Voices in a Haunted Room

The days passed in pleasant domesticity; on the third day I accompanied David on the rounds of the estate. As usual we were taken into the kitchens when we visited the farms, and the farmers’ wives always insisted on our tasting their homemade wines.

We were at the Perms’ farm that day with Jenny Penn, a big buxom woman, who took a great delight in her kitchen and all that she produced hi it. But there was one thing she liked better than her food and that was a gossip.

David used to say that we could catch up on what was happening on the estate from Jenny for she knew everything that was going on, not only on the land her husband farmed but all the others too.

“Now what do you think of this brew, sir?” she said to David. “And you, Mrs. Frenshaw.

I’ve got a feeling that it is better than the last. A bit too sweet that. I always say to my Len, ‘Wine wants a bit of a tang to it!’ That’s what I say. Too much sweetness can kill a wine.”

We both agreed that it was a perfect vintage, which pleased her; and it was just as we were about to leave that she said: “And what do you think of our ghost? If you was to ask me I’d say it was a lot of fancy.” She put her hands on her substantial hips and added: “I was never much of a one for ghosts myself.”

“Ghosts?” I asked. “We haven’t heard anything about ghosts.”

“Well, it’s that young man ... the one that drowned, you know. He was shot at and that was the end of him. Someone said he’d been seen on the shore like ... coming out of the sea.”

“But he’s dead and buried.”

“I know. But this was his ghost, you know, sir. Ghosts don’t take heed of coffins.

And the other one was with him.”

“What other one?” I asked.

“Oh, that young man he was friendly with. Him as was working up at the big house.

What was his name?”

“Billy Grafter?” I said.

“Yes, that’s him. He was drowned when the boat was upset. Well, he’s been seen ... according to some. Or his ghost has.”

“He’s been seen ... here?” I asked faintly.

“Why, you look all shook up, Mrs. Frenshaw. There’s nothing to be afraid of in ghosts.”

“Who saw this?” I asked.

“Oh, it was one or two of them. Patty Grey’s girl, Ada, said she was down on the beach with her brother collecting wood that had been thrown up by the tide ... and she said he was there. He appeared ... and then he was gone.”

“It was inevitable that someone should start imagining these things,” said David.

“It made quite a stir at the time.”

We put down our glasses.

“That was enjoyable, Mrs. Penn,” went on David. “I am sure you are right about the tang.”

She ushered us out.

“Very good farmers, the Penns,” said David, as we rode away. “Everything in order.

I wish there were more like them.”

But I could only think: Someone has seen Billy Grafter. Was it imagination or does that mean that he is here ... in the neighbourhood?

We were rather worried about Aunt Sophie for she was not very well. My mother said one of us should call every day.

“She hasn’t been the same since Alberic died,” Jeanne told us. “And now there is all this talk about ghosts, she fancies Alberic can come back and talk to her ... tell her who his murderer was ...”

”Is there a lot of talk about ghosts?”

“Among the servants, yes. Two of them have said they have actually seen Alberic’s friend who was drowned with him, and now she has the idea that Alberic is trying to reach her. She talks about it all the time. Dolly Mather is there with her a good deal. Poor Dolly, she doesn’t have much of a life. Mrs. Trent has changed so much since that suicide. You know how she always wanted to be included in everything ... now she hardly ever goes out. Dolly is here a lot. I think she must find it a relief to get away from Grasslands. And Mademoiselle likes to have her. They talk constantly of Alberic.”

“I heard the rumour that Billy Grafter had been seen,” I said.

“Yes. He’s supposed to look as though he has walked out of the sea ... dripping water and ghastly white.”

“It’s a lot of nonsense.”

“She takes comfort in thinking that Alberic could come back.”

“Was she really so fond of him when he was here?”

Jeanne looked at me shrewdly. “She took an interest in him. She liked to have him around. You know he was very useful. There weren’t many she would have trusted to go up to London and do little commissions for her. She let him ride the horses. I think it was his being of our own nationality and being upset by everything that was happening hi France ... It was a common tragedy.”

“And the fact that he is dead would endear him to her.”

Jeanne said nothing and I went on: “Oh, you know as well as I do that Aunt Sophie revels hi misfortune. If only she would try to see the bright things of life. She shuts herself away ... lives like a recluse “

“That is Mademoiselle d’Aubigne,” said Jeanne soberly. “And we must accept this and do all we can to make life tolerable for her.”

“You are right, Jeanne, as always. Does she really want us to visit her?”