As Berry and I Were Saying by Dornford Yates Read Free Book Online Page A

note of a bell, but, though my host assured me that that was a phantom sound, I found myself unable to ignore the indisputable fact that there were within earshot quite thirty old-fashioned swing-bells, any one of which, had it been set in motion, could have produced the note. I am, therefore, forced to the conclusion that, while ghosts interest me, I do not interest ghosts: my addresses have been rejected: it is now, indeed, some years since I made up my mind no longer to seek the acquaintance of personalities so ungracious and so blind. But I must confess to disappointment. I’ve heard so many reports of spectres that have been seen and sometimes heard, of lights that have been extinguished by no known agency, of doors that were shut – and have opened, of stairs that have creaked beneath some unseen weight… Still, my disappointment is tempered by this – that only on one occasion have I been rendered such a report by a man who saw a spectre with his own eyes. His statement diminished all hearsay, once for all. For reasons which will appear, I have no hesitation in passing it on.
    “I was staying at a château in France before the first war, and among the guests was a Major Andrew —, of a famous Scottish Regiment, to which the sons of his house had always gone. He was a very quiet man and kept a lot to himself: but we always got on very well, and I think he knew me better than anyone else. One thing about him stood out – he was intensely practical. His lack of imagination hit me between the eyes. This emerged from our conversation over and over again. While such a trait in a soldier used to be a good fault, I had a definite feeling that such a man would never go very far. I may have been wrong there, for he was most intelligent.
    “Now it was the custom at the château for the women to retire in good time and the men to bid them good night and repair to a smoking-room. This was a spacious apartment, very well found. And there we would sit and talk for an hour or more. The company included more than one eminent man, whose light conversation was most agreeable: but one night a foolish, rich man decided to take the floor. Accordingly, he retailed a ghost story which I had been told as a child: when he had done, some other fool had to beat this well-worn tale, and for the next half hour all the old stock ghost stories were trotted out. Before they were done, the eminent men had withdrawn, and the audience gradually shrivelled, until Major — and I were almost the only two left. He had said nothing at all, and I remember thinking of the contempt with which so practical a man must have regarded such reports. Discouraged by our demeanour, the last of the fabulists made some excuse to retire, and Major — and I were left to ourselves.
    “For a little we did not speak, but savoured the blessed silence which supervened. It was rather like turning off the wireless. I was just about to break this – by a singularly destructive criticism of our late tormentors, when he addressed me.
    “‘I once saw an apparition.’
    “I hope I didn’t show it, but I never was so much astonished in all my life. It was as if an archangel had said, ‘I once had an affair with a chorus-girl.’ Then I realized I was on to something extremely rare – a first-hand report by a man who was quite incapable not only of lying, but of embellishing the truth.
    “‘Please tell me,’ I said.
    “‘I’m afraid it’s a rather long story.’
    “‘So much the better,’ said I.
    “‘Well, I live in Lincolnshire. The house is too big for us, so we’ve shut up two-thirds of the building and live in one of the wings. Once a month, I take the carpenter with me and go round the whole of the bit we keep shut up – in case the rain’s come in or something like that. One day we were on the first floor, when I opened the door of a room, and there was an old fellow, wading across the floor. He was wearing black breeches and stockings and a