Catherine's Quest

"Catherine's Quest" is a captivating novella by Joseph Thomas Sheridan Le Fanu, revolving around the titular character, Catherine. The story explores themes of love, identity, and the supernatural as Catherine embarks on a journey marked by mystery and intrigue. Set against a backdrop of rich Gothic elements, the narrative delves into her encounters with enigmatic figures and the struggles she faces in her search for truth and fulfillment. Le Fanu's evocative prose and gripping storytelling create an engaging tale that combines romance with an exploration of the darker facets of human nature.

• Horror

								
Imagine to yourself an old, rambling, red-brick house, with odd corners
and gables here and there, all bound and clasped together with ivy, and
you have Craymoor Grange. It was built long before Queen Elizabeth's
time, and that illustrious monarch is said to have slept in it in one of
her royal progresses--as where has she not slept?

There still remain some remnants of bygone ages, although it has been
much modernized and added to in later days. Among these are the
brewhouse and laundry--formerly, it is said, dining-hall and ball-room.
The latter of these is chiefly remarkable for an immense arched window,
such as you see in churches, with five lights.

When we came to the Grange this window had been partially blocked up,
and in front of it, up to one-third of its height, was a wooden daïs, or
platform, on which stood a cumbrous mangle, left there, I suppose, by
the last tenants of the house.

Of these last tenants we knew very little, for it was so long since it
had been inhabited that the oldest authority in the village could not
remember it.

There were, however, some half-defaced monuments in the village church
of Craymoor, bearing the figures and escutcheons of knights and dames of
"the old family," as the villagers said; but the inscriptions were worn
and almost illegible, and for some time we none of us took the pains to
decipher them.

We first came to Craymoor Grange in the summer of 1849, my husband
having discovered the place in one of his rambles, and taken a fancy to
it. At first I certainly thought we could never make it our home, it was
so dilapidated and tumble-down; but by the time winter came on we had
had several repairs done and alterations made, and the rooms really
became quite presentable.

As our family was small we confined ourselves chiefly to the newest part
of the house, leaving the older rooms to the mice, dust, and darkness.
We made use of two of the old rooms, however, one as a servants' bedroom
and the other as an extra spare chamber, in case of many visitors. For
myself, though I hope I am neither nervous nor superstitious, I confess
that I would rather sleep in "our wing," as we called the part of the
house we inhabited, than in any of the old rooms.

When Catherine l'Estrange came to us, however, during our first
Christmas at Craymoor, I found that she was troubled with no such
fancies, but declared that she delighted in queer old rooms, with
raftered ceilings and deep window-seats, such as ours, and begged to be
allowed to occupy the spare chamber. This I readily acceded to, as we
had several visitors, and needed all the available rooms.

As my story has principally to do with Catherine l'Estrange, I suppose I
ought to speak more fully about her. She was an old school-friend of my
daughter Ella, and at the time of which I am speaking was just
one-and-twenty, and the merriest girl I ever knew. She had stayed with
us once or twice before we came to the Grange, but we then knew no other
particulars concerning her family, than that her father had been an
Indian officer, and that he and her mother had both died in India when
she was about six years old, leaving her to the care of an aunt living
in England.

I now, after a long, and I fear a tedious, preamble, come to my story.

On the eve of the new year of 1850, Catherine had a very bad sore
throat, and was obliged, though sorely against her inclination, to stay
in bed all day, and forego our small evening gayety.

At about 6 o'clock P.M., Ella took her some tea, and fearing she would
be dull, offered to stay with her during the evening. This, however,
Catherine would not hear of. "You go and entertain your company," said
she laughingly, "and leave me to my own devices; I feel very lazy, and I
dare say I shall go to sleep." As she had not slept much on the
preceding night, Ella thought it was the best thing she could do; so she
went out by the door leading on to the corridor, first placing the
night-lamp on a table behind the door opening on to the laundry, so that
it might not shine in her face.

She did not again visit Catherine's room until reminded to do so by my
son George, at about half-past ten. She then rapped at the door, and
receiving no answer, opened it softly, and approached the bed. Catherine
lay quite still, and Ella imagined her to be asleep. She therefore
returned to the drawing-room without disturbing her.

As it was New Year's eve, we stayed up "to see the old year out and the
new year in," and at a few minutes to twelve we all gathered round the
open window on the stairs to hear the chimes ring out from the village
church.

We were all listening breathlessly as the hall-clock struck twelve, when
a piercing cry suddenly echoed through the house, causing us all to
start in alarm. I knew that it could only proceed from Catherine's room,
for the servants were all assembled at the window beneath us, listening,
like ourselves, for the chimes. Thither therefore I flew, followed by
Ella, and we found poor Catherine in a truly pitiable state.

She was deadly pale, in an agony of terror, and the perspiration stood
in large drops upon her forehead. It was some time before we could
succeed at all in composing her, and her first words were to implore us
to take her into another room.

She was too weak to stand, so we wrapped her in blankets, and carried
her into Ella's bedroom. I noticed that as she was taken through the
laundry she shuddered, and put her hands before her eyes. When she was
laid on Ella's bed she grew calmer, and apologized for the trouble she
had caused, saying that she had had a dreadful dream.

With this explanation we were fain to be content, though I thought it
hardly accounted for her excessive terror. I had observed, however, that
any allusion to what had passed caused her to tremble and turn pale
again, and I thought it best to refrain from exciting her further.

When morning came I found Catherine almost her usual self again; but I
persuaded her to remain in bed until the evening, as her cold was not
much better. Ella's curiosity to hear the dream which had so much
excited her friend could now no longer be restrained; but whenever she
asked to hear it, Catherine said, "Not now; another time, perhaps, I may
tell you."

When she came down to dinner in the evening, we noticed that she was
peculiarly silent, and we endeavored to rally her into her usual
spirits, but in vain. She tried to laugh and to appear merry, poor
child; but there was evidently something on her mind.

At last, as we all sat round the fire after dinner, she spoke. She
addressed herself to my husband, but the tone of her voice caused us all
to listen.

"Mr. Fanshawe, I have something to ask of you," said she, and then
paused.

"Ask on," said Mr. Fanshawe.

"I know that you will think the request I am going to make a peculiar
one; but I have a particular reason for making it," continued she. "It

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