A feeling of depression, contrasting strangely with the effect produced on me by the cheerfulness of the hotel in general, seized me directly I entered the room. Despite the brilliancy of the electric light and the new and gaudy bed-hangings, the air was full of gloom--a gloom which, for the very reason that it was unaccountable, was the more alarming. I felt it hanging around me like the undeveloped shadow of something singularly hideous and repulsive, and, on my approaching the sick woman, it seemed to thrust itself in my way and force me back.
Miss Vining was decidedly good-looking; she had the typically theatrical features--neatly moulded nose and chin, curly yellow hair, and big, dreamy blue eyes that especially appeal to a certain cla.s.s of men; like most women, however, I prefer something more solid, both physically and intellectually--I cannot stand "the pretty, pretty."
She was, of course, far too ill to converse, and, beyond a few desultory and spasmodic e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns, maintained a rigid silence. As there was no occasion for me to sit close beside her, I drew up a chair before the fire, placing myself in such a position as to command a full view of the bed. My first night pa.s.sed undisturbed by any incident, and in the morning the condition of my patient showed a slight improvement. It was eight o"clock in the evening when I came on duty again, and, the weather having changed during the day, the whole room echoed and re-echoed with the howling of the wind, which was raging round the house with demoniacal fury.
I had been at my post for a little over two hours--and had just registered my patient"s temperature, when, happening to look up from the book I was reading, I saw to my surprise that the chair beside the head of the bed was occupied by a child--a tiny girl. How she had come into the room without attracting my attention was certainly extraordinary, and I could only suppose that the shrieking of the wind down the wide chimney had deadened the sound of the door and her footsteps.
I was naturally, of course, very indignant that she had dared to come in without rapping, and, getting up from my seat I was preparing to address her and bid her go, when she lifted a wee white hand and motioned me back. I obeyed because I could not help myself--her action was accompanied by a peculiar,--an unpleasantly peculiar, expression that held me spellbound; and without exactly knowing why, I stood staring at her, tongue-tied and trembling. As her face was turned towards the patient, and she wore, moreover, a very wide-brimmed hat, I could see nothing of her features; but from her graceful little figure and dainty limbs, I gathered that she was probably both beautiful and aristocratic. Her dress, though not perhaps of the richest quality, was certainly far from shoddy, and there was something in its style and make that suggested foreign nationality,--Italy--or Spain--or South America--or even the Orient, the probability of the latter being strengthened by her pose, which was full of the serpent-like ease which is characteristic of the East. I was so taken up with watching her that I forgot all about my patient, until a prolonged sigh from the bed reminded me of her existence. With an effort I then advanced, and was about to approach the bed, when the child, without moving her head, motioned me back, and--again I was helpless. The vision I had obtained of the sick woman, brief though it was, filled me with alarm. She was tossing to and fro on the blankets, and breathing in the most agonised manner as if in delirium, or enthralled by some particularly dreadful nightmare. Her condition so frightened me, that I made the most frantic efforts to overcome my inertia. I did not succeed, however, and at last, utterly overcome by my exertion, I closed my eyes. When I opened them again, the chair by the bed was vacant--the child had gone. A tremendous feeling of relief surged through me, and, jumping out of my seat, I hastened to the bedside--my patient was worse, the fever had increased, and she was delirious. I took her temperature.
It was 104. I now sat close beside her, and my presence apparently had a soothing effect. She speedily grew calmer, and after taking her medicine gradually sank into a gentle sleep which lasted until late in the morning. When I left her she had altogether recovered from the relapse. I, of course, told the doctor of the child"s visit, and he was very angry.
"Whatever happens, Nurse," he said, "take care that no one enters the room to-night; the patient"s condition is far too critical for her to see any one, even her own daughter. You must keep the door locked."
Armed with this mandate, I went on duty the following night with a somewhat lighter heart, and, after locking the door, once again sat by the fire. During the day there had been a heavy fall of snow; the wind had abated, and the streets were now as silent as the grave.
Ten, eleven, and twelve o"clock struck, and my patient slept tranquilly. At a quarter to one, however, I was abruptly roused from a reverie by a sob, a sob of fear and agony that proceeded from the bed.
I looked, and there--there, seated in the same posture as on the previous evening, was the child. I sprang to my feet with an exclamation of amazement. She raised her hand, and, as before, I collapsed--spellbound--paralysed. No words of mine can convey all the sensations I experienced as I sat there, forced to listen to the moaning and groaning of the woman whose fate had been entrusted to my keeping. Every second she grew worse, and each sound rang in my ears like the hammering of nails in her coffin. How long I endured such torment I cannot say, I dare not think, for, though the clock was within a few feet of me, I never once thought of looking at it. At last the child rose, and, moving slowly from the bed, advanced with bowed head towards the window. The spell was broken. With a cry of indignation I literally bounded over the carpet and faced the intruder.
"Who are you?" I hissed. "Tell me your name instantly! How dare you enter this room without my permission?"
As I spoke she slowly raised her head. I s.n.a.t.c.hed at her hat. It melted away in my hands, and, to my unspeakable terror, my undying terror, I looked into the face of a corpse!--the corpse of a Hindoo child, with a big, gaping cut in its throat. In its lifetime the child had, without doubt, been lovely; it was now horrible--horrible with all the ghastly disfigurements, the repellent disfigurements, of a long consignment to the grave. I fainted, and, on recovering, found my ghostly visitor had vanished, and that my patient was dead. One of her hands was thrown across her eyes, as if to shut out some object on which she feared to look, whilst the other grasped the counterpane convulsively.
It fell to my duty to help pack up her belongings, and among her letters was a large envelope bearing the postmark "Quetta." As we were on the look-out for some clue as to the address of her relatives, I opened it. It was merely the cabinet-size photograph of a Hindoo child, but I recognised the dress immediately--it was that of my ghostly visitor. On the back of it were these words: "Natalie. May G.o.d forgive us both."
Though we made careful inquiries for any information as to Natalie and Miss Vining in Quetta, and advertised freely in the leading London papers, we learned nothing, and in time we were forced to let the matter drop. As far as I know, the ghost of the Hindoo child has never been seen again, but I have heard that the hotel is still haunted--haunted by a woman.
CASE XVII
GLAMIS CASTLE
Of all the hauntings in Scotland, none has gained such widespread notoriety as the hauntings of Glamis Castle, the seat of the Earl of Strathmore and Kinghorne in Forfarshire.
Part of the castle--that part which is the more frequently haunted--is of ancient though uncertain date, and if there is any truth in the tradition that Duncan was murdered there by Macbeth, must, at any rate, have been in existence at the commencement of the eleventh century. Of course, extra buildings have, from time to time, been added, and renovations made; but the original structure remains pretty nearly the same as it always has been, and is included in a square tower that occupies a central position, and commands a complete view of the entire castle.
Within this tower--the walls of which are fifteen feet thick--there is a room, hidden in some unsuspected quarter, that contains a secret (the keynote to one, at least, of the hauntings) which is known only to the Earl, his heir (on the attainment of his twenty-first birthday), and the factor of the estate.
In all probability, the mystery attached to this room would challenge but little attention, were it not for the fact that unearthly noises, which at the time were supposed to proceed from this chamber, have been heard by various visitors sleeping in the Square Tower.
The following experience is said to have happened to a lady named Bond. I append it more or less in her own words.
It is a good many years since I stayed at Glamis. I was, in fact, but little more than a child, and had only just gone through my first season in town. But though young, I was neither nervous nor imaginative; I was inclined to be what is termed stolid, that is to say, extremely matter-of-fact and practical. Indeed, when my friends exclaimed, "You don"t mean to say you are going to stay at Glamis!
Don"t you know it"s haunted?" I burst out laughing.
"Haunted!" I said, "how ridiculous! There are no such things as ghosts. One might as well believe in fairies."
Of course I did not go to Glamis alone--my mother and sister were with me; but whereas they slept in the more modern part of the castle, I was, at my own request, apportioned a room in the Square Tower.
I cannot say that my choice had anything to do with the secret chamber. That, and the alleged mystery, had been dinned into my ears so often that I had grown thoroughly sick of the whole thing. No, I wanted to sleep in the Square Tower for quite a different reason, a reason of my own. I kept an aviary; the tower was old; and I naturally hoped its walls would be covered with ivy and teeming with birds"
nests, some of which I might be able to reach--and, I am ashamed to say, plunder--from my window.
Alas, for my expectations! Although the Square Tower was so ancient that in some places it was actually crumbling away--not the sign of a leaf, not the vestige of a bird"s nest could I see anywhere; the walls were abominably, brutally bare. However, it was not long before my disappointment gave way to delight; for the air that blew in through the open window was so sweet, so richly scented with heather and honeysuckle, and the view of the broad, sweeping, thickly wooded grounds so indescribably charming, that, despite my inartistic and unpoetical nature, I was entranced--entranced as I had never been before, and never have been since. "Ghosts!" I said to myself, "ghosts! how absurd! how preposterously absurd! such an adorable spot as this can only harbour sunshine and flowers."
I well remember, too--for, as I have already said, I was not poetical--how much I enjoyed my first dinner at Glamis. The long journey and keen mountain air had made me hungry, and I thought I had never tasted such delicious food--such ideal salmon (from the Esk) and such heavenly fruit. But I must tell you that, although I ate heartily, as a healthy girl should, by the time I went to bed I had thoroughly digested my meal, and was, in fact, quite ready to partake of a few oatmeal biscuits I found in my dressing-case, and remembered having bought at Perth. It was about eleven o"clock when my maid left me, and I sat for some minutes wrapped in my dressing gown, before the open window. The night was very still, and save for an occasional rustle of the wind in the distant tree-tops, the hooting of an owl, the melancholy cry of a peewit and the hoa.r.s.e barking of a dog, the silence was undisturbed.
The interior of my room was, in nearly every particular, modern.
The furniture was not old; there were no grim carvings; no grotesquely-fashioned tapestries on the walls; no dark cupboards; no gloomy corners;--all was cosy and cheerful, and when I got into bed no thought of bogle or mystery entered my mind.
In a few minutes I was asleep, and for some time there was nothing but a blank--a blank in which all ident.i.ty was annihilated. Then suddenly I found myself in an oddly-shaped room with a lofty ceiling, and a window situated at so great a distance from the black oaken floor as to be altogether inaccessible from within. Feeble gleams of phosph.o.r.escent light made their way through the narrow panes, and served to render distinct the more prominent objects around; but my eyes struggled in vain to reach the remoter angles of the wall, one of which inspired me with terror such as I had never felt before. The walls were covered with heavy draperies that were sufficient in themselves to preclude the possibility of any save the loudest of sounds penetrating without.
The furniture, if such one could call it, puzzled me. It seemed more fitted for the cell of a prison or lunatic asylum, or even for a kennel, than for an ordinary dwelling-room. I could see no chair, only a coa.r.s.e deal table, a straw mattress, and a kind of trough. An air of irredeemable gloom and horror hung over and pervaded everything. As I stood there, I felt I was waiting for something--something that was concealed in the corner of the room I dreaded. I tried to reason with myself, to a.s.sure myself that there was nothing there that could hurt me, nothing that could even terrify me, but my efforts were in vain--my fears grew. Had I had some definite knowledge as to the cause of my alarm I should not have suffered so much, but it was my ignorance of what was there, of what I feared, that made my terror so poignant. Each second saw the agony of my suspense increase. I dared not move. I hardly dare breathe, and I dreaded lest the violent pulsation of my heart should attract the attention of the Unknown Presence and precipitate its coming out. Yet despite the perturbation of my mind, I caught myself a.n.a.lysing my feelings. It was not danger I abhorred so much, as its absolute effect--fright. I shuddered at the bare thought of what result the most trivial incident--the creaking of a board, ticking of a beetle, or hooting of an owl--might have on the intolerable agitation of my soul.
In this unnerved and pitiable condition I felt that the period was bound to come, sooner or later, when I should have to abandon life and reason together in the most desperate of struggles with--fear.
At length, something moved. An icy chill ran through my frame, and the horror of my antic.i.p.ations immediately reached its culminating point.
The Presence was about to reveal itself.
The gentle rubbing of a soft body on the floor, the crack of a bony joint, breathing, another crack, and then--was it my own excited imagination--or the disturbing influence of the atmosphere--or the uncertain twilight of the chamber that produced before me, in the stygian darkness of the recess, the vacillating and indistinct outline of something luminous, and horrid? I would gladly have risked futurity to have looked elsewhere--I could not. My eyes were fixed--I was compelled to gaze steadily in front of me.
Slowly, very slowly, the thing, whatever it was, took shape.
Legs--crooked, misshapen, human legs. A body--tawny and hunched.
Arms--long and spidery, with crooked, knotted fingers. A head--large and b.e.s.t.i.a.l, and covered with a tangled ma.s.s of grey hair that hung around its protruding forehead and pointed ears in ghastly mockery of curls. A face--and herein was the realisation of all my direst expectations--a face--white and staring, piglike in formation, malevolent in expression; a h.e.l.lish combination of all things foul and animal, and yet withal not without a touch of pathos.
As I stared at it aghast, it reared itself on its haunches after the manner of an ape, and leered piteously at me. Then, shuffling forward, it rolled over, and lay sprawled out like some ungainly turtle--and wallowed, as for warmth, in the cold grey beams of early dawn.
At this juncture the handle of the chamber door turned, some one entered, there was a loud cry--and I awoke--awoke to find the whole tower, walls and rafters, ringing with the most appalling screams I have ever heard,--screams of some thing or of some one--for there was in them a strong element of what was human as well as animal--in the greatest distress.
Wondering what it meant, and more than ever terrified, I sat up in bed and listened,--listened whilst a conviction--the result of intuition, suggestion, or what you will, but a conviction all the same--forced me to a.s.sociate the sounds with the thing in my dream. And I a.s.sociate them still.
It was, I think, in the same year--in the year that the foregoing account was narrated to me--that I heard another story of the hauntings at Glamis, a story in connection with a lady whom I will call Miss Macginney. I append her experience as nearly as possible as she is stated to have told it.
I seldom talk about my adventure, Miss Maginney announced, because so many people ridicule the superphysical, and laugh at the mere mention of ghosts. I own I did the same myself till I stayed at Glamis; but a week there quite cured me of scepticism, and I came away a confirmed believer.
The incident occurred nearly twenty years ago--shortly after my return from India, where my father was then stationed.
It was years since I had been to Scotland, indeed I had only once crossed the border and that when I was a babe; consequently I was delighted to receive an invitation to spend a few weeks in the land of my birth. I went to Edinburgh first--I was born in Drumsheugh Gardens--and thence to Glamis.
It was late in the autumn, the weather was intensely cold, and I arrived at the castle in a blizzard. Indeed, I do not recollect ever having been out in such a frightful storm. It was as much as the horses could do to make headway, and when we reached the castle we found a crowd of anxious faces eagerly awaiting us in the hall.
Chilled! I was chilled to the bone, and thought I never should thaw.
But the huge fires and bright and cosy atmosphere of the rooms--for the interior of Glamis was modernised throughout--soon set me right, and by tea time I felt nicely warm and comfortable.