The Valancourt Book of Victorian Christmas Ghost Stories

by Simon Stern

  “Very well, Miss Evelyn,” answered the voice of the controlling spirit. “I think it will be safer for the medium too.”

  “Have you any lamps, Mrs. Smith?” said my fair neighbour to our hostess. “If so you had better light them, and place them as I direct.”

  Neither Mrs. Smith nor anybody else seemed to have the slightest idea who the young lady was who was thus taking the direction of affairs into her own hands, but she replied, “Oh, certainly Miss—Miss——”

  “Miss Evelyn,” interposed the girl.

  “Here are some lamps, Miss Evelyn, just outside the door. Where shall we put them?” For everyone recognised the fact that it was just as well that this very self-possessed young lady should be allowed to take the lead, as nobody else seemed to know what to do.

  She lit the lamps and placed them in the corners, turned low; then, coming back to her seat next to me to my great satisfaction she once more took possession of my hand in her firm, but dainty grasp. “There,” said she, smiling at me. “Now, Mr. Ashburton, we shall see something.”

  “I expect we shall, Miss Evelyn,” I replied. “And if so, it will be entirely due to you.” I only wished I knew Miss Evelyn. Miss Evelyn—what?—but I liked the name Evelyn in itself without any surname.

  We had not long to wait. We had scarcely resumed the clasp of hands all round before the medium was suddenly lifted off the sofa, carried across the room over our heads, and placed on the wide top of the book-shelf which had so recently nearly fallen down.

  “He will do there nicely,” said Miss Evelyn. “He’s in a trance, and they will probably bring him down again if they want him. If not we can fetch him down ourselves.”

  After the medium, the sofa that he had been lying on followed him on to the top of the book-case. It was placed right over him upside down, but he did not seem in any way annoyed by its weight, or, indeed, aware of its presence. Then the table upon which was one of the lamps was taken violently up, thrown down again and smashed, but the lamp was taken across the room and carefully placed by the other one.

  “I saved that lamp,” called out the voice of the “Control,” John Roberts, as if seeking for approbation.

  “Yes, John,” said Miss Evelyn, “that was right of you; but all these manifestations are simply rubbish. What we came here for was to see the materialised form of the ghosts that haunt this house, and to find out, if possible, what they want, not to see them play the fool like this.”

  “I know that, Miss Evelyn,” answered John, “but they are bad, unruly spirits, who neither know me nor care for me at all.”

  “Well, you had better tell them that if they don’t show themselves now they will never get another chance, as Mr. Smith is going to pull the house down over their heads. Are you not, Mr. Smith?”

  “Yes, I am,” answered Mr. Smith, staring with astonishment. “But how do you know this?”

  Before she could answer a frightful sound of combined scampering and shouting was heard outside coming along the corridor. The library door flew open, and two hideous beasts burst in. They had horrible human heads covered with long grey hair; one was a male and the other female, and their bodies were those of baboons. Their eyes were fierce, and their teeth long and sharp. They rushed round the room, clawing savagely at us as they passed, but stopped suddenly in front of the terrified Smith. Mrs. Smith and another lady fainted just then.

  “You want to see us, Smith, do you? Well, here we are. And the reason that we are here is, that we are the Darwinian ancestors of the Smith family. The missing links, in fact. Do you see any resemblance to yourself?” and they gnashed their teeth dreadfully at him. “Now, say, are you going to keep us, or are you going to clear out and leave us and the place to ourselves?” And they made as if they would tear him to pieces. We were all nearly terrified out of our wits at these awful creatures, when the silvery tones of Miss Evelyn’s voice somewhat reassured us.

  “You silly people,” she said, “don’t think anybody’s afraid of you, for although you have made such frights of yourselves, you have overdone it so much that a baby could see you are only masquerading. Missing links, indeed! Nonsense! If you really want anything settled, why not appear in your proper forms?”

  “She’s too clever for us,” growled the female missing link. “Who is she? Well, perhaps she’s right, so let’s change. I am tired of this ugly form, at any rate. But in spite of what she says, we have nearly frightened a couple of women to death. That’s some satisfaction.”

  “Very well, change,” said the male being.

  The words were no sooner out of his mouth, when two of the handsomest creatures it has ever been my lot to behold stood before us—a gentleman and a lady clad in the court dress of the time of Charles II. But their faces, if handsome, were very, very evil. The lady swept round in front of me, and making a low curtsey, asked, with a hard sarcastic laugh, if I liked her any better so?

  “Certainly, madam,” I replied, “very much better. But now you have assumed your proper and graceful form, will you not kindly tell us your history?”

  They related their history, which, to cut it short, was as follows:—

  They had inhabited this house formerly in Charles II.’s days, when the lady had been in the habit of using her beauty to lure the richest gallants of the day under their roof—one at a time. As she had always made absolute secrecy the condition of her favours, when the unfortunate cavaliers had been decoyed by her, and robbed and murdered by the male partner in her guilt, who was her husband, discovery of the whereabouts of the victims when they were missed became almost an impossibility. But the guilty couple had been found out at length and executed, and now they were doomed for ever to haunt the spot where they had committed their crimes. What they wished for, therefore, was to be left in undisputed possession of the Manor House. A compromise was come to by the intermediary of the self-possessed and beautiful Miss Evelyn. Smith agreed on the one side to give up to them entirely the oldest wing of the house. They agreed, on the other hand, never again to twitch at the bed-clothes, or in any way whatever to annoy the Smith family or their descendants. Smith and the male apparition shook hands on the compact, for the two ghosts were fully materialised for the time being. The lady also insisted upon shaking hands with me, as she was kind enough to say she still had a weakness for good looking young fellows. Personally, I did not at all like shaking hands with even the ghost of a murderess, but I thought it best to comply with a good grace. They then bowed politely to the company, and walking arm in arm out of the room, disappeared for ever.

  John Roberts and other well-disposed spirits then quietly with unseen hands replaced Mr. Hawkshaw, the medium, and the sofa in their original positions. Hawkshaw was awakened from his trance, and the séance terminated pleasantly. Then we all went down to the dining-room to an excellent supper, of which we stood greatly in need.

  During this meal the host and hostess, the latter of whom had quite recovered from her fright, both made a great deal of Miss Evelyn, but imagining, perhaps, that she had come with a friend, they asked her no questions as to her surname, nor how she had chanced to arrive so opportunely on the scene that evening, although I have cause to know that their curiosity about her was very great. But in fact they were just a little afraid of her. For my part, the more I saw of this girl the more I was struck with her beauty; while she continued to glance at me, strange to say, with a look in her grand lustrous eyes which was positively affectionate, and it seemed to me somehow from that look that she wished me to remain near her. It was at the same time a clinging and caressing glance. I did not refuse its unspoken invitation, but kept by her side when we sat down to supper. I found her a most interesting and well-read companion. She seemed to know about everything and everybody, and was just as much at home in Voltaire or Renan as she was in the books of Rider Haggard, or in the ordinary park and society gossip of the day. Supper ended, our host was in somewhat of a quandary. The last train from Kingston, which was the nearest station to
the Manor, had gone to town, and he did not quite know how to dispose of all his guests, especially as now he had surrendered one wing to the spirits, he could only offer some of them, Miss Evelyn and myself included, shakedowns upon arm-chairs and sofas. Miss Evelyn, however, spoke in her quiet decided way: “Thanks, Mr. Smith, do not bother about me at all. I must be up in town very early indeed, and intend to stroll quietly along the river and wait for the first train at Richmond. It is a lovely night for a walk, and I feel that the air would do me good. I am quite capable of taking care of myself, unless, indeed, any gentleman”—and she glanced at me—“is dying for a cigar, and would like to come too.”

  I, of course, took the hint, and offered my escort for the seven mile walk, which she accepted.

  “Oh! Mr. Smith,” said she, when this was quite settled, “you can, by-the-bye, use to-night without fear the wing you have promised to give up. I can answer for it that you will not be molested at all, for I was responsible for the arrangement being made in the first instance, and I understand the spirits thoroughly. I will, therefore, make myself responsible for them not to take possession until to-morrow night at twelve o’clock.”

  Her air of quiet conviction brought great relief to Smith and those who wished for a bed to sleep in, for although no one knew who she was, her face was very truthful, and after the events of the evening it was evident that she indeed knew thoroughly well all about the spirits and their doings.

  That was an eventful walk I had with this strange young lady by night along the river bank. The harvest moon shone upon the rippling waters, and all nature seemed at peace. She had taken my arm, and in a short time it seemed to me as if our thoughts and minds were blended together—and I felt that she too was deeply moved by the beauty of the midnight scene. Her arm trembled in mine, and presently she said, answering my unspoken thoughts:

  “Yes it is heavenly, but do you not think that it is more beautiful in the spheres where the spirits dwell than it is even here to-night?”

  “No,” I answered gazing passionately upon her. “Nothing in this or any world can be more beautiful than this.”

  She sighed deeply—then looked up in my face with a sweet smile and said earnestly—“Ah! George Ashburton, that is simply because you think you love me, is it not? You do not even know my name, beyond having heard the spirit of John Roberts call me Evelyn. You do not know where I come from, nor where I go—you have never seen me until four hours ago—and yet now you think in your heart that you love me better than all the world. You would jump into that river for my slightest wish, I verily believe—Say, is it not so?”

  “Beautiful Evelyn,” I replied, “you are indeed right. I do not think, but know, that I love you as you say, sufficiently to lay my life down for you if need be. Ah! I verily believe that you have bewitched me.”

  “Perhaps I have,” she answered more merrily, “but how do you know that you have not, by some wilful but unforgotten act of your own bewitched me too? I am not in the habit of taking midnight walks with strange gentlemen, you know. How do you know that this is not all a delusion—a dream? What means have you of telling that you are you, or that I am I? After the strange things you have seen to-night, why might not I rather be some vampire or evil spirit, seeking to lure you to destruction for purposes of my own? Do I look anything like an evil spirit?” she asked, looking up at me archly.

  “Oh! no,” I exclaimed vehemently, “you are no evil spirit, but some good true woman, some woman whom I have known before somewhere, though I know not when or how, for you remind me of someone I seem to have seen in a dream—but evidently you know me, and know me well. Oh! I must tell you that I adore you first—you can tell me who you are or not as you choose.” And losing all control of myself I wound my arms around the beautiful girl and drew her to my heart. Oh! never, never shall I forget the exquisite sweetness and witchery of that moment when her lovely lips first met mine,—for oh, rapture, she ardently returned my loving embrace. Presently she threw back her shapely head a little, and I observed that there were tears coursing down her now pale cheeks—her great dark eyes were glistening with the pearly drops in the radiant moonlight.

  “I, too, love you, George,” she whispered, “love you more than I can tell, with a greater, deeper love than woman ever yet had for man. Were it not so, I should not be here now. But I can tell you nothing now, you will have to take me entirely on trust. Moreover you will have to put up with my involuntary absence from you for thirty-six hours in every week, from every Saturday night until Monday at mid-day, and ask no questions as to where I go or what I do. Some day, perhaps, you may lose me altogether. If you can endure this—if you can stand this tremendous test, then indeed will your love be proved to be great, noble, and true, and as a reward for the sacrifices you make to comply with my conditions, we may be allowed one or two heavenly years of happiness together, we must not expect more than that. I warn you beforehand. Do not decide now. I will see you to-morrow—you can tell me what you have determined on then. One word more; if you think the conditions I impose are hard, know this, that I am utterly powerless to avoid making them, and this it is as painful to me to impose them as it will be to you to comply with them. Further, I may tell you this, although you cannot remember when or where it was, yet we have met before, and, moreover, I have made the most frightful sacrifices to be enabled to meet you again. Now kiss me, and let us be happy to-night in our love, while leaving this matter of your final decision concerning our future till to-morrow.”

  Silently I enfolded her once more in my arms, and as I did so, I felt even more strongly than before that we were one in heart and soul. And I too knew somehow that it was not for the first time on this evening that I had loved her pure spirit, although the beautiful bodily form that veiled it was new to me.

  PART II

  Evelyn and I arrived at Richmond, shortly after dawn, and after merrily partaking of coffee together amid a crowd of workmen at an itinerant coffee seller’s stall, we took the first train up to London, where I dropped my companion at South Kensington Station as she said she lived close by. She did not say where, and I did not ask. On parting she promised to meet me at the same place late in the afternoon, when she would learn my decision. But she begged me as an especial favour to go to bed, and sleep for an hour or two before thinking about it; I vowed that I was not sleepy and could not, whereupon the graceful girl, saying smilingly—“then I must charm you to sleep, sir,” bent forward and kissed me on both eyes. “Now good-bye, dear one,” she added; “go home at once and dream of me.” And she left me. I felt drowsy at once, and when I got home slept a sound refreshing sleep until past mid-day. In the afternoon I met her again, when in a pretty summery frock she looked even more beautiful than she had done the day before. She looked up enquiringly when we met.

  “I accept your conditions,” I said, “accept them unreservedly.”

  She pressed my arm in a confiding grateful manner, while her face was overspread with such a gladsome look of content, that my own happiness became also too great for words.

  “Then now that that is settled,” said Evelyn, “we will get married to-morrow, Wednesday”—the séance had been on Monday night—“that will give us three whole days together before I must leave you for the first time. Ah me,” she sighed, “I fear, dear one, that you will find these absences heart-rending, but we must not repine, but remember that since there can be no absolutely unmixed happiness in the world, we must make the best of that which we can get while it lasts. Therefore let us waste no time. You can get a special license for me in the name of Ellen Montgomery, and we will be married at St. Paul’s, Knightsbridge, as you live in that parish.”

  For I had a little house close by. It was too big for one, but would do nicely for two. We agreed that I should wire to the Smiths and ask them to come up to the wedding—and also ask Mr. Smith to give the bride away. They were very much surprised, but they were already excessively interested in Miss Evelyn, and suspecting some mystery ab
out her were all the more willing to accede to our request. I got a friend from the Club to act as my best man, the two Miss Smiths were bridesmaids, and we were duly made man and wife. After this quiet wedding we had a delicious and jovial little breakfast at the Albemarle Hotel, where we resolved to pass the three days of our honeymoon. And never has it fallen to the lot of man in this world to pass three days of more complete happiness than did I alone with my wife in that comfortable spot in the centre of London. If I had thought her charming before marriage, I found her an angel after, but not an insipid angel by any means. No, she was the brightest, happiest, most espiègle of girls; as I said before, I never knew such a mind, it was stored with everything.

  On the Saturday night, when the time came for our first parting, we drove away from the Albemarle along Piccadilly together. She dropped me at my old home, and then after a long and tender embrace, she went on, giving the hansom-cab driver the vague address of South Kensington.

  On the following Monday at twelve o’clock she returned to me, when we met with mutual transports of joy. And thus commenced our married life. The enforced absences only made our meetings all the happier, and for a time it was almost heaven. I kept religiously to my compact and never worried my wife as to her doings during her weekly absences from me, although I must own, that my curiosity as to the cause of her weekly departure was excessive. On one occasion, however, I must plead guilty to having played a trick upon her in the hope of retarding her departure. I contrived to put back all the clocks and also her own watch, for half an hour. To my surprise, however, this made no difference to her leaving at the proper time. Glancing at the drawing-room clock that Saturday night, she noticed that it only marked 11.15, when the hour was really 11.45. She merely remarked, “Oh! that clock is half an hour slow, but I must be going.” Then she looked at her watch and noticed the same thing. Coming across to me smilingly, she kissed me and said, “You silly boy, you have been doing this, but it is, alas! useless, for I know within myself, without any watches, when the time has come for me to go.” I felt ashamed of myself and never tried on anything of the sort again. At last a time came when my dear wife was likely to become a mother. Although I became more and more anxious on her account, this did not make any difference as regards her weekly appearances. She went off all the same, and the months passed by.