PAGE 14
The Snoring Ghost
by
“Of course we declared we were not afraid. Sitting there together, on a sunny summer’s afternoon, perhaps we were not.
“‘It’s years and years ago,’ began Miss Lucy; ‘you know the place has belonged to another branch of our family for generations. Well, at last it came down to an old Mr. Bartlett, who had one daughter, who, of course, was to be the heiress. Well, she fell in love with a man whose name I forget, but he was of inferior family, and very queer character; and her father would not hear of it, and swore that if she married him he would disinherit her. She would have married the man in spite of this, though; but what he wanted was her money; so, when he found that the old man was quite resolute, and that there was no chance of his dying soon, he murdered him.’
“We both exclaimed; for this sudden catastrophe fairly took away our breath. Miss Lucy’s nerves were not sensitive, however, and she rattled on.
“‘He smothered him in bed, and, as he was a very old man, and might easily have died in the night some other way, and as nothing could be proved, he got off. Well, he married the daughter, and got the property; but the very first evening after he took possession, as he was passing the door of the old man’s room, he heard somebody breathing heavily inside, and when he looked in, there was the old father asleep in his bed.’
“‘Not really?’ we said.
“‘Of course not really,’ said Miss Lucy, ‘but so it was said. That’s the ghost part of it. Well, do what he would, he never could get rid of the old man, who was always there asleep; so he pulled the rooms down, and at last he went abroad, and there both he and his wife died, and the property went to a cousin, who took the name of Bartlett.’
“‘How awful!’ we murmured. But Miss Lucy laughed, and told us other family anecdotes, and the ghost story somewhat passed from our minds, especially as a little later we heard wheels, and, peeping from the landing window, beheld a post-chaise drive up.
“‘It’s Cecilia!’ screamed Miss Lucy, and left us at once.
“I may as well say here, my dear Ida, that Cecilia and the major proved altogether different from our expectations. Cecilia, in travelling gear, taking off an old bonnet, begging for a cup of tea, and complaining in soft accents that butter was a halfpenny a pound dearer in Bath than at home, seemed to have no connection with that Cecilia into the trimmings of whose dresses bank-notes had recklessly dissolved. The major, an almost middle-aged man, of roughish exterior, in plain clothes, pulling his moustache over a letter that had arrived for him, dispelled our visions of manly beauty and military pomp even more effectually. Later on, we discovered that Cecilia was really pretty, soft, and gentle, a good deal lectured by her mother, and herself more critical of Miss Lucy’s dress and appearance than that young lady had been of ours. The major proved kind and sensible. He was well-to-do and had ‘expectations,’ which facts shed round him a glory invisible to us. They seemed a happy couple; more like the rest of the world than we had been led to suppose.
“The new-comers completely absorbed our attention during the evening, and it was not till we were fairly entering the older part on the house on our way to bed, that the story of the old man’s ghost recurred to my mind. It was a relief to meet Bedford at this point, to hear her cheerful good-night, and to see her turn into a room only two doors from ours. Once while we were undressing I said:
“‘What a horrid story that was that Lucy told us.’
“To which sensible Fatima made answer: ‘Don’t talk about it.’
“We dismissed the subject by consent, got into bed, and I fell asleep. I do not quite know how far on it was into the night when I was roused by Fatima’s voice repeating my name over and over again, in tones of subdued terror. I know nothing more irritatingly alarming, when one is young and nervous, than to be roused thus by a voice in which the terror is evident and the cause unknown.