Alcott, Louisa May - SSC 14 (42 page)

 
          
"I've
had very small experience in ghosts, and can only recall a little fright I once
had when a boy at college. I'd been out to a party, got home tired, couldn't
find my matches, and retired in the dark. Toward morning I
woke,
and glancing up to see if the dim light was dawn or moonshine I was horrified
to see a coffin standing at the bed's foot. I rubbed my eyes to be sure I was
awake, and looked with all my might. There it was, a long black coffin, and I
saw the white plate in the dusk, for the moon was setting and my curtain was
not drawn. 'It's some trick of the fellows,' I thought; 'I'll not betray
myself, but keep cool.' Easy to say but hard to do, for it suddenly flashed
into my mind that I might be in the wrong room. I glanced about, but there were
the familiar objects as usual, as far as the indistinct light allowed me to
see, and I made sure by feeling on the wall at the bed's head for my watchcase.
It was there, and mine beyond a doubt, being peculiar in shape and fabric. Had
I been to a college wine party I could have accounted for the vision, but a
quiet evening in a grave professor's well-conducted family could produce no ill
effects. 'It's an optical illusion, or a prank of my mates; I'll sleep and
forget it,' I said, and for a time endeavored to do so, but curiosity overcame
my resolve, and soon I peeped again.
Judge of my horror when
I saw the sharp white outline of a dead face, which seemed to be peeping up
from the coffin.
It gave me a terrible shock for I was but a lad and had
been ill. I hid my face and quaked like a nervous girl, still thinking it some
joke and too proud to betray fear lest I should be laughed at. How long I lay
there I don't know, but when I looked again the face was farther out and the
whole figure seemed rising slowly. The moon was nearly down, I had no lamp, and
to be left in the dark with that awesome thing was more than I could bear. Joke
or earnest, I must end the panic, and bolting out of my room I roused my
neighbor. He told me I was mad or drunk, but lit a lamp and returned with me,
to find my horror only a heap of clothes thrown on the table in such a way
that, as the moon's pale light shot it, it struck upon my black student's gown,
with a white card lying on it, and produced the effect of a coffin and plate.
The face was a crumpled handkerchief, and what seemed hair a brown muffler. As
the moon sank, these outlines changed and, incredible as it may seem, grew like
a face. My friend not having had the fright enjoyed the joke, and 'Coffins' was
my sobriquet for a long while."

 
          
"You
get worse and worse. Sir Jasper, do vary the horrors by a touch of fun, or I
shall run away," said Blanche, glancing over her shoulder nervously.

 
          
"I'll
do my best, and tell a story my uncle used to relate of his young days. I
forget the name of the place, but it was some little country town famous among
anglers. My uncle often went to fish, and always regretted that a deserted
house near the trout stream was not occupied, for the inn was inconveniently
distant. Speaking of this one evening as he lounged in the landlady's parlor,
he asked why no one took it and let the rooms to strangers in the fishing
season. 'For fear of the ghostissess, your honor,' replied the woman, and proceeded
to tell, him that three distinct spirits haunted the house. In the garret was
heard the hum of a wheel and the tap of high-heeled shoes, as the ghostly
spinner went to and fro. In a chamber sounded the sharpening of a knife,
followed by groans and the drip of blood. The cellar was made awful by a
skeleton sitting on a half-buried box and chuckling fiendishly. It seems a
miser lived there once, and was believed to have starved his daughter in the
garret, keeping her at work till she died. The second spirit was that of the
girl's rejected lover, who cut his throat in the chamber, and the third of the
miser who was found dead on the money chest he was too feeble to conceal. My
uncle laughed at all this, and offered to lay the ghosts if anyone would take
the house.

 
          
"This
offer got abroad, and a crusty old fellow accepted it, hoping to turn a penny.
He had a pretty girl, whose love had been thwarted by the old man, and whose
lover was going to sea in despair. My uncle knew this and pitied the young
people. He had made acquaintance with a wandering artist, and the two agreed to
conquer the prejudices against the house by taking rooms there. They did so,
and after satisfying themselves regarding the noises, consulted a wise old
woman as to the best means of laying the ghosts. She told them if any young
girl would pass a night in each haunted room, praying piously the while, that
all would be well. Peggy was asked if she would do it, and being
a stouthearted lass
she consented, for a round sum, to try
it. The first night was in the garret, and Peggy, in spite of the prophecies of
the village gossips, came out alive, though listeners at the door heard the
weird humming and tapping all night long. The next night all went well, and
from that time no more sharpening, groaning, or dripping was heard. The third
time she bade her
friends
good-bye and, wrapped in her
red cloak, with a lamp and prayer book, went down into the cellar. Alas for
pretty Peggy! When day came she was gone, and with her the miser's empty box, though
his bones remained to prove how well she had done her work.

 
          
"The
town was in
an uproar
, and the old man furious. Some
said the devil had flown away with her, others that the bones were hers, and
all agreed that henceforth another ghost would haunt the house. My uncle and
the artist did their best to comfort the father, who sorely reproached himself
for thwarting the girl's love, and declared that if Jack would find her he
should have her. But Jack had sailed, and the old man 'was left lamenting.' The
house was freed from its unearthly visitors, however, for no ghost appeared;
and when my uncle left, old Martin found money and letter informing him that
Peggy had spent her first two nights preparing for flight, and on the third had
gone away to marry and sail with Jack. The noises had been produced by the
artist, who was a ventriloquist, the skeleton had been smuggled from the
surgeons, and the whole thing was a conspiracy to help Peggy and accommodate
the fishermen."

 
          
"It
is evident that roguery is hereditary," laughed Rose as the narrator
paused.

 
          
"I
strongly suspect that Sir Jasper the second was the true hero of that
story," added Mrs. Snowdon.

 
          
"Think
what you like, I've done my part, and leave the stage for you, madam."

 
          
"I
will come last. It is your turn, dear." As Mrs. Snowdon softly uttered the
last word, and Octavia leaned upon her knee with an affectionate glance,
Treherne leaned forward to catch a glimpse of the two changed faces, and looked
as if bewildered when both smiled at him, as they sat hand in hand while the
girl told her story.

 
          
"Long
ago a famous actress suddenly dropped dead at the close of a splendidly played
tragedy. She was carried home, and preparations were made to bury her. The play
had been gotten up with great care and expense, and a fine actor was the hero.
The public demanded a repetition, and an inferior person was engaged to take
the dead lady's part. A day's delay had been necessary, but when the night came
the house was crowded. They waited both before and behind the curtain for the
debut of the new actress, with much curiosity. She stood waiting for her cue,
but as it was given, to the amazement of all, the great tragedienne glided upon
the stage. Pale as marble, and with a strange fire in her eyes, strange pathos
in her voice, strange power in her acting, she went through her part, and at
the close vanished as mysteriously as she came. Great was the excitement that
night,
and intense the astonishment and horror next day when
it was whispered abroad that the dead woman never had revived, but had lain in
her coffin before the eyes of watchers all the evening, when hundreds fancied
they were applauding her at the theater. The mystery never was cleared up, and
Paris was divided by two opinions: one that some person marvelously like Madame
Z. had personated her for the sake of a sensation; the other that the ghost of
the dead actress, unable to free itself from the old duties so full of
fascination to an ambitious and successful woman, had played for the last time
the part which had made her famous."

 
          
"Where
did you find that, Tavie? It's very French, and not bad if you invented
it," said Sir Jasper.

 
          
"I
read it in an old book, where it was much better told. Now, Edith, there is
just time for your tale."

 
          
As
the word "Edith" passed her lips, again Treherne started and eyed
them both, and again they smiled, as Mrs. Snowdon caressed the smooth cheek
leaning on her knee, and looking full at him began the last recital.

 
          
"You
have been recounting the pranks of imaginary ghosts; let me show you the
workings of some real spirits, evil and good, that haunt every heart and home,
making its misery or joy. At Christmastime, in a country house, a party of
friends met to keep the holidays, and very happily they might have done so had
not one person marred the peace of several. Love, jealousy, deceit, and
nobleness were the spirits that played their freaks with these people. The
person of whom I speak was more haunted than the rest, and much tormented,
being willful, proud, and jealous. Heaven help her, she had had no one to
exorcise these ghosts for her, and they goaded her to do much harm. Among these
friends there were more than one pair of lovers, and much tangling of plots and
plans, for hearts are wayward and mysterious things, and cannot love as duty
bids or prudence counsels. This woman held the key to all the secrets of the
house, and, having a purpose to gain, she used her power selfishly, for a time.
To satisfy a doubt, she feigned a fancy for a gentleman who once did her the
honor of admiring her, and, to the great scandal of certain sage persons,
permitted him to show his regard for her, knowing that it was but a transient
amusement on his part as well as upon hers. In the hands of this woman lay a
secret which could make or mar the happiness of the best and dearest of the
party. The evil spirits which haunted her urged her to mar their peace and
gratify a sinful hope. On the other side, honor, justice, and generosity
prompted her to make them happy, and while she wavered there came to her a
sweet enchantress who, with a word, banished the tormenting ghosts forever, and
gave the haunted woman a talisman to keep her free henceforth."

 
          
There
the earnest voice faltered, and with a sudden impulse Mrs. Snowdon bent her
head and kissed the fair forehead which had bent lower and lower as she went
on. Each listener understood the truth, lightly veiled in that hasty fable, and
each found in it a different meaning. Sir Jasper frowned and bit his lips,
Annon glanced anxiously from face to face, Octavia hid hers, and Treherne's
flashed with sudden intelligence, while Rose laughed low to herself, enjoying
the scene. Blanche, who was getting sleepy, said, with a stifled gape,
"That is a very nice, moral little story, but I wish there had been some
real ghosts in it."

 
          
"There
was. Will you come and see them?"

 
          
As
she put the question, Mrs. Snowdon rose abruptly, wishing to end the séance,
and beckoning them to follow glided up the great stairway. All obeyed,
wondering what whim possessed her, and quite ready for any jest in store for
them.

 
          
She
led them to the north gallery and, pausing at the door, said merrily, "The
ghost—or ghosts rather, for there were two—which frightened Patty were Sir
Jasper and myself, meeting to discuss certain important matters which concerned
Mr. Treherne. If you want to see spirits we will play phantom for you, and
convince you of our power."

 
          
"Good,
let us go and have a ghostly dance, as a proper finale of our revel,"
answered Rose as they flocked into the long hall.

 
          
At
that moment the great clock struck
twelve,
and all
paused to bid the old year adieu. Sir Jasper was the first to speak, for, angry
with Mrs. Snowdon, yet thankful to her for making a jest to others of what had
been earnest to him, he desired to hide his chagrin under a gay manner; and
taking Rose around the waist was about to waltz away as she proposed, saying
cheerily, "'Come one and all, and dance the new year in,'" when a cry
from Octavia arrested him, and turning he saw her stand, pale and trembling,
pointing to the far end of the hall.

 
          
Eight
narrow Gothic windows pierced either wall of the north gallery. A full moon
sent her silvery light strongly in upon the eastern side, making broad bars of
brightness across the floor. No fires burned there now, and wherever the
moonlight did not fall deep shadows lay. As Octavia cried out, all looked, and
all distinctly saw a tall, dark figure moving noiselessly across the second bar
of light far down the hall.

 
          
"Is
it some jest of yours?" asked Sir Jasper of Mrs. Snowdon, as the form
vanished in the shadow.

 
          
"No,
upon my honor, I know nothing of it! I only meant to relieve Octavia's
superstitious fears by showing her our pranks" was the whispered reply as
Mrs. Snowdon's cheek paled, and she drew nearer to Jasper.

 
          
"Who
is there?" called Treherne in a commanding tone.

 
          
No
answer, but a faint, cold breath of air seemed to sigh along the arched roof
and die away as the dark figure crossed the third streak of moonlight. A
strange awe fell upon them all, and no one spoke, but stood watching for the
appearance of the shape. Nearer and nearer it came, with soundless steps, and
as it reached the sixth window its outlines were distinctly visible.
A tall, wasted figure, all in black, with a rosary hanging from the
girdle, and a dark beard half concealing the face.

 
          
"The
Abbot's ghost, and very well got up," said Annon, trying to laugh but
failing decidedly, for again the cold breath swept over them, causing a general
shudder.

 
          
"Hush!"
whispered Treherne, drawing Octavia to his side with a protecting gesture.

 
          
Once
more the phantom appeared and disappeared, and as they waited for it to cross
the last bar of light that lay between it and them, Mrs. Snowdon stepped
forward to the edge of the shadow in which they stood, as if to confront the
apparition alone. Out of the darkness it came, and in the full radiance of the
light it paused. Mrs. Snowdon, being nearest, saw the face first, and uttering
a faint cry dropped down upon the stone floor, covering up her eyes. Nothing
human ever wore a look like that of the ghastly, hollow-eyed, pale-lipped
countenance below the hood. All saw it and held their breath as it slowly
raised a shadowy arm and pointed a shriveled finger at Sir Jasper.

 
          
"Speak,
whatever you are, or I'll quickly prove whether you are man or spirit!"
cried Jasper fiercely, stepping forward as if to grasp the extended arm that
seemed to menace him alone.

 
          
An
icy gust swept through the hall, and the phantom slowly receded into the
shadow. Jasper sprang after it, but nothing crossed the second stream of light,
and nothing remained in the shade. Like one possessed by a sudden fancy he
rushed down the gallery to find all fast and empty, and to return looking very
strangely. Blanche had fainted away and Annon was bearing her out of the hall.
Rose was clinging to Mrs. Snowdon, and Octavia leaned against her cousin,
saying in a fervent whisper, "Thank God it did not point at you!"

 
          
"Am
I then dearer than your brother?" he whispered back.

 
          
There
was no audible reply, but one little hand involuntarily pressed his, though the
other was outstretched toward Jasper, who came up white and startled but firm
and quiet. Affecting to make light of it, he said, forcing a smile as he raised
Mrs. Snowdon, "It is some stupid joke of the servants. Let us think no
more of it. Come, Edith, this is not like your usual self."

 
          
"It
was nothing human, Jasper; you know it as well as I. Oh, why did I bring you
here to meet the warning phantom that haunts your house!"

 
          
"Nay,
if my time is near the spirit would have found me out wherever I might be. I
have no faith in that absurd superstition—I laugh at and defy it. Come down and
drink my health in wine from the Abbot's own cellar."

 
          
But
no one had heart for further gaiety, and, finding Lady Treherne already alarmed
by Annon, they were forced to tell her all, and find their own bewilderment
deepened by her unalterable belief in the evil omen.

 
          
At
her command the house was searched, the servants cross-questioned, and every
effort made to discover the identity of the apparition. All in vain; the house
was as usual, and not a man or maid but turned pale at the idea of entering the
gallery at
midnight
. At
my lady's request, all promised to say no more upon the mystery, and separated
at last to such sleep as they could enjoy.

 
          
Very
grave were the faces gathered about the breakfast table next
morning,
and very anxious the glances cast on Sir Jasper as he came in, late as usual,
looking uncommonly blithe and well. Nothing serious ever made a deep impression
on his mercurial nature. Treherne had more the air of a doomed man, being very
pale and worn, in spite of an occasional gleam of happiness as he looked at
Octavia. He haunted Jasper like a shadow all the morning, much to that young
gentleman's annoyance, for both his mother and sister hung about him with faces
of ill-dissembled anxiety. By afternoon his patience gave out, and he openly
rebelled against the tender guard kept over him. Ringing for his horse he said
decidedly, "I'm bored to death with the solemnity which pervades the house
today, so I'm off for a brisk gallop, before I lose my temper and spirits
altogether."

 
          
"Come
with me in the pony carriage, Jasper. I've not had a drive with you for a long
while, and should enjoy it so much," said my lady, detaining him.

 
          
"Mrs.
Snowdon looks as if she needed air to revive her roses, and the pony carriage
is just the thing for her, so I will cheerfully resign my seat to her," he
answered laughing, as he forced himself from his mother's hand.

 
          
"Take
the girls in the clarence. We all want a breath of air, and you are the best
whip we know. Be gallant and say yes, dear."

 
          
"No,
thank you, Tavie, that won't do. Rose and Blanche are both asleep, and you are
dying to go and do likewise, after your vigils last night. As a man and a
brother I beg you'll do so, and let me ride as I like."

 
          
"Suppose
you ask Annon to join you—" began Treherne with well-assumed indifference;
but Sir Jasper frowned and turned sharply on him, saying, half-petulantly,
half-jocosely:

 
          
"Upon
my life I should think I was a boy or a baby, by the manner in which you mount
guard over me today. If you think I'm going to live in daily fear of some
mishap, you are all much mistaken. Ghost or no ghost, I shall make merry while
I can; a short life and a jolly one has always been my motto, you know, so fare
you well till dinnertime."

 
          
They
watched him gallop down the avenue, and then went their different ways, still
burdened with a nameless foreboding. Octavia strolled into the conservatory,
thinking to refresh herself with the balmy silence which pervaded the place,
but Annon soon joined her, full of a lover's hopes and fears.

 
          
"Miss
Treherne, I have ventured to come for my answer. Is my New Year to be a
blissful or a sad one?" he asked eagerly.

 
          
"Forgive
me if I give you an unwelcome reply, but I must be true, and so regretfully
refuse the honor you do me," she said sorrowfully.

 
          
"May
I ask why?"

 
          
"Because I do not love you."

 
          
"And
you do love your cousin," he cried angrily, pausing to watch her
half-averted face.

 
          
She
turned it fully toward him and answered, with her native sincerity,
 
"Yes, I do, with all my heart, and
now my mother will not thwart me, for
 
Maurice has saved my life, and I am free
to devote it all to him."

 
          
"Happy
man, I wish I had been a cripple!"
sighed
Annon.
Then with a manful effort to be just and generous, he added heartily, "Say
no more, he deserves you; I want no sacrifice to duty; I yield, and go away,
praying heaven to bless you now and always."

 
          
He
kissed her hand and left
her
to seek my lady and make
his adieus, for no persuasion could keep him. Leaving a note for Sir Jasper, he
hurried away, to the great relief of Treherne and the deep regret of Blanche,
who, however, lived in hopes of another trial later in the season.

 
          
"Here
comes Jasper, Mamma, safe and well," cried Octavia an hour or two later,
as she joined her mother on the terrace, where my lady had been pacing
restlessly to and fro nearly ever since her son rode away.

 
          
With
a smile of intense relief she waved her handkerchief as he came clattering up
the
drive,
and seeing her he answered with hat and
hand. He usually dismounted at the great hall door, but a sudden whim made him
ride along the wall that lay below the terrace, for he was a fine horseman, and
Mrs. Snowdon was looking from her window. As he approached, the peacocks fled
screaming, and one flew up just before the horse's eyes as his master was in
the act of dismounting. The spirited creature was startled, sprang partway up
the low, broad steps of the terrace, and, being sharply checked, slipped, fell,
and man and horse rolled down together.

 
          
Never
did those who heard it forget the cry that left Lady Treherne's lips as she saw
the fall. It brought out both guests and servants, to find Octavia recklessly
struggling with the frightened horse, and my lady down upon the stones with her
son's bleeding head in her arms.

 
          
They
bore in the senseless, shattered body, and for hours tried everything that
skill and sciences could devise to save the young man's life. But every effort
was in vain, and as the sun set Sir Jasper lay dying. Conscious at last, and
able to speak, he looked about him with a troubled glance, and seemed
struggling with some desire that overmastered pain and held death at bay.

 
          
"I
want Maurice," he feebly said, at length.

 
          
"Dear
lad, I'm here," answered his cousin's voice from a seat in the shadow of
the half-drawn curtains.

 
          
"Always near when I need you.
Many a scrape have you
helped me out of, but this is beyond your power," and a faint smile passed
over Jasper's lips as the past flitted before his mind. But the smile died, and
a groan of pain escaped him as he cried suddenly, "Quick! Let me tell it
before it is too late! Maurice never will, but bear the shame all his life that
my dead name may be untarnished. Bring Edith; she must hear the truth."