Lady Millard had imbibed the modern taste for the occult and psychical speculations; and some of the experiences he overheard were so vividly described as to be almost hair-raising. Hegan’s hand shook as he handed dishes and plates. Certain subjects lay beyond his mental reach, but one was easily comprehended. He understood a genial gentleman—a neighbour—who, with a jovial laugh, remarked:
“I suppose, Lady Millard, you know that you have something here!—an apparition—and, by all accounts, it’s pretty bad too; it is——”
Here Lady Millard made a quick little sign, and then she too laughed, and said something in French, and the guest replied:
“Oh yes; by Jove!—all right, then—another time!”
But all the same, the seed had taken root in Hegan’s mind—“Something” had assumed alarming and sinister proportions.
The family were yachting at Cowes; it was an unusually warm and sultry July, and the staff at Bramleigh, with nothing to do, and an ample allowance of animal food and beer, felt more or less lazy—not to say comatose. The visit of Mrs. Pilcher (late caretaker) effected an agreeable diversion; this old body was full of stimulating local gossip and housewives’ tales, and always well worth her tea! The maids encouraged her to talk; they drew her out, and she entertained them with amazing stories, and “they says” of the Millard family.
“You lived here fifteen year, Mrs. Pilcher,” said the vivacious Fanny, “and never saw anything worse nor yourself—eh?—come now! Why, surely there must be a ghost in a big rambling old place like this? Don’t you tell me there ain’t!”
“There may be,” rejoined Mrs. “Pil,” nursing her teacup as she spoke, “but I never went about after dark. Tom and me allus sat in the library, and slep’ in the morning-room—us hadn’t the breath for stairs—and them above rampaged about as they liked; no need for us an inter-meddling—and them passages and corridors for wind would skin you alive!”
“Didn’t you never see anything?” persisted Fanny. “Come, now, we’re all friends here.”