XI. The Recluse of Hallow Hall
“Yes, ma’am,” said old Miles Galbraith to me. “Yes, I can tell you as queer a tale as here and there a one. In fact, if you find one to beat it, I’ll forego that little acknowledgment you promised me.”
“Fie, Miles,” was my amused retort. “You have already received the little acknowledgement in question, and have spent part of it. So how can you forego it?”
“Indeed, ma’am, it’s all right. You see, I know the little ways of ladies and gentlemen. They always pay half when they make the bargain, and the other half at the end of the story.”
“H’m! you’re very cute, Miles. But it will all depend upon what you have to tell me.”
“Then we’ll consider it settled, ma’am, if you please, so here goes. When I first went to be Mr Milsom’s gardener and coachman, he had quite a staff of servants in the house, for he still kept considerable company. Among these servants was Jenny Pryce, the under housemaid, as canny a girl as ever went to place, and I thought myself lucky when she promised to marry me. But Mr Wright, the butler, didn’t half like it. He was fond of her himself, and both he and the housekeeper had a lot to say about how foolish she was to promise to marry anybody whose station was so inferior to a butler’s. All the same, Jenny had her own notions on the subject, and at last she had to shut him up somewhat sharply.
“When the master heard about our love affair he was very good indeed to us, and furnished the little cottage in which we live to this day. The butler was never friendly to us, and would have cleared me off the premises, if he could have done so. The master, however, soon after this, took to very queer ways. It was said that he had been crossed in love, and that he had vowed never to look in a woman’s face again.
“Be that as it may, he withdrew from all society, and by degrees even ceased to walk about in his own grounds. Then he made an arrangement with his solicitor, whereby we were all put on board wages, and very liberal they were, too. Jenny came in for them as well, as she was supposed to be the master’s laundress now that she was married, though it’s mighty little washing he ever gave her to do. There was henceforth no interference in anything we did, there being certain rules prescribed by the master, and as long as we conformed to these rules we were all to keep our comfortable places.
“For two or three years Mr Milsom lived on like that, never going out, and never seeing anybody. At last he wouldn’t even take his meals in the dining or breakfast-rooms, but had one end of the house disconnected from the other part, that we could only approach his rooms by one door. These rooms were very comfortably furnished with all sorts of beautiful things collected by the master’s orders, from other parts of the house. The room that he called his library had thousands of books in it.
“The first room that we entered from the corridor was the one in which he took all his meals, and after a time we were forbidden to go any further. We would enter this room, clean it, set out his food very elaborately on the table, and then retire, only returning when we heard his bell ring for us to clear the things away. There would always be a paper on the table containing various orders. But the master himself no longer appeared to give them in person. In fact for several years not one of us was permitted to see him, and he always kept his door locked when he was in his dining-room.
“At first these eccentricities caused a deal of comment. But by-and-by the neighbourhood found new sensations to talk about, and the ‘Recluse of Hallow Hall,’ as Mr Milsom came to be called, was by lots of people entirely forgotten.
“But although we were not permitted to look upon the master’s face, he did not allow us to forget his presence, for he was very particular about the food he ate. He liked several courses to each meal. And they had to be beautifully cooked, or he would tell us his opinion pretty plainly. The fruit I raised for him had to be of the very finest, too, or he would threaten to dismiss me. This, however, did not often happen, for we all knew that we would never get such another comfortable place, where we all did pretty nearly as we liked, and we were careful to see that the master had as little cause for complaint as possible.
“If any of us had an apology to make, or anything to ask him, we would write what we wanted to say on a piece of paper each. These papers would be put on the table with the master’s meals, and we would receive our answers soon after.
“The only body that ever seemed inclined to grumble at this queer state of affairs was Mr Wright, the butler, and he was never satisfied. First he growled about one thing, then about another, and he was altogether so ill-tempered that the rest of us threatened to complain of him in a body.
“‘I think the best thing you can do, Mr Wright, is to clear out. You have got too big for your place, to my thinking.’ This was what the housekeeper said to him one day, and you should have seen the evil look he put on his face as he shook his fist at her, and shouted, ‘Maybe I will leave the place mighty soon, and in a way you little expect, too.’
“And sure enough he disappeared that very night, and everything went to prove that it was a deliberately planned flight. None of us felt sorry at losing him. But we were all considerably dismayed to find that the greater part of the family plate had disappeared with him. He must have had enough to do to carry it away unnoticed and unheard. At first we didn’t know what to do. Then I suggested going for the police. But the housekeeper said, ‘No, we must do nothing without asking the master’s advice first.’
“To this we agreed, and an account of the butler’s disappearance, together with a list of things he had stolen, was written and taken in with the breakfast. Presently there was a furious peal at the bell, and the housekeeper asked me to fetch the note we felt sure the master had been writing.
“Be quick, Galbraith,’ said she, ‘I’m on tenterhooks to know how he’ll take it, and what we are to do. Perhaps he’ll come out of his shell now, and live more like a civilised human being. He used to set great store by the silver plate. It’s been in his family more than two-hundred years.
“But so far from coming out of his shell, the master became, if possible, a more confirmed recluse than ever. His instructions to us were brief and to the point. ‘Take no steps to discover Wright,’ was his order. ‘Let his greed be his own punishment. What he has stolen does not equal the legacy I would have left him. Henceforth, do not name him to me. Let him be as one dead, and do not expect a successor in his place. My wants become fewer as I get more feeble, and I cannot tolerate the idea of having new people about the house. But I never forget those who are faithful to me, and a word to the wise is sufficient.’
“We took this last to mean that he would remember us in his will if we served him well. But this we had always done, so well, indeed, that we couldn’t improve ourselves. Soon after this there was a letter to Mr Milsom’s solicitors to be forwarded. Then a very big one was sent, to which Mr Crowday, the lawyer, brought back an answer, and, being curious, he went and laid it on his master’s table himself. But all was as quiet as it generally was, and he went away no wiser for his pains. Before he went he told the housekeeper that the master had been making a new will. But he wouldn’t say what it was.
“Soon after this a queer rumour arose in the neighbourhood. It was said that the butler had been murdered, and that his ghost haunted the park belonging to Hallow Hall. I don’t know that we exactly believed this rumour, but we none of us cared to be out too late alone at night.
“After a while we began to think the master must be failing, for he was often a whole day without taking any of the food that was so carefully prepared for him. This made us anxious, and we used to listen more intently than ever for any sign of life within the rooms we were not allowed to enter. But this sort of thing went on for five years, and by that time the folks in the neighbourhood looked upon both the house and the grounds as uncanny and haunted.
“One day Jenny and I were both indoors helping the housekeeper, as she was having a thorough cleaning down. As was often the case, I took my turn at carrying some of Mr Milsom’s food into his dining-room. But I had no sooner set foot in it than I heard a terrible groaning in one of the inner rooms. For a moment I looked as scared as did Jenny, who was with me. Then I rushed at the door, and never rested till I had broken it down.
“At last I was inside the place I had often been so curious about. But I shall never forget how astonished I was at what I saw.
“On a rich Turkey carpet which covered the floor lay a man writhing in pain. I rushed to him, and raised on to the couch – not my master, as I had expected, but Wright, the ex-butler! He was in horrible agony, but he actually twisted his features into a grin when he saw my amazement.
“‘Yes, it’s me,’ he gasped; ‘I’ve been living here all these years in clover, and none of you fools any wiser for it, though I doubt I’m done for now.’
“‘But the master?’ I asked.
“‘Been dead more than five years. It can’t hurt me now to confess. I killed him and buried him under the blighted oak in the park.’
“I let go of Wright when I heard this. By that time all the rest of the household came flying in. Wright had accidentally swallowed some poison, and died that night. Before he died he told us how he managed to get at the old master and kill him. By means of a pass key he had had made for him, he was able to get into the inner room, and the rest was easy. He removed the silver, knowing that we would think he had stolen it. He had for months imitated the master’s writing, and effectually deceived everybody. The reputed ghost which had been seen in the park was himself. He got in and out through an old cellar, and when we thought he was ailing, because his food was not eaten, he was enjoying himself elsewhere. He had procured large sums of money through Mr Milsom’s solicitors, who certainly wondered, but did not hesitate to supply it. He meant to have made one more haul, ere leaving Hallow Hall for ever, when he made the fatal mistake which ended his life.
“Sure enough, we found the master’s body under the oak, and removed it, in a suitable coffin, to the family vault.
“Of course the will which Wright had written was useless. For this we were rather sorry, as it provided handsomely for us all. Still, we have no need to grumble, for the gentleman who succeeded to the estate as heir-at-law – there being no will – treated us all very well. In fact, we’re his servants to this day, and we’ve no notion of seeking fresh places. Thank you, ma’am; I knew you would like my tale.”