A Mysterious Happening
It was now nearly the end of July. The weather, which for many weeks
had been fine and warm, suddenly changed to a spell of cold and wet.
Rain dripped dismally from the eaves, the tennis courts were sodden,
and the orchard was a marsh. The girls had grown accustomed to
spending almost all their spare time out of doors, and chafed at their
enforced confinement to the house. They hung about in disconsolate
little groups, and grumbled. Miss Beasley, who was generally well
aware of the mental atmosphere of the Grange, registered the barometer
at stormy, and decided that prompt measures were necessary. To work
off the steam of the school, she suggested a good old-fashioned game
of hide-and-seek, and gave permission for it to be played on those
upper landings which were generally forbidden ground. Twenty-six
delighted girls started at once upstairs, and passed through the wire
door, specially unlocked for their benefit, to the dim and mysterious
regions that lay under the roof. It was the best place in the world
for the purpose--long labyrinths of passages leading round into one
another, endless attics, and innumerable cupboards. The smallness of
the latticed windows, combined with the wetness of the afternoon,
produced a twilight that was most desirable, and highly suited to the
game.
Hermie and Veronica picked sides, and the former's band stole off to
conceal themselves, while the others covered their eyes in orthodox
fashion, and counted a hundred.
"Cuckoo! We're coming!" shouted Hermie at last, and the fun began.
Up and down, and in and out, diving through doorways, racing along
passages, chasing one another round corners, groping in cupboards,
panting, squealing, laughing or shuddering, the girls pervaded the
upper story. There was a ghostly gloom about the old place which made
it all the more thrilling, and gave the players a feeling that at any
moment some bogy might spring upon them from a dark recess, or a
skinny hand be stretched downwards through a trap-door. Flushed,
excited, and really a little nervous, both sides at last sought the
safety of the "den." Two or three of them began to compare notes. They
were joined by others. In a very short time the whole school knew that
at least a third of their number had seen a "something." They were
quite unanimous in their report. "It" was a girl of about their own
age, in a dark-green dress with a wide white collar. Hermie and
Ardiune had noticed her most distinctly. She had smiled and beckoned
to them, and run along the passage, but when they turned the corner
she had disappeared; and Linda and Elsie, whom they had met coming in
the opposite direction, declared that they had seen nobody. Lois and
Katherine had caught a glimpse of her as they chased Maudie in one of
the attics, and Joan declared positively that she had seen her
flitting down the stairs.
"It's queer in the extreme," murmured Valentine.
"Are you quite sure it wasn't really only one of us?" urged Meta.
"Absolutely!" declared Hermie emphatically. "We all have on our brown
serges to-day, and I tell you this girl was in dark green; not a gym.
costume to wear over a blouse, like ours, but a dress with long
sleeves and a big white collar."
"I don't believe she's a real girl at all," faltered Magsie
tremulously. "She's a spook!"
Magsie voiced the opinion of the majority. It was what most of the
school had been feeling for the last five minutes. The interest in the
supernatural, which had been a craze earlier in the term until sternly
repressed by Miss Beasley, suddenly revived. Daphne remembered the
magazine article she had read entitled "The Borderland of the Spirit
World," and cold thrills passed down her spine. Veronica ventured the
suggestion that the apparition might be an astral body or an elemental
entity.
"It's a case for the Society for Psychical Research to investigate,"
she nodded gravely. "I always said the Grange was bound to be
haunted."
"What was this girl like?" asked Raymonde reflectively. "Ancient or
modern?"
"Modern, decidedly. She had on a green dress with a white----"
"So you've told us already,"--impatiently. "We know about her clothes.
What was she like?"
Hermie stood for a moment with eyes shut, as if calling up a mental
picture.
"About Ardiune's height, but slimmer: rosy face, and dark hair done in
a plait--really not so unlike you, Ray, only I should say decidedly
prettier."
"Thank you!" sniffed Raymonde.
"That just about sizes her up!" agreed those who had seen the vision.
"She didn't look spooky at all," continued Hermie. "She was quite
substantial. You couldn't see through her, and she didn't melt into
the air."
"And yet she disappeared?"
"Yes, she certainly disappeared, and in a passage where there were no
doors."
"Do you remember the story I told you of the lady whose astral double
left her body during sleep, and haunted a friend's house?" began
Veronica darkly.
"Don't tell any ghost stories up here--don't!" implored Fauvette.
"I'll have hysterics in another minute!"
"I'm frightened!" whimpered Joan.
"I vote we go downstairs," suggested Morvyth. "I don't want to play
any more hide-and-seek at present."
Nobody else seemed anxious to pursue the game. The attics were too
charged with the occult to be entirely pleasant. Everybody made a
unanimous stampede for the lower story, passing down the winding
staircase with a sense of relief. Once on familiar ground again,
things looked more cheery.
"Back already?" commented Miss Gibbs, who had met them on the
landing.
"Yes, we're all--er--a little tired!" evaded Hermie, with one of her
conscious blushes.
"Better go to the dining-room and get out your sewing, then," replied
the mistress, eyeing her keenly.
The girls proceeded soberly downstairs, still keeping close together
like a flock of sheep. Raymonde, however, lagged behind. For a moment
or two she stood pondering, then she ran swiftly up the winding
staircase again into the attic.
The talk of the school that evening turned solely upon the ghost girl.
Meta, who had not seen the vision, declared it was nothing but
over-excited imagination, and feared that some people were apt to get
hysterical; at which Hermie retorted that no one could be further from
hysteria than herself, and that six independent witnesses could
scarcely imagine the same thing at the same moment, without some basis
for their common report. Veronica considered that they had entered
unwittingly into a psychic circle, and encountered either a
thought-form that had materialized, or a phantasm of the living.
"Some people have capacities for astral vision that others don't
possess," she said in a lowered voice. "It's quite probable that
Hermie may be clairvoyante."
Hermie sighed interestedly. It was pleasanter to be dubbed
clairvoyante than hysterical. She had always felt that Meta did not
appreciate her.
"We've none of us been trained to realize our spiritual
possibilities," she replied, her eyes wide and thoughtful.
While a few girls disbelieved entirely in the spectre, and others
accepted the explanation according to Veronica's occult theories, most
of the school considered the attic to be haunted by a plain
old-fashioned ghost, such as anybody might expect to find in an
ancient mansion like the Grange. They waived the subject of modern
costume, deciding that in the dim light such details could hardly have
been adequately distinguished, and that the apparition must have been
a cavalier or Jacobite maiden, whose heart-rending story was buried in
the oblivion of years.
"Perhaps her lover was killed," commented Fauvette, with a quiver of
sympathy.
"Or her father was impeached by Parliament," added Maudie.
"She may have had a cruel stepmother who ill-treated her," sighed
Muriel softly.
Raymonde alone offered no suggestions, and when asked for her opinion
as to the explanation of the mystery, shook her head sagely, and said
nothing. The immediate result of the experience was that Veronica went
to Miss Beasley, and borrowed _An Antiquarian Survey of the County of
Bedworthshire, including a description of its Castles and Moated
Houses, together with a History of its Ancient Families_--a ponderous
volume dated 1823, which had before been offered for the girls'
inspection, but which nobody had hitherto summoned courage to attack.
She studied it now with deep attention, and gave a digest of its
information for the benefit of weaker minds, less able than her own,
to grapple with the stilted language. The school preferred lighter
literature for their own reading, but were content to listen to
legends of the past when told by Veronica, who had rather a gift for
narrative, and could carry her audience with her. As the next
afternoon was still hopelessly wet, the girls gathered in one of the
schoolrooms with their sewing, and were regaled with a story while
they worked.
"I found out all about the Grange," began Veronica. "It belonged to a
family named Ferrers, and they took the side of the King in the Civil
War. While Sir Hugh was away fighting in the north, the house was
besieged by Cromwell's troops. The Lady of the Manor, Dame Joan
Ferrers, had to look after the defence. She had not many men, nor a
great deal of ammunition, and not nearly as much food as was
necessary. She at once put all the household upon short rations, and
drew up the drawbridge, barred the great gates, and prepared to hold
out as long as she possibly could. She knew that the Cavalier forces
might be marching in the direction of Marlowe at any time to relieve
her, and that if she could keep the enemy at bay even for a few weeks
the Grange might be saved. The utmost vigilance was used. Sentries
were posted in the tower over the great gate, and the lady herself
constantly patrolled the walls. With so small a garrison it was a
difficult task, for the men had not adequate time to rest or sleep,
and were soon nearly worn out. The scanty supply of food was almost at
an end. Unless help should arrive within a few days, they would be
obliged to capitulate. All the flour was gone, and the bacon and
salted beef, and the cocks and hens and pigeons, and even the horses
had been killed and eaten, though these had been kept till the very
last. The worst of the trouble was that there was treachery within the
walls. Dame Joan was well aware of it, though she could not be
absolutely sure which of her men were disaffected, for they all still
pretended loyalty to their master and to the King. Nobody, she felt,
was really to be trusted, though the walls were still manned, and the
cannon blazed away with what ammunition was left. If the Grange were
to be saved at all, it was imperative that a message asking for help
should be conveyed to the Royalist forces. But how could it be taken?
The Roundheads were encamped all round the walls, and would promptly
shoot anyone who attempted to penetrate their lines. None of the
garrison would be stout-hearted enough to venture.
"Sir Hugh's eldest son was away fighting with his father, but there
was a daughter at home, a girl of about thirteen, named Joyce. She
came now to her mother, and begged to be allowed to take the message.
It was a long time before Dame Joan would give her consent, for she
knew the terrible danger to which Joyce would be exposed; but she had
the lives of her younger children to think of as well, and in the end
she gave her reluctant permission. Just when it was growing dusk, she
took her little daughter to a secret doorway in the panelling, from
which a subterranean passage led underneath the moat into the
adjoining wood. This secret passage was known only to Sir Hugh and his
wife and their eldest son, and it was now shown to Joyce for the first
time. It was a horrible experience to go down it alone, but she was a
brave lassie, and ready to risk her life for the sake of her mother,
and her younger brothers and sisters. She took a lantern to guide
her, and set off with as cheerful a face as she could show. The air
was stale and musty, and in some places she felt as if she could
scarcely breathe. Her footsteps, light though they were, rang hollow.
After what seemed to her a very long way, she found herself in a small
cave, and could catch a gleam of twilight sky through the entrance.
She at once extinguished the lantern, and advanced with extreme
caution. She was in the wood at the farther side of the moat, a place
where she had often played with her brothers, and had gathered
primroses and violets in the springtime. She could recognize the group
of tall elms, and knew that if she kept to the right she might creep
through a hole in the hedge, and make her way across some fields into
the high road. As quietly as some little dormouse or night animal she
stole along.
"Not far off she could see the great camp fire, round which the
troopers were preparing their supper. She hoped they would all be too
busy with their cooking to notice her. As she passed behind some
bushes she suddenly caught the gleam of a steel helmet within a few
yards of her. She crouched down under the shelter of a clump of gorse.
But in doing so she made a faint rustle.
"'Halt! Who goes there?' came the challenge.
"Joyce's heart was beating so loudly that she thought it must surely
be heard.
"The sentry listened a moment, then levelling his pistol, sent a shot
through the gorse bush. It passed within a few inches of her head, but
she had the presence of mind not to cry out or move. Evidently
thinking he was mistaken, the sentry paced farther on, and Joyce,
seizing her golden opportunity, slipped through the hole in the hedge.
Still using the cover of bushes, she made her way across three fields,
and reached the road. It was quite dark now, but she knew her
direction, and turned up a by-lane where she would be unlikely to meet
troopers. All night she walked, guiding herself partly by the stars,
for she knew that Charles's Wain always pointed to the north. At dawn
a very tired and worn-out little maiden presented herself at the
gateway of Hepplethorpe Manor, demanding instant audience of Sir Roger
Rivington. That worthy knight and loyal supporter of the Crown, on
hearing her story, immediately sent horsemen with a letter to General
Bright, of the King's forces, who lay encamped only five miles off;
and he, marching without delay for Marlowe Grange, surprised the
Parliamentarians and completely routed them. The half-starved garrison
opened the great gates to their deliverers with shouts of joy, and, we
may be sure, welcomed the supplies of food that poured into the house
later on. As for Joyce, she must have been the heroine of the
family."
"Is that all?" asked the girls, as Veronica paused and began to count
the stitches in the sock she was knitting.
"All that's in the book, and I've embroidered it a little. It was told
in such a very dull fashion, so I put it in my own words. It's quite
true, though."
"What became of Joyce afterwards?"
"She married Sir Reginald Loveday, and became the lady of Clopgate
Towers. The tomb is in Byford Church."
"If she'd been shot by the trooper, I should have thought she was the
ghost girl!" commented Ardiune. "I don't quite see how we could fix
that up, though. It doesn't seem to fit. You're quite sure she
escaped?"
"Perfectly certain. How else could the Grange have been saved?"
Veronica's argument settled the question, but the girls felt that the
dramatic interest of the situation would have been better suited if
the story had ended with the melancholy death of the heroine, and her
subsequent haunting of the Manor.
"I always heard that Cromwell's soldiers destroyed the walls and made
those big holes in the gateway with their cannon-balls," said Morvyth,
still only half convinced.
"So they did, but that was two years afterwards, and the children were
all sent safely away before the second siege."
"It hasn't solved the mystery of the ghost girl," persisted Ardiune.
"Ray, what do you think about it?"
Raymonde, lost in a brown study, started almost guiltily, and
recommenced her sewing with feverish haste.
"Think? Why, it's a pretty story, of course. What more can I think?
Why d'you ask me?"
"Oh! I don't know, except that you generally have ideas about
everything. Who can the ghost girl be?"
But Raymonde, having lost her scissors, was biting her thread, and
only shook her head in reply.