"It happened when I lived down in Cornwall, at Tresillack on the south
coast. Tresillack was the name of the house, which stood quite alone at
the head of a coombe, within sound of the sea but without sight of it;
for though the coombe led down to a wide open beach, it wound and
twisted half a dozen times on its way, and its overlapping sides closed
the view from the house, which was advertised as 'secluded.' I was very
poor in those days. Your father and all of us were poor then, as I
trust, my dears, you will never be; but I was young enough to be
romantic and wise enough to like independence, and this word 'secluded'
took my fancy.
"The misfortune was that it had taken the fancy, or just suited the
requirements, of several previous tenants. You know, I dare say, the
kind of person who rents a secluded house in the country? Well, yes,
there are several kinds; but they seem to agree in being odious. No one
knows where they come from, though they soon remove all doubt about
where they're 'going to,' as the children say. 'Shady' is the word, is
it not? Well, the previous tenants of Tresillack (from first to last a
bewildering series) had been shady with a vengeance.
"I knew nothing of this when I first made application to the landlord, a
solid yeoman inhabiting a farm at the foot of the coombe, on a cliff
overlooking the beach. To him I presented myself fearlessly as a
spinster of decent family and small but assured income, intending a
rural life of combined seemliness and economy. He met my advances
politely enough, but with an air of suspicion which offended me.
I began by disliking him for it: afterwards I set it down as an
unpleasant feature in the local character. I was doubly mistaken.
Farmer Hosking was slow-witted, but as honest a man as ever stood up
against hard times; and a more open and hospitable race than the people
on that coast I never wish to meet. It was the caution of a child who
had burnt his fingers, not once but many times. Had I known what I
afterwards learned of Farmer Hosking's tribulations as landlord of a
'secluded country residence,' I should have approached him with the
bashfulness proper to my suit and faltered as I undertook to prove the
bright exception in a long line of painful experiences. He had bought
the Tresillack estate twenty years before--on mortgage, I fancy--because
the land adjoined his own and would pay him for tillage. But the house
was a nuisance, an incubus; and had been so from the beginning.
"'Well, miss,' he said, 'you're welcome to look over it; a pretty enough
place, inside and out. There's no trouble about keys, because I've put
in a housekeeper, a widow-woman, and she'll show you round. With your
leave I'll step up the coombe so far with you, and put you in your way.'
As I thanked him he paused and rubbed his chin. 'There's one thing I
must tell you, though. Whoever takes the house must take Mrs. Carkeek
along with it.'
"'Mrs. Carkeek?' I echoed dolefully. 'Is that the housekeeper?'
"'Yes: she was wife to my late hind. I'm sorry, miss,' he added, my
face telling him no doubt what sort of woman I expected Mrs. Carkeek to
be; 'but I had to make it a rule after--after some things that happened.
And I dare say you won't find her so bad. Mary Carkeek's a sensible
comfortable woman, and knows the place. She was in service there to
Squire Kendall when he sold up and went: her first place it was.'
"'I may as well see the house, anyhow,' said I dejectedly. So we
started to walk up the coombe. The path, which ran beside a little
chattering stream, was narrow for the most part, and Farmer Hosking,
with an apology, strode on ahead to beat aside the brambles.
But whenever its width allowed us to walk side by side I caught him from
time to time stealing a shy inquisitive glance under his rough eyebrows.
Courteously though he bore himself, it was clear that he could not sum
me up to his satisfaction or bring me square with his notion of a tenant
for his 'secluded country residence.'
"I don't know what foolish fancy prompted it, but about halfway up the
coombe I stopped short and asked:
"'There are no ghosts, I suppose?'
"It struck me, a moment after I had uttered it, as a supremely silly
question; but he took it quite seriously. 'No; I never heard tell of
any _ghosts_.' He laid a queer sort of stress on the word. 'There's
always been trouble with servants, and maids' tongues will be runnin'.
But Mary Carkeek lives up there alone, and she seems comfortable
enough.'
"We walked on. By-and-by he pointed with his stick. 'It don't look
like a place for ghosts, now, do it?'
"Certainly it did not. Above an untrimmed orchard rose a terrace of
turf scattered with thorn-bushes, and above this a terrace of stone,
upon which stood the prettiest cottage I had ever seen. It was long and
low and thatched; a deep verandah ran from end to end. Clematis,
Banksia roses and honeysuckle climbed the posts of this verandah, and
big blooms of the Marechal Niel were clustered along its roof, beneath
the lattices of the bedroom windows. The house was small enough to be
called a cottage, and rare enough in features and in situation to confer
distinction on any tenant. It suggested what in those days we should
have called 'elegant' living. And I could have clapped my hands for
joy.
"My spirits mounted still higher when Mrs. Carkeek opened the door to
us. I had looked for a Mrs. Gummidge, and I found a healthy
middle-aged woman with a thoughtful but contented face, and a smile
which, without a trace of obsequiousness, quite bore out the farmer's
description of her. She was a comfortable woman; and while we walked
through the rooms together (for Mr. Hosking waited outside) I 'took to'
Mrs. Carkeek. Her speech was direct and practical; the rooms, in spite
of their faded furniture, were bright and exquisitely clean; and somehow
the very atmosphere of the house gave me a sense of well-being, of
feeling at home and cared for; yes, _of being loved_. Don't laugh, my
dears; for when I've done you may not think this fancy altogether
foolish.
"I stepped out into the verandah, and Farmer Hosking pocketed the
pruning-knife which he had been using on a bush of jasmine.
"'This is better than anything I had dreamed of,' said I.
"'Well, miss, that's not a wise way of beginning a bargain, if you'll
excuse me.'
"He took no advantage, however, of my admission; and we struck the
bargain as we returned down the coombe to his farm, where the hired
chaise waited to convey me back to the market town. I had meant to
engage a maid of my own, but now it occurred to me that I might do very
well with Mrs. Carkeek. This, too, was settled in the course of the
next day or two, and within the week I had moved into my new home.
"I can hardly describe to you the happiness of my first month at
Tresillack; because (as I now believe) if I take the reasons which I had
for being happy, one by one, there remains over something which I cannot
account for. I was moderately young, entirely healthy; I felt myself
independent and adventurous; the season was high summer, the weather
glorious, the garden in all the pomp of June, yet sufficiently unkempt
to keep me busy, give me a sharp appetite for meals, and send me to bed
in that drowsy stupor which comes of the odours of earth. I spent the
most of my time out of doors, winding up the day's work as a rule with a
walk down the cool valley, along the beach and back.
"I soon found that all housework could be safely left to Mrs. Carkeek.
She did not talk much; indeed her only fault (a rare one in
house-keepers) was that she talked too little, and even when I addressed
her seemed at times unable to give me her attention. It was as though
her mind strayed off to some small job she had forgotten, and her eyes
wore a listening look, as though she waited for the neglected task to
speak and remind her. But as a matter of fact she forgot nothing.
Indeed, my dears, I was never so well attended to in my life.
"Well, that is what I'm coming to. That, so to say, is just _it_.
The woman not only had the rooms swept and dusted, and my meals prepared
to the moment. In a hundred odd little ways this orderliness, these
preparations, seemed to read my desires. Did I wish the roses renewed
in a bowl upon the dining-table, sure enough at the next meal they would
be replaced by fresh ones. Mrs. Carkeek (I told myself) must have
surprised and interpreted a glance of mine. And yet I could not
remember having glanced at the bowl in her presence. And how on earth
had she guessed the very roses, the very shapes and colours I had
lightly wished for? This is only an instance, you understand.
Every day, and from morning to night, I happened on others, each slight
enough, but all together bearing witness to a ministering intelligence
as subtle as it was untiring.
"I am a light sleeper, as you know, with an uncomfortable knack of
waking with the sun and roaming early. No matter how early I rose at
Tresillack, Mrs. Carkeek seemed to have prevented me. Finally I had to
conclude that she arose and dusted and tidied as soon as she judged me
safely a-bed. For once, finding the drawing-room (where I had been
sitting late) 'redded up' at four in the morning, and no trace of a
plate of raspberries which I had carried thither after dinner and left
overnight, I determined to test her, and walked through to the kitchen,
calling her by name. I found the kitchen as clean as a pin, and the
fire laid, but no trace of Mrs. Carkeek. I walked upstairs and knocked
at her door. At the second knock a sleepy voice cried out, and
presently the good woman stood before me in her nightgown, looking (I
thought) very badly scared.
"'No,' I said, 'it's not a burglar. But I've found out what I wanted,
that you do your morning's work over night. But you mustn't wait for me
when I choose to sit up. And now go back to your bed like a good soul,
whilst I take a run down to the beach.'
"She stood blinking in the dawn. Her face was still white.
"'Oh, miss,' she gasped, 'I made sure you must have seen something!'
"'And so I have,' I answered, 'but it was neither burglars nor ghosts.'
"'Thank God!' I heard her say as she turned her back to me in her grey
bedroom--which faced the north. And I took this for a carelessly pious
expression and ran downstairs, thinking no more of it.
"A few days later I began to understand.
"The plan of Tresillack house (I must explain) was simplicity itself.
To the left of the hall as you entered was the dining-room; to the right
the drawing-room, with a boudoir beyond. The foot of the stairs faced
the front door, and beside it, passing a glazed inner door, you found
two others right and left, the left opening on the kitchen, the right on
a passage which ran by a store-cupboard under the bend of the stairs to
a neat pantry with the usual shelves and linen-press, and under the
window (which faced north) a porcelain basin and brass tap. On the
first morning of my tenancy I had visited this pantry and turned the
tap; but no water ran. I supposed this to be accidental. Mrs. Carkeek
had to wash up glass ware and crockery, and no doubt Mrs. Carkeek would
complain of any failure in the water supply.
"But the day after my surprise visit (as I called it) I had picked a
basketful of roses, and carried them into the pantry as a handy place to
arrange them in. I chose a china bowl and went to fill it at the tap.
Again the water would not run.
"I called Mrs. Carkeek. 'What is wrong with this tap?' I asked.
'The rest of the house is well enough supplied.'
"'I don't know, miss. I never use it.'
"'But there must be a reason; and you must find it a great nuisance
washing up the plate and glasses in the kitchen. Come around to the
back with me, and we'll have a look at the cisterns.'
"'The cisterns'll be all right, miss. I assure you I don't find it a
trouble.'
"But I was not to be put off. The back of the house stood but ten feet
from a wall which was really but a stone face built against the cliff
cut away by the architect. Above the cliff rose the kitchen garden, and
from its lower path we looked over the wall's parapet upon the cisterns.
There were two--a very large one, supplying the kitchen and the bathroom
above the kitchen; and a small one, obviously fed by the other, and as
obviously leading, by a pipe which I could trace, to the pantry.
Now the big cistern stood almost full, and yet the small one, though on
a lower level, was empty.
"'It's as plain as daylight,' said I. 'The pipe between the two is
choked.' And I clambered on to the parapet.
"'I wouldn't, miss. The pantry tap is only cold water, and no use to
me. From the kitchen boiler I gets it hot, you see.'
"'But I want the pantry water for my flowers.' I bent over and groped.
'I thought as much!' said I, as I wrenched out a thick plug of cork and
immediately the water began to flow. I turned triumphantly on Mrs.
Carkeek, who had grown suddenly red in the face. Her eyes were fixed on
the cork in my hand. To keep it more firmly wedged in its place
somebody had wrapped it round with a rag of calico print; and,
discoloured though the rag was, I seemed to recall the pattern (a lilac
sprig). Then, as our eyes met, it occurred to me that only two mornings
before Mrs. Carkeek had worn a print gown of that same sprigged pattern.
"I had the presence of mind to hide this very small discovery, sliding
over it some quite trivial remark; and presently Mrs. Carkeek regained
her composure. But I own I felt disappointed in her. It seemed such a
paltry thing to be disingenuous over. She had deliberately acted a fib
before me; and why? Merely because she preferred the kitchen to the
pantry tap. It was childish. 'But servants are all the same,' I told
myself. 'I must take Mrs. Carkeek as she is; and, after all, she is a
treasure.'
"On the second night after this, and between eleven and twelve o'clock,
I was lying in bed and reading myself sleepy over a novel of Lord
Lytton's, when a small sound disturbed me. I listened. The sound was
clearly that of water trickling; and I set it down to rain. A shower
(I told myself) had filled the water-pipes which drained the roof.
Somehow I could not fix the sound. There was a water pipe against the
wall just outside my window. I rose and drew up the blind.
"To my astonishment no rain was falling; no rain had fallen. I felt the
slate window-sill; some dew had gathered there--no more. There was no
wind, no cloud: only a still moon high over the eastern slope of the
coombe, the distant plash of waves, and the fragrance of many roses.
I went back to bed and listened again. Yes, the trickling sound
continued, quite distinct in the silence of the house, not to be
confused for a moment with the dull murmur of the beach. After a while
it began to grate on my nerves. I caught up my candle, flung my
dressing-gown about me, and stole softly downstairs.
"Then it was simple. I traced the sound to the pantry. 'Mrs. Carkeek
has left the tap running,' said I: and, sure enough, I found it so--a
thin trickle steadily running to waste in the porcelain basin. I turned
off the tap, went contentedly back to my bed, and slept.
"--for some hours. I opened my eyes in darkness, and at once knew what
had awakened me. The tap was running again. Now it had shut easily in
my hand, but not so easily that I could believe it had slipped open
again of its own accord. 'This is Mrs. Carkeek's doing,' said I; and am
afraid I added 'Bother Mrs. Carkeek!'
"Well, there was no help for it: so I struck a light, looked at my
watch, saw that the hour was just three o'clock, and descended the
stairs again. At the pantry door I paused. I was not afraid--not one
little bit. In fact the notion that anything might be wrong had never
crossed my mind. But I remember thinking, with my hand on the door,
that if Mrs. Carkeek were in the pantry I might happen to give her a
severe fright.
"I pushed the door open briskly. Mrs. Carkeek was not there.
But something _was_ there, by the porcelain basin--something which might
have sent me scurrying upstairs two steps at a time, but which as a
matter of fact held me to the spot. My heart seemed to stand still--so
still! And in the stillness I remember setting down the brass
candlestick on a tall nest of drawers beside me.
"Over the porcelain basin and beneath the water trickling from the tap I
saw two hands.
"That was all--two small hands, a child's hands. I cannot tell you how
they ended.
"No: they were not cut off. I saw them quite distinctly: just a pair of
small hands and the wrists, and after that--nothing. They were moving
briskly--washing themselves clean. I saw the water trickle and splash
over them--not _through_ them--but just as it would on real hands.
They were the hands of a little girl, too. Oh, yes, I was sure of that
at once. Boys and girls wash their hands differently. I can't just
tell you what the difference is, but it's unmistakable.
"I saw all this before my candle slipped and fell with a crash. I had
set it down without looking--for my eyes were fixed on the basin--and
had balanced it on the edge of the nest of drawers. After the crash, in
the darkness there, with the water running, I suffered some bad moments.
Oddly enough, the thought uppermost with me was that I _must_ shut off
that tap before escaping. I _had_ to. And after a while I picked up
all my courage, so to say, between my teeth, and with a little sob
thrust out my hand and did it. Then I fled.
"The dawn was close upon me: and as soon as the sky reddened I took my
bath, dressed and went downstairs. And there at the pantry door I found
Mrs. Carkeek, also dressed, with my candlestick in her hand.
"'Ah!' said I, 'you picked it up.'
"Our eyes met. Clearly Mrs. Carkeek wished me to begin, and I
determined at once to have it out with her.
"'And you knew all about it. That's what accounts for your plugging up
the cistern.'
"'You saw? . . .' she began.
"'Yes, yes. And you must tell me all about it--never mind how bad.
Is--is it--murder?'
"'Law bless you, miss, whatever put such horrors in your head?'
"'She was washing her hands.'
"'Ah, so she does, poor dear! But--murder! And dear little Miss
Margaret, that wouldn't go to hurt a fly!'
"'Miss Margaret?'
"'Eh, she died at seven year. Squire Kendall's only daughter; and
that's over twenty year ago. I was her nurse, miss, and I know--
diphtheria it was; she took it down in the village.'
"'But how do you know it is Margaret?'
"'Those hands--why, how could I mistake, that used to be her nurse?'
"'But why does she wash them?'
"'Well, miss, being always a dainty child--and the house-work, you
see--'
"I took a long breath. 'Do you mean to tell me that all this tidying
and dusting--' I broke off. 'Is it _she_ who has been taking this care
of me?'
"Mrs. Carkeek met my look steadily.
"'Who else, miss?'
"'Poor little soul!'
"'Well now'--Mrs. Carkeek rubbed my candlestick with the edge of her
apron--'I'm so glad you take it like this. For there isn't really
nothing to be afraid of--is there?' She eyed me wistfully. 'It's my
belief she loves you, miss. But only to think what a time she must have
had with the others!'
"'The others?' I echoed.
"'The other tenants, miss: the ones afore you.'
"'Were they bad?'
"'They was awful. Didn't Farmer Hosking tell you? They carried on
fearful--one after another, and each one worse than the last."
"'What was the matter with them? Drink?'
"'Drink, miss, with some of 'em. There was the Major--he used to go mad
with it, and run about the coombe in his nightshirt. Oh, scandalous!
And his wife drank too--that is, if she ever _was_ his wife. Just think
of that tender child washing Up after their nasty doings!'
"I shivered.
"'But that wasn't the worst, miss--not by a long way. There was a pair
here--from the colonies, or so they gave out--with two children, a boy
and gel, the eldest scarce six. Poor mites!'
"'Why, what happened?'
"'They beat those children, miss--your blood would boil!--_and_ starved,
_and_ tortured 'em, it's my belief. You could hear their screams, I've
been told, away back in the high-road, and that's the best part of half
a mile. Sometimes they was locked up without food for days together.
But it's my belief that little Miss Margaret managed to feed them
somehow. Oh, I can see her, creeping to the door and comforting!'
"'But perhaps she never showed herself when these awful people were
here, but took to flight until they left.'
"'You didn't never know her, miss. The brave she was! She'd have stood
up to lions. She've been here all the while: and only to think what her
innocent eyes and ears must have took in! There was another couple--'
Mrs. Carkeek sunk her voice.
"'Oh, hush!' said I, 'if I'm to have any peace of mind in this house!'
"'But you won't go, miss? She loves you, I know she do. And think what
you might be leaving her to--what sort of tenant might come next. For
she can't go. She've been here ever since her father sold the place.
He died soon after. You musn't go!'
"Now I had resolved to go, but all of a sudden I felt how mean this
resolution was.
"'After all,' said I, 'there's nothing to be afraid of.'
"'That's it, miss; nothing at all. I don't even believe it's so very
uncommon. Why, I've heard my mother tell of farmhouses where the rooms
were swept every night as regular as clockwork, and the floors sanded,
and the pots and pans scoured, and all while the maids slept. They put
it down to the piskies; but we know better, miss, and now we've got the
secret between us we can lie easy in our beds, and if we hear anything,
say "God bless the child!" and go to sleep.'
"'Mrs. Carkeek,' said I, 'there's only one condition I have to make.'
"'What's that?'
"'Why, that you let me kiss you.'
"'Oh, you dear!' said Mrs. Carkeek as we embraced: and this was as close
to familiarity as she allowed herself to go in the whole course of my
acquaintance with her.
"I spent three years at Tresillack, and all that while Mrs. Carkeek
lived with me and shared the secret. Few women, I dare to say, were
ever so completely wrapped around with love as we were during those
three years. It ran through my waking life like a song: it smoothed my
pillow, touched and made my table comely, in summer lifted the heads of
the flowers as I passed, and in winter watched the fire with me and kept
it bright.
"'Why did I ever leave Tresillack?' Because one day, at the end of five
years, Farmer Hosking brought me word that he had sold the house--or was
about to sell it; I forget which. There was no avoiding it, at any
rate; the purchaser being a Colonel Kendall, a brother of the old
Squire.'
"'A married man?' I asked.
"'Yes, miss; with a family of eight. As pretty children as ever you
see, and the mother a good lady. It's the old home to Colonel Kendall.'
"'I see. And that is why you feel bound to sell.'
"'It's a good price, too, that he offers. You mustn't think but I'm
sorry enough--'
"'To turn me out? I thank you, Mr. Hosking; but you are doing the right
thing.'
"Since Mrs. Carkeek was to stay, the arrangement lacked nothing of
absolute perfection--except, perhaps, that it found no room for me.
"'_She_--Margaret-will be happy,' I said; 'with her cousins, you know.'
"'Oh yes, miss, she will be happy, sure enough,' Mrs. Carkeek agreed.
"So when the time came I packed up my boxes, and tried to be cheerful.
But on the last morning, when they stood corded in the hall, I sent Mrs.
Carkeek upstairs upon some poor excuse, and stepped alone into the
pantry.
"'Margaret!' I whispered.
"There was no answer at all. I had scarcely dared to hope for one.
Yet I tried again, and, shutting my eyes this time, stretched out both
hands and whispered:
"'Margaret!'
"And I will swear to my dying day that two little hands stole and
rested--for a moment only--in mine."