Part 3

“It’s a charming place, Arthur,” she acknowledged, “and marvellously cheap; but it is certainly a long way from other houses. I find we shall have to send for everything to the town. Not even the country carts, with butter and poultry, seem to call at Rushmere.”

“My dear Jane, I told you distinctly that it was two and a-half miles from church or station, and you read it for yourself in the paper. But I thought we looked out for a retreat where we should run no risk of being intruded on by strangers.”

“Oh yes, of course; only there are not even any farmhouses or cottages near Rushmere, you see; and it would be so very easy for anyone to break in at night, and rob us.”

“Pooh, nonsense! What will you be afraid of next? The locks and bolts are perfectly secure, and both Dawson and I have firearms, and are ready to use them. Your fears are childish, Janie.”

But all my arguments were unavailing, and each day my wife grew more nervous, and less willing to be left alone. So much so, indeed, that I made a practice of seeing that the house fastenings were properly secured each night myself, and of keeping a loaded revolver close to my hand, in case of need. But it damped my pleasure, to find that Jane was not enjoying herself; and the country looked less beautiful to me than it had done at first. One night I suddenly awoke, to find that she was sitting up in bed, and in an attitude of expectation.

“My dear, what is the matter with you?”

“Oh, hush! I am sure that I hear footsteps on the stairs--footsteps creeping up and down.”

I listened with her, but could detect no sound whatever.

“Lie down again, Jane--it is only your imagination. Every one is fast asleep in bed.”

“I assure you, Arthur, I am not mistaken. Once they came quite near the door.”

“If so, it can only be one of the servants. You don’t wish me to get up and encounter Mary or Susan in her night-dress, do you? Consider my morals!”

“Oh no, of course not,” she replied with a faint smile; yet it was some time before she fell to sleep again.

It was not many nights before my wife roused me again with the same complaint.

“Arthur, don’t call me silly, but I am _certain_ I heard something.”

To appease her fears, I shook off my drowsiness, and, with a lighted candle, made a tour of the house; but all was as I had left it.

Once, indeed, I imagined that I heard at my side the sound of a quick breathing; but that I knew must be sheer fancy, since I was alone.

The only circumstance that startled me was finding Dawson, the man servant, who slept on the ground floor, also awake, and listening at his door.

“What roused you, Dawson?”

“Well, sir, I can hardly say; but I fancied I heard some one going up the stairs a little while ago.”

“You heard me coming down, you mean.”

“No, sir, begging your pardon, it was footsteps going up--lighter than yours, sir. More like those of a woman.”

Yet, though I privately interrogated the female servants on the following day, I could not discover that any of them had been out of their beds; and I forbore to tell my wife what Dawson had said in corroboration of her statement.

Only I was as much annoyed as astonished when, as I finished my catechism of Mary, our head nurse, she informed me that she had made up her mind to leave our service. Mary--my wife’s right hand--who had been with us ever since the birth of our first child! The announcement took me completely aback.

“What on earth is your reason for leaving us?” I demanded angrily; for I knew what a blow her decision would be to Jane. “What have you to find fault with?”

“Nothing with you or the mistress, sir; but I can’t remain in this house. I wouldn’t stay in it a night longer, if it were possible to get away; and I do hope you and Mrs. Delamere will let me go as soon as ever you can, sir, as it will be the death of me.”

“What will be the death of you?”

“The footsteps, sir, and the voices,” she answered, crying. “I can hear them about the nurseries all night long, and it’s more than any mortal can stand--it is, indeed.”

“Are you infected with the same folly?” I exclaimed. “I see what it is, Dawson has been talking to you. I didn’t know I had such a couple of fools in my establishment.”

“Mr. Dawson has said nothing to me about nothing, sir,” she answered. “I hear what I hear with my own ears; and I wouldn’t stay a week longer in this ’aunted place, not if you was to strew the floor with golden guineas for me.”

Not possessing either the capability or the inclination to test Mary’s fidelity by the means she alluded to, and finding her determination unalterable, I gave her the desired permission to depart; only making it a stipulation that she should not tell her mistress the real reason for her leaving us, but ascribe it to bad news from home, or any other cause.

But though I could not but believe that the woman’s idiotic terrors had blinded her judgment, I was extremely surprised to find she should have been so led astray, as I had always considered Mary to possess a remarkably clear head and good moral sense. The wailing and lamentation, from both mother and children, at the announcement of her departure made me still more angry with her obstinacy and folly. But she continued resolute; and we were driven to try and secure some one to fulfil her duties from the neighbouring town. But here a strange difficulty met us. We saw several fresh, rosy-cheeked maidens, who appeared quite willing to undertake our service, until they heard where we resided, when by an extraordinary coincidence, one and all discovered that some insurmountable obstacle prevented their coming at all. When the same thing had occurred several times in succession, and Jane appeared worn out with disappointment and fatigue, the landlord of the inn where we had put up for the day appeared at the door, and beckoned me out.

“May I make bold enough to ask if you want a servant to go to Rushmere?” he inquired of me in a whisper.

“Certainly, we do. Our nurse has been obliged to leave us suddenly, and we want some one to supply her place.”

“Then you may give it up as a bad job, sir; for you’ll never get one of the country people here about to set a foot in Rushmere--not if you were to live there till the day of your death.”

“And why not?” I demanded, with affected ignorance.

“What, haven’t you heard nothing since you’ve been there, sir?”

“Heard? What should I have heard, except the ordinary noises of the household?”

“Well, you’re lucky if you’ve escaped so far,” returned the landlord, mysteriously; “but it ain’t for long. No one who lives in Rushmere lives there _alone_. I can tell you the whole story if you like?”

“I have no desire to listen to any such folly,” I replied, testily. “I am not superstitious, and do not believe in supernatural sights or sounds. If the people round about here are foolish enough to do so, I cannot help it; but I will not have the minds of my wife or family imbued with their nonsense.”

“Very good, sir; I hope you may be able to say as much two months hence,” said the man, civilly.

And so we parted.

I returned to Janie, and persuaded her he had told me that all the girls of that town had a strong objection to leave it, which was the reason they refused to take service in the country. I reminded her that Susan was quite competent to take charge of the whole flock until we returned to London; and it would be better after all to put up with a little inconvenience than to introduce a stranger to the nursery. So my wife, who was disappointed with the failure of her enterprise, fell in with my ideas, and we returned to Rushmere, determined to do as best we could with Susan only.

But I could not forget the landlord’s earnestness, and, notwithstanding my incredulity, began to wish we were well out of Rushmere.

For a few days after Mary’s departure we slept in peace; but then the question of the mysterious footsteps assumed a graver aspect, for my wife and I were roused from deep slumber one night by a loud knock upon the bedroom door, and springing up to answer it, I encountered, on the threshold, Dawson, pale with fright, and trembling in every limb.

“What do you mean by alarming your mistress in this way?” I inquired, angrily.

“I’m very sorry, sir,” he replied, with chattering teeth, “but I thought it my duty to let you know. There’s some one in the house to-night, sir. I can hear them whispering together at this moment; and so can you, if you will but listen.”

I advanced at once to the banisters, and certainly heard what seemed to be the sound of distant voices engaged in altercation; and, light in hand, followed by Dawson, I dashed down the staircase without further ceremony, in hopes of trapping the intruders.

But all in vain. Though we entered every room in turn, not a soul was visible.

I came to the conclusion that the whole alarm was due to Dawson’s cowardice.

“You contemptible fool, you are as chicken-hearted as a woman!” I said, contemptuously. “You hear the frogs croaking in the mere, or the wind blowing through the rushes, and you immediately conclude the house is full of thieves.”

“I didn’t say it was thieves,” the man interposed, sullenly; but I took no notice of the muttered remark.

“If you are afraid to sleep downstairs by yourself,” I continued, “say so; but don’t come alarming your mistress again, in the middle of the night, for I won’t allow it.”

The man slunk back into his room, with a reiteration that he had not been mistaken; and I returned to bed, full of complaints at having been so unnecessarily roused.

“If this kind of thing goes on,” I remarked to my wife,” I shall regret ever having set eyes on Rushmere. That a pack of silly maid-servants should see a robber in every bush is only to be expected; but how a sensible man like Dawson, and a woman of education like yourself, can permit your imagination to betray you into such foolish fears, is quite past my comprehension.”

Yet, notwithstanding my dose of philosophy, poor Jane looked so pale upon the following morning, that I was fain to devise and carry into execution a little excursion into the neighbouring country before she regained her usual composure.

Some time passed without any further disturbance, and though upon several occasions I blamed myself for having brought a family, used to a populous city like London, to vegetate in so isolated a spot as Rushmere, I had almost forgotten the circumstances that had so much annoyed me.

We had now spent a month in our temporary home. The fields and hedgerows were bright with summer flowers, and the children passed most of their time tumbling amongst the new-mown hay. Janie had once more regained courage to sit by herself in the dusk, and to rest with tolerable security when she went to bed. I was rejoicing in the idea that all the folly that had marred the pleasure of our arrival at Rushmere had died a natural death, when it was vividly and painfully recalled to my mind by its actual recurrence.

Our second girl, a delicate little creature of about six years old, who, since the departure of her nurse, had slept in a cot in the same room as ourselves, woke me up in the middle of the night by exclaiming, in a frightened, plaintive voice, close to my ear,--

“Papa! papa! do you hear the footsteps? Some one is coming up the stairs!”

The tone was one of terror, and it roused my wife and myself instantly. The child was cold, and shaking all over with alarm, and I placed her by her mother’s side before I left the room to ascertain if there was any truth in her assertion.

“Arthur, Arthur! I hear them as plainly as can be,” exclaimed my wife, who was as terrified as the child. “They are on the second landing, There is no mistake about it this time.”

I listened at the half-opened door, and was compelled to agree with her. From whatever cause they arose, footsteps were to be distinctly heard upon the staircase--sometimes advancing, and then retreating, as though afraid to venture farther; but, still, not to be mistaken for anything but the sound of feet.

With a muttered exclamation, I seized my revolver.

“Don’t be alarmed,” I said, hurriedly; “there is not the slightest occasion for it. And, whatever happens, do not venture on the landing. I shall be quite safe.”

And without further preamble, only desirous to settle the business once for all, and give the intruders on my domains a sharp lesson on the laws of _meum_ and _tuum_, I sprang down the staircase. I had not stayed to strike a light; but the moon was shining blandly in at the uncurtained passage window, and the landing was as bright as day. Yet I saw no one there. The thief (if thief it were) must have already taken the alarm, and descended to the lowest regions. I fancied I could detect the same footsteps, but more distinctly marked, walk by me with a hurried, frightened movement, accompanied by a quick, sobbing breath; and, as I paused to consider what such a mystery could indicate, a pair of heavily-shod feet rushed past me, or seemed to rush, upon the stairs. I heard an angry shout commingle with a faint cry of terror below the landing whereon I stood; then, the discharge of a firearm, followed by a low groan of pain--and all was still.

Dark and mysterious though it appeared to be, I did not dream of ascribing the circumstance to any but a natural cause. But there was evidently no time for hesitation, and in another moment I had flown down the stairs, and stood in the moonlighted hall. It was empty! Chairs, table, hatstand, stood in their accustomed places; the children’s garden hats and my fishing tackle were strewn about; but of animated nature there was not a sign, of the recent scuffle not a trace!

All was quiet, calm, and undisturbed, and, as I gazed around in mute bewilderment, the perspiration stood in thick drops upon my brow and chin.

My first collected thought was for my wife and the best means by which to prevent her sharing the mystification and dread which I have no hesitation in confessing that I now experienced; but as I turned to remount the staircase, I caught sight of some dark mass lying at the further end of the passage, and going up to it, found to my surprise the body of Dawson, cold and insensible.

The explanation of the mystery was before me--so I immediately determined. The man, whom I knew to be replete with superstitious terror, imagining he heard the unaccountable noise of footsteps, had evidently supplied that which had reached my ear, and in his alarm at my approach had discharged his firearm at the supposed marauder. Pleasant for me if he had taken a better aim: So I thought as I dragged his unconscious body into his bedroom, and busied myself by restoring it to sensation.

As soon as he opened his eyes, and was sufficiently recovered to answer me, I asked,--

“What on earth made you discharge your gun, Dawson? I must take it out of your keeping, if you are so careless about using it.”

“I didn’t fire, sir.”

“Nonsense! you don’t know what you are talking about. I heard the shot distinctly as I came downstairs.”

“I am only telling you the truth, sir. There is the fowling-piece in that corner. I have not drawn the trigger since you last loaded it.”

I went up and examined the weapon. What Dawson had said was correct. It had not been used.

“Then who did fire?” I said, impatiently. “I could swear to having heard the report.”

“And so could I, sir. It was that that knocked me over.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, sir, pray take the mistress and the children away from this place as soon as possible. It’s no robbers that go up and down these stairs of nights, sir. It’s something much worse than that.”

“Dawson, if you begin to talk such folly to me, I’ll discharge you on the spot. I believe the whole lot of you have gone mad.”

“But listen to my story, sir. I had gone to bed last night, as tired as possible, and thinking of nothing but getting a good long sleep. The first thing that roused me was some one trying the handle of my door. I lay and listened to it for some time before I was fully awake, and then I thought maybe you wanted something out of my room, and was trying not to wake me; so I got out of bed and opened the door. But there was nobody there, though I fancied I heard some one breathing hard a few yards off from me. Well, I thought to myself, sir, this is all nonsense; so I came back to bed again, and lay down. But I couldn’t sleep; for directly the door was closed, I heard the footsteps again, creep, creeping along the passage and the wall, as though some one was crouching and feeling his way as he went. Then the handle of the door began to creak and turn again--I see it turn, sir, with my own eyes, backwards and forwards, a dozen times in the moonlight; and then I heard a heavier step come stumbling downstairs, and there seemed to be a kind of scuffle. I couldn’t stand it no longer, so I opened the door again; and then, as I’m a living Christian, sir, I heard a woman’s voice say ‘Father!’ with a kind of sob, and as the sound was uttered there came a report from the first landing, and the sound of a fall, and a deep groan in the passage below. And it seemed to go right through me, and curdle my blood, and I fell all of a heap where you found me. And it’s nothing natural, sir, you may take my word for it; and harm will come of your stopping in this house.”

So saying, poor Dawson, who seemed in real earnest, fell back on his pillow with a heavy sigh.

“Dawson,” I said, critically, “what did you eat for supper last night?”

“You’re never going to put down what I’ve told you, sir, to supper. I took nothing but a little cold meat, upon my word. And I was as sensible, till that shot knocked me over, as you are this moment.”

“Do you mean to tell me that you seriously believe the report of a firearm could have reached your ears without one having been discharged?”

“But didn’t you say you heard it yourself, sir?”

This knocked me over, and I did not know what to answer him. In the attempt to allay what I considered his unreasonable fear, I had forgotten my own experience in the matter. And I knew that I had heard, or imagined I heard, a shot fired, and it would be very difficult for any one to persuade me I was mistaken. Still, though I held no belief in supernatural agencies, I was an earnest student of the philosophical and metaphysical school of Germany, and acquainted with all the revealed wonders of magnetism and animal electricity. It was impossible to say whether some such effect as I have described might not have been produced upon my brain by the reflection of the fear or fancy on that of my servant; and that as he had imagined the concussion of firearms, so I might have instantaneously received the impression of his mind. It was a nice question for argument, and not one to be thought over at that moment. All my present business lay in the effort to disabuse Dawson’s mind of the reality of the shock it had received.

“I said I fancied I heard something like the report of a firearm; but as none had been fired, of course I must have been mistaken. Come, Dawson, I must go back, or Mrs. Delamere will wonder what has become of me. I conclude you are not such a coward as to be afraid to be left by yourself?”

“I never feared a man in my life, sir; but the strongest heart can’t stand up against spirits.”

“Spirits!” I exclaimed, angrily. “I wonder what on earth you will talk to me about next? Now, I’ll tell you what it is, Dawson--if I hear anything more of this, or am disturbed again at night by your folly, I’ll pack you back to London without a character. Do you understand me?”

“I understand you, sir,” the man answered, humbly; and thereupon I left him to himself.

But, as I reascended the staircase, I was not satisfied either with my own half-formed solution of the mystery, or my servant’s reception of my rebuke. He evidently would prefer dismissal to passing such another night. I could read the resolution in his face, although he had not expressed it in so many words. When I reached my wife’s room, I was still more surprised. Janie and the child lay in a profound slumber. I had expected to find both of them in a state of anxious terror to learn the meaning of the noise that was going on below; but they had evidently heard nothing. This welcome fact, however, only tended to confirm me in the belief I had commenced to entertain, of the whole circumstance being due to some, perhaps yet undiscovered, phase of brain reading, and I fell to sleep, resolved to make a deeper study of the marvels propounded by Mesmer and Kant. When I awoke, with the bright June sun streaming in at the windows, I had naturally parted with much of the impression of the night before. It is hard to associate any gloomy or unnatural thoughts with the unlimited glory of the summer’s sunshine, that streams into every nook and cranny, and leaves no shadows anywhere. On this particular morning it seemed to have cleared the cobwebs off all our brains. The child had forgotten all about the occurrence of the night. I was, as usual, ready to laugh away all ghostly fears and fancies; and even Janie seemed to regard the matter as one of little moment.

“What was the matter last night, Arthur, dear?” she asked, when the subject recurred to her memory. “I was so sleepy I couldn’t keep awake till you came up again.”

“Didn’t you hear the fearful battle I held with the goblins in the hall?” I demanded, gaily, though I put the question with a purpose--“the shots that were exchanged between us, and the groans of the defeated, as they slunk away into their haunted coal-cellars and cupboards?”

“Arthur, what nonsense! Was there any noise?”