In 1876 we took a house in one of the best streets and parts of B----. I
do not give the name of the street or the number of the house, because
the circumstances that occurred in that place were such as to make
people nervous, and shy--unreasonably so--of taking those lodgings,
after reading our experiences therein.
We were a small family--my husband, a grown-up daughter, and myself; and
we had two maids--a cook, and the other was house- and parlourmaid in
one. We had not been a fortnight in the house before my daughter said to
me one morning: "Mamma, I do not like Jane"--that was our
house-parlourmaid.
"Why so?" I asked. "She seems respectable, and she does her work
systematically. I have no fault to find with her, none whatever."
"She may do her work," said Bessie, my daughter, "but I dislike
inquisitiveness."
"Inquisitiveness!" I exclaimed. "What do you mean? Has she been looking
into your drawers?"
"No, mamma, but she watches me. It is hot weather now, and when I am in
my room, occasionally, I leave my door open whilst writing a letter, or
doing any little bit of needlework, and then I am almost certain to hear
her outside. If I turn sharply round, I see her slipping out of sight.
It is most annoying. I really was unaware that I was such an interesting
personage as to make it worth anyone's while to spy out my proceedings."
"Nonsense, my dear. You are sure it is Jane?"
"Well--I suppose so." There was a slight hesitation in her voice. "If
not Jane, who can it be?"
"Are you sure it is not cook?"
"Oh, no, it is not cook; she is busy in the kitchen. I have heard her
there, when I have gone outside my room upon the landing, after having
caught that girl watching me."
"If you have caught her," said I, "I suppose you spoke to her about the
impropriety of her conduct."
"Well, caught is the wrong word. I have not actually _caught_ her at it.
Only to-day I distinctly heard her at my door, and I saw her back as she
turned to run away, when I went towards her."
"But you followed her, of course?"
"Yes, but I did not find her on the landing when I got outside."
"Where was she, then?"
"I don't know."
"But did you not go and see?"
"She slipped away with astonishing celerity," said Bessie.
"I can take no steps in the matter. If she does it again, speak to her
and remonstrate."
"But I never have a chance. She is gone in a moment."
"She cannot get away so quickly as all that."
"Somehow she does."
"And you are sure it is Jane?" again I asked; and again she replied: "If
not Jane, who else can it be? There is no one else in the house."
So this unpleasant matter ended, for the time. The next intimation of
something of the sort proceeded from another quarter--in fact, from Jane
herself. She came to me some days later and said, with some
embarrassment in her tone--
"If you please, ma'am, if I do not give satisfaction, I would rather
leave the situation."
"Leave!" I exclaimed. "Why, I have not given you the slightest cause. I
have not found fault with you for anything as yet, have I, Jane? On the
contrary, I have been much pleased with the thoroughness of your work.
And you are always tidy and obliging."
"It isn't that, ma'am; but I don't like being watched whatever I do."
"Watched!" I repeated. "What do you mean? You surely do not suppose that
I am running after you when you are engaged on your occupations. I
assure you I have other and more important things to do."
"No, ma'am, I don't suppose you do."
"Then who watches you?"
"I think it must be Miss Bessie."
"Miss Bessie!" I could say no more, I was so astounded.
"Yes, ma'am. When I am sweeping out a room, and my back is turned, I
hear her at the door; and when I turn myself about, I just catch a
glimpse of her running away. I see her skirts----"
"Miss Bessie is above doing anything of the sort."
"If it is not Miss Bessie, who is it, ma'am?"
There was a tone of indecision in her voice.
"My good Jane," said I, "set your mind at rest. Miss Bessie could not
act as you suppose. Have you seen her on these occasions and assured
yourself that it is she?"
"No, ma'am, I've not, so to speak, seen her face; but I know it ain't
cook, and I'm sure it ain't you, ma'am; so who else can it be?"
I considered for some moments, and the maid stood before me in dubious
mood.
"You say you saw her skirts. Did you recognise the gown? What did she
wear?"
"It was a light cotton print--more like a maid's morning dress."
"Well, set your mind at ease; Miss Bessie has not got such a frock as
you describe."
"I don't think she has," said Jane; "but there was someone at the door,
watching me, who ran away when I turned myself about."
"Did she run upstairs or down?"
"I don't know. I did go out on the landing, but there was no one there.
I'm sure it wasn't cook, for I heard her clattering the dishes down in
the kitchen at the time."
"Well, Jane, there is some mystery in this. I will not accept your
notice; we will let matters stand over till we can look into this
complaint of yours and discover the rights of it."
"Thank you, ma'am. I'm very comfortable here, but it is unpleasant to
suppose that one is not trusted, and is spied on wherever one goes and
whatever one is about."
A week later, after dinner one evening, when Bessie and I had quitted
the table and left my husband to his smoke, Bessie said to me, when we
were in the drawing-room together: "Mamma, it is not Jane."
"What is not Jane?" I asked.
"It is not Jane who watches me."
"Who can it be, then?"
"I don't know."
"And how is it that you are confident that you are not being observed by
Jane?"
"Because I have seen her--that is to say, her head."
"When? where?"
"Whilst dressing for dinner, I was before the glass doing my hair, when
I saw in the mirror someone behind me. I had only the two candles
lighted on the table, and the room was otherwise dark. I thought I heard
someone stirring--just the sort of stealthy step I have come to
recognise as having troubled me so often. I did not turn, but looked
steadily before me into the glass, and I could see reflected therein
someone--a woman with red hair. Then I moved from my place quickly. I
heard steps of some person hurrying away, but I saw no one then."
"The door was open?"
"No, it was shut."
"But where did she go?"
"I do not know, mamma. I looked everywhere in the room and could find no
one. I have been quite upset. I cannot tell what to think of this. I
feel utterly unhinged."
"I noticed at table that you did not appear well, but I said nothing
about it. Your father gets so alarmed, and fidgets and fusses, if he
thinks that there is anything the matter with you. But this is a most
extraordinary story."
"It is an extraordinary fact," said Bessie.
"You have searched your room thoroughly?"
"I have looked into every corner."
"And there is no one there?"
"No one. Would you mind, mamma, sleeping with me to-night? I am so
frightened. Do you think it can be a ghost?"
"Ghost? Fiddlesticks!"
I made some excuse to my husband and spent the night in Bessie's room.
There was no disturbance that night of any sort, and although my
daughter was excited and unable to sleep till long after midnight, she
did fall into refreshing slumber at last, and in the morning said to me:
"Mamma, I think I must have fancied that I saw something in the glass. I
dare say my nerves were over-wrought."
I was greatly relieved to hear this, and I arrived at much the same
conclusion as did Bessie, but was again bewildered, and my mind
unsettled by Jane, who came to me just before lunch, when I was alone,
and said--
"Please, ma'am, it's only fair to say, but it's not Miss Bessie."
"What is not Miss Bessie? I mean, who is not Miss Bessie?"
"Her as is spying on me."
"I told you it could not be she. Who is it?"
"Please, ma'am, I don't know. It's a red-haired girl."
"But, Jane, be serious. There is no red-haired girl in the house."
"I know there ain't, ma'am. But for all that, she spies on me."
"Be reasonable, Jane," I said, disguising the shock her words produced
on me. "If there be no red-haired girl in the house, how can you have
one watching you?"
"I don't know; but one does."
"How do you know that she is red-haired?"
"Because I have seen her."
"When?"
"This morning."
"Indeed?"
"Yes, ma'am. I was going upstairs, when I heard steps coming softly
after me--the backstairs, ma'am; they're rather dark and steep, and
there's no carpet on them, as on the front stairs, and I was sure I
heard someone following me; so I twisted about, thinking it might be
cook, but it wasn't. I saw a young woman in a print dress, and the light
as came from the window at the side fell on her head, and it was
carrots--reg'lar carrots."
"Did you see her face?"
"No, ma'am; she put her arm up and turned and ran downstairs, and I went
after her, but I never found her."
"You followed her--how far?"
"To the kitchen. Cook was there. And I said to cook, says I: 'Did you
see a girl come this way?' And she said, short-like: 'No.'"
"And cook saw nothing at all?"
"Nothing. She didn't seem best pleased at my axing. I suppose I
frightened her, as I'd been telling her about how I was followed and
spied on."