possible, and thinking of nothing but getting a good long sleep. The
first thing that roused me was some one trying the handle of my door. I
lay and listened to it for some time before I was fully awake, and then
I thought maybe you wanted something out of my room, and was trying not
to wake me; so I got out of bed and opened the door. But there was nobody
there, though I fancied I heard some one breathing hard a few yards off
from me. Well, I thought to myself, sir, this is all nonsense; so I came
back to bed again, and lay down. But I couldn’t sleep; for directly the
door was closed, I heard the footsteps again, creep, creeping along the
passage and the wall, as though some one was crouching and feeling his
way as he went. Then the handle of the door began to creak and turn
again—I saw it turn, sir, with my own eyes, backwards and forwards,
a dozen times in the moonlight; and then I heard a heavier step come
stumbling downstairs, and there seemed to be a kind of scuffle. I
couldn’t stand it no longer, so I opened the door again; and then, as
I’m a living Christian, sir, I heard a woman’s voice say ‘Father!’ with
a kind of sob, and as the sound was uttered there came a report from the
first landing, and the sound of a fall, and a deep groan in the passage
below. And it seemed to go right through me, and curdle my blood, and I
fell all of a heap where you found me. And it’s nothing natural, sir,
you may take my word for it; and harm will come of your stopping in this
house.’
So saying, poor Dawson, who seemed in real earnest, fell back on his
pillow with a heavy sigh.
‘Dawson,’ I said, critically, ‘what did you eat for supper last night?’
‘You’re never going to put down what I’ve told you, sir, to supper. I
took nothing but a little cold meat, upon my word. And I was as sensible,
till that shot knocked me over, as you are this moment.’
‘Do you mean to tell me that you seriously believe the report of a
firearm could have reached your ears without one having been discharged?’
‘But didn’t you say you heard it yourself, sir?’
This knocked me over, and I did not know what to answer him. In the
attempt to allay what I considered his unreasonable fear, I had
forgotten my own experience in the matter. And I knew that I had heard,
or imagined I heard, a shot fired, and it would be very difficult for
any one to persuade me I was mistaken. Still, though I held no belief
in supernatural agencies, I was an earnest student of the philosophical
and metaphysical school of Germany, and acquainted with all the revealed
wonders of magnetism and animal electricity. It was impossible to say
whether some such effect as I have described might not have been produced
upon my brain by the reflection of the fear or fancy on that of my
servant; and that as he had imagined the concussion of firearms, so I
might have instantaneously received the impression of his mind. It was
a nice question for argument, and not one to be thought over at that
moment. All my present business lay in the effort to disabuse Dawson’s
mind of the reality of the shock it had received.
‘I said I fancied I heard something like the report of a firearm; but
as none had been fired, of course I must have been mistaken. Come,
Dawson, I must go back, or Mrs Delamere will wonder what has become of
me. I conclude you are not such a coward as to be afraid to be left by
yourself?’
‘I never feared a man in my life, sir; but the strongest heart can’t
stand up against spirits.’
‘Spirits!’ I exclaimed, angrily. ‘I wonder what on earth you will talk to
me about next? Now, I’ll tell you what it is, Dawson—if I hear anything
more of this, or am disturbed again at night by your folly, I’ll pack you
back to London without a character. Do you understand me?’
‘I understand you, sir,’ the man answered, humbly; and thereupon I left
him to himself.
But, as I reascended the staircase, I was not satisfied either with my
own half-formed solution of the mystery, or my servant’s reception of
my rebuke. He evidently would prefer dismissal to passing such another
night. I could read the resolution in his face, although he had not
expressed it in so many words. When I reached my wife’s room, I was
still more surprised. Janie and the child lay in a profound slumber. I
had expected to find both of them in a state of anxious terror to learn
the meaning of the noise that was going on below; but they had evidently
heard nothing. This welcome fact, however, only tended to confirm me in
the belief I had commenced to entertain, of the whole circumstance being
due to some, perhaps yet undiscovered, phase of brain reading, and I fell
to sleep, resolved to make a deeper study of the marvels propounded by
Mesmer and Kant. When I awoke, with the bright June sun streaming in at
the windows, I had naturally parted with much of the impression of the
night before. It is hard to associate any gloomy or unnatural thoughts
with the unlimited glory of the summer’s sunshine, that streams into
every nook and cranny, and leaves no shadows anywhere. On this particular
morning it seemed to have cleared the cobwebs off all our brains. The
child had forgotten all about the occurrence of the night. I was, as
usual, ready to laugh away all ghostly fears and fancies; and even Janie
seemed to regard the matter as one of little moment.
‘What was the matter last night, Arthur, dear?’ she asked, when the
subject recurred to her memory. ‘I was so sleepy I couldn’t keep awake
till you came up again.’
‘Didn’t you hear the fearful battle I held with the goblins in the hall?’
I demanded, gaily, though I put the question with a purpose,—‘the shots
that were exchanged between us, and the groans of the defeated, as they
slunk away into their haunted coal-cellars and cupboards?’
‘Arthur, what nonsense! Was there any noise?’
‘Well, I frightened Dawson, and Dawson frightened me; and we squabbled
over it for the best part of an hour. I thought our talking might have
disturbed you.’
‘Indeed, it didn’t, then. But don’t mention it before Cissy, Arthur, even
in fun, for she declares she heard some one walking about the room, and I
want her to forget it.’
I dropped the subject; but meeting Dawson as I was smoking my pipe in the
garden that afternoon, I ventured to rally him on his fright of the night
before, and to ask if he hadn’t got over it by that time.
‘No, sir; and I never shall,’ he replied, with a sort of shiver. ‘And I
only hope you may come to be convinced of the truth of it before it’s too
late to prevent harm you may never cease to repent of.’
There was so much respectful earnestness in the man’s manner, that I
could not resent his words nor laugh at them, as I had done before; and I
passed by him in thoughtful silence.
What if there were more in all this than I had ever permitted myself to
imagine? What if the assertions of my man-servant, the unaffected terror
of my wife and child, the fears of my nurse, the evident shrinking of the
old woman who had charge of the house, the opposition from the servants
of the neighbouring town, combined with what I had heard myself, were
not simple chimeras of the brain—fancies engendered by superstition or
timidity or ignorance; but indications of a power beyond our control,
the beginning and the end of which may alike remain unknown until all
things are revealed? I had, with the majority of educated men, manfully
resisted all temptation to believe in the possibility of spirits, of
whatever grade, making themselves either seen or heard by mortal senses.
I use the word ‘manfully,’ although I now believe it to be the height of
manliness to refuse to discredit that which we cannot disprove, and to
have sufficient humility to accept the belief that there are more things
in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in our philosophy. But at that
juncture I should have considered such a concession both childish and
cowardly. Yet, there was sufficient doubt in my mind, notwithstanding the
glorious June sun, respecting my adventure of the night before, that I
resolved, whatever happened, that I would satisfy myself as to the value
of the fears of those about me.
I could not keep my wife and children in a house where they might be
liable at any moment to be frightened out of their seven senses, from
whatever cause, without ascertaining the reason of it. Some reason there
must be, either natural or otherwise; and I determined, if possible,
to learn it that very night. I would not tell Dawson or anyone of my
intention; but I would keep watch and ward in the old parlour on the
ground floor, so as to be ready to rush out at a moment’s notice, and
seize any intruder who might attempt to disturb us. I still believed—I
could not but believe—that the footsteps which so many of us had heard
were due to some trickster, who wished to play upon our nerves in that
lonely old house. I had heard of such things being done, purposely to
keep visitors away; and I determined, whosoever it might be, whether our
own servants or strangers, that they must take their chance of being shot
down like any other robber.
According to my resolution, I said nothing to Janie, but tried to render
the evening as cheerful and merry a one as possible.
I ordered strawberries and cream into the hay-field, and played with my
troop of little ones there, until they were so tired they could hardly
walk for the short distance that lay between them and their beds. As
soon as they were dismissed, and we had returned to the house, I laid
aside the newspapers that had arrived by that morning’s post, and which I
usually reserved for the evening’s delectation, and taking my wife upon
my knee, as in the dear old courting days, talked to her until she had
forgotten everything but the topics on which we conversed, and had no
time to brood upon the coming night, and the fears it usually engendered.
Then, as a last duty, I carried to Dawson with my own hands a strong
decoction of brandy and water, with which I had mixed something that I
knew, under ordinary circumstances, must make him sleep till daylight.
‘Drink this,’ I said to him. ‘From whatever cause, our nerves were both
shaken last night, and a little stimulant will do neither of us harm.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ he replied, as he finished the tumbler at a draught; ‘I
don’t deny I’m glad to have it. I dread the thoughts of the night before
us.’
‘Lock your door on the inside,’ I added as I left him, ‘and don’t get
up whether the handle moves or not. Then, at all events, you will feel
secure till the morrow.’
‘Keys won’t keep _them_ out,’ muttered Dawson, as he entered his sleeping
apartment.
But I would not notice the allusion, though I understood it.
I went up to bed with my wife as usual; and it was not until I saw she
was sound asleep that, habited in my dressing-gown and slippers, I
ventured to creep softly out of the room and take my way downstairs again.
It was then about twelve o’clock. The moonlight was as bright as it had
been the night before, and made every object distinctly visible. From
the loud snoring which proceeded from Dawson’s room, I concluded that my
opiate had taken due effect, and that I should be permitted to hold my
vigil undisturbed. In one hand I grasped a loaded revolver, and in the
other a huge knotted stick, so determined was I not to be taken by my
tormentors at a disadvantage. I turned into the general sitting-room,
which opened on the hall. All was as we had left it; and I ensconced
myself on one of the large old-fashioned sofas, trusting to my curiosity
to keep me awake.
It was weary waiting. I heard one and then two sound from the big clock
in the hall; still there was no other noise to break the silence. I
began to relapse into my first belief that the whole business was due to
imagination. From this I passed to self-satisfaction; self-satisfaction
induced inertion, and inertion brought on heavy sleep. How long I slept
I do not know, but I had reason afterwards to think, not more than
half-an-hour.
However, that point is immaterial. But what waked me—waked me so
completely that in a moment all my faculties were as clear as
daylight—was the sound of a hoarse breathing. I sat up on the sofa and
rubbed my eyes.
The room was fully lighted by the moon. I could see into each corner.
Nothing was visible. The sound I had heard must then have proceeded
from outside the door, which was open; and I turned towards it, fully
expecting to see Dawson enter in a somnambulistic condition, brought on
by his dreams and my soporific.
But he did not appear. I rose and looked into the hall. It was empty,
as before. Still the breathing continued, and (as I, with now
fully-awakened faculties, discovered) proceeded from a corner of the
parlour where stood an old-fashioned secretary and a chair. Not daring to
believe my senses, I advanced to the spot and listened attentively. The
sound continued, and was unmistakably palpable. The breathing was hoarse
and laboured, like that of an old man who was suffering from bronchitis
or asthma. Every now and then it was interrupted by a short, roupy cough.
What I suffered under this mysterious influence I can hardly tell.
Interest and curiosity got the better of my natural horror; but even then
I could not but feel that there was something very awful in this strange
contact of sound without sight. Presently my eyes were attracted by the
chair, which was pushed, without any visible agency, towards the wall.
Something rose—I could hear the action of the feet. Something moved—I
could hear it approaching the spot where I stood motionless. Something
brushed past me, almost roughly—I could feel the contact of a cloth
garment against my dressing-gown, and heard the sound of coarsely shod
feet leaving the room. My hair was almost standing on end with terror;
but I was determined to follow the mystery to its utmost limits, whether
my curiosity were satisfied by the attempt or not.
I rushed after the clumping feet into the hall; and I heard them
slowly and painfully, and yet most distinctly, commence to toil up the
staircase. But before they had reached the first landing, and just as I
was about to follow in their wake, my attention was distracted by another
sound, which appeared to be close at my elbow—the sound of which Dawson
had complained the night before—that of a creeping step, and a stifled
sobbing, as though a woman were feeling her way along the passage in the
dark. I could discern the feeble touch as it felt along the wall, and
then placed an uncertain hold upon the banisters—could hear the catching
breath, which dared not rise into a cry, and detect the fear which caused
the feet to advance and retreat, and advance a little way again, and
then stop, as though dread of some unknown calamity overpowered every
other feeling. Meanwhile, the clumping steps, that had died away in the
distance, turned, and appeared to be coming downstairs again. The moon
streamed brightly in at the landing window. Had a form been visible, it
would have been as distinctly seen as by day. I experienced a sense of
coming horror, and drew back in the shadow of the wall. As the heavy
footsteps gained the lower landing, I heard a start—a scuffle—a faint
cry of ‘Father!’ and then a curse—the flash of a firearm—a groan—and I
remember nothing more.
When I recovered my consciousness, I was lying on the flat of my back in
the passage, as I had found poor Dawson the night before, and the morning
sun was shining full upon my face. I sat up, rubbed my eyes, and tried
to remember how I had come there. Surely the moon had looked in at that
window when I saw it last. Then in a moment came back upon my mind all
that I had heard whilst holding my vigil during the past night; and I
sprang to my feet, to see if I could discover any traces of the tragedy
which seemed to have been enacted in my very presence.
But it was in vain I searched the parlour, the passage, and the stairs.
Everything remained in its usual place. Even the chair, which I could
swear I saw pushed against the wall, was now standing primly before
the secretary, and the door of the room was closed, as it usually was
when we retired for the night. I slunk up to my dressing-room, anxious
that my wife should not discover that I had never retired to rest; and
having plunged my head and face into cold water, took my way across
the sunlighted fields, to see if the fresh morning air might not be
successful in clearing away the confusion with which my brain was
oppressed. But I had made up my mind on one point, and that was that we
would move out of Rushmere as soon as it was possible to do so. After a
stroll of a couple of hours, I re-approached the house. The first person
I encountered was the under nurse, Susan, who ran to meet me with a
perturbed countenance.
‘Oh, sir, I’m so thankful you’ve come back! Dawson has been looking for
you for the last hour, for poor missus is so ill, and we don’t know what
on earth to do with her.’
‘Ill! In what way?’ I demanded quickly.
‘That’s what we can’t make out, sir. Miss Cissy came up crying to the
nursery, the first thing this morning, to tell me that her mamma had
tumbled out of bed, and wouldn’t speak to her; and she couldn’t find her
papa. So I ran downstairs directly, sir; and there I found my mistress on
the ground, quite insensible, and she hasn’t moved a limb since.’
‘Good heavens!’ I inwardly exclaimed, as I ran towards the house, ‘is it
possible she can have been affected by the same cause?’
I found Janie, as the nurse had said, unconscious; and it was some time
before my remedies had any effect on her. When she opened her eyes, and
understood the condition she had been in, she was seized with such a fit
of nervous terror that she could do nothing but cling to me, and entreat
me to take her away from Rushmere.
Remembering my own experience, I readily promised her that she should not
sleep another night in the house if she did not desire it. Soothed by
my words, she gradually calmed down, and was at last able to relate the
circumstance which had so terrified her.
‘Did you sleep in my room last night, dear Arthur?’ she asked, curiously.
‘I did not. But since you awoke, you surely must have been aware of my
absence.’
‘I know nothing, and remember nothing, except the awful horror that
overpowered me. I had gone to sleep very happy last night, and none of
my silly fears, as you have called them, ever entered my head. Indeed,
I think I was in the midst of some pleasant dream, when I was awakened
by the sound of a low sobbing by the bedside. Oh! such a strange,
unearthly sobbing’ (with a shudder). ‘I thought at first it must be poor
little Cissy, who had been frightened again, and I put out my hand to
her, saying,—“Don’t be afraid, dear. I am here.” Directly, a hand was
placed in mine—a cold, damp hand, with a death-like, clayey feel about it
that made me tremble. I knew at once it was not the child’s hand, and I
started up in bed, exclaiming,—“Who are you?”
‘The room was quite dark, for I had pinned my shawl across the blind
to keep the moon out of my eyes before I went to bed, and I could
distinguish nothing. Yet still the cold, damp hand clung to mine, and
seemed to strike the chill of death into my very bones. When I said,
“Who are you?” something replied to me. I cannot say it was a voice. It
was more like some one hissing at me through closed teeth, but I could
distinguish the name “Emily.”
‘I was so frightened, Arthur, I did not know what to do. I wrenched
my hand away from the dead hand. You were not there, and I called out
loudly. I would have leaped out of bed, but that I heard the creeping
footsteps, accompanied by the sobbing breath, go round the room, crying,
“Father, father!”
‘My blood seemed to curdle in my veins. I could not stir until it was
gone. I heard it leave the room distinctly, although the door was never
opened, and walk upon the landing as though to go downstairs. I was still
sitting up in bed listening—listening—only waiting till the dreadful
thing had quite gone away, to seek your presence, when I heard a heavy
step clumping downstairs, then the report of a gun. I don’t know _what_ I
thought. I remember nothing that followed; but I suppose I jumped out of
bed with the intention of finding you, and fainted before I could reach
the dressing-room. Oh, Arthur! what was it? What is it that haunts this
house, and makes even the sunshine look as gloomy as night? Oh, take us
away from it, or I am sure that something terrible will happen!’
‘I _will_ take you away from it, my dear. We will none of us sleep
another night beneath its roof. What curse hangs over it, I cannot tell;
but whether the strange sounds we have heard proceed from natural or
supernatural causes, they alike render Rushmere no home for us. We will
go to the hotel at —— this very day, Janie, and deliver up the keys of
Rushmere again to Messrs Quibble & Lye.’
I then related to her my own experience, and that of Dawson; and though
she trembled a little whilst listening to me, the idea of leaving the
place before nightfall rendered the heavy fear less alarming than it
would otherwise have been.
The servants, upon learning the resolution we had arrived at, were only
too ready to help us to carry it out. Our personal possessions were
packed in an incredibly short time, and we sat down that evening to a
comfortable family dinner in the good old-fashioned inn at ——. As soon as
the meal was concluded, and the children sent to bed, I said to my wife,—
‘Janie, I am going to ring for the landlord, to see if he can throw any
light on the cause of our experiences. I never told you that, when we
came to this inn to try for a nurse to supply Mary’s place, he informed
me that nobody from his countryside would live at Rushmere; and asked me,
in a manner which assured me he could have said more if he had chosen, if
we had not heard anything whilst there. I laughed at the question then,
but I do not feel so disposed to laugh at it now; and I am going to beg
him to tell me all he may know. If nothing more, his story may form the
stratum of a curious psychological study. Would you like to be present at
our interview?’
‘Oh yes, Arthur; I have quite recovered my nerves since I’ve lost sight
of Rushmere, and I feel even curious to learn all I can upon the subject.
That poor, sobbing voice that whispered “Emily”—I shall not forget its
sound to my dying day.’
‘Ring the bell, dear, and let us ask if the landlord is at leisure. To my
mind, your experience of the details of this little tragedy appears the
most interesting of all.’
The landlord, a Mr Browser, entered at once; and as soon as he heard my
request, made himself completely at home with us.
‘After the little rebuff you gave me t’other day, I shouldn’t have
ventured to say nothing, sir; but when I see your family getting out of
the fly this afternoon, I says to Mrs Browser, “If that don’t mean that
they can’t stand Rushmere another night, I’m a pumpkin.” And I suppose,
now, it did mean it, sir?’
‘You are quite right, Mr Browser. The noises and voices about the house
have become so intolerable, that it is quite impossible I can keep my
family there. Still, I must tell you that, though I have been unable
to account for the disturbances, I do not necessarily believe they are
attributable to spirits. It is because I do not believe so that I wish
to hear all you may be able to tell us, in order, if possible, to find a
reason for what appears at present to be unreasonable.’
‘Well, sir, you shall hear, as you say, all we have to tell you, and then
you can believe what you like. But it ain’t I as can relate the story,
sir. Mrs Browser knows a deal more than I do; and with your leave, and
that of this good lady here, I’ll call her to give you the history of
Rushmere.’
At this information, we displayed an amount of interest that resulted in
a hasty summons for Mrs Browser. She was a fat, fair woman, of middle
age, with ruddy cheeks, and a clear blue eye—not at all like a creature
haunted by her own weak imagination, or who would be likely to mistake
a shadow for a substance. Her appearance inspired me with confidence. I
trusted that her relation might furnish me with some clue to the solution
of the occurrences that had so confounded us. Safe out of the precincts
of Rushmere, and with the lapse of twelve hours since the unaccountable
swoon I had been seized with, my practical virtues were once more in the
ascendant, and I was inclined to attribute our fright to anything but
association with the marvellous.
‘Be I to tell the story from the beginning, Browser?’ was the first
sentence that dropped from Mrs Browser’s lips.
Her lord and master nodded an affirmative, whereupon she began:—