IN the year of grace, 1586, on the last day of the month of May, to all
who may chance to read this narrative, these:
I will first be at the pains of stating that had it not been for Marian
I had never indited these or any other papers, true or false. Secondly,
that the facts herein set down be true facts; none the less true that
they are strange. I will furthermore explain that Marian is the
Christian name of my lawful wife, and that our surname is Butter.
My wife had nursed the Lady Margaret from the moment of her birth; and
here I must make another digression. The Lady Margaret was the twin
sister of the then Lord of Amhurste, Lord Robert, and my lady and his
lordship had quarrelled--Marian saith, with a great cause, but I cannot
herein forbear also expressing my opinion, which is to the effect that
for that quarrel there was neither cause, justice, nor reason.
Therefore, before those who may chance to read these words, I will lay
bare the facts pertaining to the said quarrel.
It concerned the family ghost, which ghost was said to haunt a certain
blue chamber in the east wing of the castle. Now I myself had never
gainsaid these reports; for although I do not believe in ghosts, I have
a certain respect for them, as they have never offered me any affront,
either by appearing to me or otherwise maltreating me. But Marian, who
like many of her sex seemed to consort naturally with banshees, bogies,
apparitions, and the like, declared to me that at several different and
equally inconvenient times this ghost had presented itself to her,
startling her on two occasions to such an extent that she once let fall
the contents of the broth-bowl on Herne the blood-hound, thereby causing
that beast to maliciously devour two breadths of her new black taffeta
Sunday gown; again, a hot iron wherewith she was pressing out the seams
of Lady Margaret's night-gown. On the second occasion, she fled along
the kitchen hall, shrieking piteously, and preceded by Doll, the kitchen
wench, the latter having in her seeming a certain ghostly appearance, as
she was clad only in her shift, which the draughts in the hall inflated
to a great size. The poor maid fled affrighted into her room and locked
the door behind her; yet when I did essay to assuage the terror of
Mistress Butter, identifying Doll and the blue-room ghost as one and the
same, she thanked me not, but belabored me in her frenzy with the yet
warm iron, which she had instinctively snatched up in her flight;
demanding of me at the same time if I had ever seen Doll's nose spout
fire, and her eyes spit in her head like hot coals. I being of a
necessity compelled to reply "No," Marian further told me that it was
thus that the ghost had comported itself; that, moreover, it was clad
all in a livid blue flame from top to toe, and that it had a banner o'
red sarcenet that streamed out behind like forked lightning. She then
said that this malevolent spirit had struck her with its blazing hand,
and that, did I not believe her, I could see the burn on her wrist. Upon
my suggesting that this wound might have been inflicted by the iron in
its fall, she did use me in so unwifely a manner that I sought my bed in
much wrath and vexation of spirit. Nay, I do fear me that I cursed the
day I was wed, the day on which my wife was born, wishing all women to
the d--l; and that, moreover, out loud, which put me to much shame
afterwards for some days; although, be it said to my still greater
shame, it was full a fortnight e'er I confessed my repentance unto the
wife whom I had so abused.
But meseems I have in this digression transgressed in the matter o'
length; therefore, to return to the bare facts.
It was on the subject of this ghost that my lord and the Lady Margaret
had disagreed. My lord, being a flighty lad, although a marvellous fine
scholar and well-disposed, did agree with my wife in the matter of the
ghost; while my lady was of a like mind with myself.
It doth seem but yesterday that she came to me as I was training the
woodbine o'er the arbor that led to her little garden, and put her white
hand on my shoulder. (My lady was never one for wearing gloves, yet the
sun seemed no more to think o' scorching her fair hands than the leaves
of a day-lily.) She comes to me and lays her hand on my shoulder, and
her long eyes they laugh at me out of the shadow of her hat; but her
mouth is grave as though I were a corse.
Quoth she:
"Butter, dost thou believe in this ghost?"
"Nay, my lady," answered I, hoping to shift her to better soil; "I ne'er
meddle with ghosts or goblins. Why, an there be such things, should they
wish me harm? O' my word, my brain is no more troubled with ghosts,
black or white, than our gracious Queen's"--here I doffed my cap--"is
with snails and slugs;" and here I plucked a slug from a vine-leaf and
set my heel on't.
"Nay, nay!" quoth she, a-shutting of her white eyelids so tight that all
the long black hairs on them stood straight out, like the fringe on
Marian's Sunday mantle in a high wind. "Butter! thou nasty man!"
"Why--for how dost thou mean, my lady?" quoth I.
"Why, for mashing that poor beast to a pap." And then a-holding of her
hand level below her eyes, so that she might not discern the ground,
"Is he dead?" quoth she.
"Dead?" asked I, for I was somewhat puzzled in my mind.
"Ay, the slug; is he dead?"
"That he is, verily," said I; for in truth he was naught but a jelly,
and therewith I drew a pebble over him with my foot, that the sight o'
his misfortune should not disturb her tender heart.
"How if I were to crush you 'neath my heel, Master Butter?" quoth she at
last, having peered about for the sight she dreaded, and, not seeing it,
returning to her discourse. "How wouldst thou like that, excellent
Master Butter?" But somehow, as I looked at her foot, my mouth, for all
I could do, went into a smile. For though she was as fine a maiden as
any in all Warwickshire, her foot, methinks, was of so dainty a make
'twould scarce have dealt death to a rose.
"But truly, my lady," continued I, seeing that she was making up a face
at me, "thou knowest I've naught in common with ghosts."
"Ay," quoth she. "And thou knowest the like of me. But"--and here stops
she, with the slyest tip of her frowzed curls towards the house--"thou
knowest also this, Butter, that his lordship, my brother, thinks as doth
Marian, thy wife, and that therein we four cannot agree."