The Oxford Book of Victorian Ghost Stories

by Michael Cox

  That is the manner in which this story, hitherto unpublished, has been greeted by my acquaintances. How it will be received by strangers is quite another matter. I am going to tell what happened to me exactly as it happened, and readers can credit or scoff at the tale as it pleases them. It is not necessary for me to find faith and comprehension in addition to a ghost story, for the world at large. If such were the case, I should lay down my pen.

  Perhaps, before going further, I ought to premise there was a time when I did not believe in ghosts either. If you had asked me one summer's morning years ago when you met me on London Bridge if I held such appearances to be probable or possible, you would have received an emphatic 'No' for answer.

  But, at this rate, the story of the Open Door will never be told; so we will, with your permission, plunge into it immediately.

  'Sandy!'

  'What do you want?'

  'Should you like to earn a sovereign?'

  'Of course I should.'

  A somewhat curt dialogue, but we were given to curtness in the office of Messrs Frimpton, Frampton and Ftyer, auctioneers and estate agents, St Benet's Hill, City.

  (My name is not Sandy or anything like it, but the other clerks so styled me because of a real or fancied likeness to some character, an ill-looking Scotchman, they had seen at the theatre. From this it may be inferred I was not handsome. Far from it. The only ugly specimen in my family, I knew I was very plain; and it chanced to be no secret to me either that I felt grievously discontented with my lot. I did not like the occupation of clerk in an auctioneer's office, and I did not like my employers. We are all of us inconsistent, I suppose, for it was a shock to me to find they entertained a most cordial antipathy to me.)

  'Because,' went on Parton, a fellow, my senior by many years—a fellow who delighted in chaffing me, 'I can tell you how to lay hands on one.'

  'How?' I asked, sulkily enough, for I felt he was having what he called his fun.

  'You know that place we let to Carrison, the tea-dealer?'

  Carrison was a merchant in the China trade, possessed of fleets of vessels and towns of warehouses; but I did not correct Parton's expression, I simply nodded.

  'He took it on a long lease, and he can't live in it; and our governor said this morning he wouldn't mind giving anybody who could find out what the deuce is the matter, a couple of sovereigns and his travelling expenses.'

  'Where is the place?' I asked, without turning my head; for the convenience of listening I had put my elbows on the desk and propped up my face with both hands.

  'Away down in Meadowshire, in the heart of the grazing country.'

  'And what is the matter?' I further enquired.

  'A door that won't keep shut.'

  'What?'

  'A door that will keep open, if you prefer that way of putting it,' said Parton. 'You are jesting.'

  'If I am, Carrison is not, or Fryer either. Carrison came here in a nice passion, and Fryer was in a fine rage; I could see he was, though he kept his temper outwardly. They have had an active correspondence it appears, and Carrison went away to talk to his lawyer. Won't make much by that move, I fancy.'

  'But tell me,' I entreated, 'why the door won't keep shut?'

  'They say the place is haunted.'

  'What nonsense!' I exclaimed.

  'Then you are just the person to take the ghost in hand. I thought so while old Fryer was speaking.'

  'If the door won't keep shut,' I remarked, pursuing my own train of thought, 'why can't they let it stay open?'

  'I have not the slightest idea. I only know there are two sovereigns to be made, and that I give you a present of the information.'

  And having thus spoken, Parton took down his hat and went out, either upon his own business or that of his employers.

  There was one thing I can truly say about our office, we were never serious in it. I fancy that is the case in most offices nowadays; at all events, it was the case in ours. We were always chaffing each other, playing practical jokes, telling stupid stories, scamping our work, looking at the clock, counting the weeks to next St Lubbock's Day, counting the hours to Saturday.

  For all that we were all very earnest in our desire to have our salaries raised, and unanimous in the opinion no fellows ever before received such wretched pay. I had twenty pounds a year, which I was aware did not half provide for what I ate at home. My mother and sisters left me in no doubt on the point, and when new clothes were wanted I always hated to mention the fact to my poor worried father.

  We had been better off once, I believe, though I never remember the time. My father owned a small property in the country, but owing to the failure of some bank, I never could understand what bank, it had to be mortgaged; then the interest was not paid, and the mortgagees foreclosed, and we had nothing left save the half-pay of a major, and about a hundred a year which my mother brought to the common fund.

  We might have managed on our income, I think, if we had not been so painfully genteel; but we were always trying to do something quite beyond our means, and consequently debts accumulated, and creditors ruled us with rods of iron.

  Before the final smash came, one of my sisters married the younger son of a distinguished family, and even if they had been disposed to live comfortably and sensibly she would have kept her sisters up to the mark. My only brother, too, was an officer, and of course the family thought it necessary he should see we preserved appearances.

  It was all a great trial to my father, I think, who had to bear the brunt of the dunning and harass, and eternal shortness of money; and it would have driven me crazy if I had not found a happy refuge when matters were going wrong at home at my aunt's. She was my father's sister, and had married so 'dreadfully below her' that my mother refused to acknowledge the relationship at all.

  For these reasons and others, Parton's careless words about the two sovereigns stayed in my memory.

  I wanted money badly—I may say I never had sixpence in the world of my own—and I thought if I could earn two sovereigns I might buy some trifles I needed for myself, and present my father with a new umbrella. Fancy is a dangerous little jade to flirt with, as I soon discovered.

  She led me on and on. First I thought of the two sovereigns; then I recalled the amount of the rent Mr. Carrison agreed to pay for Ladlow Hall; then I decided he would gladly give more than two sovereigns if he could only have the ghost turned out of possession. I fancied I might get ten pounds—twenty pounds. I considered the matter all day, and I dreamed of it all night, and when I dressed myself next morning I was determined to speak to Mr. Fryer on the subject.

  I did so—I told that gentleman Parton had mentioned the matter to me, and that if Mr. Fryer had no objection, I should like to try whether I could not solve the mystery. I told him I had been accustomed to lonely houses, and that I should not feel at all nervous; that I did not believe in ghosts, and as for burglars, I was not afraid of them.

  'I don't mind your trying,' he said at last. 'Of course you understand it is no cure, no pay. Stay in the house for a week; if at the end of that time you can keep the door shut, locked, bolted, or nailed up, telegraph for me, and I will go down—if not, come back. If you like to take a companion there is no objection.'

  I thanked him, but said I would rather not have a companion.

  'There is only one thing, sir, I should like,' I ventured.

  'And that-?' he interrupted.

  'Is a little more money. If I lay the ghost, or find out the ghost, I think I ought to have more than two sovereigns.'

  'How much more do you think you ought to have?' he asked.

  His tone quite threw me off my guard, it was so civil and conciliatory, and I answered boldly:

  'Well, if Mr. Carrison cannot now live in the place perhaps he wouldn't mind giving me a ten-pound note.'

  Mr. Fryer turned, and opened one of the books lying on his desk. He did not look at or refer to it in any way—I saw that.

  'You have been with us how long, E
dlyd?' he said.

  'Eleven months tomorrow,' I replied.

  'And our arrangement was, I think, quarterly payments, and one month's notice on either side?'

  'Yes, sir.' I heard my voice tremble, though I could not have said what frightened me.

  'Then you will please to take your notice now. Come in before you leave this evening, and I'll pay you three months' salary, and then we shall be quits.'

  'I don't think I quite understand,' I was beginning, when he broke in: 'But I understand, and that's enough. I have had enough of you and your airs, and your indifference, and your insolence here. I never had a clerk I disliked as I do you. Coming and dictating terms, forsooth! No, you shan't go to Ladlow. Many a poor chap'—(he said 'devil')— 'would have been glad to earn half a guinea, let alone two sovereigns; and perhaps you may be before you are much older.'

  'Do you mean that you won't keep me here any longer, sir?' I asked in despair. 'I had no intention of offending you. I-'

  'Now you need not say another word,' he interrupted, 'for I won't bandy words with you. Since you have been in this place you have never known your position, and you don't seem able to realize it. When I was foolish enough to take you, I did it on the strength of your connections, but your connections have done nothing for me. I have never had a penny out of any one of your friends—if you have any. You'll not do any good in business for yourself or anybody else, and the sooner you go to Australia'—(here he was very emphatic)—'and get off these premises, the better I shall be pleased.'

  I did not answer him—I could not. He had worked himself to a white heat by this time, and evidently intended I should leave his premises then and there. He counted five pounds out of his cash-box, and, writing a receipt, pushed it and the money across the table, and bade me sign and be off at once.

  My hand trembled so I could scarcely hold the pen, but I had presence of mind enough left to return one pound ten in gold, and three shillings and four pence I had, quite by the merest good fortune, in my waistcoat pocket.

  'I can't take wages for work I haven't done,' I said, as well as sorrow and passion would let me. 'Good-morning,' and I left his office and passed out among the clerks.

  I took from my desk the few articles belonging to me, left the papers it contained in order, and then, locking it, asked Parton if he would be so good as to give the key to Mr. Fryer.

  'What's up?' he asked 'Are you going?'

  I said, 'Yes, I am going'.

  'Got the sack?'

  'That is exactly what has happened.' 'Well, I'm—!' exclaimed Mr. Parton.

  I did not stop to hear any further commentary on the matter, but bidding my fellow-clerks goodbye, shook the dust of Frimpton's Estate and Agency Office from off my feet.

  I did not like to go home and say I was discharged, so I walked about aimlessly, and at length found myself in Regent Street. There I met my father, looking more worried than usual.

  'Do you think, Phil,' he said (my name is Theophilus), 'you could get two or three pounds from your employers?'

  Maintaining a discreet silence regarding what had passed, I answered: 'No doubt I could.'

  'I shall be glad if you will then, my boy,' he went on, 'for we are badly in want of it.'

  I did not ask him what was the special trouble. Where would have been the use? There was always something—gas, or water, or poor-rates, or the butcher, or the baker, or the boot maker. Well, it did not much matter, for we were well accustomed to the life; but, I thought, 'if ever I marry, we will keep within our means'. And then there rose up before me a vision of Patty, my cousin—the blithest, prettiest, most useful, most sensible girl that ever made sunshine in poor man's house.

  My father and I had parted by this time, and I was still walking aimlessly on, when all at once an idea occurred to me. Mr. Fryer had not treated me well or fairly. I would hoist him on his own petard. I would go to headquarters, and try to make terms with Mr. Carrison direct.

  No sooner thought than done. I hailed a passing omnibus, and was ere long in the heart of the city. Like other great men, Mr. Carrison was difficult of access—indeed, so difficult of access, that the clerk to whom I applied for an audience told me plainly I could not see him at all. I might send in my message if I liked, he was good enough to add, and no doubt it would be attended to. I said I should not send in a message, and was then asked what I would do. My answer was simple. I meant to wait till I did see him. I was told they could not have people waiting about the office in this way.

  I said I supposed I might stay in the street. 'Carrison didn't own that,' I suggested.

  The clerk advised me not to try that game, or I might get locked up.

  I said I would take my chance of it.

  After that we went on arguing the question at some length, and we were in the middle of a heated argument, in which several of Carrison's 'young gentlemen', as they called themselves, were good enough to join, when we were all suddenly silenced by a grave-looking individual, who authoritatively enquired:

  'What is all this noise about?'

  Before anyone could answer I spoke up: 'I want to see Mr. Carrison, and they won't let me.'

  'What do you want with Mr. Carrison?'

  'I will tell that to himself only.'

  'Very well, say on—I am Mr. Carrison.'

  For a moment I felt abashed and almost ashamed of my persistency; next instant, however, what Mr. Fryer would have called my 'native audacity' came to the rescue, and I said, drawing a step or two nearer to him, and taking off my hat:

  'I wanted to speak to you about Ladlow Hall, if you please, sir.'

  In an instant the fashion of his face changed, a look of irritation succeeded to that of immobility; an angry contraction of the eyebrows disfigured the expression of his countenance.

  'Ladlow Hall!' he repeated; 'and what have you got to say about Ladlow Hall?'

  'That is what I wanted to tell you, sir,' I answered, and a dead hush seemed to fall on the office as I spoke.

  The silence seemed to attract his attention, for he looked sternly at the clerks, who were not using a pen or moving a finger.

  'Come this way, then,' he said abruptly; and next minute I was in his private office.

  'Now, what is it?' he asked, flinging himself into a chair, and addressing me, who stood hat in hand beside the great table in the middle of the room.

  I began—I will say he was a patient listener—at the very beginning, and told my story straight through. I concealed nothing. I enlarged on nothing. A discharged clerk I stood before him, and in the capacity of a discharged clerk I said what I had to say. He heard me to the end, then he sat silent, thinking.

  At last he spoke.

  'You have heard a great deal of conversation about Ladlow, I suppose?' he remarked.

  'No sir; I have heard nothing except what I have told you.'

  'And why do you desire to strive to solve such a mystery?'

  'If there is any money to be made, I should like to make it, sir.'

  'How old are you?'

  'Two-and-twenty last January.'

  'And how much salary had you at Frimpton's?'

  'Twenty pounds a year.'

  'Humph! More than you are worth, I should say.' 'Mr. Fryer seemed to imagine so, sir, at any rate,' I agreed, sorrowfully.

  'But what do you think?' he asked, smiling in spite of himself.

  'I think I did quite as much work as the other clerks,' I answered.

  'That is not saying much, perhaps,' he observed. I was of his opinion, but I held my peace.

  'You will never make much of a clerk, I am afraid,' Mr. Carrison proceeded, fitting his disparaging remarks upon me as he might on a lay figure. 'You don't like desk work?'

  'Not much, sir.'

  'I should judge the best thing you could do would be to emigrate,' he went on, eyeing me critically.

  'Mr. Fryer said I had better go to Australia or—' I stopped, remembering the alternative that gentleman had presented.

 
; 'Or where?' asked Mr. Carrison.

  'The—, sir,' I explained, softly and apologetically.

  He laughed—he lay back in his chair and laughed—and I laughed myself, though ruefully.

  After all, twenty pounds was twenty pounds, though I had not thought much of the salary till I lost it.

  We went on talking for a long time after that; he asked me all about my father and my early life, and how we lived, and where we lived, and the people we knew; and, in fact, put more questions than I can well remember.

  'It seems a crazy thing to do,' he said at last; 'and yet I feel disposed to trust you. The house is standing perfectly empty. I can't live in it, and I can't get rid of it; all my own furniture I have removed, and there is nothing in the place except a few old-fashioned articles belonging to Lord Ladlow. The place is a loss to me. It is of no use trying to let it, and thus, in fact, matters are at a deadlock. You won't be able to find out anything, I know, because, of course, others have tried to solve the mystery ere now; still, if you like to try you may. I will make this bargain with you. If you like to go down, I will pay your reasonable expenses for a fortnight; and if you do any good for me, I will give you a ten-pound note for yourself. Of course I must be satisfied that what you have told me is true and that you are what you represent. Do you know anybody in the city who would speak for you?'