Tom Ossington's Ghost Read online

  CHAPTER II

  THERE'S A CONSCIENCE!

  Madge had been taken so wholly unawares that for a moment she remainedstock-still--and voiceless. Then she followed the woman to the door.

  "You have come to do what?"

  "I've come to see the house."

  "And pray who are you?"

  "What affair is that of yours? Don't I tell you I've come to see thehouse?"

  "But I don't understand you. What do you mean by saying you've come tosee the house?"

  For only answer the woman, turning her back on her, walked anotherstep or two along the little passage. She exclaimed, as if addressingthe staircase, which was in front of her, in what seemed a tone ofintense emotion--

  "How his presence is in all the place! How he fills the air!"

  Madge felt more bewildered than she would have cared to admit. Was thewoman mad? Mad or sane, she resolved that she would not submit tamelyto such another irruption as the last. She laid her hand upon thewoman's shoulder.

  "Will you be so good as to tell me, at once, to whom I have thepleasure of speaking, and what business has brought you here?"

  The woman turned and looked at her; as she did so, Madge was consciousof a curious sense of discomfort.

  She was of medium height, slender build, and apparently between fortyand fifty years of age. Her attire was not only shabby, it was tawdryto the last degree. Her garments were a heterogeneous lot; one mightsafely swear they had none of them been made for the wearer. One andall were shocking examples of outworn finery. The black chip hat whichshe wore perched on her head, with an indescribable sort of would-bejauntiness, was broken at the brim, and the one-time gorgeous ostrichfeathers were crushed and soiled. A once well-cut cape of erstwhiledark blue cloth was about her shoulders. It was faded, stained, andcreased. The fur which had been used to adorn the edges was bare andrusty. It had been lined with silk--as she moved her arms oneperceived that of the lining there was nothing left but rags andtatters. Her dress, once the latest fashionable freak in somelight-hued flimsy silk, had long since been fit for nothing else thancutting into dusters. She wore ancient patent-leather shoes upon herfeet, and equally ancient gloves upon her hands--the bare fleshshowing through holes in every finger.

  If her costume was strange, her face was stranger. It was the face ofa woman who had once been beautiful--how long ago, no one who chancedon her haphazard could with any certainty have guessed. It might havebeen five, ten, fifteen, twenty years ago--and more than that--sincehers had been a countenance which charmed even a casual beholder. Itwas the face of a woman who had been weak or wicked, and maybe both,and who in consequence had been bandied from pillar to post, till thiswas all that there was left of her. Her big blue eyes were deep set incareworn caverns; her mouth, which had once been small and dainty, wasnow blurred and pendulous, the mouth of a woman who drank; her cheekswere sunk and hollow as if she had lost every tooth in her head, thecheek-bones gleaming through the yellow skin in sharp and cruelridges. To crown it all, her hair was dyed--a vivid yellow. Like allthe rest of her, the dye was old and worn. It stood in urgent need ofa renewal. The roots were grey, they demonstrated their greyness withsavage ostentation. Here and there among the yellow there were greypatches too--in some queer way her attempt at juvenesence had made herlook older even than she was.

  This was not a pleasant face to have encountered anywhere at any time,being the sort from which good women instinctively shrink back. Justnow its unpleasantness was intensified by the fact that it was lit upby some, to Madge, inscrutable emotion; inflamed by some masteringexcitement. The hollow eyes gleamed as if they were lighted by innerfires; the lips twitched as if the muscles which worked them wereuncontrollable. The woman spoke in short, sharp, angry gusts, as ifshe were stumbling on the verge of frenzied passion.

  "This house is mine," she said.

  "Yours?"

  "It was his, and mine--and now it's mine."

  Madge, persuaded that the woman must be either mad or drunk, felt thatperhaps calmness might be her safest weapon.

  "Do you mean that you're the landlady?"

  "The landlady!" The woman laughed--unmirthfully. "There is nolandlady. And the landlord--he's a ghost. He's in it now--don't youfeel that he is in it?"

  She spoke with such singular intensity that, in spite of herself,Madge shuddered. She was feeling more and more uncomfortable--wishingheartily that some one might come, if it was only the mysteriousstranger who had previously intruded.

  The woman went on--her excitement seeming to grow with every word sheuttered.

  "The house is full of ghosts--full! They're in every corner, everynook and cranny--and I know them every one. Come here--I'll show yousome of them."

  She caught the girl by the arm. Madge, yielding to her strange frenzy,suffered herself to be led into the sitting-room. Once inside, thewoman loosed her hold. She looked about her. Then crossed to thefireplace, standing in the centre of the hearthrug.

  "This is where I struck him." She pointed just in front of her. "Hewas sitting there. I had asked him for some money. He would not let mehave any. He always clung to his money--always! I swear it--always!"She raised her hands, as if appealing to the ceiling to bear herwitness. "He said that I was ruining him. Ruining him? bah! I knewbetter than that. He would let no one ruin him--he was not of thatkind. I told him I must have money. He said he'd given me five poundslast week. 'Five pounds!' I cried; 'what are five pounds?' Then wequarrelled--he said things, I said things. Then I flew into a rage; mytemper has been the curse of my whole life. I caught up a decanter ofwhisky which was on the table, and struck him with it on the head. Thebottle broke, the whisky went all over him--how it smelt! Can't yousmell it?--and he went tumbling down, down, on to the floor. He'slying there now--can't you see him lying there?" She turned to Madgewith a gesture which seemed to make the girl's blood run colder."Can't you see the ghost?"

  She moved a little to one side.

  "Just here is where I knelt down, and asked him to forgive me. Thatwas after--I'd been carrying on with some fellow I'd met at a dance,and he had found me out. I cried and cried as if my heart would break,and at last he came and put his hand upon my head--when I set myselfto do it, and stuck at it, I could twist him round my finger!--and hebegan to stroke my hair--I'd lovely hair then, no woman ever hadlovelier, and he was always one to stroke it when I'd let him!--and hesaid, 'My girl, how often shall I have to forgive you?' Listen! Can'tyou hear him saying it now? Can't you see the ghost?"

  She went to where the modest sideboard stood.

  "This is where we had our sideboard too--it was a bigger one thanthis; all our things were good. I was standing here, leaning againstit just like this, the first time he saw me drunk. He'd been out allthe evening on some sort of business, and I'd been left in the housealone with the girl, and I hadn't liked it, and I'd been sulking. Andat last I got to the whisky and I started to drink, drink, drink. Ialways had been fond of drink long before that, but I'd never let himfind it out. But that time I was that sulky I didn't seem to care, andby the time I might have cared I couldn't care--I was too far gone. Ihad to keep on drinking. There wasn't much in the bottle; when I gotto the end of it I started on another. Then I got to the sideboard,and stood leaning over it, lolly fashion, booze, booze, boozing. Allof a sudden the door opened, and he came into the room. I turned tohave a look at him, the bottle in one hand and the glass in the other.Directly I got clear of the sideboard I went flop on the floor, andthe bottle and the glass went with me, and there I had to lie. Herushed towards me, and as soon as he had had a look at me he saw howit was. Then he fell on his knees at my side, and put his hands up tohis face, and began to cry. My God, how he did cry!--not like me. Hissobs seemed tearing him to pieces, and his life's blood seemed comingfrom him with every tear. Drunk as I was, it made me cry to hear him.Listen! Can't you hear him crying now? Can't you see the ghost?"

  The woman's words and manner were so realistic,
and despite--orperhaps because of--her seeming frenzy, she had such an eerie capacityof conjuring up the picture as her memory painted it, that Madgelistened spellbound. She was as incapable of interrupting the other'sflow of language as if the conscience haunted wretch had cast on hersome strange enchantment.

  The sea of visions went to the table, and, bending over it, beckonedto Madge to draw closer. As if she found the invitation irresistible,Madge approached. The woman's outstretched finger pointed to aparticular place about the centre of one side of the table. Herexcitement all at once subsided; her voice grew softer. Her mannerbecame more human, more womanly.

  "See!--this is where my little baby died--my little child--the onlyone I ever had. It was a girl; we called it Lily--my name's Lily"--sheglanced up with a grin, as if conscious of how grotesquelyinappropriate, in her case, such a name was now; "it was such a littlething--I didn't want it when it came. I never was fond of children,and I wasn't one to play the mother. But, when it did come, it gothold of me somehow--yes, it did! it did! I was fond of it, in my way.As for him, he worshipped it; it was baby, baby, baby! all the time. Iwas nowhere. It made me wild to hear him, and to see the way that hewent on. We fell out because I would have it brought up by hand. Hewanted me to let it have my milk--but I wouldn't have it. I wasn'tgoing to be any baby's slave--not likely! I don't think he everforgave me that. Then he was always at me because he said I neglectedit; and that made me worse than ever: I wasn't going to have a cryingbrat thrust down my throat at every turn, and so I told him. 'Whyisn't there a place in which they bring up babies so that they needn'tworry their mothers?' I wanted to know. When I said that, how he didlook at me, and how he went on! I thought he would have killed me--butI didn't care. He did his share of all the nursing that baby everhad--and perhaps a little more."

  Again the woman laughed.

  "At last the little thing went wrong. It always was small; it neverseemed to grow--except thin. It was the queerest looking little mite,with a serious face like a parson's, and great big eyes which seemedto go right through you, as if it was looking at something whichnobody but itself could see. He would have it that it got worse andworse, but he was always making such a fuss that I said he was makinga fool of the child. The doctor came and came, but I was pretty oftenout, and when I wasn't I didn't always choose to see him, so I onlyheard what he cared to tell me--and I didn't believe the half of that.

  "One night I went to a masked ball with Mrs. Sutton--she was a larkyone, she was, and led her husband a pretty dance. It was latish when Icame back; I hadn't enjoyed myself one bit, and left in a temper andcame off home by myself I let myself in at the front door, and when Icame into this room, on the table just here"--she pointed with herfinger--"there was a pillow, and on the pillow was the baby, and hewas kneeling on the floor in front, his elbows on the table, and hisface on his hands, and the tears streaming down his cheeks as ifthey'd never stop. I'd been to the ball as a ballet girl--though hehadn't known it, and I hadn't meant that he should, but the sight tookme so aback that, without thinking, I dropped my cloak and stoodbefore him just as I was. 'What's the matter now?' I cried; 'what'sthe child down here at this time of the night for?' I expected thathe'd let fly at me, and perhaps send me packing out of the house rightthere and then. But, instead, he just glanced my way as if he hardlysaw me, or wanted to, and said, 'Baby's dying.' When he said that, itwas as if he had run something right into my heart. 'Dying,' I cried,'stuff!' I ran to the table and bent over the pillow. I had never seenanybody dying before, and knew nothing at all about it, but directly Ilooked at it, I seemed to know that what he said was true, and thatthe child was dying. My heart stopped beating--I couldn't breathe, Icouldn't speak, I couldn't move, I could only stare like a creaturewho had lost her wits--it was as if a hand had been stretched rightout of Heaven to strike me a blow. There he was on one side of thetable--and there was me leaning right over the other, both of usmotionless, neither of us speaking a word; and there was the babylying on the pillow between us, stiller than we were. How long westopped like that I don't know; it seemed to me as if it washours--but I daresay it was only a few minutes. All at once thebaby--my baby--gave a little movement with its little arms--a sort oftrembling. He moved his arm, and put one of his fingers into its tinyhand; the baby seemed to fasten on to it. 'Give it one of yourfingers,' he said, sobbing as if his heart would break. 'It'll like tofeel your finger as it goes!' Hardly knowing what I was doing, Istretched out one of my fingers; it was the first finger of my righthand--this one." She held up the finger in question in its raggedcasing. "And I put it in the mite's wee hand. It took it--yes, ittook it. It closed its fingers right round it, and gave it quite asqueeze--yes, quite a squeeze. Then it loosened its hold. It was dead.Dead upon the pillow.--And it's there now. Can't you see it lying onthe pillow, with a smile on its face? a smile! Can't you see theghost?"

  Stooping, the woman made pretence to kiss the lips of some one who waslying just beneath her. It might have been that to her the thing wasno pretence, and that, as in a vision, the dead lips did indeed touchhers. Then, drawing herself erect again, she broke into another of herdiscordant laughs. Throwing out her arms on either side of her, sheexclaimed in strident tones:

  "Ghosts! Ghosts! The place is full of them--I see them everywhere. Itouch them, hear them all the time. They've been with me all throughthe years, wherever I've been--and where haven't I been? My God--inheaven and hell! crowds and crowds of them, more and more as the yearswent on. And do you think that I can't see them here--in their house,and mine! Can't you see them too?"

  Madge replied between set lips--she had been forming her ownconclusions while the woman raved:

  "No, I do not see them. Nor would you were you not under the influenceof drink."

  The woman stared at her in what seemed genuine surprise.

  "Under the influence of drink! Me? No such luck! I wish I were." Againshe gave one of those bursts of laughter which so jarred on Madge'snerves. "When I'm drunk I can't see ghosts--it's only when I'm sober.I've had nothing to eat since I don't know when, let alone to drink.I'm starving, starving! That's the time when I see ghosts. They pointat me with their fingers and say, 'Look at us and look at you--this iswhat it's come to!' They make me see what might have been. He made mecome to-day; I didn't want to, but he made me. And now he's in all thehouse.--Listen! He's getting out of bed in the room upstairs--that'shis bedroom. Can't you hear his lame foot moving about the floor?How often I've thrown that lame foot in his face when I've beenwild!--can't you hear it hobble--hobble?"

  "You are mad! How dare you talk such nonsense? There's no one in thehouse but you and I."

  The woman seemed to believe so implicitly in the diseased imaginingsof her conscience-haunted brain, that Madge felt that unless she madea resolute effort her own mental equilibrium might totter. On theother's face there came a look of shrewd, malignant cunning.

  "Isn't there! That's all you know,--I'm no more mad than you are. AndI tell you what--he's not the only thing that's in the house. There'ssomething else as well. It was his, and now it's mine. And don't youthink to rob me."

  "Rob you?--I."

  "Yes, you. There's others after it as well as you--I know! I'm not thesimpleton that some may think. But I won't be robbed by all the lot ofyou--you make no error. It was his, and now it's mine."

  "If there really is anything in the house to which you have theslightest shadow of a claim, which I very much doubt, and let me knowwhat it is, and where it is, I'll see that you have it without fail."

  A look of vacancy came on the woman's face. She passed her hand acrossher brow.

  "That's it--I don't know just where it is. He comes and tells me,almost, but never quite. He says it's in the house, but he doesn't sayexactly where. But he never lies--so I do know it's in the house, andI won't be robbed."

  "I have not the slightest idea of what you mean--if you really do meananything at all. I don't know if you know me--or are under theimpression that I know you; if so, I can only assu
re you that I don't.I have not the faintest notion who you are."

  The woman, drawing nearer, clutched Madge's arm with both her hands.

  "Don't you know who I am? I'm the ghost's wife!"

  Her manner was not only exceedingly unpleasant; it was, in a sense,uncanny--so uncanny that, in spite of herself, Madge could not help astartled look coming into her face. The appearance of this look seemedto amuse her tormentor. She broke into a continuous peal ofunmelodious laughter.

  "I'm the ghost's wife!" she kept repeating. "I'm the ghost's wife."

  Madge Brodie prided herself on her strength of nerve, and as, a rule,not without cause. But, on that occasion, almost for the first time inher life it played her false. She would have been glad to have beenable to scream and flee; but she was incapable even of doing that. Theother seemed to hold her spellbound; she was conscious that her senseswere reeling--that, unless something happened soon, she would faint.

  But from that final degradation she was saved.

  "Madge," exclaimed a voice, "who is this woman?"

  It was Ella Duncan, and with her was Jack Martyn. At the sound of thevoice, the woman released her hold. Never before had Madge beensensible of such a spasm of relief. She rushed to Ella with ahysterical sob.

  "Oh, Ella!" she cried, "how thankful I am you've come."

  Ella looked at her with surprise.

  "Madge!--who is this woman?"

  The woman in question spoke for herself. She threw up her arms.

  "I'm the ghost's wife!" she shrieked, "I'm the ghost's wife!"

  Before they had suspected her purpose, or could say anything to stopher, she had rushed out of the room and from the house.