Ghost Stories of an Antiquary by Montague Rhodes James (large screen ebook reader txt) 📕

tenderness at any man’s hands for a cowardly butcherly murderer that had

not the stomach to take the reward of his deeds: ‘and I hope to God,’

said he,‘that she will be with you by day and by night till an end is

made of you.’ Then the prisoner was removed, and, so far as I saw, he was

in a swound, and the Court broke up.

I cannot refrain from observing that the prisoner during all the time of

the trial seemed to be more uneasy than is commonly the case even in

capital causes: that, for example, he was looking narrowly among the

people and often turning round very sharply, as if some person might be

at his ear. It was also very noticeable at this trial what a silence the

people kept, and further (though this might not be otherwise than natural

in that season of the year), what a darkness and obscurity there was in

the court room, lights being brought in not long after two o’clock in the

day, and yet no fog in the town.

*

It was not without interest that I heard lately from some young men who

had been giving a concert in the village I speak of, that a very cold

reception was accorded to the song which has been mentioned in this

narrative: ‘Madam, will you walk?‘ It came out in some talk they had

next morning with some of the local people that that song was regarded

with an invincible repugnance; it was not so, they believed, at North

Tawton, but here it was reckoned to be unlucky. However, why that view

was taken no one had the shadow of an idea.

About fifteen years ago, on a date late in August or early in September,

a train drew up at Wilsthorpe, a country station in Eastern England. Out

of it stepped (with other passengers) a rather tall and reasonably

good-looking young man, carrying a handbag and some papers tied up in a

packet. He was expecting to be met, one would say, from the way in which

he looked about him: and he was, as obviously, expected. The

stationmaster ran forward a step or two, and then, seeming to recollect

himself, turned and beckoned to a stout and consequential person with a

short round beard who was scanning the train with some appearance of

bewilderment. ‘Mr Cooper,’ he called out,—‘Mr Cooper, I think this is

your gentleman’; and then to the passenger who had just alighted, ‘Mr

Humphreys, sir? Glad to bid you welcome to Wilsthorpe. There’s a cart

from the Hall for your luggage, and here’s Mr Cooper, what I think you

know.’ Mr Cooper had hurried up, and now raised his hat and shook hands.

‘Very pleased, I’m sure,’ he said, ‘to give the echo to Mr Palmer’s kind

words. I should have been the first to render expression to them but for

the face not being familiar to me, Mr Humphreys. May your residence among

us be marked as a red-letter day, sir.’ ‘Thank you very much, Mr Cooper,’

said Humphreys, ‘for your good wishes, and Mr Palmer also. I do hope very

much that this change of—er—tenancy—which you must all regret, I am

sure—will not be to the detriment of those with whom I shall be brought

in contact.’ He stopped, feeling that the words were not fitting

themselves together in the happiest way, and Mr Cooper cut in, ‘Oh, you

may rest satisfied of that, Mr Humphreys. I’ll take it upon myself to

assure you, sir, that a warm welcome awaits you on all sides. And as to

any change of propriety turning out detrimental to the neighbourhood,

well, your late uncle—’ And here Mr Cooper also stopped, possibly in

obedience to an inner monitor, possibly because Mr Palmer, clearing his

throat loudly, asked Humphreys for his ticket. The two men left the

little station, and—at Humphreys’ suggestion—decided to walk to Mr

Cooper’s house, where luncheon was awaiting them.

The relation in which these personages stood to each other can be

explained in a very few lines. Humphreys had inherited—quite

unexpectedly—a property from an uncle: neither the property nor the

uncle had he ever seen. He was alone in the world—a man of good ability

and kindly nature, whose employment in a Government office for the last

four or five years had not gone far to fit him for the life of a country

gentleman. He was studious and rather diffident, and had few out-of-door

pursuits except golf and gardening. To-day he had come down for the first

time to visit Wilsthorpe and confer with Mr Cooper, the bailiff, as to

the matters which needed immediate attention. It may be asked how this

came to be his first visit? Ought he not in decency to have attended his

uncle’s funeral? The answer is not far to seek: he had been abroad at the

time of the death, and his address had not been at once procurable. So he

had put off coming to Wilsthorpe till he heard that all things were ready

for him. And now we find him arrived at Mr Cooper’s comfortable house,

facing the parsonage, and having just shaken hands with the smiling Mrs

and Miss Cooper.

During the minutes that preceded the announcement of luncheon the party

settled themselves on elaborate chairs in the drawing-room, Humphreys,

for his part, perspiring quietly in the consciousness that stock was

being taken of him.

‘I was just saying to Mr Humphreys, my dear,’ said Mr Cooper, ‘that I

hope and trust that his residence among us here in Wilsthorpe will be

marked as a red-letter day.’

‘Yes, indeed, I’m sure,’ said Mrs Cooper heartily, ‘and many, many of

them.’

Miss Cooper murmured words to the same effect, and Humphreys attempted a

pleasantry about painting the whole calendar red, which, though greeted

with shrill laughter, was evidently not fully understood. At this point

they proceeded to luncheon.

‘Do you know this part of the country at all, Mr Humphreys?’ said Mrs

Cooper, after a short interval. This was a better opening.

‘No, I’m sorry to say I do not,’ said Humphreys. ‘It seems very

pleasant, what I could see of it coming down in the train.’

‘Oh, it is a pleasant part. Really, I sometimes say I don’t know a

nicer district, for the country; and the people round, too: such a

quantity always going on. But I’m afraid you’ve come a little late for

some of the better garden parties, Mr Humphreys.’

‘I suppose I have; dear me, what a pity!’ said Humphreys, with a gleam of

relief; and then, feeling that something more could be got out of this

topic, ‘But after all, you see, Mrs Cooper, even if I could have been

here earlier, I should have been cut off from them, should I not? My poor

uncle’s recent death, you know—’

‘Oh dear, Mr Humphreys, to be sure; what a dreadful thing of me to say!’

(And Mr and Miss Cooper seconded the proposition inarticulately.) ‘What

must you have thought? I am sorry: you must really forgive me.’

‘Not at all, Mrs Cooper, I assure you. I can’t honestly assert that my

uncle’s death was a great grief to me, for I had never seen him. All I

meant was that I supposed I shouldn’t be expected to take part for some

little time in festivities of that kind.’

‘Now, really it’s very kind of you to take it in that way, Mr Humphreys,

isn’t it, George? And you do forgive me? But only fancy! You never saw

poor old Mr Wilson!’

‘Never in my life; nor did I ever have a letter from him. But, by the

way, you have something to forgive me for. I’ve never thanked you,

except by letter, for all the trouble you’ve taken to find people to look

after me at the Hall.’

‘Oh, I’m sure that was nothing, Mr Humphreys; but I really do think that

you’ll find them give satisfaction. The man and his wife whom we’ve got

for the butler and housekeeper we’ve known for a number of years: such a

nice respectable couple, and Mr Cooper, I’m sure, can answer for the men

in the stables and gardens.’

‘Yes, Mr Humphreys, they’re a good lot. The head gardener’s the only one

who’s stopped on from Mr Wilson’s time. The major part of the employees,

as you no doubt saw by the will, received legacies from the old gentleman

and retired from their posts, and as the wife says, your housekeeper and

butler are calculated to render you every satisfaction.’

‘So everything, Mr Humphreys, is ready for you to step in this very day,

according to what I understood you to wish,’ said Mrs Cooper.

‘Everything, that is, except company, and there I’m afraid you’ll find

yourself quite at a standstill. Only we did understand it was your

intention to move in at once. If not, I’m sure you know we should have

been only too pleased for you to stay here.’

‘I’m quite sure you would, Mrs Cooper, and I’m very grateful to you. But

I thought I had really better make the plunge at once. I’m accustomed to

living alone, and there will be quite enough to occupy my

evenings—looking over papers and books and so on—for some time to come,

I thought if Mr Cooper could spare the time this afternoon to go over the

house and grounds with me—’

‘Certainly, certainly, Mr Humphreys. My time is your own, up to any hour

you please.’

‘Till dinner-time, father, you mean,’ said Miss Cooper.’ Don’t forget

we’re going over to the Brasnetts’. And have you got all the garden

keys?’

‘Are you a great gardener, Miss Cooper?’ said Mr Humphreys. ‘I wish you

would tell me what I’m to expect at the Hall.’

‘Oh, I don’t know about a great gardener, Mr Humphreys: I’m very fond

of flowers—but the Hall garden might be made quite lovely, I often say.

It’s very old-fashioned as it is: and a great deal of shrubbery. There’s

an old temple, besides, and a maze.’

‘Really? Have you explored it ever?’

‘No-o,’ said Miss Cooper, drawing in her lips and shaking her head. ‘I’ve

often longed to try, but old Mr Wilson always kept it locked. He wouldn’t

even let Lady Wardrop into it. (She lives near here, at Bentley, you

know, and she’s a great gardener, if you like.) That’s why I asked

father if he had all the keys.’

‘I see. Well, I must evidently look into that, and show you over it when

I’ve learnt the way.’

‘Oh, thank you so much, Mr Humphreys! Now I shall have the laugh of Miss

Foster (that’s our rector’s daughter, you know; they’re away on their

holiday now—such nice people). We always had a joke between us which

should be the first to get into the maze.’

‘I think the garden keys must be up at the house,’ said Mr Cooper, who

had been looking over a large bunch. ‘There is a number there in the

library. Now, Mr Humphreys, if you’re prepared, we might bid goodbye to

these ladies and set forward on our little tour of exploration.’

*

As they came out of Mr Cooper’s front gate, Humphreys had to run the

gauntlet—not of an organized demonstration, but of a good deal of

touching of hats and careful contemplation from the men and women who had

gathered in somewhat unusual numbers in the village street. He had,

further, to exchange