Best Horror Novels

Chapter 8 Search

Chapter 8

SearchAt sight of the room, perfectly undisturbed except for our

violent entrance, we began to cool a little, and soon recovered our

senses sufficiently to dismiss the men. It had struck Mademoiselle

that possibly Carmilla had been wakened by the uproar at her door,

and in her first panic had jumped from her bed, and hid herself in

a press, or behind a curtain, from which she could not, of course,

emerge until the majordomo and his myrmidons had withdrawn. We now

recommenced our search, and began to call her name again.

It was all to no purpose. Our perplexity and agitation

increased. We examined the windows, but they were secured. I

implored of Carmilla, if she had concealed herself, to play this

cruel trick no longer—to come out and to end our anxieties. It was

all useless. I was by this time convinced that she was not in the

room, nor in the dressing room, the door of which was still locked

on this side. She could not have passed it. I was utterly puzzled.

Had Carmilla discovered one of those secret passages which the old

housekeeper said were known to exist in the schloss, although the

tradition of their exact situation had been lost? A little time

would, no doubt, explain all—utterly perplexed as, for the present,

we were.

It was past four o'clock, and I preferred passing the remaining

hours of darkness in Madame's room. Daylight brought no solution of

the difficulty.

The whole household, with my father at its head, was in a state

of agitation next morning. Every part of the chateau was searched.

The grounds were explored. No trace of the missing lady could be

discovered. The stream was about to be dragged; my father was in

distraction; what a tale to have to tell the poor girl's mother on

her return. I, too, was almost beside myself, though my grief was

quite of a different kind.

The morning was passed in alarm and excitement. It was now one

o'clock, and still no tidings. I ran up to Carmilla's room, and

found her standing at her dressing table. I was astounded. I could

not believe my eyes. She beckoned me to her with her pretty finger,

in silence. Her face expressed extreme fear.

I ran to her in an ecstasy of joy; I kissed and embraced her

again and again. I ran to the bell and rang it vehemently, to bring

others to the spot who might at once relieve my father's

anxiety.

"Dear Carmilla, what has become of you all this time? We have

been in agonies of anxiety about you," I exclaimed. "Where have you

been? How did you come back?"

"Last night has been a night of wonders," she said.

"For mercy's sake, explain all you can."

"It was past two last night," she said, "when I went to sleep as

usual in my bed, with my doors locked, that of the dressing room,

and that opening upon the gallery. My sleep was uninterrupted, and,

so far as I know, dreamless; but I woke just now on the sofa in the

dressing room there, and I found the door between the rooms open,

and the other door forced. How could all this have happened without

my being wakened? It must have been accompanied with a great deal

of noise, and I am particularly easily wakened; and how could I

have been carried out of my bed without my sleep having been

interrupted, I whom the slightest stir startles?"

By this time, Madame, Mademoiselle, my father, and a number of

the servants were in the room. Carmilla was, of course, overwhelmed

with inquiries, congratulations, and welcomes. She had but one

story to tell, and seemed the least able of all the party to

suggest any way of accounting for what had happened.

My father took a turn up and down the room, thinking. I saw

Carmilla's eye follow him for a moment with a sly, dark glance.

When my father had sent the servants away, Mademoiselle having

gone in search of a little bottle of valerian and salvolatile, and

there being no one now in the room with Carmilla, except my father,

Madame, and myself, he came to her thoughtfully, took her hand very

kindly, led her to the sofa, and sat down beside her.

"Will you forgive me, my dear, if I risk a conjecture, and ask a

question?"

"Who can have a better right?" she said. "Ask what you please,

and I will tell you everything. But my story is simply one of

bewilderment and darkness. I know absolutely nothing. Put any

question you please, but you know, of course, the limitations mamma

has placed me under."

"Perfectly, my dear child. I need not approach the topics on

which she desires our silence. Now, the marvel of last night

consists in your having been removed from your bed and your room,

without being wakened, and this removal having occurred apparently

while the windows were still secured, and the two doors locked upon

the inside. I will tell you my theory and ask you a question."

Carmilla was leaning on her hand dejectedly; Madame and I were

listening breathlessly.

"Now, my question is this. Have you ever been suspected of

walking in your sleep?"

"Never, since I was very young indeed."

"But you did walk in your sleep when you were young?"

"Yes; I know I did. I have been told so often by my old

nurse."

My father smiled and nodded.

"Well, what has happened is this. You got up in your sleep,

unlocked the door, not leaving the key, as usual, in the lock, but

taking it out and locking it on the outside; you again took the key

out, and carried it away with you to some one of the

five-and-twenty rooms on this floor, or perhaps upstairs or

downstairs. There are so many rooms and closets, so much heavy

furniture, and such accumulations of lumber, that it would require

a week to search this old house thoroughly. Do you see, now, what I

mean?"

"I do, but not all," she answered.

"And how, papa, do you account for her finding herself on the

sofa in the dressing room, which we had searched so carefully?"

"She came there after you had searched it, still in her sleep,

and at last awoke spontaneously, and was as much surprised to find

herself where she was as any one else. I wish all mysteries were as

easily and innocently explained as yours, Carmilla," he said,

laughing. "And so we may congratulate ourselves on the certainty

that the most natural explanation of the occurrence is one that

involves no drugging, no tampering with locks, no burglars, or

poisoners, or witches—nothing that need alarm Carmilla, or anyone

else, for our safety."

Carmilla was looking charmingly. Nothing could be more beautiful

than her tints. Her beauty was, I think, enhanced by that graceful

languor that was peculiar to her. I think my father was silently

contrasting her looks with mine, for he said:

"I wish my poor Laura was looking more like herself"; and he

sighed.

So our alarms were happily ended, and Carmilla restored to her

friends.