SOMEONE ELSE SEEN.
Standing with my back to the fire in the drawing-room, waiting for
Annabel's return, the tea growing cold on the table, I puzzled over
what I had just heard, and could make nothing of it. That Mr.
Brightman's spirit should appear to his wife seemed to be utterly
incomprehensible; was, of course, incredible. That many people
believed in the reappearance of the dead, I well knew; but I had not
yet made up my mind to become one of them.
It was inexplicable that a woman in this enlightened age, moving in
Mrs. Brightman's station, could yield to so strange a delusion. But,
allowing that she had done so, did this sufficiently explain Annabel's
deep-seated grief? or the remark that her grief would end only with
her life? or the hint that she could never be my wife? And why should
she refuse to confide these facts to me? why, indeed, have prevented
my going upstairs? I might have reassured Mrs. Brightman far more
effectually than Hatch; who, by Perry's account, was one of the
believers in the ghost theory. It was altogether past comprehension,
and I was trying hard to arrive at a solution when Hatch came in, her
idioms in full play.
"My young lady's complemens, sir, and will you excuse her coming down
again to-night? she is not equal to seeing nobody. And she says truth,
poor child," added Hatch, "for she's quite done over."
"How is your mistress now, Hatch?"
"Oh, she's better, she is. Her nerves have been shook, sir, of late,
you know, through the shock of master's unexpected death, and in
course she starts at shadders. I won't leave the room again, without
the gas a-burning full on."
"What is this tale about Mr. Brightman?"
Hatch and her streamers swung round, and she closed the door before
answering. "Miss Annabel never told you _that_; did she, sir?"
"No; but I have heard a word or two elsewhere. You fancy you saw a
ghost?"
"Missis do."
"Oh, I thought you did also."
"I just believe it's a delusion of hers, Mr. Charles, and nothing
more," returned Hatch confidently. "If master had been a bad sort of
character, or had taken his own life, or anything of that, why, the
likelihood is that he might have walked, dying sudden. But being what
he was, a Christian gentleman that never missed church, and said his
own prayers at home on his knees regular--which I see him a doing of
once, when I went bolt into his dressing-room, not beknowing he was
in it--why, it is not likely, sir, that he comes again. I don't say as
much to them downstairs; better let them be frightened at his ghost
than at--at--anybody else's. I wish it was master's ghost, and nothing
worse," abruptly concluded Hatch.
"Nothing worse! Some of you would think that bad enough, were it
possible for it to appear."
"Yes, sir, ghosts is bad enough, no doubt. But realities is worse."
So it was of no use waiting. I finished my cup of cold tea, and turned
to go, telling Hatch that I would come again the following evening to
see how things were progressing.
"Yes, do, Mr. Charles; you had better," assented Hatch, who had a
habit, not arising from want of respect, but from her long and
confidential services, and the plenitude of her attachment, of
identifying herself with the family in the most unceremonious manner.
"Miss Annabel's life hasn't been a bed of roses since this ghost
appeared, and I fear it is not likely to be, and if there's anybody
that can say a word to comfort her, it must be you, sir; for in course
I've not had my eyes quite blinded. Eyes is eyes, sir, and has their
sight in 'em, and we can't always shut 'em, if we would."
Hatch was crossing the hall to open the door for me, and I had taken
my great-coat from the stand, when Annabel flew down the stairs, her
face white, her voice sharp with terror.
"Hatch! Hatch! mamma is frightened again!"
Hatch ran up, two stairs at a time, and I went after her. Mrs.
Brightman had followed Annabel, and now stood outside her chamber-door
in her white dressing-gown, trembling violently. "He is watching me
again," she panted: "he stands there in his grave-clothes!"
"Don't you come," cried Hatch, putting Annabel back unceremoniously.
"I shall get my missis round best alone; I'm not afraid of no
ghostesses, not I. Give a look to her, sir," she added, pointing to
Annabel, as she drew Mrs. Brightman into her chamber, and fastened the
door.
Annabel, her hands clasped on her chest, shook as she stood. I put my
arm round her waist and took her down to the drawing-room. I closed
the door, and Annabel sat down on the sofa near the fire.
"My darling, how can I comfort you?"
A burst of grief prevented her from replying--grief that I had rarely
witnessed. I let it spend itself; you can do nothing else with emotion
so violent: and when it was over I sat down beside her.
"Annabel, you might have confided this to me at first. It can be
nothing but a temporary delusion of Mrs. Brightman's, arising from a
relaxed state of the nervous system. Imaginary spectral
appearances----"
"Who told you about that?" she interrupted, in agitation. "How came
you to hear it?"
"My dear, I heard it from Perry. But he did not break faith in
speaking of it, for he thought you had already told me. There can be
no reason why I should not know it; but I am sorry that it has
penetrated to the servants."
Poor Annabel laid her head on the arm of the sofa, and moaned.
"I do not like to leave you or Mrs. Brightman either, in this
distress. Shall I remain in the house to-night? I can send a message
to Leah----"
"Oh no, no," she hastily interrupted, as if the proposal had startled
her. And then she continued slowly, hesitatingly, pausing between her
words: "You do not--of course--believe that--that papa----"
"Of course I do not," was my hearty reply, relieving her from her
embarrassing question. "Nor you either, Annabel: although, as a child,
you devoured every ghost-story you came near."
She made no confirmatory reply, only looked down, and kept silence. I
gazed at her wonderingly.
"It terrified me so much last night," she whispered.
"What terrified you, Annabel?"
"I was terrified altogether; at mamma's screams, at her words, at the
nervous state she was in. Mr. Close has helped to frighten me, too,
for I heard him say this morning to Hatch that such cases have been
known to end in madness."
"Mr. Close is not worth a rush," cried I, suppressing what I had been
about to utter impulsively. "So he knows of this fancy?"
"Yes, Hatch told him. Indeed, Charles, I do not see that there was any
help for it."
"He will observe discretion, I suppose. Still, I almost wish you had
called in someone who is a stranger to the neighbourhood."
"Mamma will not have a stranger, and you know we must not act in
opposition to her will. She seemed so much better this morning; quite
herself again."
"Of course. With the return of daylight these fancies subside. But as
it seems there is nothing I can do for you, Annabel, I must be going,
and will come again to-morrow evening."
The conclusion seemed to startle her. "Had--you--better come?" she
cried, with much hesitation.
"Yes, Annabel, I had better come," I firmly replied. "And I cannot
understand why you should wish me not to do so, as I can see you do."
"Only--if mamma should be ill again--it is all so uncomfortable. I
dare say you never even finished your tea," glancing at the table. All
trivial excuses, to conceal her real and inexplicable motive, I felt
certain. "Good-night, Charles."
She held out her hand to me. I did not take it: I took her instead,
and held her to my heart. "You are not yourself to-night, Annabel, for
there is some further mystery in all this, and you will not tell it
me. But the time will soon come, my dearest, when our mysteries and
our sorrows must be shared in common." And all the answer I received
was a look of despair.
In passing through the iron gates, I met Mr. Close. The moon to-night
was obscured by clouds, but the gas-lamps revealed us plainly to each
other. "How is Mrs. Brightman?" he asked.
"Very ill and very strange," I answered. "Do you apprehend any serious
result?"
"Well--no," said he; "not immediately. Of course, it will tell upon
her in the long-run."
"She has had another attack of nervous terror to-night; in fact, two
attacks."
"Ay; seen the ghost again, I suppose. I suspected she would, so
thought I would just call in."
"Would it not be as well--excuse me, Mr. Close, but you are aware how
intimately connected I was with Mr. Brightman--to call in a
consultation? Not that there is the slightest doubt of your skill and
competency, but it appears to be so singular a malady; and in the
multitude of counsellors there is safety, you know."
"It is the commonest malady we have to deal with," returned he; and
the answer was so unexpected that I could only stare in silence.
"Have a consultation if you think it more satisfactory, Mr. Strange.
But it will not produce the slightest benefit; and the less this
matter is allowed to transpire the better. I assure you that all the
faculty combined could not do more for Mrs. Brightman than I am doing.
It is a lamentable disease, but it is one that must run its course."
He went on to the house, and I got outside an omnibus that was passing
the end of the road, and lighted my cigar, more at sea than ever. If
seeing ghosts was the commonest malady doctors had to deal with, where
had I lived all my life not to have learned it?
The next afternoon I was surprised by a visit from Perry. He brought
word from his mistress that she was very much better, though not yet
able to see me on business matters; when she felt equal to it, she
would let me know. Miss Annabel, concluded the butler, was gone to
Hastings.
"To Hastings!" I exclaimed.
"Well, yes, sir. My mistress decided upon it this morning, and I have
just seen her off by train, with Sarah in attendance on her. Fact is,
sir," added Perry, dropping his voice to a confidential key: "Hatch
whispered to me that it was thought best the poor young lady should be
out of the house while it is so troubled."
"Troubled!" I repeated, half in scorn.
"Why, yes, sir, you know what it is that's in it," rejoined Perry
simply. "Mr. Close, too, he said Miss Annabel ought to be away from it
just now."
* * * * *
When every hour of the day is occupied, time glides on insensibly. A
week passed. I heard no news of or from Mrs. Brightman, and did not
altogether care to intrude upon her, unbidden. But when the second
week was also quickly passing, I determined to take an evening to go
to Clapham. Dinner over, I was going downstairs, and met Leah coming
up.
"If anyone calls, I am out for the evening, Leah," I said to her. "And
tell Watts when he comes in that I have left the _Law Times_ on the
table for Mr. Lake. He must take it round to him."
"Very well, sir."
I was nearing the top of Essex Street when I met the postman.
"Anything for me?" I inquired, for I had expected an important letter
all day.
"I think there is, sir," he replied, looking over his letters under
the gas-lamp. "'Messrs. Brightman and Strange;' there it is, sir."
I opened it by the same light. It was the expected letter, and
required an immediate answer. So I returned, and letting myself in
with my latch-key, went into the front office to write it.
Leah had not heard me come in. She was upstairs, deep in one of the
two favourite ballads which now appeared to comprise all her
collection. During office hours Leah was quiet as a mute; but in the
evening she would generally croon over one of these old songs in an
undertone, if she thought that I was out and she had the house to
herself. As she was thinking now, for she sang out in full key, but in
a doleful, monotonous sort of chant. Her voice was still very sweet,
but had lost much of the power of its earlier days. One of these two
songs was a Scotch fragment, beginning "Woe's me, for my heart is
breaking;" the other was "Barbara Allen." Fragmentary also,
apparently; for as Leah sang it there appeared to be neither beginning
nor ending to it.
"And as she wandered up and down,
She heard the bells a-ringing,
And as they rang they seemed to say,
'Hard-hearted Barbara Allen.'
"She turned her body round and round,
She saw his corpse a-coming;
'Oh, put him down by this blade's side,
That I may gaze upon him!'
"The more she looked, the more she laughed,
The further she went from him;
Her friends they all cried out, 'For shame,
Hard-hearted Barbara Allen!'"
Whether this is the correct version of the ballad or not, I do not
know; it was Leah's version. Many and many a time had I heard it; and
I was hearing it again this evening, when there came a quiet ring at
the door bell. My door was pushed to but not closed, and Leah came
bustling down. Barbara Allen was going on still, but in a more subdued
voice.
"Do Mr. Strange live here?" was asked, when the door was opened.
"Yes, he does," responded Leah. "He is out."
"Oh, I don't want him, ma'am. I only wanted to know if he lived here.
What sort of a man is he?"
"What sort of a man?" repeated Leah. "A very nice man."
"Yes; but in looks, I mean."
"Well, he is very good-looking. Blue eyes, and dark hair, and straight
features. Why do you want to know?"
"Ay, that's him. But I don't know about the colour of his eyes; I
thought they was dark. Blue in one light and brown in another, maybe.
A tallish, thinnish man."
"He's pretty tall; not what can be called a maypole. A little taller
than Mr. Brightman was."
"Brightman and Strange, that's it? T'other's an old gent, I suppose?"
was the next remark; while I sat, amused at the colloquy.
"He was not old. He is just dead. Have you any message?"
"No, I don't want to leave a message; that's not my business. He told
me he lived here, and I came to make sure of it. A pleasant, sociable
man, ain't he; no pride about him, though he is well off and goes
cruising about in his own yacht."
"No pride at all with those he knows, whether it's friends or
servants," returned Leah, forgetting her own pride, or at any rate her
discretion, in singing my praises. "Never was anybody pleasanter than
he. But as to a yacht----"
"Needn't say any more, ma'am; it's the same man. Takes a short pipe
and a social dram occasionally, and makes no bones over it."
"What?" retorted Leah indignantly. "Mr. Strange doesn't take drams or
smoke short pipes. If he just lights a cigar at night, when business
is over, it's as much as he does. He's a gentleman."
"Ah," returned the visitor, his tones expressing a patronizing sort of
contempt for Leah's belief in Mr. Strange: "gents that is gents
indoors be not always gents out. Though I don't see why a man need be
reproached with not being a gent because he smokes a honest clay pipe,
and takes a drop short; and Mr. Strange does both, I can tell ye."
"Then I know he does not," repeated Leah. "And if you knew Mr.
Strange, you wouldn't say it."
"If I knew Mr. Strange! Perhaps I know him as well as you do, ma'am.
He don't come courting our Betsy without my knowing of him."
"What do you say he does?" demanded Leah, suppressing her wrath.
"Why, I say he comes after our Betsy; leastways, I'm a'most sure of
it. And that's why I wanted to know whether this was his house or not,
for I'm not a-going to have her trifled with. She's my only daughter,
and as good as he is. And now that I've got my information I'll say
good-night, ma'am."
Leah shut the door, and I opened mine. "Who was that, Leah?"
"My patience, Mr. Charles!" she exclaimed in astonishment. "I thought
you were out, sir."
"I came in again. Who was that man at the door?"
"Who's to know, sir--and what does it matter?" cried Leah. "Some
half-tipsy fellow who must have mistaken the house."
"He did not speak as though he were tipsy at all."
"You must have heard what he said, sir."
"I heard."
Leah turned away, but came back hesitatingly, a wistful expression in
her eyes. I believe she looked upon me as a boy still, and cared for
me as she did when I had been one. "It is not true, Mr. Charles?"
"Of course it is not true, Leah. I neither take drams short, nor go
courting Miss Betsys."
"Why, no, sir, of course not. I believe I must be getting old and
foolish, Mr. Charles. I should just like to wring that man's neck for
his impudence!" she concluded, as she went upstairs again.
But what struck me was this: either that one of my clerks was playing
pranks in my name--passing himself off as Mr. Strange, to appear great
and consequential; and if so, I should uncommonly like to know which
of them it was--or else that something was being enacted by those
people who made the sorrow of Leah's life; that daughter of hers and
the husband--as we will call him. For the voice at the door had
sounded honest and the application genuine.
Posting my letter, I made the best of my way to Clapham. But I had my
journey for nothing, and saw only Perry. His mistress had been getting
much better, he said, but a day or two ago she had a relapse and was
again confined to her room, unable to see anyone. Mr. Close had
ordered her to be kept perfectly quiet. Annabel remained at Hastings.
"And what about that fright, Perry, that you were all so scared with a
fortnight ago?" I asked, as he strolled by my side back to the iron
gates: for it was useless for me to go in if I could not see Mrs.
Brightman. "Has the house got over it yet?"
"Sir, it is in the house still," he gravely answered.
"Do you mean the scare?"
"I mean the ghost, sir. Poor master's spirit."
I turned to look at his face, plainly enough to be discerned in the
dimness of the foggy night. It was no less grave than his words had
been.
"The figure does not appear every night, sir; only occasionally," he
resumed; "and always in the same place--in the corner by the wardrobe
in Mrs. Brightman's bedroom. It stands there in its grave-clothes."
What with the dark trees about us, the weird evening, and Perry's
shrinking tones, I slightly shivered, for all my unbelief.
"But, Perry, it is _impossible_, you know. There must be delusion
somewhere. Mrs. Brightman's nerves have been unstrung by her husband's
death."
"Hatch has seen it twice, Mr. Strange," he rejoined. "Nobody can
suspect Hatch of having nerves. The last time was on Sunday night. It
stood in its shroud, gazing at them--her and the mistress--with a
mournful face. Master's very own face, sir, Hatch says, just as it
used to be in life; only white and ghastly."
It was a ghastly subject, and the words haunted me all the way back to
town. Once or twice I could have declared that I saw Mr. Brightman's
face, pale and wan, gazing at me through the fog. Certainly Hatch had
neither nerves nor fancies; no living woman within my circle of
acquaintance possessed less. What did it all mean? Where could the
mystery lie?
Stirring the fire into a blaze when I got into my room, I sat before
it, and tried to think out the problem. But the more I tried, the more
effectually it seemed to elude me.
With the whir-r-r that it always made, the clock on the mantelpiece
began to strike ten. I started. At the same moment, the door opened
slowly and noiselessly, and Leah glided in. Mysteriously, if I may so
express it: my chamber candlestick carried in one hand, her shoes in
the other. She was barefooted; and, unless I strangely mistook, her
face was as ghastly as the one Perry had been speaking of that night.
Putting the candlestick on a side-table, slipping her feet into her
shoes, and softly closing the door, she turned to me. Her lips
trembled, her hands worked nervously; she seemed unable to speak.
"Why, Leah!" I exclaimed, "what is the matter?"
"Sir," she then said, in the deepest agitation; "I have seen to-night
that which has almost frightened me to death. I don't know how to tell
you about it. Watts has dropped asleep in his chair in the kitchen,
and I took the opportunity to steal up here. I wouldn't let him hear
it for the world. He is growing suspicious, fancying I'm a bit odd at
times. He'd be true in this, I know, but it may be as well to keep it
from him."
"But what is it, Leah?"
"When I saw him, I thought I should have dropped down dead," she went
on, paying no attention to the question. "He stood there with just the
same smile on his face that it used to wear. It was _himself_, sir; it
was, indeed."
May I be forgiven for the folly that flashed over me. Occupied as my
mind was with the apparition haunting the house at Clapham, what could
I think but that Leah must have seen the same?
"You mean Mr. Brightman," I whispered.
"Good heavens!" she exclaimed, approaching nearer to me, whilst
glancing over her shoulder as if in dread that the ghost were
following her: "does _he_ come again, Mr. Charles? Have you seen him?
Is he in the house?"
"No, no; but I thought you meant that, Leah. Who is it that you have
seen?"
"Mr. Tom, sir. Captain Heriot."