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A Book of Ghosts. Baring-Gould Sabine
Читать онлайн.Название A Book of Ghosts
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Автор произведения Baring-Gould Sabine
Жанр Зарубежная классика
Издательство Public Domain
He was struck with her face. He had never before seen one so full of boundless sorrow – almost of despair.
His eyes followed her as she walked towards the mill-stream, and there she took her place on the wooden bridge that crossed it, leaning over the handrail, and looking down into the water. An impulse of curiosity and of interest led him to follow her at a distance, and he saw her pick a flower, a pansy, out of her basket, and drop it into the current, which caught and carried it forward. Then she took a second, and allowed it to fall into the water. Then, after an interval, a third – a fourth; and he counted seven in all. After that she bowed her head on her hands; her grey hair fell over them, and she broke into a paroxysm of weeping.
The traveller, standing by the stream, saw the seven pansies swept down, and one by one pass over the revolving wheel and vanish.
He turned himself about to return to his inn, when, seeing a grave peasant near, he asked: "Who is that poor old woman who seems so broken down with sorrow?"
"That," replied the man, "is the Mother of Pansies."
"The Mother of Pansies!" he repeated.
"Well – it is the name she has acquired in the place. Actually, she is called Anna Arler, and is a widow. She was the wife of one Joseph Arler, a jäger, who was shot by smugglers. But that is many, many years ago. She is not right in her head, but she is harmless. When her husband was brought home dead, she insisted on being left alone in the night by him, before he was buried alone, – with his coffin. And what happened in that night no one knows. Some affirm that she saw ghosts. I do not know – she may have had Thoughts. The French word for these flowers is pensées– thoughts – and she will have none others. When they are in her garden she collects them, and does as she has done now. When she has none, she goes about to her neighbours and begs them. She comes here every evening and throws in seven – just seven, no more and no less – and then weeps as one whose heart would split. My wife on one occasion offered her forget-me-nots. 'No,' she said; 'I cannot send forget-me-nots after those who never were, I can send only Pansies.'"
THE RED-HAIRED GIRL
In 1876 we took a house in one of the best streets and parts of B – . I do not give the name of the street or the number of the house, because the circumstances that occurred in that place were such as to make people nervous, and shy – unreasonably so – of taking those lodgings, after reading our experiences therein.
We were a small family – my husband, a grown-up daughter, and myself; and we had two maids – a cook, and the other was house- and parlourmaid in one. We had not been a fortnight in the house before my daughter said to me one morning: "Mamma, I do not like Jane" – that was our house-parlourmaid.
"Why so?" I asked. "She seems respectable, and she does her work systematically. I have no fault to find with her, none whatever."
"She may do her work," said Bessie, my daughter, "but I dislike inquisitiveness."
"Inquisitiveness!" I exclaimed. "What do you mean? Has she been looking into your drawers?"
"No, mamma, but she watches me. It is hot weather now, and when I am in my room, occasionally, I leave my door open whilst writing a letter, or doing any little bit of needlework, and then I am almost certain to hear her outside. If I turn sharply round, I see her slipping out of sight. It is most annoying. I really was unaware that I was such an interesting personage as to make it worth anyone's while to spy out my proceedings."
"Nonsense, my dear. You are sure it is Jane?"
"Well – I suppose so." There was a slight hesitation in her voice. "If not Jane, who can it be?"
"Are you sure it is not cook?"
"Oh, no, it is not cook; she is busy in the kitchen. I have heard her there, when I have gone outside my room upon the landing, after having caught that girl watching me."
"If you have caught her," said I, "I suppose you spoke to her about the impropriety of her conduct."
"Well, caught is the wrong word. I have not actually caught her at it. Only to-day I distinctly heard her at my door, and I saw her back as she turned to run away, when I went towards her."
"But you followed her, of course?"
"Yes, but I did not find her on the landing when I got outside."
"Where was she, then?"
"I don't know."
"But did you not go and see?"
"She slipped away with astonishing celerity," said Bessie.
"I can take no steps in the matter. If she does it again, speak to her and remonstrate."
"But I never have a chance. She is gone in a moment."
"She cannot get away so quickly as all that."
"Somehow she does."
"And you are sure it is Jane?" again I asked; and again she replied: "If not Jane, who else can it be? There is no one else in the house."
So this unpleasant matter ended, for the time. The next intimation of something of the sort proceeded from another quarter – in fact, from Jane herself. She came to me some days later and said, with some embarrassment in her tone —
"If you please, ma'am, if I do not give satisfaction, I would rather leave the situation."
"Leave!" I exclaimed. "Why, I have not given you the slightest cause. I have not found fault with you for anything as yet, have I, Jane? On the contrary, I have been much pleased with the thoroughness of your work. And you are always tidy and obliging."
"It isn't that, ma'am; but I don't like being watched whatever I do."
"Watched!" I repeated. "What do you mean? You surely do not suppose that I am running after you when you are engaged on your occupations. I assure you I have other and more important things to do."
"No, ma'am, I don't suppose you do."
"Then who watches you?"
"I think it must be Miss Bessie."
"Miss Bessie!" I could say no more, I was so astounded.
"Yes, ma'am. When I am sweeping out a room, and my back is turned, I hear her at the door; and when I turn myself about, I just catch a glimpse of her running away. I see her skirts – "
"Miss Bessie is above doing anything of the sort."
"If it is not Miss Bessie, who is it, ma'am?"
There was a tone of indecision in her voice.
"My good Jane," said I, "set your mind at rest. Miss Bessie could not act as you suppose. Have you seen her on these occasions and assured yourself that it is she?"
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