The Ghost It Was

by Richard Hull

  ‘You all seem very well aware where the door is,’ James grunted, his suspicions becoming once more uppermost.

  ‘Well, there’s no secret about that,’ Christopher replied. ‘You might be in time, of course. But the ghost has the great advantage of not being surprised at its own appearance. Also, it can have everything ready for flight — if flight is necessary — whereas we don’t know when it is going to appear.’

  During all this time Arthur had kept silence. At last he spoke.

  ‘You’re all very brave,’ he said. ‘I do not mind admitting that personally nothing would induce me now to go on that tower at night, far less to interfere with that or any other ghost or spirit of any sort.’

  Later on, he confessed to Thompson that he was not sure that the rest of them could be absolutely relied upon to take so sane a view.

  ‘But if it does come to a rush, I think the old man will insist on leading it, and he doesn’t go as fast as some people might. I don’t quite trust Henry, though. He’s impetuous, and he might push himself forward. Perhaps our next appearance had better be when he’s away. After all, he’s got nothing to do with it at all, really.’

  The rector shivered.

  ‘Next time indeed!’ he said. ‘I’ll tell you one thing that is a certainty. Next time it will be you, not me, who is up on that tower.’

  ‘Oh, but—’

  ‘There’s no “but” about it. In the first place, I’m not so young as I was, and all that waiting in the cold hasn’t done me any good at all. Especially after getting hot walking all that way round so as to avoid Young’s lodge and his dog. Besides, he might catch me if he went out looking for poachers, and a nice business that would be! No, I made up my mind while I was standing for all those hours, expecting you to give the signal at any moment by pulling back the curtains, that I was not doing it again, and this suggestion of making a rush to the tower has finally settled it. As I said, I’m getting old and I do not like running down stairs, especially ones like those in the tower, in the dark. I can’t do it. If I hurry, I shall fall down the stairs and break my neck — I nearly did it last night — and if I go slowly I shall be caught!’

  Arthur thought a minute.

  ‘Probably there is more time than you think. Fortunately, the library window doesn’t open at the bottom, and if we never do anything except fairly late at night, the doors will all be locked — bolted as well, with luck.’

  ‘And there’s another thing,’ Thompson went on. ‘Of course, I know perfectly well there is no ghost, but anyone can let his nerves run away with him, and I don’t mind admitting I got frightened last night.’

  ‘You’re not going to say you saw anything?’

  ‘No, but I could have sworn that I heard something. Knocking from below me. Were you rapping for spirits?’

  ‘Not once the whole evening. I don’t think that it is supposed to be the right thing to do nowadays. I’m not sure. Probably all you heard was someone dusting in the house or sweeping a room out.’

  ‘Late at night? Does it sound likely?’

  Arthur had to admit that it did not; but he considered it to be of no importance. In any case, for the next appearance, he wanted Thompson to change parts with him, so that it would not again be himself who called attention to the existence of the ghost. He explained to the rector exactly what he wanted done.

  12

  Two’s None

  It was quite a simple idea, arranged solely in order that there might be a second appearance of the ghost, at exactly the same time as the previous one and on the same day of the week.

  ‘Once we get into Uncle James’ head that it is a real ghost and that it always appears on Fridays at eleven o’clock — we ought to have made it midnight really, I suppose, but it can’t be altered now — and he will look for it the next week. Anyone would, and then we can arrange our little comedy for his benefit.’

  ‘That is if he believes in it.’

  ‘Quite. If he shows signs of doubting, we may have to postpone it — unless we decide deliberately to let him catch us. Just at present he still takes in public the line that somehow or other Gregory managed it, perhaps with the aid of Rushton. But I think that in his heart of hearts, he fully believes in it. Henry played into our hands beautifully, you know.’

  Thompson shrugged, with a growing feeling that it was all very unwise.

  ‘It doesn’t seem to me that this is working out in the least as you intended. We shall probably end by finding that the joke is entirely against ourselves. Still I don’t mind going tonight to talk to your uncle, and at eleven o’clock I will draw back the curtains of the Long Library. After that I shall only be a spectator — though a very observant one. I shall tell you exactly what happens, but from that time on I am definitely and finally finished.’

  Arthur had smiled to himself. It was not going to be so easy for the Reverend Cyprian to withdraw as he thought. He had ideas on that subject himself, and though it was perfectly true that events were not moving absolutely as he expected, he still considered that he could control them so as to favour some of his designs. It was at least something that his uncle’s relations with Gregory were not quite so unclouded.

  That night he was again favoured with glimpses of moonlight as he made his way to the tower by the same roundabout way as Thompson had used on the previous occasion. The cloak and hat made an awkward, bulky parcel, and once he thought he heard a twig snap behind him as he left a small wood. He had stayed in the shadow of a tree until he had felt certain that it had only been a bird or an animal.

  Still, the caution had delayed him. He had only quite a short time to wait before the library curtain was drawn back and the light on the lawn gave him his cue.

  But meanwhile things had not been going quite as Thompson had expected and hoped. He had wanted to see for himself the reactions of everyone to the ghost, and he had been pleased to notice when he arrived that, besides Emily, both Malcolm and Spring-Benson were present. Not that it surprised him: they probably were on most evenings.

  He had begun by apologising for coming after dinner and excusing himself by a vague reference to the many duties both of them had. Warrenton, so far as he knew, had none, but he thought it as well to include him. Then he had gone on to say that he had called to discuss the incident which he heard had happened some days ago. A little conversation had confirmed the fact that it was within an hour of being exactly a week ago. The Reverend Cyprian expressed mild astonishment at the coincidence. He considered that he was doing very well. He had not over-stressed his surprise, and he had induced someone else to mention first that it was on the same day of the week that the red-plumed man had been seen, but he had got the fact established.

  When, however, he began to say to James Warrenton that he wanted very seriously to talk to him on the subject of ghosts generally, there had been a check. Henry had promptly got up.

  ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ll say “goodnight”. I’ve got some work to do and I think I’ve heard most of this before.’ Every feature of his face down to the very bristles of his red moustache implied that he would be bored by the coming discussion. He started to hurry out, but then, glancing at the clock, seemed to take things more easily.

  Thompson was still feeling slightly ruffled when he noticed that Gregory had taken the opportunity to leave too.

  If this went on there would be no one left in the library apart from James and himself — and he wanted an independent witness, so that when Emily too asked to be excused, he objected at once.

  ‘But I really must see that cook is all right. She’s been quite upset all day because she thinks that some fat has been taken from the larder.’

  ‘Surely that is nothing but a trifle! Besides, she will be in bed long ago.’

  Seeing that her feeble excuse was unavailing, Emily resignedly sat down. Somehow, she felt that the rector was not displaying himself to the best advantage, and she did not wish to be there when that was happening.

  In fa
ct, the double departure of Henry and Gregory had thrown Thompson out of his stride. If either of those two young men suspected anything and had put two and two too accurately together, there might be trouble! It made him anxious, and his usual volubility rather left him. It is never very easy arguing with a deaf man. It is exhausting, and James did not play fair. When the rector produced any argument to which he could not think of an answer, he pretended not to hear it. By the time that it had been said three times, it did not sound anywhere near so convincing even if James had not been able to think of the answer. There was, for instance, his favourite line that spiritualism was a temptation sent straight by the devil.

  ‘Every time I hear of a so-called spiritualist miracle,’ he shouted, ‘I know that the devil has had a good laugh.’

  ‘Who has?’

  ‘The devil.’

  ‘Has what?’

  ‘A good laugh.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘At these so-called healings and appearances and miracles.’

  James shook his head.

  ‘You seem to know a lot about the devil. I don’t understand it at all.’

  So the conversation had gone on until the hands of the clock were just on eleven.

  ‘I do implore you not to risk not only your own soul and sanity, but that of many of the parish, by playing with such fire.’ Even though he was acting a part, that at least he could say with sincerity. ‘There may be a ghost here — I neither know nor care — “there are more things in Heaven and earth, Horatio”’ (it seemed natural to quote Hamlet), ‘but even if the ghost you saw or thought you saw on the top of that tower last week is gen—’

  As he had been speaking, he had moved across to the window, and as he referred to the tower, he threw back the curtain. Then he stopped in the middle of the word ‘genuine’ and pointed. Out from the archway came a figure clad in the same loose gown with broad shoulders as last week. On this occasion it seemed to be a little higher above the knees — Arthur being in fact slightly taller than Thompson. By its side swung the same dagger.

  But this time James was at the window in a trice. Suddenly he burst out laughing.

  ‘That’s no ghost,’ he said. ‘That’s my nephew Arthur. I’d know his walk anywhere. He’s got the gesture with the hat nicely, hasn’t he? If we were a bit nearer, we should hear him cough—’

  He stopped abruptly. Slowly along the top of the turret came another figure, it’s right arm stretched out menacingly towards that which stood at the end of the tower. It, too, wore a loose gown to the knees, very wide in the shoulders. Emily, who had joined the other two, thought that she could see small puffed sleeves, but instead of the low-crowned, wide-brimmed hat, which Arthur was waving theatrically as he stood half on top of the low parapet, there could be seen a rather high, stiff hat, almost conical in shape, from which stood up a plume that seemed black against the sky. Irrelevantly, it occurred to Emily to wonder how they had known before that the plume was red in the half darkness. Perhaps it had been expectation and association of ideas.

  Suddenly Arthur partly turned as if something had called his attention to the arrival of the other figure. Then, with a cry he, seemed to try to turn round, and as he did so, to miss his footing. For a moment he hung, his hands gripping the parapet. But only for a moment. For some reason that the three standing in the window could not see, he loosened his hold and, without uttering a sound, fell backwards. They heard the crash as he fell on the flagged pavement below, just out of sight round the corner of the tower.

  ‘The other brother!’ The exclamation seemed torn from James. Then, telling Emily to stay where she was, he turned and hurried as fast as he could to the foot of the tower, followed by a panic-stricken Thompson.

  13

  Below the Tower

  It was rather a surprise to them that they were not the first to arrive. As they turned the corner, a figure in dark clothes got up from the flagged pavement.

  ‘There you are, sir, and right glad I am to see you. I’m not rightly sure, but, whoever this is, I think he’s dead.’

  ‘Who are you?’ James asked. Then recognising the voice: ‘Young! And what are you doing here?’

  ‘Heard someone in the woods a week ago, and I’ve been looking for him ever since. I’d have found him, too, if Nell hadn’t cut her foot and had to stay at home. As ’twas, I lost ’un until I saw ’un fall off the tower. Who be it?’

  James said nothing, but Thompson answered for him.

  ‘We think — I’m almost sure that it’s Mr Arthur Vaughan.’

  ‘Of Four Gables?’

  Before Young’s question could be answered, Malcolm’s voice suddenly cut in.

  ‘“We think” but you are almost sure! Why the careful distinction?’

  Thompson started.

  ‘I had no idea you were there. There’s no distinction. At least — no, nothing.’ This was no time in Thompson’s opinion for discussing his share in the matter. In fact, he would much rather that it should never be known. If only it were possible to keep it quiet forever! Through his mind fluttered a wild hope that it might be, and he decided to say as little as possible.

  For the moment he was saved any further answer by an unexpected question from Young. Rather fiercely he turned to Malcolm and said:

  ‘Where have you just come from? Didn’t you come from the tower yourself?’

  The question, however, and indeed Malcolm’s previous query, seemed not to have been heard by James who had been kneeling by the body, apparently oblivious of the few remarks which had been rapidly exchanged.

  ‘Frightfully smashed up, but there’s no doubt it is Arthur. Henry, you and Young go and get a door or something to carry him in on and, Thompson, see that Emily keeps out of the way, and then ring up the doctor and then my sister.’

  As he started to obey the orders, Young asked one more unexpected question.

  ‘I wonder why his hands be so greasy?’ he muttered, almost under his breath.

  Left by himself, James looked down at the huddled heap on the ground. So, Arthur was dead! He had been right, he supposed, to send for the doctor, but it was only a formality. A pang of conscience told him that he ought to be feeling sorry, but it was no good pretending. He had some respect for Arthur — based mainly on the not quite accurate idea that he was a successful business man earning a substantial income — but he had never really liked him. He tried, as a matter of duty, to feel that he had, but the attempt was a complete failure. He bent down over the body on the head of which the broad-brimmed hat had somehow managed to stay. It and the cloak seemed strangely incongruous above Arthur’s ordinary clothes. Like Young, he wondered why there should be grease on Arthur’s hands, but, unlike the keeper, he dismissed the thought from his mind. From these meditations he was interrupted by the voice of Gregory Spring-Benson.

  ‘What on earth is all this about? Uncle, you’ll catch your death of cold standing out here at this time of night, even though it is quite mild.’

  ‘Haven’t you heard what’s happened?’

  ‘No. I was in my bedroom, and though it is on the other side of the tower, the window looks out the other way. So that when all this noise started, I put my head out and craned my neck to try to see round the corner. I’ve been shouting, but none of you took any notice. What is it? What’s that lying on the ground behind you?’

  ‘Your cousin Arthur.’

  ‘What? Here, how did this happen?’

  ‘Fell off the top of the tower. Pretending to be the ghost.’

  Gregory looked at the gown which was still round the dead man’s body, and the hat that lay a few yards away. Then, seeing that there was a gleam coming from both:

  ‘Some sort of luminous paint, I suppose,’ he suggested. ‘But why did he fall? Of course, I know that in the old story he was supposed to have been thrown over, but surely he needn’t have gone as far as that.’

  ‘The other one pushed him. No, he didn’t. They were always at least a yard apart; and yet, i
n a way, he looked as if he had been pushed.’

  ‘The other one. What are you talking about?’

  ‘The one who appeared second and then—’

  ‘And then?’ prompted Gregory as James stopped. ‘And then disappeared, I suppose. I didn’t really notice. I was watching Arthur trying to keep his balance. But perhaps Emily or Thompson saw.’

  Further conversation was stopped by the return of Malcolm and Young. They had managed to find the top of a small trestle table in the kitchen quarters and had also got hold of Rushton. For once Malcolm seemed quite pleased to see his cousin.

  ‘Good,’ he exclaimed. ‘We wanted a fourth to help us carry him, and I was just thinking we ought to have sent Rushton to get Hamar out of bed, where I suppose he is.’

  ‘Certain to be, sir. All the rest of the staff went to bed over an hour ago. Allow me, sir.’

  The task of getting the body on to the wooden table top was carried out more by Rushton and Gregory than the other three. Slowly the procession made its way across the lawn and in at the front door. As James shut it behind him, he gave one last look over the Great Water that ran all the way in front of the house. It looked so still and quiet there. On the surface of the water the slightest movement could be seen, if there had been one. It was all so different from the gloominess of the old tower, and the flickering shadows that played round from the house and the trees beyond the window of Gregory’s room.

  Inside there was a feeling that something ought to be done, but that nothing could be, except what was deemed to be faintly the wrong thing to do. The light when they reached the house showed clearly that the visit of the doctor was in the most important way nothing but a formality — there was nothing that he could possibly do for Arthur. His arrival, James supposed, would not even avoid an inquest. Still, he must be got. By way of doing something, he asked Thompson whether he had rung up Four Gables. Once again, he learned that there had been delay. Christopher had been out, Mrs Vaughan had said, but was expected back soon. Arthur, she had added, with unconscious irony, had gone to bed early. Could she be of any help? Entirely at a loss as to what to do, Thompson had only arranged that Christopher would ring up as soon as possible. Clearly the rector’s nerve had rather failed him for the moment, and though he offered to go down to Four Gables at once, James was pretty sure that he was glad when the suggestion was refused.