He persuaded himself, also, that he could distinguish through the gloom the venerable Gothic pile of Saint Paul’s Cathedral on the other side of the water, and, as if to satisfy him that he was right, a deep solemn bell tolled forth the hour of two. After a while he returned from the window, and said to his supposed grandsire, “I am satisfied. I have lived centuries in a few nights.”