The Valancourt Book of Victorian Christmas Ghost Stories

by James D. Jenkins

  We have often heard the story told, and as often heard it explained by the listeners. They have said that it was a curious coincidence enough, but that Mr. —— was worn out with watching, and had gone to sleep in his gig, pulling it off the road, and thus overturning it. We offer no comments either upon the adventure or the attempt to attribute it to natural causes: the circumstances have been related simply as they were said to have occurred, and we leave the reader to form his own conclusions.

  Emily Arnold

  THE GHOST OF THE TREASURE-­CHAMBER

  This rare story first appeared in Time in December 1886 and seems never to have been reprinted. No information about its author appears to be available. She signed her story “Emily Arnold” and is credited in the magazine’s table of contents as “Mrs Henry Arnold,” making her most likely the same person who published the three-­volume novel Monks-Hollow under that name in 1883.

  I

  Yes, I hated leaving India where I had been so happy for six years with my dear father, who was the colonel of a crack cavalry regiment at Allahabad. And now I was ordered home, for my health had begun to fail under the scorching sun and enervating climate.

  Home, did I say? Alas! England was no home to me. All that were nearest and dearest to me were in India, and I felt that my heart would break at leaving my dear old dad, to whom I had been all in all since my mother’s death, which had occurred when I was only fourteen. But it was no use grieving over the inevitable. I had to go; and, as I had no wish to make our parting the harder by useless tears, I tried my best to conceal my sorrow, and I fancy my father did the same. Never can I forget the day when he saw me on board the steamer with my chaperone, Mrs. Somers; there was a long, lingering embrace, a few broken words, and then the gulf of waters widened between us, and his dear grey head and upright form faded from my sight, as the vessel ploughed her way through the smooth, green waves.

  Upon landing, I was to go to some relatives, my mother’s own sister, the Trevalyons, who lived in Cornwall at Tregarthlyn Castle.

  “By Tre, and Pol, and Pen,

  You may know the Cornish men.”

  The Trevalyons were a very old Cornish family, who had held Tregarthlyn ever since the reign of Elizabeth; but, of late years, bad times had come upon them; they had grown poorer and poorer; a succession of spendthrift heirs had wasted the substance; and my aunt, with her son and daughter, had much ado to make both ends meet. At all events, I was to stay with them for a time, the doctors being certain that the fresh Cornish air and bracing salt breezes would prove most beneficial to me.

  I was naturally of a very nervous and excitable temperament, and was a good deal interested at finding that among the passengers was the celebrated Mr. Delaware, the clairvoyant and mesmerist, then on his way to England.

  To tell the truth, I was just a little frightened of him, he was so tall and thin and solemn-looking, with large pale eyes, which seemed to read one’s inmost soul. I felt his piercing orbs fixed on me more than once during the first week on board, and I took care to keep out of his way. But one evening the captain announced that Mr. Delaware had kindly offered to entertain us with some of his spiritual manifestations and mesmerism.

  Of course we were all very eager to witness the performance, which proved to be decidedly wonderful. It consisted of thought-reading, writing upon a slate by invisible agency, and in mesmerising most of the crew, who were invited upon the platform for the purpose.

  As I was leaving the saloon at the end of the evening, the captain asked me to go with him on deck, and, having received permission from Mrs. Somers, I followed him. It was an exquisite night, bright and balmy; the sky, one vast sheet of purple, brilliant with stars; the moon, a huge globe of silver, illumining the wide expanse of gleaming waters.

  Like most sensitive persons, I was peculiarly alive to beauty in every shape and form, and, breathless with delight, I leant against the side, and watched the phosphorescent light from the great green rollers, as they glided away to leeward. But my reverie was interrupted by a voice close by me.

  “A lovely night, Miss Jocelyn.”

  I started, and looked round. There, at my elbow, his tall, thin figure erect, his glassy eyes fixed on mine, was Mr. Delaware!

  I assented coldly, for I was somewhat annoyed at the intrusion, but nothing daunted, he continued,—

  “You have the true artistic temperament, I can see; you are emotional, and keenly susceptible to beauty. Is it not so?”

  “How can you tell?” I replied, interested, in spite of myself.

  He laughed. “I am used to studying faces, yours is a very characteristic one. You would make an excellent trance medium and clairvoyante.”

  “Should I?” I exclaimed, much astonished. “Could you mesmerise me?”

  “Easily,” he returned, smiling; “let me try.”

  I hesitated. “Will you promise not to make me do anything foolish?”

  “Yes, on my honour as a gentleman; you shall only tell me what you see, and the captain shall stand by you all the time.”

  I felt horribly nervous, but eventually curiosity got the better of my fears.

  I endeavoured to make my mind as blank as I was directed, and fixed my eyes upon those of Mr. Delaware. The sensations I experienced were curious; first, a hazy mist seemed to obscure all surrounding objects, through which Mr. Delaware’s eyes alone penetrated; then I lost consciousness, and, as in a dream, there arose before my mental vision a fair but wintry landscape, bounded by frowning hills, whose peaks seemed to touch the grey sky-line. Overlooking the valley stood an old picturesque building with castellated battlements, clothed with a tangle of creepers.

  As I gazed at it, the light faded, a dim obscurity succeeded the shafts of sunshine, a cold blast seemed to turn my blood to ice, as from the gathering gloom, there approached a tall figure, enveloped in a martial cloak which hid its features. I heard a deep voice mutter:—“To you a task is given; see that you perform it.

  “She, who through love the treasure seeks,

  Puts nerve and courage to the test;

  But woe betide her if she fail

  The Phantom Knight’s lost bones to rest.”

  As I stood in breathless horror, unable to stir a limb, the figure raised its arm, a skeleton hand emerged from the heavy folds of the cloak, and touched my elbow. A scorching pain shot through me, I uttered a shriek,—— and awoke to find Mr. Delaware bending over me anxiously.

  “Well?” he said interrogatively.

  “How strange!” I murmured, passing my hand over my eyes. “But why did you hit me? You must have done so, for my arm hurts me dreadfully,” and I pulled up the loose sleeve of my dress, and looked at it; but there was nothing to be seen.

  “I have not touched you,” replied Mr. Delaware. “Was your vision pleasing?”

  “No—not very,” I returned, thoroughly puzzled. “I saw a castle and a figure.”

  “Probably foreshadowing what is to happen, Miss Jocelyn,” said the mesmerist.

  “Heaven forbid!” I exclaimed; and then I wished him and the captain good-night, and went to my cabin, not a little upset and nervous.

  I wrote down the doggerel verse I had heard, lest I should forget it, and retired to rest with my head full of the vision I had seen.

  But my sleep was dreamless, and I awoke next morning ready to laugh at myself for my fears, and to think what a fool I had been to allow Mr. Delaware to practise his uncanny arts upon me.

  When I met him, I briefly asked him to say nothing about it, as I did not wish Mrs. Somers to know how foolish I had been.

  “I cannot understand,” I said, “how you managed to make me unconscious. I quite lost myself for a time.”

  “You were unconscious for ten minutes,” he replied, regarding me gravely. “It is simply the extraordinary power that a strong and trained will has over a weaker one. And you, pray forgive me for saying so, are of a highly-strung organisation, and so peculiarly susceptible to magnetic and spiritual in
fluence.”

  “Do you believe in spirits?” I asked, much interested.

  “Certainly I do; and I have every reason to think that the vision you saw last night came direct from the spirit world. You will know one day; when you do, will you tell me if I am right in my belief?”

  I promised, feeling vaguely uncomfortable; the subject then dropped, nor did we again allude to it.

  II

  Mrs. Somers and I were landed at Plymouth one chilly day in the beginning of November. She was going on to London next morning, after she had handed me over to the tender mercies of my relations, whom I had expected to meet me.

  We drove to Chubbs’ well-known and comfortable hotel, and were duly ushered into a cosy oak-panelled apartment, a blazing fire burning on the hearth, the table laid appetisingly for dinner. I pulled off my hat and cloak, and knelt down on the hearth-rug to warm my chilled hands, whilst Mrs. Somers bustled about with her numerous parcels and bags, worried her maid, interviewed the waiter, and finally departed to arrange her belongings for the night. I was feeling terribly forlorn and homesick, and an inexpressible longing came over me to have my dear old dad’s loving arms round me once more; with trembling fingers I drew from my neck a thin gold chain to which was attached a locket; I opened it, and with brimming eyes looked at his dear, kindly face; alas! it would be many weary months before I saw it again. I was just making up my mind for the luxury of a good cry, when the waiter announced a visitor. It was my cousin, Derrick Trevalyon, whom I had not met since I was a tiny child.

  I sprang to my feet, as he came forward and took my hand, with such frank, honest sympathy in his dark grey eyes, that my heart warmed to him at once. And then he was so handsome! After all, beauty is a gift of the gods, and its sway is omnipotent. It is all very well for wise people to depreciate it, saying that it is but skin-deep, and that charms of mind are better than those of person. But, in my humble opinion, beauty wins, hands down. Would Helen of Troy, or Ninon de l’Enclos, or Cleopatra, have received a quarter of the meed of love and adoration they exacted, had they been plain women, were they as sagacious as Minerva herself?

  Derrick Trevalyon was exceptionally handsome.

  He was tall and finely built, with straight, clear-cut features, resolute grey eyes, and fair hair, which would have curled all over his well-shaped head had it not been too closely cropped.

  “And you are Ruby?” he said, in low penetrating tones, still holding my hand in his firm clasp. “You are not much altered from the little girl I used to play with. My mother is longing to receive you. She sent you her best love, and regretted that she could not come with me to meet you, but this is one of her bad days.”

  “I am so sorry,” I replied, withdrawing my hand, and motioning him to a seat by the fire. “Is Aunt Eleanor a great sufferer?”

  “Yes, at times she has dreadful attacks of neuralgia;” and then he added, half to himself, “Poor mother, she is but ill-fitted to bear trouble.”

  Our tête-à-tête was interrupted by Mrs. Somers, who welcomed my cousin very cordially, and we sat down presently to a cosy little dinner, admirably served, after which Derrick insisted upon carrying us off to the theatre, where he had secured a box.

  The next morning I parted from Mrs. Somers with many expressions of regret, and the sincere hope that we might meet again ere long, and then Derrick and I started for Tregarthlyn Castle, which was some miles north of Penzance.

  It was growing dark when we arrived at the lodge-gates and drove up a long avenue of fine old elms, whose leaves were now whirling down in showers in the wintry blast.

  At the end of the avenue, the castle came into full view, but it was too dark to discern it, though there seemed to be a singular air of familiarity about it, which troubled me considerably. In another minute Derrick had sprung out, and was assisting me to alight.

  “Welcome to Tregarthlyn, my fair cousin,” he said, heartily. I ran up the stone steps, and entered the hall, where I was folded in my aunt’s warm embrace.

  “My dear little Ruby,” she said, kissing me affectionately, “how glad I am to see you; you must be tired to death with your long journey, and cold too. I hope Derrick has taken care of you,” and she led the way to the drawing-room,—such a pretty, quaint, old-fashioned apartment, sweet with the breath of flowers,—where I was placed in an arm-chair, and my aunt removed my hat and furs, and chafed my cold hands in her soft warm ones. The tea stood ready on a little Chippendale table in front of the hearth, and whilst she poured me out a cup, I had time to look at her. She reminded me of my dear, dead mother, and had altered but little in the last twelve years; her features were delicate, she had Derrick’s eyes, and her pretty, wavy, fair hair was now plentifully besprinkled with grey. She looked almost too young to be the mother of such a stalwart son.

  As I sat there enjoying the warmth, Derrick plying me with hot scones and cake, the door opened and a girl entered.

  She was not in the least like Derrick or my aunt, being short and dark, with black hair and laughing brown eyes; such a pretty girl! She greeted me as warmly as her mother had done, saying, “I am so glad you have come to spend this winter with us. I have sometimes been rather dull without a companion, so I shall thoroughly appreciate your society. We must teach you to skate, and there are lovely walks and rides about here. I hope you will soon be at home with us and will not feel strange.”

  I replied that I felt at home already, which I think pleased my aunt, for she patted my cheek approvingly. When she presently suggested that I might like to go to my room, my cousin Beatrice accompanied me.

  “I thought you would prefer to be near me,” she remarked, as, after ascending the broad oak staircase, we traversed a long corridor, with doors on one side, and finally entered a room at the end, which was simply yet comfortably furnished, and contained a bookcase in which I saw several of my favourite authors and poets, a couple of arm-chairs, and a writing-table; and, better than all, it opened into Bee’s bedroom, which gave me much inward satisfaction. I found her a bright, clever, and amusing companion, and she chatted away to me whilst she helped me to arrange my knick-knacks, and get ready for dinner.

  The next morning I awoke early, and springing out of bed, ran to the window, and looked out over the gardens, which extended far into the valley beneath, through which ran a streamlet spanned by a couple of rustic bridges, and foaming over huge boulders covered with lichen. In the misty distance was a chain of hills, whose rugged tops were hidden by clouds.

  Those hills seemed strangely familiar to me. Where had I seen them?

  Like a lightning flash came the recollection of Mr. Delaware, and his interview with me.

  As I stood spellbound, unable to believe the evidence of my own senses, the fog gradually rolled away, and there before me lay the landscape of my vision!

  A sensation of utter bewilderment, not unmixed with fear, seized me; I dreaded I knew not what. But I longed to go out and get a view of the castle, which was impossible from my present position, so I dressed quickly, and, going downstairs, let myself noiselessly out of the hall-door, and ran down the grassy slope of the lawn, until I reached a thicket of arbutus and laurel, which I had noticed from my window.

  Then I turned and faced the castle. Yes, there it stood, the very embodiment of my dream! the sun sparkling on the old diamond-paned windows, and tinting the few leaves left upon the trailing creepers a vivid crimson.

  I felt as if turned to stone; and a great reverence for Mr. Delaware, and his spiritual arts, rose in my impressionable mind. As to the rest of my vision, I dared not let myself think of it, it was all too uncanny, too horrible. But my unpleasant reflections were abruptly ended by my cousin Derrick, who emerged from a side path in knickerbockers and gaiters, a gun over his shoulder, and who seemed unfeignedly pleased and astonished at seeing me.

  “Good morning,” he said, taking off his cap, and the sun shone on his bright face and clustering brown hair; he looked so brave, and frank, and handsome, that my fears le
ft me as if by magic.

  “You are early; I’m afraid you did not sleep well.”

  “Yes I did, capitally; but I was possessed of a demon of curiosity, and was obliged to come out. Now, you shall show me over the grounds.”

  He gladly assented, and we made the tour of the gardens, which were extensive and very lovely, though Dame Nature had it a little too much her own way. Where there had been an army of gardeners were now only two; the acre or so of glass was unused, and falling into decay. The stables were the same; the fine stud reduced to a couple of old hunters, and a rough pony. My heart ached to see the ruin, the desolation, that had fallen upon what was evidently once a splendid estate.

  I suppose my tell-tale countenance must have betrayed my feelings, for Derrick turned to me half-laughing, yet with an undercurrent of bitterness which he could not conceal; “It is the old story, Ruby; we must cry Ichabod, the glory has departed. The sins of the fathers are visited on the children. Do you know that in four months we must turn out of here?”

  “Is it possible?” I cried aghast.

  “Yes, we can no longer keep the wolf from the door. We have struggled on for years; the castle was heavily mortgaged during my father’s lifetime; now they mean to foreclose—we can do nothing. My mother has enough to keep her from starving. As to myself I mean to get a tutorship; thank Heaven, my college education will ensure me that! It is hard to give up the old place that has been ours for so many generations, but beggars mustn’t be choosers.”

  There was a break in his voice, he turned away and busied himself with his gun.

  I felt very grieved, but could think of nothing to say to comfort him.

  Presently he continued, “The worst of it is that there is a rumour that an immense quantity of treasure lies concealed somewhere in the castle.”