A Pair of Hands

by Arthur Quiller-Couch

　　AN OLD MAID'S GHOST-STORY"Yes," said Miss Le Petyt, gazing into the deep fireplace and lettingher hands and her knitting lie for the moment idle in her lap."Oh, yes, I have seen a ghost. In fact I have lived in a house with onefor quite a long time.""How you could--" began one of my host's daughters; and "You, AuntEmily?" cried the other at the same moment.Miss Le Petyt, gentle soul, withdrew her eyes from the fireplace andprotested with a gay little smile. "Well, my dears, I am not quite thecoward you take me for. And, as it happens, mine was the most harmlessghost in the world. In fact"--and here she looked at the fire again--"I was quite sorry to lose her.""It was a woman, then? Now I think," said Miss Blanche, "that femaleghosts are the horridest of all. They wear little shoes with high redheels, and go about tap, tap, wringing their hands.""This one wrung her hands, certainly. But I don't know about the highred heels, for I never saw her feet. Perhaps she was like the Queen ofSpain, and hadn't any. And as for the hands, it all depends how youwring them. There's an elderly shop-walker at Knightsbridge, forinstance--""Don't be prosy, dear, when you know that we're just dying to hear thestory."Miss Le Petyt turned to me with a small deprecating laugh. "It's such alittle one.""The story, or the ghost?""Both."And this was Miss Le Petyt's story:--"It happened when I lived down in Cornwall, at Tresillack on the southcoast. Tresillack was the name of the house, which stood quite alone atthe head of a coombe, within sound of the sea but without sight of it;for though the coombe led down to a wide open beach, it wound andtwisted half a dozen times on its way, and its overlapping sides closedthe view from the house, which was advertised as 'secluded.' I was verypoor in those days. Your father and all of us were poor then, as Itrust, my dears, you will never be; but I was young enough to beromantic and wise enough to like independence, and this word 'secluded'took my fancy."The misfortune was that it had taken the fancy, or just suited therequirements, of several previous tenants. You know, I dare say, thekind of person who rents a secluded house in the country? Well, yes,there are several kinds; but they seem to agree in being odious. No oneknows where they come from, though they soon remove all doubt aboutwhere they're 'going to,' as the children say. 'Shady' is the word, isit not? Well, the previous tenants of Tresillack (from first to last abewildering series) had been shady with a vengeance."I knew nothing of this when I first made application to the landlord, asolid yeoman inhabiting a farm at the foot of the coombe, on a cliffoverlooking the beach. To him I presented myself fearlessly as aspinster of decent family and small but assured income, intending arural life of combined seemliness and economy. He met my advancespolitely enough, but with an air of suspicion which offended me.I began by disliking him for it: afterwards I set it down as anunpleasant feature in the local character. I was doubly mistaken.Farmer Hosking was slow-witted, but as honest a man as ever stood upagainst hard times; and a more open and hospitable race than the peopleon that coast I never wish to meet. It was the caution of a child whohad burnt his fingers, not once but many times. Had I known what Iafterwards learned of Farmer Hosking's tribulations as landlord of a'secluded country residence,' I should have approached him with thebashfulness proper to my suit and faltered as I undertook to prove thebright exception in a long line of painful experiences. He had boughtthe Tresillack estate twenty years before--on mortgage, I fancy--becausethe land adjoined his own and would pay him for tillage. But the housewas a nuisance, an incubus; and had been so from the beginning."'Well, miss,' he said, 'you're welcome to look over it; a pretty enoughplace, inside and out. There's no trouble about keys, because I've putin a housekeeper, a widow-woman, and she'll show you round. With yourleave I'll step up the coombe so far with you, and put you in your way.'As I thanked him he paused and rubbed his chin. 'There's one thing Imust tell you, though. Whoever takes the house must take Mrs. Carkeekalong with it.'"'Mrs. Carkeek?' I echoed dolefully. 'Is that the housekeeper?'"'Yes: she was wife to my late hind. I'm sorry, miss,' he added, myface telling him no doubt what sort of woman I expected Mrs. Carkeek tobe; 'but I had to make it a rule after--after some things that happened.And I dare say you won't find her so bad. Mary Carkeek's a sensiblecomfortable woman, and knows the place. She was in service there toSquire Kendall when he sold up and went: her first place it was.'"'I may as well see the house, anyhow,' said I dejectedly. So westarted to walk up the coombe. The path, which ran beside a littlechattering stream, was narrow for the most part, and Farmer Hosking,with an apology, strode on ahead to beat aside the brambles.But whenever its width allowed us to walk side by side I caught him fromtime to time stealing a shy inquisitive glance under his rough eyebrows.Courteously though he bore himself, it was clear that he could not summe up to his satisfaction or bring me square with his notion of a tenantfor his 'secluded country residence.'"I don't know what foolish fancy prompted it, but about halfway up thecoombe I stopped short and asked:"'There are no ghosts, I suppose?'"It struck me, a moment after I had uttered it, as a supremely sillyquestion; but he took it quite seriously. 'No; I never heard tell ofany ghosts.' He laid a queer sort of stress on the word. 'There'salways been trouble with servants, and maids' tongues will be runnin'.But Mary Carkeek lives up there alone, and she seems comfortableenough.'"We walked on. By-and-by he pointed with his stick. 'It don't looklike a place for ghosts, now, do it?'"Certainly it did not. Above an untrimmed orchard rose a terrace ofturf scattered with thorn-bushes, and above this a terrace of stone,upon which stood the prettiest cottage I had ever seen. It was long andlow and thatched; a deep verandah ran from end to end. Clematis,Banksia roses and honeysuckle climbed the posts of this verandah, andbig blooms of the Marechal Niel were clustered along its roof, beneaththe lattices of the bedroom windows. The house was small enough to becalled a cottage, and rare enough in features and in situation to conferdistinction on any tenant. It suggested what in those days we shouldhave called 'elegant' living. And I could have clapped my hands forjoy."My spirits mounted still higher when Mrs. Carkeek opened the door tous. I had looked for a Mrs. Gummidge, and I found a healthymiddle-aged woman with a thoughtful but contented face, and a smilewhich, without a trace of obsequiousness, quite bore out the farmer'sdescription of her. She was a comfortable woman; and while we walkedthrough the rooms together (for Mr. Hosking waited outside) I 'took to'Mrs. Carkeek. Her speech was direct and practical; the rooms, in spiteof their faded furniture, were bright and exquisitely clean; and somehowthe very atmosphere of the house gave me a sense of well-being, offeeling at home and cared for; yes, of being loved. Don't laugh, mydears; for when I've done you may not think this fancy altogetherfoolish."I stepped out into the verandah, and Farmer Hosking pocketed thepruning-knife which he had been using on a bush of jasmine."'This is better than anything I had dreamed of,' said I."'Well, miss, that's not a wise way of beginning a bargain, if you'llexcuse me.'"He took no advantage, however, of my admission; and we struck thebargain as we returned down the coombe to his farm, where the hiredchaise waited to convey me back to the market town. I had meant toengage a maid of my own, but now it occurred to me that I might do verywell with Mrs. Carkeek. This, too, was settled in the course of thenext day or two, and within the week I had moved into my new home."I can hardly describe to you the happiness of my first month atTresillack; because (as I now believe) if I take the reasons which I hadfor being happy, one by one, there remains over something which I cannotaccount for. I was moderately young, entirely healthy; I felt myselfindependent and adventurous; the season was high summer, the weatherglorious, the garden in all the pomp of June, yet sufficiently unkemptto keep me busy, give me a sharp appetite for meals, and send me to bedin that drowsy stupor which comes of the odours of earth. I spent themost of my time out of doors, winding up the day's work as a rule with awalk down the cool valley, along the beach and back."I soon found that all housework could be safely left to Mrs. Carkeek.She did not talk much; indeed her only fault (a rare one inhouse-keepers) was that she talked too little, and even when I addressedher seemed at times unable to give me her attention. It was as thoughher mind strayed off to some small job she had forgotten, and her eyeswore a listening look, as though she waited for the neglected task tospeak and remind her. But as a matter of fact she forgot nothing.Indeed, my dears, I was never so well attended to in my life."Well, that is what I'm coming to. That, so to say, is just it.The woman not only had the rooms swept and dusted, and my meals preparedto the moment. In a hundred odd little ways this orderliness, thesepreparations, seemed to read my desires. Did I wish the roses renewedin a bowl upon the dining-table, sure enough at the next meal they wouldbe replaced by fresh ones. Mrs. Carkeek (I told myself) must havesurprised and interpreted a glance of mine. And yet I could notremember having glanced at the bowl in her presence. And how on earthhad she guessed the very roses, the very shapes and colours I hadlightly wished for? This is only an instance, you understand.Every day, and from morning to night, I happened on others, each slightenough, but all together bearing witness to a ministering intelligenceas subtle as it was untiring."I am a light sleeper, as you know, with an uncomfortable knack ofwaking with the sun and roaming early. No matter how early I rose atTresillack, Mrs. Carkeek seemed to have prevented me. Finally I had toconclude that she arose and dusted and tidied as soon as she judged mesafely a-bed. For once, finding the drawing-room (where I had beensitting late) 'redded up' at four in the morning, and no trace of aplate of raspberries which I had carried thither after dinner and leftovernight, I determined to test her, and walked through to the kitchen,calling her by name. I found the kitchen as clean as a pin, and thefire laid, but no trace of Mrs. Carkeek. I walked upstairs and knockedat her door. At the second knock a sleepy voice cried out, andpresently the good woman stood before me in her nightgown, looking (Ithought) very badly scared."'No,' I said, 'it's not a burglar. But I've found out what I wanted,that you do your morning's work over night. But you mustn't wait for mewhen I choose to sit up. And now go back to your bed like a good soul,whilst I take a run down to the beach.'"She stood blinking in the dawn. Her face was still white."'Oh, miss,' she gasped, 'I made sure you must have seen something!'"'And so I have,' I answered, 'but it was neither burglars nor ghosts.'"'Thank God!' I heard her say as she turned her back to me in her greybedroom--which faced the north. And I took this for a carelessly piousexpression and ran downstairs, thinking no more of it."A few days later I began to understand."The plan of Tresillack house (I must explain) was simplicity itself.To the left of the hall as you entered was the dining-room; to the rightthe drawing-room, with a boudoir beyond. The foot of the stairs facedthe front door, and beside it, passing a glazed inner door, you foundtwo others right and left, the left opening on the kitchen, the right ona passage which ran by a store-cupboard under the bend of the stairs toa neat pantry with the usual shelves and linen-press, and under thewindow (which faced north) a porcelain basin and brass tap. On thefirst morning of my tenancy I had visited this pantry and turned thetap; but no water ran. I supposed this to be accidental. Mrs. Carkeekhad to wash up glass ware and crockery, and no doubt Mrs. Carkeek wouldcomplain of any failure in the water supply."But the day after my surprise visit (as I called it) I had picked abasketful of roses, and carried them into the pantry as a handy place toarrange them in. I chose a china bowl and went to fill it at the tap.Again the water would not run."I called Mrs. Carkeek. 'What is wrong with this tap?' I asked.'The rest of the house is well enough supplied.'"'I don't know, miss. I never use it.'"'But there must be a reason; and you must find it a great nuisancewashing up the plate and glasses in the kitchen. Come around to theback with me, and we'll have a look at the cisterns.'"'The cisterns'll be all right, miss. I assure you I don't find it atrouble.'"But I was not to be put off. The back of the house stood but ten feetfrom a wall which was really but a stone face built against the cliffcut away by the architect. Above the cliff rose the kitchen garden, andfrom its lower path we looked over the wall's parapet upon the cisterns.There were two--a very large one, supplying the kitchen and the bathroomabove the kitchen; and a small one, obviously fed by the other, and asobviously leading, by a pipe which I could trace, to the pantry.Now the big cistern stood almost full, and yet the small one, though ona lower level, was empty."'It's as plain as daylight,' said I. 'The pipe between the two ischoked.' And I clambered on to the parapet."'I wouldn't, miss. The pantry tap is only cold water, and no use tome. From the kitchen boiler I gets it hot, you see.'"'But I want the pantry water for my flowers.' I bent over and groped.'I thought as much!' said I, as I wrenched out a thick plug of cork andimmediately the water began to flow. I turned triumphantly on Mrs.Carkeek, who had grown suddenly red in the face. Her eyes were fixed onthe cork in my hand. To keep it more firmly wedged in its placesomebody had wrapped it round with a rag of calico print; and,discoloured though the rag was, I seemed to recall the pattern (a lilacsprig). Then, as our eyes met, it occurred to me that only two morningsbefore Mrs. Carkeek had worn a print gown of that same sprigged pattern."I had the presence of mind to hide this very small discovery, slidingover it some quite trivial remark; and presently Mrs. Carkeek regainedher composure. But I own I felt disappointed in her. It seemed such apaltry thing to be disingenuous over. She had deliberately acted a fibbefore me; and why? Merely because she preferred the kitchen to thepantry tap. It was childish. 'But servants are all the same,' I toldmyself. 'I must take Mrs. Carkeek as she is; and, after all, she is atreasure.'"On the second night after this, and between eleven and twelve o'clock,I was lying in bed and reading myself sleepy over a novel of LordLytton's, when a small sound disturbed me. I listened. The sound wasclearly that of water trickling; and I set it down to rain. A shower(I told myself) had filled the water-pipes which drained the roof.Somehow I could not fix the sound. There was a water pipe against thewall just outside my window. I rose and drew up the blind."To my astonishment no rain was falling; no rain had fallen. I felt theslate window-sill; some dew had gathered there--no more. There was nowind, no cloud: only a still moon high over the eastern slope of thecoombe, the distant plash of waves, and the fragrance of many roses.I went back to bed and listened again. Yes, the trickling soundcontinued, quite distinct in the silence of the house, not to beconfused for a moment with the dull murmur of the beach. After a whileit began to grate on my nerves. I caught up my candle, flung mydressing-gown about me, and stole softly downstairs."Then it was simple. I traced the sound to the pantry. 'Mrs. Carkeekhas left the tap running,' said I: and, sure enough, I found it so--athin trickle steadily running to waste in the porcelain basin. I turnedoff the tap, went contentedly back to my bed, and slept."--for some hours. I opened my eyes in darkness, and at once knew whathad awakened me. The tap was running again. Now it had shut easily inmy hand, but not so easily that I could believe it had slipped openagain of its own accord. 'This is Mrs. Carkeek's doing,' said I; and amafraid I added 'Bother Mrs. Carkeek!'"Well, there was no help for it: so I struck a light, looked at mywatch, saw that the hour was just three o'clock, and descended thestairs again. At the pantry door I paused. I was not afraid--not onelittle bit. In fact the notion that anything might be wrong had nevercrossed my mind. But I remember thinking, with my hand on the door,that if Mrs. Carkeek were in the pantry I might happen to give her asevere fright."I pushed the door open briskly. Mrs. Carkeek was not there.But something was there, by the porcelain basin--something which mighthave sent me scurrying upstairs two steps at a time, but which as amatter of fact held me to the spot. My heart seemed to stand still--sostill! And in the stillness I remember setting down the brasscandlestick on a tall nest of drawers beside me."Over the porcelain basin and beneath the water trickling from the tap Isaw two hands."That was all--two small hands, a child's hands. I cannot tell you howthey ended."No: they were not cut off. I saw them quite distinctly: just a pair ofsmall hands and the wrists, and after that--nothing. They were movingbriskly--washing themselves clean. I saw the water trickle and splashover them--not through them--but just as it would on real hands.They were the hands of a little girl, too. Oh, yes, I was sure of thatat once. Boys and girls wash their hands differently. I can't justtell you what the difference is, but it's unmistakable."I saw all this before my candle slipped and fell with a crash. I hadset it down without looking--for my eyes were fixed on the basin--andhad balanced it on the edge of the nest of drawers. After the crash, inthe darkness there, with the water running, I suffered some bad moments.Oddly enough, the thought uppermost with me was that I must shut offthat tap before escaping. I had to. And after a while I picked upall my courage, so to say, between my teeth, and with a little sobthrust out my hand and did it. Then I fled."The dawn was close upon me: and as soon as the sky reddened I took mybath, dressed and went downstairs. And there at the pantry door I foundMrs. Carkeek, also dressed, with my candlestick in her hand."'Ah!' said I, 'you picked it up.'"Our eyes met. Clearly Mrs. Carkeek wished me to begin, and Idetermined at once to have it out with her."'And you knew all about it. That's what accounts for your plugging upthe cistern.'"'You saw? . . .' she began."'Yes, yes. And you must tell me all about it--never mind how bad.Is--is it--murder?'"'Law bless you, miss, whatever put such horrors in your head?'"'She was washing her hands.'"'Ah, so she does, poor dear! But--murder! And dear little MissMargaret, that wouldn't go to hurt a fly!'"'Miss Margaret?'"'Eh, she died at seven year. Squire Kendall's only daughter; andthat's over twenty year ago. I was her nurse, miss, and I know--diphtheria it was; she took it down in the village.'"'But how do you know it is Margaret?'"'Those hands--why, how could I mistake, that used to be her nurse?'"'But why does she wash them?'"'Well, miss, being always a dainty child--and the house-work, yousee--'"I took a long breath. 'Do you mean to tell me that all this tidyingand dusting--' I broke off. 'Is it she who has been taking this careof me?'"Mrs. Carkeek met my look steadily."'Who else, miss?'"'Poor little soul!'"'Well now'--Mrs. Carkeek rubbed my candlestick with the edge of herapron--'I'm so glad you take it like this. For there isn't reallynothing to be afraid of--is there?' She eyed me wistfully. 'It's mybelief she loves you, miss. But only to think what a time she must havehad with the others!'"'The others?' I echoed."'The other tenants, miss: the ones afore you.'"'Were they bad?'"'They was awful. Didn't Farmer Hosking tell you? They carried onfearful--one after another, and each one worse than the last.""'What was the matter with them? Drink?'"'Drink, miss, with some of 'em. There was the Major--he used to go madwith it, and run about the coombe in his nightshirt. Oh, scandalous!And his wife drank too--that is, if she ever was his wife. Just thinkof that tender child washing Up after their nasty doings!'"I shivered."'But that wasn't the worst, miss--not by a long way. There was a pairhere--from the colonies, or so they gave out--with two children, a boyand gel, the eldest scarce six. Poor mites!'"'Why, what happened?'"'They beat those children, miss--your blood would boil!--and starved,and tortured 'em, it's my belief. You could hear their screams, I'vebeen told, away back in the high-road, and that's the best part of halfa mile. Sometimes they was locked up without food for days together.But it's my belief that little Miss Margaret managed to feed themsomehow. Oh, I can see her, creeping to the door and comforting!'"'But perhaps she never showed herself when these awful people werehere, but took to flight until they left.'"'You didn't never know her, miss. The brave she was! She'd have stoodup to lions. She've been here all the while: and only to think what herinnocent eyes and ears must have took in! There was another couple--'Mrs. Carkeek sunk her voice."'Oh, hush!' said I, 'if I'm to have any peace of mind in this house!'"'But you won't go, miss? She loves you, I know she do. And think whatyou might be leaving her to--what sort of tenant might come next. Forshe can't go. She've been here ever since her father sold the place.He died soon after. You musn't go!'"Now I had resolved to go, but all of a sudden I felt how mean thisresolution was."'After all,' said I, 'there's nothing to be afraid of.'"'That's it, miss; nothing at all. I don't even believe it's so veryuncommon. Why, I've heard my mother tell of farmhouses where the roomswere swept every night as regular as clockwork, and the floors sanded,and the pots and pans scoured, and all while the maids slept. They putit down to the piskies; but we know better, miss, and now we've got thesecret between us we can lie easy in our beds, and if we hear anything,say "God bless the child!" and go to sleep.'"'Mrs. Carkeek,' said I, 'there's only one condition I have to make.'"'What's that?'"'Why, that you let me kiss you.'"'Oh, you dear!' said Mrs. Carkeek as we embraced: and this was as closeto familiarity as she allowed herself to go in the whole course of myacquaintance with her."I spent three years at Tresillack, and all that while Mrs. Carkeeklived with me and shared the secret. Few women, I dare to say, wereever so completely wrapped around with love as we were during thosethree years. It ran through my waking life like a song: it smoothed mypillow, touched and made my table comely, in summer lifted the heads ofthe flowers as I passed, and in winter watched the fire with me and keptit bright."'Why did I ever leave Tresillack?' Because one day, at the end of fiveyears, Farmer Hosking brought me word that he had sold the house--or wasabout to sell it; I forget which. There was no avoiding it, at anyrate; the purchaser being a Colonel Kendall, a brother of the oldSquire.'"'A married man?' I asked."'Yes, miss; with a family of eight. As pretty children as ever yousee, and the mother a good lady. It's the old home to Colonel Kendall.'"'I see. And that is why you feel bound to sell.'"'It's a good price, too, that he offers. You mustn't think but I'msorry enough--'"'To turn me out? I thank you, Mr. Hosking; but you are doing the rightthing.'"Since Mrs. Carkeek was to stay, the arrangement lacked nothing ofabsolute perfection--except, perhaps, that it found no room for me."'She--Margaret-will be happy,' I said; 'with her cousins, you know.'"'Oh yes, miss, she will be happy, sure enough,' Mrs. Carkeek agreed."So when the time came I packed up my boxes, and tried to be cheerful.But on the last morning, when they stood corded in the hall, I sent Mrs.Carkeek upstairs upon some poor excuse, and stepped alone into thepantry."'Margaret!' I whispered."There was no answer at all. I had scarcely dared to hope for one.Yet I tried again, and, shutting my eyes this time, stretched out bothhands and whispered:"'Margaret!'"And I will swear to my dying day that two little hands stole andrested--for a moment only--in mine."