Old Grimshaw’s Ghost; or, Christmas Gambols at Haroldstone Hall

Introduction

Fielding, Vernon. “Old Grimshaw’s Ghost; or, Christmas Gambols at Haroldstone Hall.” The Union Jack 1.10 (1880): 157-160; 1.11 (1880): 174-176; 1.12 (1880): 182-184. Print.

Of the many stories included in The Union Jack, Vernon Fielding’s “Old Grimshaw’s Ghost” is a fun example valuable not only for its quality of writing but for its depiction of Christmas traditions in England during the Victorian period. There is a story within the story, offering a multi-level rendering of an entertaining tale and capturing the mood associated with ghost stories very well.

Like similar publications in the periodical, “Old Grimshaw’s Ghost” was serialized, its release spanning three issues. Each week’s contribution cuts off at a compelling cliff hanger. While The Union Jack often featured adventure stories overseas or in exotic lands, this tale is more tame in its familiar setting of England. The story becomes extraordinary when the legend of a ghost haunting the Hall is shared at a Christmas party, casting a shadow over the holiday festivities and causing confusion and fear. The tension is finally released as the “ghost’s” true nature is revealed.

Perhaps the greatest contribution to Victorian literature that “Old Grimshaw’s Ghost” has to offer is its rosy descriptions of Christmas-time festivities. While the reader is pulled into the mystery shrouding the ghost’s appearances and the uncertainty of the guests, he or she is also treated to traditional celebrations, including the performance of mummeries and the holding of masquerade balls. Family interaction and allusions to the class and professional systems during this time are also apparent in Fielding’s frightful tale.

Transcription

Old Grimshaw’s Ghost; or, Christmas Gambols at Haroldstone Hall

Old Grimshaw's Ghost; or, Christmas Gambols At Haroldstone Hall

OLD GRIMSHAW’S GHOST; OR, CHRISTMAS GAMBOLS AT HAROLDSTONE HALL.

BY VERNON FIELDING.

CHAPTER I.—AN INTRODUCTION TO HAROLDSTONE HALL AND ITS INHABITANTS

AT that period of the year, when rain, wind, and frost, by their combined powers, have stripped the trees of their foliage and plucked even the last rose of autumn from its stem, a large merry party of all ages were collected under the hospitable roof of the warm-hearted generous Sir Gilbert Ilderton, of Haroldstone Hall, prepared for a Christmas campaign of fun and jollity. Sir Gilbert should be described before his mansion. He stood six foot two in his stockings. His figure was tall, stout, and well-built ; his countenance oblong, with blue eyes, large and expressive, a longish well-formed nose, and a mouth from which a benignant smile was seldom absent. He might be taken as the beau ideal of an English country gentleman.

His eldest son, Gilbert, a fine handsome young fellow, very like him in appearance, was at college, and soon about to come of age. His next was in the army ; and the third, Charley, the delight of his mother, the favourite of the whole household and of the neighbourhood, was serving his country at sea, in the exalted position of midshipman. But never mind, he intended some day to be an admiral, and to thrash the enemies of Old England with right good will.

There were several other younger boys, Harry, David, and Tom, who were at home for their holidays ; and three daughters, known to the country round as the “Three Graces”—fair, gentle, and refined.

Then there was Lady Ilderton, a true English matron, kind, and gentle, and thoughtful, dignified and courteous, and utterly above the littlenesses of common minds. She was the very antipodes of vulgarity, yet was full of animation, and could keep every one alive and make them happy—at least, it was their own fault if they were not so.

The Hall at Christmas was always full of guests, for Sir Gilbert delighted to see joyous faces around him, and relations and friends, old and young. The life and moving spirit of the house was a certain Mr. Giles Markland. Everybody called him Cousin Giles. All the young people not learned in genealogies thought that he was their cousin, though they didn’t know how. He was, however, a cousin of Sir Gilbert’s, who valued him more for the qualities of honesty, simplicity, and kindness of heart which he possessed, than on account of his relationship. The boys delighted in him, for he put them up to all sorts of games and amusements ; and when they wanted to know what to do, they had only to apply to him, and he was sure to suggest something pleasant.

Besides Harry, David, and Tom Ilderton, three of their schoolfellows had been invited to the Hall. Ned Lightfoot, who was Harry’s friend, Jack Masson, who was David’s, and Nat Spankie, who had been asked as the companion of Tom—not exactly to assist in keeping him in order, for they were both of the same kidney, and it seemed wonderful, as Uncle Giles observed, that they didn’t break their necks every day in the week during the countless pranks they took it into their heads to play. Of course there were numerous older guests, ladies and gentlemen of various ages, for the mansion was calculated to hold, on occasion, an almost unlimited number. The worthy Sir Gilbert was never so happy as when he had his house full. Cousin Giles went and came as he pleased. When he was away, letters always followed him, asking him to come back; and when he was there, his arms and coat-tails were held too tightly to let him get away again without violent struggles. Last time he arrived he brought a friend with him, whom he introduced as Mr. Alec Fairbairn.

Greater contrasts than Cousin Giles and his friend could scarcely be found. Whereas Cousin Giles was somewhat short, and round, and comfortable, and had a merry smiling face, with a ruddy complexion, short hair standing up, and whiskers slightly tinged with grey; his friend, Alec Fairbairn, was tall and swarthy, with long black hair hanging over his shoulders, his cheeks so thin that Cousin Giles used to tell a story about a barber once shaving him, who cut his finger through one of them, when putting it inside that he might scrape off the stubble. His eyes were dark and solemn-looking on ordinary occasions, though they lighted up sometimes when his well-formed mouth, his redeeming feature, was wreathed with smiles. But Alec Fairbairn was not an ordinary person. He was known to be a poet and a professor of science, and was supposed to be a novelist. At all events, few people could beat him, so Uncle Giles declared, at telling a good story.

Among the ladies, was a Miss Jane Otterburn, a niece of Lady Ilderton’s, a small, active, intelligent young lady, well out of her teens, and acknowledged by all to be very pretty. Captain Fotheringsail, of the navy, a thorough sailor from top to toe—or, as he would have said, from truck to keelson, must not be forgotten. He was not supposed to be a marrying man, because he loved his ship so well when he had one; but opinions were divided on that subject. Not that the boys, who had plenty of other things to think of, troubled their heads about such nonsense, as they were employed from early morning till bedtime in carrying out the various plans devised for them by Cousin Giles and his friend, who, though he was tall, and lank, and a poet, took no small amount of pains to make himself useful to them.

By-the-bye, Miss Susan Langdon—a distant relation of Sir Gilbert, and as different as possible to Jane Otterburn—must not be overlooked. She was good-natured, and fair, and fat, and deliciously dull, as Cousin Giles used to say. She was a general and well-satisfied butt; for she was, he added, too obtuse to observe the shafts aimed at her, or too good-natured to mind them when they struck her harder than usual. She had a brother, Simon, possessed of the same characteristics, who always chuckled and rubbed his hands whenever he discovered any tricks played on Susan, not perceiving that similar ones were practised on himself. However, the individual members of the party must be made to appear as they are required.

Christmas Day arrived. Everybody walked over the hard, crisp ground to the church, which was decked with holly and bright red berries ; and there were appropriate inscriptions over the organ gallery ; and the sermon inculcated on the congregation peace and good-will towards each other. No one could doubt that Sir Gilbert practised this, as they saw the pleased countenances of the villagers as he passed among them. Then there was luncheon, and a brisk walk taken by the younger people—Cousin Giles leading—among hedges no longer green, and woods denuded of leaves, and by ponds to see how soon the ice was likely to bear ; and a dozen or more cottages were visited, and gifts bestowed on old people unable to move out, the party singing joyous carols ; and Susan Langdon laughing, she knew not why, except that she felt happy ; and Simon trying to play her a trick, but not having the wit to invent one.

Then came the dinner—old English fare, but better cooked than formerly—roast beef, and turkey, and plum-pudding, and mince-pies, all decked with holly ; and lighted brandy to warm the pieces and puddings ; and no lack of generous wine of the best ; and a blessing asked by the minister, present with his family.

Little attendance was demanded from the servants when the cloth was removed, for they, too, were enjoying Heaven’s bounteous gifts, bestowed through their kind master’s hands, in the servants’ hall below. This was decked with holly ; and at one end, with the aid of screens and boughs, a graceful stage had been formed. The meals, in dining-room and hall, over, voices outside announced the arrival of the carol-singers, who, being speedily admitted, after partaking of refreshment, were arranged on the stage. The whole party from the drawing-room now assembled in the hall, where chairs and benches had been placed in long rows, to hear them, Sir Gilbert taking his seat in front, with purse in hand, giving many an encouraging and approving smile at the sweet sounds produced by their bells.

When the ringers retired, the curtain dropped ; but was speedily drawn up again, and the oddest possible little dwarf was seen, with a huge head encircled by a crown, and a bowl of barley porridge before him, which his goggle eyes were regarding with disconsolate glances, as if he was longing for better fare. After his majesty had produced roars of laughter by his grimaces, the curtain fell ; but almost instantly again rising, the king appeared, with pipe in hand, and a glass of punch by his side ; but after trying to sing, in a cracked voice, “Old King Cole was a merry old soul,” as he smoked and sipped, his head nodded, his nose grew red, his eyes half closed, his visage elongated, when Sir Gilbert, considering that he was not keeping up his kingly dignity, ordered him to disappear. Down came the curtain, and, Presto ! he had vanished. When it rose an instant afterwards, a band of mummers, to the great satisfaction of the younger part of the audience, next marched on to the stage. There was Father Christmas, and his attendant sprites—Hail, Frost, and Snow, and heroes innumerable, dressed in paper helmets, and armour decked with spangles and ribbons, and swords of wood, and long spears—altogether a motley group. The Duke of Wellington and Napoleon Buonaparte, Nelson, Soult, and Blucher, the Black Prince and Julius Caesar, the Duke of Marlborough and Richard of the Lion Heart, and numerous other men of renown of all ages, brought together, with delightful disregard to historical correctness. They fought one with the other till all fell mortally wounded, the Great Duke of modern days alone surviving ; when a new character rushed in—a doctor, with a nostrum to cure all complaints ; and applying it to their noses, with some words of a cabalistic character, which sounded like, “Take some of this riff-raff up they sniff-snaff,” he set each dead hero on his feet, ready to fight another day.

“ That gentleman would have wonderful practice if he could be as successful among the public as he has been to-night,” observed Cousin Giles, while Sir Gilbert was bestowing his largesse on the performers.

“ Let’s have it all over again !” “ Encore ! encore !” was shouted by the younger members of the audience ; and, not unwillingly, the actors, with the utmost gravity, went through their parts without the slightest variation of word or gesture.

Tea over, the juveniles were invited into the dining-room, where, at the far end of the table, a hideous witch was seen presiding over a huge bowl, from which suddenly, as the lights were withdrawn, blue flames burst forth, and the witch, her long arms extending over the bowl, grew more hideous still, and a voice was heard inviting them to partake of the contents. “Hot raisins, sweet raisins, nice burning raisins.” But few hung back, for the voice was not unfriendly, and was easily recognized as that of Cousin Giles ; and when they had seen their own faces turn blue, and yellow, and green, and the raisins were eaten up, the witch sunk down under the table, and Cousin Giles popped up.

Then came games of all sorts, old and young gentlemen joining with equal zest, led by Cousin Giles and Alec Fairbairn. Now all were silent to listen to, and many to join in, a Christmas Carol, sweetly sung ; and family prayers were held, and the Scriptures read, and Christmas Day was over, and all retired, with grateful hearts, and kindly thoughts of one another, to rest.

CHAPTER II.—A TALE OF A GHOST.

THERE is said to be a skeleton in some out-of-the-way cupboard of every house. There was one at Haroldstone Hall. No one liked to speak of it though. Even the jovial Sir Gilbert shunned the subject. The morning had been spent on the ice. Several of the ladies had put on skates for the first time, and the gentlemen had exerted themselves to teach them, until all were tolerably tired. Notwithstanding this, however, when the party were assembled after dinner games of all sorts were carried on, for the benefit of the younger members of the party. They had a jolly game of blind-man’s buff, when Cousin Giles, Alec Fairbairn, and even Jane Otterburn, consented in their turn to act blind-man. It was great fun to see Cousin Giles leaping about in the most extraordinary fashion, darting here and there, and seldom failing before long to catch one of his tormentors, though in a short time he again got caught himself. Alec Fairbairn, however, caused quite as much merriment by his extraordinary antics, greatly resembling as he did a huge daddy long-legs, or a spider rushing on its prey. Jane Otterburn was in reality the most active of the party, though she glided about in a more graceful way, soon managing to catch some one, aided by her sense of hearing, however, rather than by her activity.

“ The game over, what say you to a story,” cried Cousin Giles, “ that we may rest ourselves after our exertions?”

“ A story! a story!” exclaimed a dozen boyish voices.

“ Who shall tell it? that’s the question,” said Cousin Giles.

“ Miss Otterburn, will you?”

Jane shook her head. Perhaps it was that Captain Fotheringsail had just then seated himself by her side, and was saying something which appeared to interest her.

“ Then Fairbairn, we must get a story from you,” said Cousin Giles.

“ Yes! yes! Let’s have a jolly story from Mr. Fairbairn. Do Mr. Fairbairn, tell us one,” cried the boys, gathering round him.

Alec Fairbairn looked bashful, but at length took the seat to which Cousin Giles led him, in a part of the large semicircle formed round the fire. Sir Gilbert took a chair on one side, and Lady Ilderston on the other.

“ We’re all listening; do begin,” cried the boys.

“ Go ahead, Alec!” said Cousin Giles.

Alec Fairbairn, after having been silent for a moment, as if collecting his thoughts, began,--

“ Some of you may have read ‘The Castle of Otranto,’ and ‘The Old English Baron.’ True as you must have thought those tales of mystery, they are not so true as the story I am about to narrate.

“ There was an old, old family, whose ancestors were among the Norman Conquerors of Britain, and who had ever since owned the same estate those ancestors had won by the sword. At length a certain Sir Hugh Oswald inherited the property.

“ Sir Hugh was a bold knight, who had gained credit and renown in many a fierce battle. He was proud of his family, proud of his estate, and prouder yet of himself.

“ It chanced that his head keeper had been shot in an affray with some deer-poachers, when the subordinate keepers had, like dastards, run away. On hearing of their cowardly conduct, Sir Hugh swore that none of them should be raised to the vacant post. It was necessary, however, to fill it. Sir Hugh was seated in his justice-room, when a stranger was announced. He was habited in a hunting-frock of Lincoln green, with a leathern belt; he wore a round-topped forester’s hat on his head, and a long hunting-knife stuck in his leathern belt. High boots encased his legs, while in his hand he held a huge spear, which must have required a strong arm to wield it.

“ ‘I come to offer myself as your head keeper, Sir Hugh,’ said the stranger. ‘Here are documents which will prove that I possess the necessary knowledge and qualification for the post.’

“ Sir Hugh glanced over the papers.

“ ‘Your name, my friend?’ he asked.

“ ‘Grimshaw,’ answered the forester.

“ ‘You look grim enough to keep the boldest poacher in awe!’ observed the knight.

“ ‘I take your remark as a compliment, Sir Hugh,’ said the forester.

“ ‘I engage you,’ said the knight; ‘the steward will put you in possession of the house left vacant by the late keeper.’

The stranger bowed, and receiving a note from the knight stalked out of the room.

“ ‘He’s a bold churl that, and will keep the rest in order,’ said the knight to himself.

“ Grimshaw, the new keeper, was duly installed in his office. The poachers came as they had been wont to do, to carry off Sir Hugh’s deer, but soon found that they had made a mistake, and more than one paid the penalty with his life. The new keeper not only kept the poachers in awe, but everybody else on the estate. The steward paid him the greatest respect, and even Sir Hugh dare find no fault with any of his acts. Mysterious whispers were uttered among the retainers; they said he was not what he seemed—he had got a footing on the property, and it would be a hard task to drive him out.

“ A report, long forgotten, that Sir Hugh’s title to the estate was not so sound as it should be, was revived; some went even so far as to aver that old Grimshaw was the rightful owner; but how that exactly was, no one knew. These rumours at length reached Sir Hugh’s ears, and disgusted him greatly. Though formerly a cheery, jovial man, he became morose and silent, no longer taking pleasure in the sports of the field; nor did he even associate, as was his former custom, with the magnates of the county. Why did not he dismiss his head keeper unless there was some truth in what was said? Whether or not the keeper heard these reports it was hard to ascertain, as no one ventured to ask him.

" It was a stormy night at the end of autumn; dark clouds covered the sky; not a star was seen; the thunder roared, the lightning flashed, and the wind howled through the boughs of the trees, scattering the leaves which had hitherto clung to them. The rain came down in heavy showers, occasionally ceasing for a short time. It was a night that poachers would have selected for killing the deer or other game. Notwithstanding the inclemency of the weather, Sir Hugh, with his cloak wrapped round him, which might have concealed any arms he carried, was observed to sally forth into the park—an unwonted proceeding on his part. He walked quickly on until the lights streaming from the windows of his mansion were lost to view. Yet further into the depths of the forest he went. He came to an open glade, when he saw by a flash of lightning which just then darted from the clouds a figure approaching. He recognized his keeper. Drawing his sword and folding his cloak around his arm, he stepped rapidly on.

“ ‘Defend yourself, whoever you are,’ he exclaimed; ‘the survivor shall be the owner of the estate.’

“ ‘Whether I live or die, I intend to hold my own,’ answered the pretended keeper in a hollow voice, presenting as he spoke his hunting-spear to defend himself. But Sir Hugh, with an activity for which he had been celebrated in his youth, springing on one side, rushed forward with his drawn sword, which he plunged into the breast of his antagonist, who, with his dying breath, groaned out, ‘ I’ll, notwithstanding, have my rights. In generations yet to come my spirit will wander over these broad lands and the mansion you now inhabit, when you and I have met in another world beyond the grave, while no son of yours shall ever inherit the property you have wrongfully withheld from me and mine.’ The moment the keeper was dead, Sir Hugh, conscience-stricken at his act, hurried from the spot, and reaching the house, he passed unnoticed and shut himself up in his room. The next day the body of old Grimshaw was discovered, where it had fallen. Some said he had committed suicide; but as no weapon with which he could have killed himself had been found, others averred that he had been murdered by the poachers ; but the truth was more than suspected, though no one ventured to accuse Sir Hugh of the deed. From that day forward, till his death, he lived a solitary life. His sons were killed in the wars. His daughters, once fair and blooming, withered and died. Sir Hugh, who took to the bottle to drown his conscience, sank into an unhonoured grave, his brother’s son succeeding to the estate. Notwithstanding that another family inhabited the mansion, old Grimshaw’s ghost appeared, it was stated, at intervals to several of the members ; and on stormy nights, when one of them was returning home later than usual, it might be seen stalking among the trees ; and it frequently on other occasions was met in the gloom of the evening, either at the further end of a long passage, or gliding forth from the doorway of an unoccupied room. The maid-servants saw it most frequently, and now and then it appeared to one of the children, or to some timid young gentleman on a visit to the hall ; but though not one of the grown-up members of the family could say that they had positively seen it, few doubted but that it was a fearful reality.”

“ Thank you, Mr. Fairbairn, thank you,” said several of the party in rather doubtful tones.

“ What was the name of the estate owned by the unfortunate Sir Hugh?” asked Simon Langdon.

“ To that question I cannot reply,” said Mr. Fairbairn in a solemn tone.

It should be understood that he had narrated a much longer tale than has here been given, and in language which had a thrilling effect on his audience.

“ Where did you get that story from?” asked Sir Gilbert, in a grave tone.

“ I most probably heard it; or I may possibly have read it in a tale of fiction,” answered Mr. Fairbairn.

(To be continued.)

OLD GRIMSHAW’S GHOST; OR, CHRISTMAS GAMBOLS AT HAROLDSTONE HALL.

BY VERNON FIELDING. (Continued from p. 160.)

AFTER two or three other tales had been told, Cousin Giles cried out,--

“ Now, boys, what do you say to a game of hide and seek? But remember the story of the old oak chest, and don’t get caught in a trap.”

While the boys were making their arrangements, Cousin Giles went up to Alec Fairbairn, who was talking to Jane Otterburn.

“ I say, Alec, you put your foot in it just now. You know the story is connected with Haroldstone Hall. A Sir Hugh did once own the estate, and it used to be believed that old Grimshaw—you’ve hit upon the right name there—really haunted the place. How did you get hold of it?”

“ Why, now I think of it, I believe that you told it to me yourself,” answered Alec Fairbairn, “although till now I had forgotten all about the matter.”

“ What this very house!” exclaimed Jane, with a look of astonishment, if not of alarm.

“ Yes, if ancient housekeepers and superannuated butlers can be believed, old Grimshaw’s ghost is to be seen stalking through the hall, no one daring to speak to it, or attempting to stop it. You must understand that the family have a different version of the story, but I believe that neither Sir Gilbert nor Lady Ilderton like it to be talked about.”

Cousin Giles didn’t say any more at the moment, as he was summoned by his young friends to make arrangements for the proposed game of hide and seek.

They divided into two parties. The Hall was made the place of rendezvous, and the hiding party were allowed five minutes to conceal themselves as they thought best. Cousin Giles joined the hiders, Alec Fairbairn the seekers. Jane Otterburn declined playing, though warmly pressed by her young friends ; among the latter was Simon Langdon. There was a great feint of rushing about in a party to seek for the hiders, who had already been discovered, when Simon Langdon, who, being a big fellow, considered it was incumbent on him to lead the way, having gone into one of the long corridors, came back with his hair on end, exclaiming,--“ Oh ! oh ! Old Grimshaw himself !”

“ Come along, then, boys. Let us rout out old Grimshaw,” cried out Cousin Giles.

The boys pressed forward, for they didn’t mind accompanying him.

When just, however, in the middle of the passage, in the midst of the darkness, they all averred they saw a ghost stalk by, habited as old Grimshaw was described to have been.

“ On, boys, on!” cried Cousin Giles. “ We’ll catch him.” But when the spot was reached, nothing was discovered.

How he had come, how he had gone—if there was any one to come or go—it was impossible to ascertain. There was a blank wall on one side, and a blank wall on the other, and Simon Langdon expressed his opinion that the ghost had vanished out of the window, for there was a window at the farther end. There were, to be sure, two doors, opposite each other, some distance from the window, but they were both locked ; and as only real ghosts could get through closed doors, this was a strong proof that what they had seen was a reality. After this, the boys appeared more than usually sociable. No one wishing to continue the search alone. All were so obliging as to ask their companions to accompany them. As it was, two of the party had most carefully concealed themselves, till they grew hungry and came out. At length they reassembled in the hall, and were chatting away about the ghost when Sir Giles came by.

“Nonsense, boys,” he said. “Pray let me hear no more on that subject.”

CHAPTER III.—PREPARATIONS FOR TWELFTH NIGHT.

THE story of old Grimshaw’s ghost was not again alluded to in the presence of any of the Ilderton family, as the subject was evidently distasteful to them, but it formed the subject of conversation among the guests when only two or three were together, and at length it reached the servants’ hall, where, of course, it was eagerly received. Lampit the butler, however, shook his head when it was alluded to, and advised that it should not be talked about.

“ It may be true, or it may not be true, but there can no harm come by letting it alone,” he observed.

Notwithstanding the wisdom of this remark, neither in the servants’ hall nor above the stairs would people let it alone, till at length many began to feel uncomfortable as night came on, and preferred having a companion when they had to traverse the long passages and corridors, which reached from wing to wing of the mansion. Some of the young ladies were far from comfortable. Even Jane Otterburn, who had been brought up in Scotland, having a spice of superstition in her composition, didn’t know what to think of it, and Susan Langdon declared that when she had gone to her room, the door suddenly burst open, and that when she went to shut it she thought she saw by the moonlight streaming through the window a strange figure moving along the passage in the distance. She rushed into Jane’s room, who, being a courageous girl, though imaginative in the extreme, accompanied her in search of the apparition, and both thought they saw it vanishing through the window at the farther end of the passage. Poor Susan was ready to faint, and would have done so had not Jane supported her.

When, two nights after, Jane Otterburn herself saw the figure appear and disappear, she was, to say the least of it, extremely puzzled.

The boys all the time never managed to get a sight of the ghost, though they were unanimous in declaring that they wished they could, as they were determined to lay it in the most effectual manner they could devise. Each of them kept a jug of cold water ready to throw over it. Some were armed with squirts, and others with pea-shooters, and Ned Lightfoot, who was a pugnacious character, kept a good thick stick by his bedside.

It should be mentioned that on Christmas Day Sir Giles and Lady Ilderton had had their hearts made glad, by the announcement that the ship to which their sailor son Charley belonged was expected every day in England, when, as he hoped to get leave, he might appear at any moment at the Hall. Several of the proposed amusements were put off till his arrival—among them a fancy ball, or masquerade rather, which, it was settled, should take place on Twelfth Night, should he write word that he could come in time.

“ Hurray ! Charley is coming !” cried Gilbert, on opening a letter at the breakfast table. “ Yes ; he’ll be here by the fifth at the latest ; and depend upon it, if any one is inclined to be slow he’ll stir them up.”

Charley was a general favourite, though it must be acknowledged that when he went to sea he was a somewhat harum-scarum fellow.

Now great preparations were being made for the ball, and the costumes which were to be worn at it. There were to be knights in armour, and a Robin Hood and Maid Marian, and Turks and Greeks, and Albanians and Circassians, a Hamlet and an Othello ; a Rolla and a young Norval, and a Virgin of the Sun, and Night and Morning, and the Four Seasons, and a harlequin, and a clown, and columbine—indeed, it was difficult to say what characters were not to appear ; but the best of it was that no one knew who was to be who, except perhaps Cousin Giles, Alec Fairbairn, and Gilbert, who were among the initiated.

The ball-room was a magnificent hall—the pride of the county—and that was to be decked with evergreens, with lamps placed amidst them, and bowers of flowers, which the hothouses could alone provide at that season of the year.

“ It would be great fun,” said Cousin Giles to Alec Fairbairn, as they were busy over some of their plans. “ I don’t think really that Sir Gilbert would be annoyed. What vexes him is to have the matter taken in earnest. I rather fancy that he doesn’t believe the story himself. The dress is that of a society of Foresters in this part of the country, and I can easily procure it.”

The fifth of January came, and the preparations were in a forward state, but Charley had not arrived, though Gilbert didn’t seem much concerned, and said he was sure that he would make his appearance at all events in time for the ball.

CHAPTER IV.—THE MASQUERADE, AND AN ACCOUNT OF THE PART THE GHOST PLAYED AT IT.

IT was Twelfth Night, and people from all the country round were assembling at Haroldstone Hall, some few in sober modern costume, but the greater number in all varieties of fantastic dresses. A lady abbess came chaperoning a columbine, an Italian flower girl and a fair Circassian ; a magnificently robed pasha supported on one arm a demure Quakeress, and on the other a sombre-clad nun, but some glittering trimming which could be seen under her cloak, showed that she was not likely to remain long in that costume ; a virgin of the sun entered arm in arm with Don Juan, and a Greek pirate with the Maid of Orleans ; a Circassian chief and a Russian noble were hand and glove ; and a bog-trotting Irishman, with a dudeen in his mouth and a shillelagh in his fist, had tucked under his arm that of a somewhat stout Queen Elizabeth ; Sir Gilbert and Lady Ilderton appeared as a gentleman and lady of the time of Henry the Eighth ; and their daughters, with another young lady, as the four seasons, without masks.

The fun began, and every effort was made to discover who was who, but so well disguised were many of the guests, that this was often no easy task. Not only animals, but even senseless objects were represented, and among other things a huge cask glided into the room. Remarks not over-complimentary to the talent of the occupant were made as it circled its way on, as if moved by human hands outside, in the usual fashion of making a cask progress, when a voice invariably replied,--

“ I may be stupid, for I’m a butt for the wit of others.”

After turning round and round through the room for some time, resting occasionally near some couple engaged in interesting conversation—a voice from within seldom failing to make some appropriate comment—it stopped near one of the evergreen bowers, exhibiting a smiling ruddy countenance with a huge mouth to the company, from which a loud peal of laughter burst forth. From that moment it remained stationary, and when, soon afterwards, a clown, who had been inquisitively prying into every corner, began to knock at it, and at length attempted to get in, it was found to be empty. He on this set to work to trundle it away, and as if fatigued, stopped again near the wall, to be out of the way. A columbine passing engaged his attention, when, to his apparent dismay, and the astonishment of the guests, the tub began to move on of itself, he following, and pretending to be unable to overtake it, while he shouted,--

“ Hillo ! you mesmerized butt you ! Stop ! stop ! Hillo ! you spirit of a tun ! a pipe ! a cask ! or whatever you are, or call yourself, stop, I say ! stop ! ”

But the butt would not stop till it reached a deep recess, when he overtook it, and pulling away at it upset it, when, as before, it was seen to be empty.

Meantime an admirably dressed hunchbacked gipsy had been going about telling fortunes. Although she had no mask, so well was her face disguised that no one seemed to know who she was, whether old or young, or tall or short. She had not to seek people out, but one after the other they came up to her, and with wonderful accuracy she told them who they were, and mostly what were their aims and wishes, what they had done, and what they proposed doing. Among others a jovial sailor rolled up, pipe in mouth, and asked to what part of the world he should be next sent ? How long he should remain ? and when he came back, whether he should find his black-eyed Susan faithful and true ? What was the answer does not matter. The gipsy’s conversation with the sailor was interrupted by a cry from several of the guests ; and from one end of the room there stalked forth a figure in a suit of Lincoln green, with hunting cap on head, and spear in hand. The face of the figure was properly whitened, but there was a jauntiness in the walk, and a twinkle in the eyes, as the ghost moved among the crowd, which soon betrayed the true character of the supposed visitant from the grave.

He had not, however, advanced far before the eyes of the guests were turned towards the other end, where there appeared a figure in a similar costume, but more worn and stained, what was evidently a winding sheet trailing behind. The countenance was deadly pale, and there was an unnatural glare in the eyes which it was painful to look at, while the features were rigid and fixed in an extraordinary manner. A curious halo or mist it seemed surrounded the figure as it stalked along, turning neither to the right hand nor to the left, nor appearing to notice any one in the room.

No one ventured to speak to it and ask whence it came ; but two or three gentlemen, who had come in characters of a doubtful nature, crept hurriedly out of its way. One was in black with a pair of small chamois horns on his head, hoofs on his feet, and a long tail which he carried gracefully coiled around his arm. Another was a wood demon, a green monster with wings, and claws, and horns ; he was accompanied by a troop of imps, all of different colours, though bearing many of his characteristics. While a third represented a leaden-blue coloured demon, such as is produced in the unwholesome imaginations of German poets. Everything about him was blue—watch, snuff-box, and tooth-pick case. He got out of the way with even more haste than the rest, to the great amusement of the little imps, who didn’t appear to have the same dread of the awful-looking being as the rest.

On it came, slowly and silently, people making a broad way for it, and some even hurrying out of the room, with looks indicative of terror. The bright lights grew dim as it passed—so many afterwards declared. The gipsy, when she saw it, started. The sailor looked very much inclined to bring the ghost, if such it were, to action ; but the gipsy, grasping his arm, held him back.

“ No, no ! do not interfere with it ! ” she exclaimed. “ There may be more of reality in it than you suppose.”

The sailor, on hearing this, burst into a hearty, merry laugh, which seemed to have some influence on the ghost ; for it slowly turned its fearful eyes towards him, and stalked, or rather, glided on.

“ Never fear, my fine fellow, but I’ll find you out, and prove that a ghost can squeak if he can’t speak,” cried the sailor, still undaunted. “ Avast, there I heave-to ! I say. I want to light my pipe, and your goggles will just suit my purpose.”

To this address the ghost paid no attention, and the sailor seemed very much inclined to give chase, when, as it had got about three quarters of the way down the room, Sir Gilbert, who had left it for a short time, re-entered.

(To be continued.)

OLD GRIMSHAW'S GHOST; OR, CHRISTMAS GAMBOLS AT HAROLDSTONE HALL.

BY VERNON FIELDING. (Continued from p. 176.)

“ WHAT gramarye is this?” he asked with a look of astonishment and annoyance. “ I did not suppose that a visitor to this house would have taken so unwarrantable a liberty. Whoever you are, I must beg that you will instantly retire, and only appear again in your proper costume. We have all assembled to enjoy ourselves in an evening of harmless amusement, and I cannot allow the opportunity to be taken to try the nerves of ladies and children ; for I hope all the men present will perceive that it is only a remarkably well got up piece of mummery.”

The figure stopped for an instant, listening to this address, and then turned round so withering a glance that even the baronet was put out of countenance. He sound recovered himself, exclaiming,--“ Nonsense ! Such things cannot be ! ”

But the unusual expression of doubt and vexation which his countenance wore showed too plainly what were his real feelings. To have a ghost walk into his room without his will, or to receive a visit from any unwelcome visitor, is enough to annoy any man ; and this post-sepulchral visit of old Grimshaw, if such it were, was certainly anything but pleasant. But besides this, Sir Gilbert had been vexed at the non-appearance of his son Charley, whom, in spite of his wildness, he dearly loved. He could not help fearing that he had got into some scrape at Portsmouth, or had been detained elsewhere by some escapade or other. Probably, had Lady Ilderton seen the ghost, and been alarmed at it, he would have been still more angry than he was—that is to say, as far as his kind, genial nature would allow him to be angry.

There was a dead silence after Sir Gilbert had spoken, but no one stepped forward to confront or stop the ghost, probably from the impression that such things cannot be stopped, or that unpleasant consequences would ensue if the attempt were made. At all events, the appearance of old Grimshaw passed on unimpeded until it reached one of the bowers at the end of the room, where no seats had been placed. When it got there, suddenly a blue flame burst forth, surrounded by which it vanished.

“ The mummery has been admirably got up, I must confess,” observed Sir Gilbert. “ Some of my household have, of course, been in the secret, though I wish that I had first been consulted. And now, my friends, let the dancing commence, as I must, before long, request you all to unmask.”

Some little time, however, elapsed before the equanimity of many of the quests was restored. At length the gay strains of the music and the exertions of Cousin Giles, who had re-appeared as Robin Hood, and others, put them into their former good spirits, and they began to talk and laugh and joke, as if no such unpleasant visitor as the long-buried old Grimshaw had appeared. When Cousin Giles was asked what he thought of the matter, he shook his head, and declared that he was in a great hurry to get out of the room and out of the clothes when the real thing had so unexpectedly appeared.

Sir Gilbert, as soon as he had seen his guests once more amusing themselves as if nothing had happened, sent his steward and two or three other trusty people to endeavour to discover what had become of the person, if person it was, who had represented old Grimshaw’s ghost. They returned, after searching in every possible place, declaring that they could find no one hid away, nor had they seen any one pass in any similar costume, except Cousin Giles, who had taken no pains to conceal himself.

“ Very strange, very strange indeed,” muttered Sir Gilbert. “ Did you examine the attics, Masham ?” he asked his steward. “ There are several old chests in the north lumber attic. Several of them contain dresses, and if they have been disturbed it may give us a clue to the culprit, for a culprit I consider whoever played the trick, admirably as I must own it was done.”

“ As to that, Sir Gilbert, with due respect to your opinion, I don’t exactly like to be certain,” answered Masham, with a bow. “ I have heard of a gentleman who came down to these parts, with a Scotch name, I think, who could make tables turn and articles of furniture and musical instruments fly about the room, and spirits of persons a long time dead, some of them in foreign parts, come and talk and say all sorts of things to people who liked to ask them questions. Now if this is true, and it’s extraordinary how many gentlefolks believe in it, I don’t see why the ghost of old Grimshaw shouldn’t walk about the house, or even through the ball-room, especially when he knew that somebody had been dressing up like himself, which, of course, wouldn’t be pleasant to him ; and besides, Sir Gilbert, though I didn’t like to say it before, this is the very day, so it is reported, that he came to his end, and that’s another reason why he wouldn’t like people to be dancing and jigging away like mummers over his grave, so to speak.”

“ Nonsense, man ! nonsense !” exclaimed Sir Gilbert. “ The fellow you speak of is an imposter, an arrant humbug ; and the people are geese who believe in him, whatever their station in life—more shame to them if they are well educated. That is a poor reason for believing that old Grimshaw’s ghost should haunt the Hall. Go and search again ; I am resolved to have the trick discovered before the guests leave the house. They shall not go away and spread all over the country the report of its being haunted. Look first into the north attic. Take care, Masham, that none of the servants set the place on fire, but letting a candle fall in their fright, should a cat jump up or a rat move. I conclude that you know the chests I mean.”

“ Oh, yes, Sir Gilbert, I helped Master Charles to overhaul one of them three years ago, when he wanted to collect some dresses for a play ; and I went up with the housekeeper, and we put them all safe back again, a day or two after,” answered the steward, hurrying off.

Not long after this, two most riotous sailors rushed into the room, insisting on playing leap-frog, tumbling over each other, and committing a variety of eccentricities unheard of in a ball-room. At last one of them rushed up to Lady Ilderton, and, throwing his arms round her neck, gave her a hearty kiss ; when, his mask falling off, displayed the well-bronzed, merry countenance of her son Charley. He introduced his companion as a brother officer, whom he had invited to spend a few days at the Hall. He was heartily welcomed by his father, who loved him, in spite of his occasional wild proceedings ; and of course his mother and sisters doted on him, and fully believed that he would turn out a second Nelson if he had the opportunity.

The ball came off with the greatest possible spirit, and without any other contretemps, could the incident which has been described be considered one. Masham came back, and reported that the old chests had undoubtedly been opened and the contents tumbled out, as there were marks where the dust had been disturbed, but that he had discovered no trace of the person who had represented old Grimshaw’s ghost.

CHAPTER V.—MORE OF THE GHOST'S PRANKS, AND HOW HE WAS FINALLY LAID.

SIR GILBERT had allowed the adornment of the ball-room to remain undisturbed, that his tenants and others might see them, a favour which was sure to be highly prized.

The following evening a large party were assembled in the ball-room, for the young people had declared that they should be far too tired to do anything but dance, and musicians were therefore retained, and all the people in the immediate neighbourhood invited to come back. Charley and his brother midshipman declared that they were ready for a dance every night of their lives.

Jane Otterburn had gone to her room after dinner, which was in a wing of the house away from the ball-room, and at this time was as silent as at midnight.

The evening guests had not as yet arrived. A cheerful fire was burning, the flames of which sent at times a flickering and uncertain light through the room, but were generally bright enough to enable her to dispense with the use of her candles, as she sat down in an armchair to meditate—pleasantly, there could be no doubt ; but recollecting that she might be missed, she was about to get up to go down into the ball-room, when a feeling that she was not alone made her turn her head, and there, standing at the open door, was the figure of old Grimshaw the keeper, exactly as it had appeared on the previous evening. Though her heart beat quick, and she felt that she would very much rather it had not been there, she rose from her seat, determined to confront it, when with a sound which might be described as a plaintive cry it glided from the door. She bravely hurried after it, exclaiming,--

“ Stop ! stop ! I must insist on knowing who you are.”

But the passage was in total darkness, and the figure had disappeared. She had heard of the phantoms of the imagination to which some people are subject when out of health, but she felt perfectly well, and never had had any visitation of the sort, and so discarding all idea of a supernatural appearance, she felt convinced that somebody who had played off the trick on the previous evening, had again dressed up to carry it on further. Still therefore undaunted by what might have frightened some ladies into hysterics, she lighted her candle, and drawing a large shawl over her shoulders, for the passages were cold, she prepared to descend to the ball-room. It would be too much to say that she had no uncomfortable sensation, or that she did not peer into the darkness ahead, and occasionally take an anxious glance over her shoulder, or that she altogether felt sure that she should not see old Grimshaw gliding before her, or noiselessly coming up behind her. She could not help allowing all the ghost stories she had ever heard to pass in ghastly review through her mind. Still she tried not to walk faster than she would otherwise have done ; indeed, she foresaw that if she attempted to run, the wax taper she held would most probably be blown out. This, strong minded as she was, she would much rather should not happen. The keen wind of Christmas was blowing outside, and blasts here and there found their way along the passages in consequence of one or two doors which ought to have been shut having been left open.

Haroldstone Hall was an old edifice, and the same attention to warming the passages and shutting out the wind had not been paid when it was constructed, as is the case in more modern buildings. The young lady saw before her a door partly open, but which seemed at that moment about to close with a slam. To prevent this, forgetting her former caution, she darted forward, when the same blast which, as she supposed, was moving the door, blew out her candle. She knew her way, and remembered that a few paces further on there were two steps, down which she might fall if not careful. A creeping feeling of horror, however, stole over her when, as she attempted to advance, she felt herself held back. It must be fancy. She made another effort, and again was unable to move forward. Her heart did indeed now beat quickly. She would have screamed for help, but she was not given to screaming, and besides her voice failed her. Once more she tried to run on, but she felt herself in the grasp of some supernatural power, as a person feels in a dream when unable to proceed. Her courage at length gave way. Every moment she expected to hear a peal of mocking laughter from the fiend who held her, for her imagination was now worked up to a pitch which would have made anything, however dreadful, appear possible. At length, by an effort, she cried out,--“ Help me ! Help ! Pray come here !”

The words had scarcely passed her lips, when a door in the passage opened, and she saw a person hurrying with a light towards her. It was Captain Fotheringsail.

“ What is the matter ?” he asked, in a voice of alarm.

“ Oh, nothing, nothing,” she answered. “ My candle went out, and I felt myself unable to move on.”

“ I see you could not, for the skirt of your dress and your shawl have both caught in the door,” he exclaimed, with a merry laugh, which did more than a dose of sal-volatile or camphor would have done to dispel her fears ; and taking his arm, she accompanied him to the ball-room.

On the way she told him of the reappearance of old Grimshaw, or some living representative. Again he gave way to a peal of merry laughter, and exclaimed,--

“ I’m delighted to hear it, for now he’ll be caught to a certainty. I have not the slightest doubt that he intends again to visit the ball-room or the servants’ hall, but whenever he comes, we will be ready for him. I have an idea that your wild young cousin and his friend have no little to do with the trick, for I have ascertained that they arrived at the Hall some hours before they made their appearance in the ball-room in the character of sailors. When I saw their proceedings I rather regretted the character I had assumed, lest I should have been taken for one of the party.”

The guests were assembling in the ball-room as the captain and Jane reached it. They at once, however, separated, and went round to each of the guests, whispering in their ears. A quadrille was instantly formed, and the musicians struck up. On this the captain slipped from the side of his partner and adroitly ran a dark thin like across the room, almost the height of a man’s knee from the floor. The quadrille was concluded, and nothing happened. A valse was gone through, and then another quadrille was played. It seemed, however, that if the captain had hopes of catching the ghost, the ghost was not to be caught. He begged Cousin Giles to ascertain whether old Grimshaw had appeared in the servants’ hall or anywhere about the house. Cousin Giles had assured him that he knew nothing at all about the matter, and was on the point of going to perform his commission, when, form the exact spot where the ghost had appeared the previous day, it stalked forth, looking quite as dreadful as before. The guests ran from side to side to let it pass, when just as it reached the middle of the room it stumbled, made an attempt to jump, and came down full length upon the floor. Off came a head and a pair of shoulders, and then was seen the astonished and somewhat frightened countenance of Simon Langdon, who exclaimed,--“ Oh, Charley ! Charley ! I didn’t think you were going to play me that trick.”

Finding that the trick was discovered, Charley dashed out from behind a screen with a tin tube and a lamp in his hand, and blew a superb blue flame over Simon, who was quickly divested of his hunting dress amid the laughter of the guests. Charley and his friend confessed that they had induced Simon to act the ghost that evening, though who had played it the previous day, they did not say.

“ Well, young gentlemen, you’ve had your fun, and no harm has been done, though the consequences might have been more serious than you anticipated,” said Sir Gilbert. “ It requires no large amount of wit to impose on the credulous, as the spirit-rappers and mediums have shown us, and as we may learn by the exhibition of my young friend here and his coadjutors.” And the baronet looked very hard at Simon and Charley. He then added, in his usual good-natured tone, “ However, as I said, no mischief has been done, though I must have it clearly understood that I cannot allow old Grimshaw’s ghost to make his appearance again at Haroldstone Hall.”

(Concluded.)

Notes

Edited by: Brutsch, Sarah: section 1, Winter 2011

From: Volume 1, Issue 10 (The Union Jack)