I asked how Lord Eversleigh was and the doctor replied that he had had a little setback last night.
“I am so sorry, Mistress Ransome. It was just at the time when I thought he was really showing some improvement.”
He looked rather angrily at Jessie, who lowered her eyes and gave even more attention to the food on her plate than usual.
“Well,” went on the doctor, “we have these upsets. They pass. He seemed more at rest during the morning.”
Dickon said: “I had a wonderful morning. I rode quite a way … to country I hadn’t seen before. I found the most wonderful old inn. Forgotten the name of it. It was very traditional … just what an old inn should be. I took a snack there.”
“What did they give you?” asked Jessie, always interested in food.
“Ripe stilton with hot bread—rye, I think it was. … dark and crusty.”
“You want plenty of butter on it,” said Jessie. “Let it sink in and then a good hunk of cheese on top.”
She was tasting it, I knew, in spite of the pork on her plate.
“That’s how it was—with the inn’s special brand of cider. Delicious.”
“And you came straight back here to your good dinner. I haven’t noticed any lack of appetite. Master Frenshaw!”
“You know how you admire my strength at the table. You and I are a pair. Mistress Jessie.”
“Go on with you! I never could abide people who pick at their food.”
“It was a typical gathering. The old blacksmith came into the inn parlor. There were several of us there. He was a gloomy man. He’d evidently got a reputation for it. The others teased him a bit, ‘We have a wager every year on Blacksmith Harry,’ they told me. ‘If anyone can get him to smile between Christmas Day and Twelfth Night we give ’un a shilling … and that’s six of us. You can reckin we work hard to make blacksmith smile. No one’s had any luck yet.’ He was obviously a favorite of them all and I discovered why. He’d got a real gift for telling a story.”
“Did he tell you some?” I asked.
“One,” said Dickon.
“Was it interesting?”
“It was the way he told it. Now that’s the test of a storyteller. If an old tale which must have been heard many times suddenly holds your attention then that’s the mark of a good story-teller. Blacksmith Harry had us all ears, I can tell you.”
“Tell us the story as well as he did.”
“Oh, I’d spoil it. I’m a man of action. I’m no story-teller.”
I said: “It’s most extraordinary, Dickon, to hear you admit you can’t do something.”
“You are really whetting our appetites,” added Dr. Cabel.
“Well, I’ll have a try. But you really need the blacksmith. There was a man in the village whose daughter kept house for him. He was an old miser and an objectionable character in many ways and gave the daughter a bad time. He’d sent off the man who wanted to marry her so that she could go on keeping house for him. He’d already worried his poor wife into the grave.”
“In fact,” I said, “a most undesirable character.”
“Exactly,” said Dickon. “Well, one day the man wasn’t there anymore. He had gone off, said his daughter, to see his brother up in Scotland. The daughter changed the house … made it merry … put up fresh curtains. Her lover came back. There was nothing to stop them getting married now. They could do it while the man was away and when he got back it would be too late to stop it. So preparations were made for a wedding feast … and everyone said what a good thing it was that the old man had gone to visit his brother in Scotland.
“It was all very happy and showed what misery some people could make for others … for the daughter was very pleased with herself these days. Then all changed … and in a way you might not believe.”
“The old man came back,” I said.
“Yes … in a way.”
“Oh, come on, Dickon,” I cried. “No need to hold back the suspense.”
“He came back … but not in human form.”
“A ghost,” cried Jessie turning pale.
Dickon lowered his voice: “The old man was seen hovering near the well. Several people thought they saw a man there. But he disappeared before they could make sure. Nobody believed them at first … but then the daughter saw him. She let out a shriek and fainted dead away (the blacksmith’s words). She was in a fine state. They couldn’t calm her. Well, to cut a long story short, since I haven’t the blacksmith’s gift, it seemed that the old man had not gone to Scotland at all. He had fallen down the well, with a little help from his daughter. She told the whole story. He’d slipped when drawing water. That was her story. He’d called out and she did nothing about it. She just left him there screaming.”
Jessie had turned pale and was clasping the cross about her neck.
“Well,” said Dickon, “they found his body in the well. They reckoned his daughter had had great provocation and it was never proved that she’d actually pushed him down. She just hadn’t done anything to save him. They gave him a decent burial and he never appeared at the well again. That was all he was asking for … a proper grave. The blacksmith reckoned he knew he’d made his daughter’s life a hell. He didn’t want revenge on her, all he wanted was a decent burial. So the body was put in a coffin and the burial service was said over it. And from that day to this his ghost has never again been seen.” Dickon leaned back in his seat. “You ought to have heard the blacksmith tell it.”
Jessie was staring down at the uneaten food on her plate.
Two days passed uneventfully. I paid only one visit to Uncle Carl. Dr. Cabel said he was not well enough on the first of those days; the second I saw him and he held my hand and said a few words.
“Improving,” said Dr. Cabel, his eyes shining. “I can’t tell you how happy I am when he shows a little glimpse of his old self.”
I walked over to Enderby and was disappointed when I heard that Derek and Isabel had gone to London for a few days. it was on the second day when I came upon Jessie sitting in the winter parlor with the cook, Daisy Button, a plump woman, waistless so that she looked rather like a barrel, good-natured, easily offended, dedicated to her cooking, determined to protect her dignity. I knew that Jessie had had a few tussles with her but there was a certain friendship between them and whatever airs, the cook complained, Jessie gave herself, anyone who was so appreciative of Daisy Button’s culinary masterpieces could be forgiven.
Daisy Button, I had heard, could tell whether a girl was pregnant almost before the girl knew it herself; she had even been known to prophesy correctly the sex of the child; her grandmother had been a witch and she had powers.
When I approached, Daisy Button got up and bobbed a rather reluctant curtsy and said she was discussing the day’s supper with Mistress Stirling, and she hoped she was giving satisfaction. A large part of her beautiful tansy pudding had been sent back to the kitchen from the dinner table.
I said the tansy pudding was absolutely delicious and if those at the table had not eaten of it as voraciously as it deserved it was because they had gorged themselves on the very excellent roast beef which had preceded it.
I saw the cards in Daisy Button’s apron pocket and guessed she had been giving Jessie what she would call “a reading.”
I said: “I see you have the cards. Have you been telling fortunes’?”
“Oh, well,” said Daisy, “Mistress Stirling did ask me to have a peep for her.”
“Has she good fortune in store?”
“Couldn’t be better,” said Daisy. “A rosy future … with love and money. She’s going for a journey.”
“Oh?” I said. “Are you going to leave us, Jessie?”
“Not while I’m needed,” said Jessie sententiously.
“No, it’s for the future,” put in Daisy. “She’s going to meet a rich stranger and she’s going to find peace and happiness in this new friendship.”
“It sounds very interesting,” I said turning away.
Jessie surprised me. When I had first met her I thought her a hard-headed, scheming woman. She was probably all this, but in addition she was religious and very superstitious as well. She had been really shaken when Dickon had told his story of the man in the well. And now Daisy’s promised good fortune had made her very happy.
How unwise it was to make snap judgments about people’s characters. The only thing one could be certain of was that there were many more facets to their natures than to a well-cut diamond and because one understood their reactions to one situation it was no use thinking one really knew them.
It was dusk. I was about to go for my visit to Lord Eversleigh when I paused. There was a terrible commotion in the kitchens.
Dr. Cabel looked at Jessie, who was standing still, listening. Then one of the maids came running up.
“It’s May,” she said. “She’s seen something.”
“Seen what?” asked Jessie.
“We can’t get a word of sense out of her. She’s having hysterics at the kitchen table.”
Jessie looked at the doctor and he said: “I’d better see her.”
We went down through the screens to the kitchen. May, one of the housemaids, was sitting back in a chair staring ahead of her. The cook had a glass of brandy in her hand and was trying to force May to drink it.
“Now what is this?” said Dr. Cabel taking the brandy, which he put on the table.
“I see a ghost, sir,” said May, her teeth chattering.
“What is this nonsense?” The doctor spoke sharply.
“I see it, sir. Clear as I see you. He was standing there at the top of the stairs. I looked at him and he faded into nothing.”
“Now, now, May, tell us exactly what happened. It must have been one of the other servants you saw.”
“In his lordship’s hat and cloak.”
“His lordship’s!”
“Oh yes, they was his all right. I’ve seen him before … you know … before he was took so ill.”
“And he disappeared?”
“Well, that’s what ghosts do, sir.”
“It’s a bad sign,” said Daisy Button. “It’s death in the house. I felt it a long time. I reckon it’s his lordship. His spirit is already gone … and in its early form as yet … outside looking on. That’s how it goes. Mark my words, we shan’t have the dear gentleman with us much longer.”
“Stop that nonsense,” said Dr. Cabel. “What May saw was one of the servants … or she imagined she saw something. You’re all right, May. Now I’m going to give you something to drink and you’re to go to bed.”
“I’d be frightened, sir. I don’t want to see that again.”
“You saw nothing. It was a figment of your imagination.” He bent over. “Good heavens, have you been drinking?”
“I give her a glass of my sloe gin,” said Daisy Button. “But then we all had some.”
“It may well be that your sloe gin is more potent than you think. Mistress Button.”
“Well, you might have something there.”
The doctor smiled. “Distribute it in smaller portions in future, will you?”
“Well, my sloe’s always been took in the same quantities before, sir.”
“Each year’s brew won’t be exactly the same, will it?”
“That could be true, sir. You know what sloes is.”
“Shall we get May to her room and let the doctor give her something to make her sleep,” I said.
“Come along. May,” said Jessie.
They went up to the maid’s room.
I noticed how subdued Jessie was. She was really frightened and behaving rather unlike the Jessie I had come to expect.
Dickon was very interested when he heard of May’s experience. He was on some sort of acquaintanceship with several of the maids. I had seen his eyes rest speculatively on several of them. I imagined that he waylaid them in dark places and indulged in certain familiarities. I had seen the manner in which some of them looked at him. Dickon was the sort of person who only had to be in a place to change the nature of it.
He held forth a long time at dinner over May’s adventure.
“These girls are very superstitious,” he said. “I’ve no doubt May imagined the whole thing.”
“Yes,” said Jessie, “that’s all. She just saw a shadow or something … and thought up the rest.”
“She was very shaken,” I pointed out.
“Of course she would be,” said Dickon. “What did the poor girl see? I beg your pardon … what did she think she saw?”
“Some garbled story about a man in a cloak,” said Dr. Cabel.
“And a hat.”
“Evidently a visitor since he was hatted,” said Dickon.
“She said he was like Lord Eversleigh,” I said.
“Probably she saw him in a hat and cloak once,” put in the doctor.
“The cook adds fuel to the flames,” I remarked. “She says that the apparition was a sort of angel of death.”
“Interesting,” said Dickon. “Come to announce some disaster?”
“Daisy Button is full of tales—always has been,” said Jessie. “Thinks she’s rather clever, she does. If she wasn’t such a good cook …”
“Good cooks should be allowed their little foibles,” remarked Dickon. “Do tell me more of this angel of death.”
“She seems to imply,” I explained, “that it’s the spirit of someone who has departed taking on the guise of his earthly body.”
“It’s very complicated,” sighed Dickon. “I didn’t know that cook added supernatural knowledge to her culinary skills.”
The doctor said rather impatiently: “It’s all a lot of women’s nonsense. I think we’d do well to forget it.”
“You are certainly right, doctor,” agreed Dickon. “But is it not strange how interested we all are in unnatural phenomena, even those of us who should know better.”
“The girl has come to her senses. I gave her a draught and a good night’s sleep will do the rest. Now I hope we shall have no more of this nonsense.”
His hope was not fulfilled for that very night the ghost made another appearance.
This time it was to Jessie herself.
There was a wild scream and we all ran to see what had happened. Jessie was half fainting when I arrived on the scene. I had been outside for a breath of fresh air before retiring, for I had just had one of my brief visits to Uncle Carl.
Jessie was lying on the floor. She had fainted. With all the blood drained from her face so that the carmine stood out unnaturally she looked like a painted doll.
Dr. Cabel was kneeling beside her. “Give her air,” he was crying, for several of the servants were crowding round.
“What has happened?” I asked.
“Mistress Stirling has fainted,” the doctor announced. “She’ll be all right. It’s nothing much. The heat, I expect.”
It was not really very hot. It never was in the house behind those thick stone walls even at the height of summer.
Jessie was already opening her eyes. She screamed: “Where is he? I saw him.”
“All is well,” said Dr. Cabel. “You’re all right. You were overcome by the heat.”
“I saw … he was on the stairs. … Just as he used to look … before … before …”
“I think,” said Dr. Cabel, “we’ll get her to her bed. She needs to lie down.” He signed to one of the men servants and the man with the doctor got Jessie to her feet.
“Now,” said Dr. Cabel soothingly, “we’ll get you to bed. I will give you something to drink … it will help you to sleep.”
“It was terrible,” murmured Jessie.
“Never mind now,” said the doctor.
Dickon had appeared at the top of the stairs. He ran down, “What’s wrong?”
“Jessie has fainted.”
“Good heavens. Is she ill or something … ?”
Dr. Cabel silenced him with a look. Dickon’s eyes were round with wonder.
&n
bsp; Then Dickon gently pushed the man servant to one side and himself took Jessie’s arm.
“Yes, to bed,” he said, “that’s the best place.”
“I saw him. …” Jessie was murmuring. “With my own eyes I saw him. … It was him … I could swear it.”
“You’ve been working too hard,” said the doctor.
“I never fainted before,” said Jessie.
“Come along … to your room.”
I followed the procession. In her room I noticed the crucifix hanging on the wall. A further sign of her religion. She lay on the bed. Her eyes were wide and frightened, though some color had returned to her face. It was clear that Jessie had had a very bad shock.
“Now,” said Dr. Cabel, “there’s nothing to do but rest, and when you’ve drunk what I shall bring you, you will sleep.”
“I don’t want to be alone.”
“I’ll stay with you,” I said, “till the doctor comes back.”
Dickon remained in the room too. He had seated himself by Jessie’s bed and watched her intently.
“I saw it so clear,” she said. “It was him, all right. … Him like he used to be.”
“I can’t think what you saw,” I said, “but the light does play funny tricks.”
“There was hardly any light in the hall.”
“That’s why you thought you saw this … apparition. In daylight you would have seen there was nothing there.”
“I saw him. … What’s he doing? Why? Why?”
Dickon leaned toward the bed. He said: “Cook believes that somebody’s going to die and he’s come to warn us.”
“It’s him. … It’s Lordy,” she cried.
I said: “He’s very ill. I think Dr. Cabel is expecting him to die at any time.”
“The blacksmith said that it was someone who wanted a burial,” Jessie started to shiver.
“I wish the doctor would hurry with the sleeping draught or whatever it is.” I said.
Dickon took Jessie’s hand and held it firmly. “You mustn’t get so agitated. You won’t be able to look after everything there is to do, you know. Why you might be ill. You’ve got to take care of yourself, Jessie.”
Philippa Carr - [Daughters of England 09] Page 24