Short Stories 1895-1926 (11 page)

‘Why didn't she take any notice of us, then?'

‘She never does.'

‘Why not?'

‘Oh, she knows all right, without; that's the dam awful part of it.' Seaton was one of the very few fellows at Gummidge's who had the ostentation to use bad language. He had suffered for it too. But it wasn't, I think, bravado. I believe he really felt certain things more intensely than most of the other fellows, and they were generally things that fortunate and average people do not feel at all – the peculiar quality, for instance, of the British schoolboy's imagination.

‘I tell you, Withers,' he went on moodily, slinking across the meadow with his hands covered up in his pockets, ‘she sees everything. And what she doesn't see she knows without.'

‘But how?' I said, not because I was much interested, but because the afternoon was so hot and tiresome and purposeless, and it seemed more of a bore to remain silent. Seaton turned gloomily and spoke in a very low voice.

‘Don't appear to be talking of her, if you wouldn't mind. It's – because she's in league with the Devil.' He nodded his head and stooped to pick up a round flat pebble. ‘I tell you,' he said, still stooping, ‘you fellows don't realize what it is. I know I'm a bit close and all that. But so would you be if you had that old hag listening to every thought you think.'

I looked at him, then turned and surveyed one by one the windows of the house.

‘Where's your
pater
?' I said awkwardly.

‘Dead, ages and ages ago, and my mother too. She's not my aunt even by rights.'

‘What is she, then?'

‘I mean she's not my mother's sister, because my grandmother married twice; and she's one of the first lot. I don't know what you call her, but anyhow she's not my real aunt.'

‘She gives you plenty of pocket-money.'

Seaton looked steadfastly at me out of his flat eyes. ‘She can't give me what's mine. When I come of age half of the whole lot will be mine; and what's more' – he turned his back on the house – ‘I'll make her hand over every blessed shilling of it.'

I put my hands in my pockets and stared at Seaton; ‘Is it much?'

He nodded.

‘Who told you?' He got suddenly very angry, a darkish red came into his cheeks, his eyes glistened, but he made no answer, and we loitered listlessly about the garden until it was time for tea …

Seaton's aunt was wearing an extraordinary kind of lace jacket when we sidled sheepishly into the drawing-room together. She greeted me with a heavy and protracted smile, and bade me bring a chair close to the little table.

‘I hope Arthur has made you feel at home,' she said as she handed me my cup in her crooked hand. ‘He don't talk much to me; but then I'm an old woman. You must come again, Wither, and draw him out of his shell. You old snail!' She wagged her head at Seaton, who sat munching cake and watching her intently.

‘And we must correspond, perhaps.' She nearly shut her eyes at me. ‘You must write and tell me everything behind the creature's back.' I confess I found her rather disquieting company. The evening drew on. Lamps were brought in by a man with a nondescript face and very quiet footsteps. Seaton was told to bring out the chess-men. And we played a game, she and I, with her big chin thrust over the board at every move as she gloated over the pieces and occasionally croaked ‘Check!' – after which she would sit back inscrutably staring at me. But the game was never finished. She simply hemmed me in with a gathering cloud of pieces that held me impotent, and yet one and all refused to administer to my poor flustered old king a merciful
coup de grâce
.

‘There,' she said, as the clock struck ten – ‘a drawn game, Withers. We are very evenly matched. A very creditable defence, Withers. You know your room. There's supper on a tray in the dining-room. Don't let the creature over-eat himself. The gong will sound three-quarters of an hour
before
a punctual breakfast.' She held out her cheek to Seaton, and he kissed it with obvious perfunctoriness. With me she shook hands.

‘An excellent game,' she said cordially, ‘but my memory is poor, and' – she swept the pieces helter-skelter into the box – ‘the result will never be known.' She raised her great head far back. ‘Eh?'

It was a kind of challenge, and I could only murmur: ‘Oh I was absolutely in a hole, you know!' when she burst out laughing and waved us both out of the room.

Seaton and I stood and ate our supper, with one candlestick to light us, in a corner of the dining-room. ‘Well, and how would you like it?' he said very softly, after cautiously poking his head round the doorway.

‘Like what?'

‘Being spied on – every blessed thing you do and think?'

‘I shouldn't like it at all,' I said, ‘if she does.'

‘And yet you let her smash you up at chess!'

‘I didn't let her!' I said indignantly.

‘Well, you funked it, then.'

‘And I didn't funk it either,' I said; ‘she's so jolly clever with her knights.' Seaton stared at the candle. ‘Knights,' he said slowly. ‘You wait, that's all.' And we went upstairs to bed.

I had not been long in bed, I think, when I was cautiously awakened by a touch on my shoulder. And there was Seaton's face in the candlelight – and his eyes looking into mine.

‘What's up?' I said, lurching on to my elbow.

‘
Ssh
! Don't scurry,' he whispered. ‘She'll hear. I'm sorry for waking you, but I didn't think you'd be asleep so soon.'

‘Why, what's the time, then?' Seaton wore, what was then rather unusual, a night-suit, and he hauled his big silver watch out of the pocket in his jacket.

‘It's a quarter to twelve. I never get to sleep before twelve – not here.'

‘What do you do, then?'

‘Oh, I read: and listen.'

‘Listen?'

Seaton stared into his candle-flame as if he were listening even then. ‘You can't guess what it is. All you read in ghost stories, that's all rot. You can't see much, Withers, but you know all the same.'

‘Know what?'

‘Why, that they're there.'

‘Who's there?' I asked fretfully, glancing at the door.

‘Why, in the house. It swarms with 'em. Just you stand still and listen outside my bedroom door in the middle of the night. I have, dozens of times; they're all over the place.'

‘Look here, Seaton,' I said, ‘you asked me to come here, and I didn't mind chucking up a leave just to oblige you and because I'd promised; but don't get talking a lot of rot, that's all, or you'll know the difference when we get back.'

‘Don't fret,' he said coldly, turning away. ‘I shan't be at school long. And what's more, you're here now, and there isn't anybody else to talk to. I'll chance the other.'

‘Look here, Seaton,' I said, ‘you may think you're going to scare me with a lot of stuff about voices and all that. But I'll just thank you to clear out; and you may please yourself about pottering about all night.'

He made no answer; he was standing by the dressing-table looking across his candle into the looking-glass; he turned and stared slowly round the walls.

‘Even this room's nothing more than a coffin. I suppose she told you – ‘It's all exactly the same as when my brother William died' – trust her for that! And good luck to him, say I. Look at that.' He raised his candle close to the little water-colour I have mentioned. ‘There's hundreds of eyes like that in this house; and even if God does see you, He takes precious good care you don't see Him. And it's just the same with them. I tell you what, Withers, I'm getting sick of all this. I shan't stand it much longer.'

The house was silent within and without, and even in the yellowish radiance of the candle a faint silver showed through the open window on my blind. I slipped off the bedclothes, wide awake, and sat irresolute on the bedside.

‘I know you're only guying me,' I said angrily, ‘but why is the house full of – what you say? Why do you hear – what you
do
hear? Tell me that, you silly fool!'

Seaton sat down on a chair and rested his candlestick on his knee. He blinked at me calmly. ‘She brings them,' he said, with lifted eyebrows.

‘Who? Your aunt?'

He nodded.

‘How?'

‘I told you,' he answered pettishly. ‘She's in league. You don't know. She as good as killed my mother; I know that. But it's not only her by a long chalk. She just sucks you dry. I know. And that's what she'll do for me; because I'm like her – like my mother, I mean. She simply hates to see me alive. I wouldn't be like that old she-wolf for a million pounds. And so' – he broke off, with a comprehensive wave of his candlestick – ‘they're always here. Ah, my boy, wait till she's dead! She'll hear something then, I can tell you. It's all very well now, but wait till then! I wouldn't be in her shoes when she has to clear out – for something. Don't you go and believe I care for ghosts, or whatever you like to call them. We're all in the same box. We're all under her thumb.'

He was looking almost nonchalantly at the ceiling at the moment, when I saw his face change, saw his eyes suddenly drop like shot birds and fix themselves on the cranny of the door he had left just ajar. Even from where I sat I could see his cheek change colour; it went greenish. He crouched without stirring, like an animal. And I, scarcely daring to breathe, sat with creeping skin, sourly watching him. His hands relaxed, and he gave a kind of sigh.

‘Was
that
one?' I whispered, with a timid show of jauntiness. He looked round, opened his mouth, and nodded. ‘What?' I said. He jerked his thumb with meaningful eyes, and I knew that he meant that his aunt had been there listening at our door cranny.

‘Look here, Seaton,' I said once more, wriggling to my feet. ‘You may think I'm a jolly noodle; just as you please. But your aunt has been civil to me and all that, and I don't believe a word you say about her, that's all, and never did. Every fellow's a bit off his pluck at night, and you may think it a fine sport to try your rubbish on me. I heard your aunt come upstairs before I fell asleep. And I'll bet you a level tanner she's in bed now. What's more, you can keep your blessed ghosts to yourself. It's a guilty conscience, I should think.'

Seaton looked at me intently, without answering for a moment. ‘I'm not a liar, Withers; but I'm not going to quarrel either. You're the only chap I care a button for; or, at any rate, you're the only chap that's ever come here; and it's something to tell a fellow what you feel. I don't care a fig for fifty thousand ghosts, although I swear on my solemn oath that I know they're here. But she' – he turned deliberately – ‘you laid a tanner she's in bed, Withers; well, I know different. She's never in bed much of the night, and I'll prove it, too, just to show you I'm not such a nolly as you think I am. Come on!'

‘Come on where?'

‘Why, to see.'

I hesitated. He opened a large cupboard and took out a small dark dressing-gown and a kind of shawl-jacket. He threw the jacket on the bed and put on the gown. His dusky face was colourless, and I could see by the way he fumbled at the sleeves he was shivering. But it was no good showing the white feather now. So I threw the tasselled shawl over my shoulders and, leaving our candle brightly burning on the chair, we went out together and stood in the corridor.

‘Now then, listen!' Seaton whispered.

We stood leaning over the staircase. It was like leaning over a well, so still and chill the air was all around us. But presently, as I suppose happens in most old houses, began to echo and answer in my ears a medley of infinite small stirrings and whisperings. Now out of the distance an old timber would relax its fibres, or a scurry die away behind the perishing wainscot. But amid and behind such sounds as these I seemed to begin to be conscious, as it were, of the lightest of footfalls, sounds as faint as the vanishing remembrance of voices in a dream. Seaton was all in obscurity except his face; out of that his eyes gleamed darkly, watching me.

‘You'd hear, too, in time, my fine soldier,' he muttered. ‘Come on!'

He descended the stairs, slipping his lean fingers lightly along the balusters. He turned to the right at the loop, and I followed him barefooted along a thickly carpeted corridor. At the end stood a door ajar. And from here we very stealthily and in complete blackness ascended five narrow stairs. Seaton, with immense caution, slowly pushed open a door, and we stood together, looking into a great pool of duskiness, out of which, lit by the feeble clearness of a night-light, rose a vast bed. A heap of clothes lay on the floor; beside them two slippers dozed, with noses each to each, a foot or two apart. Somewhere a little clock ticked huskily. There was a close smell; lavender and eau de Cologne, mingled with the fragrance of ancient sachets, soap, and drugs. Yet it was a scent even more peculiarly compounded than that.

And the bed! I stared warily in; it was mounded gigantically, and it was empty.

Seaton turned a vague pale face, all shadows: ‘What did I say?' he muttered. ‘Who's – who's the fool now, I say? How are we going to get back without meeting her, I say? Answer me that! Oh, I wish to God you hadn't come here, Withers.'

He stood audibly shivering in his skimpy gown, and could hardly speak for his teeth chattering. And very distinctly, in the hush that followed his whisper, I heard approaching a faint unhurried voluminous rustle. Seaton clutched my arm, dragged me to the right across the room to a large cupboard, and drew the door close to on us. And, presently, as with bursting lungs I peeped out into the long, low, curtained bedroom, waddled in that wonderful great head and body. I can see her now, all patched and lined with shadow, her tied-up hair (she must have had enormous quantities of it for so old a woman), her heavy lids above those flat, slow, vigilant eyes. She just passed across my ken in the vague dusk; but the bed was out of sight.