The stranger spat, and trod, then resumed his story.
'One evening,' he said, 'towards Christmas, when Edward and I were busy in the armour room, Lord Fox turned to my sister and remarked that it had been so pleasant all these times, visiting her here in her house, that he felt he would be delighted if she permitted him to return the compliment. He had this rather cavernous way of speaking, which Lady Mary considered perfect in a gentleman. "Why, sir," my sister said, "what do you mean?" "I mean," says Lord Fox, smoothing his black moustaches, "that you should come one day, my dear, and visit me in my house." "That would be most agreeable," my sister said. But when she suggested that Edward and I might accompany her, Lord Fox said quickly: "Oh no, not Forbes, splendid fellow though he is, nor Edward, though I like to think of him as my own brother. Just yourself, dear lady." "But I go everywhere with my brothers," my sister pointed out. "Just so," says sly Lord Fox. Then he's smiling his most extreme smile and my sister felt her heart begin to melt. "You should do some things on your own, my dear," he said. "You aren't a child any more, you know," he reminded her. Well, Lady Mary felt there was some truth in these remarks, but she promised nothing. "Where is your house anyway, Lord Fox?" she said. "It's called Bold House, isn't it?" (She remembered sending his invitations there, but she did not think she had ever seen the place.) "Bold House," acknowledges Lord Fox, his black eyes sparkling, "that's right, my dear." "Well," said Lady Mary, "where is Bold House?" "Oh, you can't miss it," Lord Fox assures her, waving his vague white hand gracefully in the air. "Nobody who comes to visit me ever misses it," he added. Lady Mary was puzzled. "But which direction is it from here?" she asked him. "North of the north," says Lord Fox, "east of the east, south of the south, and west of the west." "That sounds a long way away," the Lady Mary says. "Not at all," replies Lord Fox, "in fact you'd be surprised how near it is, my darling." Well, sir, just at that moment Edward and I returned and Lord Fox said no more to my sister about visiting his house. But the next time he came, and the next, he asked her again to visit him. He always waited until they were alone before suggesting it, and he always gave the same mysteriously vile directions. Lady Mary said nothing to us, her brothers, about any of this.'
Shakespeare and his fellow prisoner worked the tread-wheel in silence for a while. Then the fellow went on.
'Christmas Day came,' he said. 'My sister found herself left on her own while Edward and I went out flying hawks that had been given to us by our aunts. She was bored and she was lonely, was the Lady Mary, and she falls to thinking about Lord Fox and his invitations. How agreeably sinister they seemed! Her cockles quivered in her marrowbone! Alas, but my sister decided then and there that she would go and visit him. She put on her best dress and hat, and she set out alone. Really, she did not expect to arrive anywhere. It seemed so hard to find a house that was north of north, east of east, south of south, and west of west. But the mystery was a challenge, so she tried. As it happened, sir, she found Bold House in no time at all. It was quite near, just as Lord Fox had said it was. Lady Mary could not understand how she had never noticed it before. It was a big house, and it had a black door. Lady Mary went up to the door and she knocked. No one answered. Lady Mary knocked again. The doorknocker was cold in her hand. There was still no answer. Lady Mary noticed that over the portal of the door some words were written. She read them. The words said:
Be bold, be bold, but not too bold. She knocked a third time. This time, sir, the big black door swung slowly open. There was nobody there. Lady Mary thought to herself that the door could not have been properly locked or bolted, which meant that perhaps Lord Fox was at home but had not heard her knocking. So she went in. The hall was long, and as cold as a tomb. Lady Mary passed down it, along it, through its cold length. She drifted past the wafting tapestries. Those tapestries had a life of their own. They moved, they writhed. The carpets were like snakes. My sister glided down the twilit corridors, pale, white as salt, like a ghost with a lamp in its hand. She passed the portraits of other sisters. She sped down carpetless corridors, by bare, whitewashed walls. She was in a hospital interior, its dead veins leading towards a pumped-out heart. Her slippered feet were quaint on the chilling tiles. Her toes were benumbed, her ringless fingers aching each by each. At last she came to a spiral stair. As far as she had fallen through the house, so many levels had she now to climb. Over the spiral stair some words were written. The Lady Mary read them. The words said: Be bold, be bold, but not too bold. "Lord Fox?" called Lady Mary. "'Tis I, Lady Mary. 'Tis myself, the Lady Mary. Halloo, halloo, loo, loo! Anybody home, Lord Fox?" There came no answer. Lady Mary went slowly up the stairs. Her dress was spread, so, on the ivory steps. They were long steps, alternate black and white, like the keys of a harpsichord, save that the keys of a harpsichord of course are not alternate. Well, sir, neither was that spiral ivory stair. It was arranged even as a keyboard is arranged, or even as a keyboard has been arranged since the Ruckers got to work on it. The Lady Mary climbed three octaves towards silence. Her trailing dress ascended through the dusk. Her train was a relentment, her golden hair a coruscation. There was music where she was. At the top of the stair, sir, she came to a gallery. It was roofed I think with ice, like the inside of a wolf's mouth. The gallery was like a mouth, in any measure, a wolf's mouth agape. Over the entrance, above the entrance to the gallery, some words were written. The Lady Mary read them. The words said: Be bold, be bold, but not too bold. "Clotpoll," thought Lady Mary, "can he really have the same idiot inscription written all over his house?" Then she called. "Lord Fox," she called, "where are you, Lord Fox?" There came no answer. The listening house stood still. My sister the Lady Mary went on through the gallery. The walls glistened with frost. Her skirts made a swishing sound. At the end of the gallery she came to another door. This door was also black. But it was very small. There were some words written on it. Lady Mary had to kneel to read them. Her spectacles slipped down her nose. Her garters twanged on her plump white thighs. The words said: Be bold, be bold, but not too bold - lest that your heart's blood should run cold. My sister the Lady Mary was not a person to be frightened off now that she had come so far. She turned the key in the tight lock. She opened the door. She stuck her head and shoulders into the tiny room. The tiny room was full of tubs of blood. Skeletons hung from hooks in the rafters. Skulls grinned at her from every shelf. The floor was thick with coils of human hair. Lady Mary did not scream. She shut the door. She stood up. She went to the window for air, and saw Lord Fox. He was coming towards the house across rank lawns. It had begun to snow and his figure, dressed all in black, loomed like a devil in a mist of whirling white flakes. He snowed towards my sister. He carried in his left hand a long, thin sword. With his right he dragged a young girl by the hair. The girl screamed. But Lord Fox said nothing. The Lady Mary sprang back from the window. She snatched up her skirts and she ran through the gallery. She tried door after door after door after door after door after door after door after door after door after door after door after door after door after door after door after door after door after door after door after door after door for a place to hide, but all were locked. She hurried down the spiral stair. She flew. She spun. She fell. She glided. Her face was the colour of mushrooms. Down the black and white, white and black stair she went, note after note after note after note. What was the tune, what was the melody of the Lady Mary's fall? It was the opening bars of that song which is called Heart's-ease.* It was the sound of a snowflake falling, the world in the evening, the witches of regret that shout "All hail!", the end of it all, minutest quickening conclusion. As Lady Mary fell the last act rose to meet her. They met. They merged. They melted. Her hair streamed. Her shadow was a gleam on gleaming ivory. She could hear Lord Fox coming. She hid herself under the staircase. Lord Fox entered the hall. Lord Fox and his victim. My sister's heart was beating like a drum. "A goitre like a bladder of lard, a goitre like a bladder of lard, bladder of lard, bladder of lard, bladder of bladder of bladder of lard," cried the heart of the Lady Mary. Her heart thought she must be caught. But Lord Fox did not see her. No, sir, yes, sir, so bent is he on his own cruel business that he does not see my sister where she lies huddled in the blue pool of her dress. He begins to drag the poor girl up the stair. The girl does not go easy. She screams. She kicks. She plunges. Begging for mercy, she catches hold of a knob at the turn of the bannisters. Lady Mary, peeping up from her hiding place, sees the girl's hand tighten. The girl wears a silver bracelet round her wrist. As Lady Mary watches, Lord Fox raises up his sword and cuts off the girl's hand. Cut. Hand and bracelet fall in my sister's lap. She hears Lord Fox going down the gallery, and the dragging sound of the girl behind him. The harpsichord of the stair was silent. My sister ran, sir, ran ran ran from Bold House, ran through the snow, and she did not stop running until she reached the safety of our house on the cliff.'