“Yes, ma’am,” said old Miles Galbraith to me. “Yes, I can tell you
as queer a tale as here and there a one. In fact, if you find one to
beat it, I’ll forego that little acknowledgment you promised me.”
“Fie, Miles,” was my amused retort. “You have already received the
little acknowledgement in question, and have spent part of it. So
how can you forego it?”
“Indeed, ma’am, it’s all right. You see, I know the little ways of
ladies and gentlemen. They always pay half when they make the
bargain, and the other half at the end of the story.”
“H’m! you’re very cute, Miles. But it will all depend upon what you
have to tell me.”
“Then we’ll consider it settled, ma’am, if you please, so here goes.
When I first went to be Mr Milsom’s gardener and coachman, he had
quite a staff of servants in the house, for he still kept
considerable company. Among these servants was Jenny Pryce, the
under housemaid, as canny a girl as ever went to place, and I
thought myself lucky when she promised to marry me. But Mr Wright,
the butler, didn’t half like it. He was fond of her himself, and
both he and the housekeeper had a lot to say about how foolish she
was to promise to marry anybody whose station was so inferior to a
butler’s. All the same, Jenny had her own notions on the subject,
and at last she had to shut him up somewhat sharply.
“When the master heard about our love affair he was very good indeed
to us, and furnished the little cottage in which we live to this day.
The butler was never friendly to us, and would have cleared me off
the premises, if he could have done so. The master, however, soon
after this, took to very queer ways. It was said that he had been
crossed in love, and that he had vowed never to look in a woman’s
face again.
“Be that as it may, he withdrew from all society, and by degrees
even ceased to walk about in his own grounds. Then he made an
arrangement with his solicitor, whereby we were all put on board
wages, and very liberal they were, too. Jenny came in for them as
well, as she was supposed to be the master’s laundress now that she
was married, though it’s mighty little washing he ever gave her to
do. There was henceforth no interference in anything we did, there
being certain rules prescribed by the master, and as long as we
conformed to these rules we were all to keep our comfortable places.
“For two or three years Mr Milsom lived on like that, never going
out, and never seeing anybody. At last he wouldn’t even take his
meals in the dining or breakfast-rooms, but had one end of the house
disconnected from the other part, that we could only approach his
rooms by one door. These rooms were very comfortably furnished with
all sorts of beautiful things collected by the master’s orders, from
other parts of the house. The room that he called his library had
thousands of books in it.
“The first room that we entered from the corridor was the one in
which he took all his meals, and after a time we were forbidden to
go any further. We would enter this room, clean it, set out his
food very elaborately on the table, and then retire, only returning
when we heard his bell ring for us to clear the things away. There
would always be a paper on the table containing various orders. But
the master himself no longer appeared to give them in person. In
fact for several years not one of us was permitted to see him, and
he always kept his door locked when he was in his dining-room.
“At first these eccentricities caused a deal of comment. But
by-and-by the neighbourhood found new sensations to talk about, and
the ‘Recluse of Hallow Hall,’ as Mr Milsom came to be called, was
by lots of people entirely forgotten.
“But although we were not permitted to look upon the master’s face,
he did not allow us to forget his presence, for he was very
particular about the food he ate. He liked several courses to each
meal. And they had to be beautifully cooked, or he would tell us his
opinion pretty plainly. The fruit I raised for him had to be of the
very finest, too, or he would threaten to dismiss me. This, however,
did not often happen, for we all knew that we would never get such
another comfortable place, where we all did pretty nearly as we
liked, and we were careful to see that the master had as little
cause for complaint as possible.
“If any of us had an apology to make, or anything to ask him, we
would write what we wanted to say on a piece of paper each. These
papers would be put on the table with the master’s meals, and we
would receive our answers soon after.
“The only body that ever seemed inclined to grumble at this queer
state of affairs was Mr Wright, the butler, and he was never
satisfied. First he growled about one thing, then about another, and
he was altogether so ill-tempered that the rest of us threatened to
complain of him in a body.
“‘I think the best thing you can do, Mr Wright, is to clear out. You
have got too big for your place, to my thinking.’ This was what the
housekeeper said to him one day, and you should have seen the evil
look he put on his face as he shook his fist at her, and shouted,
‘Maybe I will leave the place mighty soon, and in a way you little
expect, too.’
“And sure enough he disappeared that very night, and everything went
to prove that it was a deliberately planned flight. None of us felt
sorry at losing him. But we were all considerably dismayed to find
that the greater part of the family plate had disappeared with him.
He must have had enough to do to carry it away unnoticed and unheard.
At first we didn’t know what to do. Then I suggested going for the
police. But the housekeeper said, ‘No, we must do nothing without
asking the master’s advice first.’
“To this we agreed, and an account of the butler’s disappearance,
together with a list of things he had stolen, was written and taken
in with the breakfast. Presently there was a furious peal at the
bell, and the housekeeper asked me to fetch the note we felt sure
the master had been writing.
“Be quick, Galbraith,’ said she, ‘I’m on tenterhooks to know how
he’ll take it, and what we are to do. Perhaps he’ll come out of his
shell now, and live more like a civilised human being. He used to
set great store by the silver plate. It’s been in his family more
than two-hundred years.
“But so far from coming out of his shell, the master became, if
possible, a more confirmed recluse than ever. His instructions to us
were brief and to the point. ‘Take no steps to discover Wright,’ was
his order. ‘Let his greed be his own punishment. What he has stolen
does not equal the legacy I would have left him. Henceforth, do not
name him to me. Let him be as one dead, and do not expect a
successor in his place. My wants become fewer as I get more feeble,
and I cannot tolerate the idea of having new people about the house.
But I never forget those who are faithful to me, and a word to the
wise is sufficient.’
“We took this last to mean that he would remember us in his will if
we served him well. But this we had always done, so well, indeed,
that we couldn’t improve ourselves. Soon after this there was a
letter to Mr Milsom’s solicitors to be forwarded. Then a very big
one was sent, to which Mr Crowday, the lawyer, brought back an
answer, and, being curious, he went and laid it on his master’s
table himself. But all was as quiet as it generally was, and he went
away no wiser for his pains. Before he went he told the housekeeper
that the master had been making a new will. But he wouldn’t say what
it was.
“Soon after this a queer rumour arose in the neighbourhood. It was
said that the butler had been murdered, and that his ghost haunted
the park belonging to Hallow Hall. I don’t know that we exactly
believed this rumour, but we none of us cared to be out too late
alone at night.
“After a while we began to think the master must be failing, for he
was often a whole day without taking any of the food that was so
carefully prepared for him. This made us anxious, and we used to
listen more intently than ever for any sign of life within the rooms
we were not allowed to enter. But this sort of thing went on for
five years, and by that time the folks in the neighbourhood looked
upon both the house and the grounds as uncanny and haunted.
“One day Jenny and I were both indoors helping the housekeeper, as
she was having a thorough cleaning down. As was often the case, I
took my turn at carrying some of Mr Milsom’s food into his
dining-room. But I had no sooner set foot in it than I heard a
terrible groaning in one of the inner rooms. For a moment I looked
as scared as did Jenny, who was with me. Then I rushed at the door,
and never rested till I had broken it down.
“At last I was inside the place I had often been so curious about.
But I shall never forget how astonished I was at what I saw.
“On a rich Turkey carpet which covered the floor lay a man writhing
in pain. I rushed to him, and raised on to the couch – not my
master, as I had expected, but Wright, the ex-butler! He was in
horrible agony, but he actually twisted his features into a grin
when he saw my amazement.
“‘Yes, it’s me,’ he gasped; ‘I’ve been living here all these years
in clover, and none of you fools any wiser for it, though I doubt
I’m done for now.’
“‘But the master?’ I asked.
“‘Been dead more than five years. It can’t hurt me now to confess.
I killed him and buried him under the blighted oak in the park.’
“I let go of Wright when I heard this. By that time all the rest of
the household came flying in. Wright had accidentally swallowed some
poison, and died that night. Before he died he told us how he
managed to get at the old master and kill him. By means of a pass
key he had had made for him, he was able to get into the inner room,
and the rest was easy. He removed the silver, knowing that we would
think he had stolen it. He had for months imitated the master’s
writing, and effectually deceived everybody. The reputed ghost which
had been seen in the park was himself. He got in and out through an
old cellar, and when we thought he was ailing, because his food was
not eaten, he was enjoying himself elsewhere. He had procured large
sums of money through Mr Milsom’s solicitors, who certainly
wondered, but did not hesitate to supply it. He meant to have made
one more haul, ere leaving Hallow Hall for ever, when he made the
fatal mistake which ended his life.
“Sure enough, we found the master’s body under the oak, and removed
it, in a suitable coffin, to the family vault.
“Of course the will which Wright had written was useless. For this
we were rather sorry, as it provided handsomely for us all. Still,
we have no need to grumble, for the gentleman who succeeded to the
estate as heir-at-law – there being no will – treated us all very
well. In fact, we’re his servants to this day, and we’ve no notion
of seeking fresh places. Thank you, ma’am; I knew you would like my
tale.”