(_A Legal Ghost Story for Christmas._)
I am a highly respectable family ghost. I appear usually at two in the
morning, wearing, what I believe is called in theatrical circles, a
disguise cloak, and carrying a long blood-stained sword. I have one
serious drawback. I have a shocking memory, and have entirely forgotten
my identity. For the death of me I cannot remember why I became a ghost,
and what on earth I ought to haunt. I fancy it should be some sort of
castle, as I have an indistinct recollection of once frightening a man
carrying some huge keys, from what I take must have been a portcullis,
into fits. But this is merely conjecture, and I can't in the least
account for my blood-stained sword. As I am really conscientious, this
state of things has caused me serious regret. I have no wish to alarm
the wrong people, nor to haunt the wrong place. The first is improper,
and the second is _infra dig_. But what can I do? I find that I must
appear at least once in every four-and-twenty hours, and my difficulty
has been to so suit my time and place, that the least inconvenience
should be given to the smallest number. Consequently, for many years I
have been a nightly _habitué_ of the South Kensington Museum. No doubt
this arrangement would have continued for an indefinite period had I
not been recently arrested by a Policeman for loitering in the
picture-galleries, who only permitted me to vanish in blue fire (I
prefer blue to red) on the condition that I did not re-enter the
Institution.
Ousted from the South Kensington Museum, I determined not to visit any
other public establishment. Partly because I was tired beyond measure of
curiosities, and partly, because my dignity had been wounded by the
incident that had severed my connection with the School of Art.
Supplementary to this, I felt that I might be neglecting a duty by not
discovering the proper place for my periodical apparitions. It occurred
to me it would be a great comfort if I could but find the exact spot,
where undisturbed, I could appear and disappear without fear of
interruption, at any rate, from the profession, for I knew that I should
not be allowed to poach on the haunting-grounds of my fellow phantoms.
As a matter of fact, I once had a terrible row in the Tower of London,
(caused by Sir WALTER RALEIGH, Lord BALMARINO, and Lady JANE GREY
objecting to my joining the little gathering there, on the score "that I
did not belong to their set") which ended in my being ejected in the
most undignified manner possible from the premises. However, I am pretty
determined when I make up my mind, and I formed the resolution of
leaving no stone unturned until I had discovered my proper destination.
My first experiments were most unsuccessful. I visited in succession
about a hundred country-houses, but found them all tenanted with their
rightful apparitions. My arrival was greeted, in each case, with abuse,
more or less vigorous. Perhaps I received the greatest insults from a
person (I cannot call him a gentleman) of the last century, who I
discovered haunting a venerable mansion belonging to his grandson, with
a view to giving their brand-new family an air of respectability.
At length I found a rather agreeable lady in white brocade, who carried
her head in a bundle under her arm, and who was more inclined to be
sociable than any ghost I had hitherto met.
"You cannot possibly remain here," she said, as she glided up a
staircase and rattled some chains outside a bedroom door, "it would not
be proper, besides it would be sure to be resented by ALFREDO, who rises
every fifteenth of March from the moat to cut my head off in a fit of
jealousy--he is so absurd! If I were you I should consult a Solicitor. I
can recommend you one who hanged himself some years ago in the town over
yonder. His great great great grandfather drew my marriage settlement;
and ALFREDO, who has consulted him on several little matters, has every
confidence in him. Why not see him? You will find him seated in his
office (it belongs to his nephew in the daytime) from midnight to four
in the morning. And now you must really go, as I have to frighten the
occupants of this bed-chamber."
Thus urged, of course I could only bow and withdraw. I floated into the
town and entered the Lawyer's office. I found its phantom occupant
extremely obliging.
"The great difficulty," he said, when he had listened to my story, "is
to ascertain your identity, which can only be done in the daytime. Have
you ever appeared at noon?"
I admitted that I had, although I was obliged to confess that I had
found my apparition then both feeble and unsatisfactory.
After consultation, we decided that perhaps we might find some trace of
my antecedents in the Imbecile Inquiry Office, a Government Department
devoted to the registration of human curiosities. It was not impossible
that I might have been so extremely eccentric in my lifetime, that some
trace of my doings might have been preserved in the archives of the
_bureau_. The next morning, accompanied by my Lawyer, I visited the
office, and was requested by a messenger to put in writing on a
memorandum paper the object of my application. Fortunately the man was
short-sighted, and did not appear to notice our appearance. I wrote what
I wanted, and sent it up. In a few minutes the messenger returned.
"The Board is engaged at this moment, but if you like to stop, the
Secretary will see you by-and-by." He then left us.
After waiting nearly an hour, my Lawyer and I came to the conclusion
that we must have been forgotten, and determined to go upon a voyage of
discovery on our own account. Leaving the waiting-room, we glided up a
broad stone staircase and entered through a green-baize door a large
apartment apparently filled with books. Seated at a desk was an
amiable-looking, middle-aged gentleman surrounded with plans, papers,
packets, and the usual paraphernalia of a Government Office. Between
this room and another was a second green-baize door dividing the two
apartments the one from the other. In the second room we saw several
other amiable-looking middle-aged gentlemen, grouped round a long table,
and apparently engaged in discussing sandwiches and sherry.
"I am sorry to disturb you," said my Lawyer, courteously. The
amiable-looking middle-aged gentleman at the desk, raised his eyes,
looked at us, started violently, and turned as white as a sheet. My
Solicitor continued, "We want to know----"
He could get no further. The gentleman jumped up from his desk in an
agony of terror, and, before we could prevent his departure, disappeared
with an unearthly yell, through the baize door into the second
apartment. The door was then hurriedly locked, and all we could do would
not induce any of the occupants of the room to open it. We tried in vain
all sorts of inducements, from the rattling of heavy chains up to
thunder-thumps. Some little time elapsed, and then the short-sighted
messenger made his appearance.
"I never told you to come up," said he, in an aggrieved tone, "and
you've got me into trouble. You must be off. The Board say that your
application, whatever it is, can't be entertained."
To retire was all we could do--and we did it. On regaining the street, I
sorrowfully bade my Solicitor good-bye.
"Oh dear no, Sir," he said, with the ghost of a smile. "You have quite
forgotten one little formality--my Bill of Costs."
Upon this he produced an enormous roll of paper! The rest of my story
can be briefly told. Unable to pay my Lawyer's bill, I was compelled to
seek refuge in a country where I could not be reached by the Extradition
law. I took a passage in _The Flying Dutchman_, and went to Spain. I am
now settled in Grenada, where I am believed by the peasantry to be an
English ghost that has escaped from a branch of the Moorish Alhambra
that has been recently established in Leicester Square. I find some
consolation in the thought that those whom I now haunt seem to be
growing rather fond of me. I trust that this is not a specimen of the
national politeness, and that the affection they apparently entertain
towards me is not merely assumed to save me unnecessary embarrassment.
* * * * *
[Illustration: INTERIORS AND EXTERIORS. No. 55.