SOM THE GHOST BABY Blackwood's Magazine OME years ago business took me down to the little town of Temsbury, and as I expected to have to stay some time, my uncle, John, offered to lend me his house there, as it was standing empty. Everybody who has ever been at Temsbury-and that means almost everybody-knows the Old House, though they may not know its name. It is the large red-brick building with a pediment and a white porch, standing a little back from the road on your left hand side as you go down to the bridge. It is a fine old place, believed to have been built by Sir Christopher Wren, and contains carvings by Grinling Gibbons and all kinds of treasures for those who can appreciate them-has a garden, with a little terrace on the river, and a ghost. The possession of the last mentioned curiosity, however, was not generally appreciated. Of course, the great, old house was much too large for a solitary, unprotected male. Accordingly, only one or two rooms had been prepared for me-the diningroom, a pleasant little morning-room to serve for sitting and working in, and a splendid bedroom on the first floor looking out on the river. I was shown over it all by an old woman of pleasant appearance, who had been put in there, with her daughter, by my uncle, to look after the house when he was away. I think she was an old nurse of his or something of that kind. My own impression is that my uncle's early upbringing must have been a work of considerable difficulty; he seemed to have such a number of pensioners who had acted in some capacity connected with it. The old woman was inclined to be apologetic about the bedroom she had prepared for me, saying she had had so little notice, and that none of the other rooms were fit to sleep in; to be sure, it was the best room in the house, and she didn't believe there was any truth in the stories that were told about it. "Why," I asked, "is this the haunted room?" "Well, sir, it is the one where the people says the noises are; but, of course, a gentleman like yourself don't care for none of them stories." I was not so sure about that. I had no great anxiety to be introduced to a ghost, supposing such things to exist. I made an attempt at an incredulous laugh and assured Mrs. Creed that it didn't matter; but I was somewhat uncomfortable all the same. However, I got a very good dinner, which restored my spirits, and turned to afterwards at a bit of work I had to do, till all thoughts of the haunted room went out of my head. After going through a series of very abstruse calculations, I tried to refresh myself with a novel and fell fast asleep in my chair. Some people say that a short sleep in your chair refreshes you; but, for my part, I always find that I wake up sleepier than before. At any rate, all I was good for when I woke up this time was to tumble upstairs and into bed as soon as possible, and there I fell fast asleep again. When I awoke next, which I suppose must have been between one and two o'clock, it was with the consciousness that I was no longer alone. The doors of what I had supposed to be a great press at the other end of the room stood wide open, disclosing a small secret room built in the thickness of the wall. Out of this room now came forth a figure-a lady 1 dressed in a strange, antiquated fashion, a long, loose, blue dress of the kind which, I believe, is called a sacque and with a great tower of a headdress, carrying a baby in her arms and singing softly to it as she walked to and fro, without taking the least notice of me. After the first minutes of utter bewilderment I began to be conscious that this must be the ghost that people spoke of; certainly it was not a substantial living creature. I cannot deny that I felt a curious kind of thrill at the idea that I was actually face to face with a disembodied spirit, even going so far as a general tendency to shivering and chattering of teeth; but these feelings I succeeded in repressing. One thing which conduced greatly to strengthen my resolution was the moral impossibility of getting out of bed to run away. I have always been brought up in the strictest principles of propriety, and I could not take a step which would be an outrage to the feelings of a lady, even of a ghost lady. Obviously it was my duty as a gentleman to remain quietly in bed. The sense of duty is encouraging, and I began to feel quite composed, even with a soothing tendency to grumble; for, as I put it to myself, while my conduct at the present juncture is in the highest degree creditable, it serves to show, at the same time, how entirely unjustifiable is the conduct of a lady ghost in haunting a gentleman's bedroom. Comforted as I was with these reflections, it was somewhat disturbing to find, on looking up again, that the lady's eyes were fixed upon mine, though with no particularly terrible or malevolent expression. I returned her gaze as steadily as I could, and the lady, after a while, broke into a smile, and said in a pleasant but somewhat affected voice, "You are not afraid of me?" "N-no, Madam. I don't think I am," I said, rather hesitatingly. |