|DOWNSTAIRS, the little room that opened from the drawing-room was given
to me by Mrs. Brane for my “office.” Here every morning Jane, Annie, and
Delia came to me for orders.
It was a fortnight after my arrival, everything having run smoothly and
uneventfully, when, earlier than usual, there came footsteps and a rap
on the door of this room. My “Come in” served to admit all three old
women, treading upon one another's heels. So odd and so ridiculous was
their appearance that I had some ado to keep my laughter in my throat.
“Why,” said I, “what on earth's the matter?”
Jane's little, round, crumpled face puckered and blinked; Annie's
stolid, square person was just a symbol of obstinate fear; Delia, long,
lean, and stooping, with her knotted hand fingering her loose
mouth, shuffled up to me. “We're givin' notice, ma'am,” she whined.
Astonishment sent me back into my chair.
“Delia!”
Delia wavered physically, and her whitish-blue eyes watered, but the
spirit of fear possessed her utterly.
“I can't help it, ma'am, I've been in this house me last night.”
“But it's impossible! Leave Mrs. Brane like this, with no notice, no
time to get any one else? Why, only the other day she was saying, 'I
don't see how I could get rid of them even if I wanted to.'”
I meant this to sting, and I succeeded. All three queer, old faces
flushed.
Delia muttered, “Well, she's found the way, that's all.”
“What has happened?” I demanded. “Is it because of me?”
“No'm,” the answer came promptly. “You're the best manager we've had
here yet, an' you're a kind young lady.” This compliment came from
Delia, the most affable of the three. “But, the fact is----”
A pause, and the fright they must have had to bring them all pale and
gasping and inarticulate, like fish driven from the dim world of their
accustomed lives, communicated itself in some measure to me.
“Yes?” I asked a little uncertainly.
Then Annie, the stolid, came out with it.
“There's somethin' in the house.”
At the words all three of them drew together.
“We've been suspectin' of it for a long time. Them housekeepers did n't
leave a good place an' a kind mistress so quick for nothin'.” Delia
had taken up the tale. “But we kinder mistrusted like that it was
foolishness of some kind. But, miss, well--it ain't.”
I was silent a moment, looking at them, and feeling, I confess, rather
blank.
“What is it, then?” I asked sharply.
“It's somethin',” Jane wobbled into the talk.
“Or somebody,” contributed Annie.
I rapped my desk. “Something or somebody doing what? Doing it where?”
“All over the house, miss. But especially in the old part where us
servants live. That's where it happened to them housekeepers in the day
time, an' that's where it happened to us last night.”
“Well, now, let's have it!” said I impatiently. “What happened to you
last night?”
“Delia was in the kitchen makin' bread late last night,” said Annie.
“Oh, let Delia tell it herself,” I insisted.
“But, ma'am, it happened first off to me. I was a-goin' down to help
her. She was so late an' her with a headache. So I put on me wrapper,
an' come down the passage towards the head o' the back stairs. Just as I
come to the turn, ma'am, in the dark--I'm so well used to the way that I
did n't even light a candle--somebody went by me like a draught of cold
air, an' my hair riz right up on me head!”
“In other words, a draught of cold air struck you, eh?” I said
scornfully.
“No, ma'am, there was steps to it, rayther slow, light steps that was
n't quite so dost to me as the draught of air.”
I could make nothing of this.
Delia broke in.
“She come into the kitchen, white as flour she was, an' we went up to
bed together. But scarce was we in bed when in come Jane, a-shakin' so
that the candle-grease spattered all over the floor--you can see it for
yourself this day-”
“And what had happened to Jane?” I asked with a sneer.
“I was a-layin' in bed, miss, in the dark, a bit wakeful, an' I heard,
jes' back of me in the wall, somebody give a great sigh.”
I threw back my head, laughing. “You silly women! Is this all? Now, you
don't mean to tell me that a draught of cold air, some falling plaster
or a rat in the wall, are going to drive you away, in your old age, from
a good home out into the world?”
“Wait a moment, miss,” cried Delia; “there's somethin' else.”
I waited. This something else seemed difficult to tell.
“You go ahead,” breathed Delia at last, nudging Annie, who gulped and
set off with unusual rapidity.
“Robbie was sick last night, towards morn-in'. He had the night terrors,
Mary said” (Mary was Robbie's nurse of whom at that time I had seen
little), “an' she could n't get him quiet. He kep' a-talkin' about a
lady with red hair”--they looked at me out of the corners of their eyes,
and I felt my face grow hot--“a lady that stood over him--well! there's
no tellin' the fancies of a nervous child like him! Anyways, Mary was
after a hot-water bottle, an' we, bein' wakeful an' jumpy-like, was
after helpin' her. Delia an' me, we went for a cup of hot milk, an' me
an' Mary come upstairs from the kitchen again together an' went towards
the nursery. Now, miss,”--again they cuddled up to one another, and
Annie's throat gave a queer sort of click,--“jes' as we come to the turn
of the passage, we seen somethin' come out o' the nursery, quick an'
quiet, an' jump away down the hall an' out o' sight. Delia an' me, bein'
scairt already, run away to our own room, but Mary she made fer the
nursery as quick as she could, an' there she found Robbie all but in
fits, so scairt he could n't scream, doublin' an' twistin', an' rollin'
his eyes. But when she got him calmed down at last, why, it was the same
story--a lady with red hair that come an' stood over him, an' stuck
her face down closter an' closter--jes' a reg'lar nightmare--but we all
three seen the thing come boundin' out o' his room.”
“Why isn't Mary here to give notice?” I asked after a few moments.
During that time I conquered, first, a certain feeling of fear, caused
less by the story than by the look in Delia's light eyes, and, second,
a very strong sensation of anger. I could not help feeling that they
enjoyed that endless repetition of the “lady with red hair.” Did the
silly creatures suspect me of playing ghoulish tricks to terrify a
child?
“Well, Mary, she looks rather peaky this mornin',” said Annie, “but
she's young an' venturesome, an' she says mebbe we jes' fancied the
thing cornin' out o' the nursery, an', anyways, she's the kind that
would n't leave her charge. She's that fond of Robbie.”
“I think I like this Mary,” said I. Then, looking them over as
scornfully as I could, I went on coldly: “Very well, I'll take your
story to Mrs. Brane. I will tell her that you want to leave at once. No,
don't waste any more time. Do your work, and be prepared to pack your
trunks. I think Mrs. Brane may be glad to have you go.”
But I was really very much surprised to find that I was right in this.
Mrs. Brane almost eagerly consented, and even seemed to feel relief.
“By all means pack them off as soon as you can. I shall advertise for
a man and wife to take their places. It will mean some pretty hard work
for Mary and you for a short time, I am afraid, as I simply will not
have any of these blacks in the house. But--”
I did n't in the least mind hard work, and I told her so and hastened to
give the result of my interview, first to Annie, Delia, and Jane, who,
to my satisfaction, seemed quite as much dashed as relieved at the
readiness with which their mistress let them go, and, second, to Mary,
the nurse.