WITHIN three miles of my native city, on the outskirts of a little
village, rather isolated by its grounds and its position on a slight
eminence, stands a picturesque verandahed dwelling, which at one time
was inhabited by elderly cousins of mine. Their father lived with
them, and when very occasionally they left him in the house alone for
a time, he invariably remarked that they need not mind, for he always
had someone near him. This was his only reference to the spirit which
haunted the place. Later, the house passed into the possession of
townsfolk, who removed to it on account of the failing health of
their only child. They had been there only a few days when a
frightened scream from the child’s room made them both rush to it, to
find her sitting up in bed, with eyes protruding and cheeks blanched.
On seeing them, she wildly shrieked: “The little grey lady, the
little grey lady! She has gone through the wall.” They soothed her,
but could not persuade her that it was merely a nightmare.
Within a week of this, the father chanced to be absent from home for
a few days, and the mother shared the child’s room. Again the wild
cry arose, suddenly wakening her, and she, with the child, beheld the
figure of a little old woman, garbed in a grey shawl and apron, who
moved with the aid of a stick, making a strange little stumping
noise. She paused by a dressing chest, and appeared to search
anxiously for something, then just faded out.
For some little time these folk stayed in the house and frequently
heard the tap of her stick, but did not see her again. The strain of
the possibility of doing so, however, so told upon them that they
moved. Before doing so the lady approached another relative of mine
who had lived many years in the neighbourhood, and asked her if she
could in any way account for the apparition. She was able to tell her
the story which she had heard from an old nurse, who had attended the
“little grey lady” in her last illness. It appears that she had
sorely wronged her children, misjudging them and leaving her worldly
goods to others. At the last she was quite unable to speak, but made
pathetic efforts to communicate something which was evidently very
much on her mind, at the same time pointing in the direction in which
the lady and her child had seen her searching. Nothing was ever
found, but one cannot help thinking that the little grey lady had
made an effort to right the wrong by trying to tell where some
document was hidden.
This story has been known to me for many years, and I always look
curiously at the old place as I pass, and wonder if the restless
spirit has at last found peace.