Ghost Stories of an Antiquary, Montague Rhodes James [best ereader under 100 .TXT] 📗

was impossible she could have been a living person.

 

[Here the people made a hum, and a good deal of laughter, and the Court

called for silence, and when it was made]—

 

L.C.J. Why, Mr Attorney, you might save up this tale for a week; it

will be Christmas by that time, and you can frighten your cook-maids with

it [at which the people laughed again, and the prisoner also, as it

seemed]. God, man, what are you prating of—ghosts and Christmas jigs and

tavern company—and here is a man’s life at stake! [To the prisoner]: And

you, sir, I would have you know there is not so much occasion for you to

make merry neither. You were not brought here for that, and if I know Mr

Attorney, he has more in his brief than he has shown yet. Go on, Mr

Attorney. I need not, mayhap, have spoken so sharply, but you must

confess your course is something unusual.

 

Att. Nobody knows it better than I, my lord: but I shall bring it to an

end with a round turn. I shall show you, gentlemen, that Ann Clark’s body

was found in the month of June, in a pond of water, with the throat cut:

that a knife belonging to the prisoner was found in the same water: that

he made efforts to recover the said knife from the water: that the

coroner’s quest brought in a verdict against the prisoner at the bar, and

that therefore he should by course have been tried at Exeter: but that,

suit being made on his behalf, on account that an impartial jury could

not be found to try him in his own country, he hath had that singular

favour shown him that he should be tried here in London. And so we will

proceed to call our evidence.

 

Then the facts of the acquaintance between the prisoner and Ann Clark

were proved, and also the coroner’s inquest. I pass over this portion of

the trial, for it offers nothing of special interest.

 

Sarah Arscott was next called and sworn.

 

Att. What is your occupation?

 

S. I keep the New Inn at—.

 

Att. Do you know the prisoner at the bar?

 

S. Yes: he was often at our house since he come first at Christmas of

last year.

 

Att. Did you know Ann Clark?

 

S. Yes, very well.

 

Att. Pray, what manner of person was she in her appearance?

 

S. She was a very short thick-made woman: I do not know what else you

would have me say.

 

Att. Was she comely?

 

S. No, not by no manner of means: she was very uncomely, poor child!

She had a great face and hanging chops and a very bad colour like a

puddock.

 

L.C.J. What is that, mistress? What say you she was like?

 

S. My lord, I ask pardon; I heard Esquire Martin say she looked like a

puddock in the face; and so she did.

 

L.C.J. Did you that? Can you interpret her, Mr Attorney?

 

Att. My lord, I apprehend it is the country word for a toad.

 

L.C.J. Oh, a hop-toad! Ay, go on.

 

Att. Will you give an account to the jury of what passed between you

and the prisoner at the bar in May last?

 

S. Sir, it was this. It was about nine o’clock the evening after that

Ann did not come home, and I was about my work in the house; there was no

company there only Thomas Snell, and it was foul weather. Esquire Martin

came in and called for some drink, and I, by way of pleasantry, I said to

him, “Squire, have you been looking after your sweetheart?” and he flew

out at me in a passion and desired I would not use such expressions. I

was amazed at that, because we were accustomed to joke with him about

her.

 

L.C.J. Who, her?

 

S. Ann Clark, my lord. And we had not heard the news of his being

contracted to a young gentlewoman elsewhere, or I am sure I should have

used better manners. So I said nothing, but being I was a little put out,

I begun singing, to myself as it were, the song they danced to the first

time they met, for I thought it would prick him. It was the same that he

was used to sing when he came down the street; I have heard it very

often: ‘Madam, will you walk, will you talk with me?‘ And it fell out

that I needed something that was in the kitchen. So I went out to get it,

and all the time I went on singing, something louder and more bold-like.

And as I was there all of a sudden I thought I heard someone answering

outside the house, but I could not be sure because of the wind blowing so

high. So then I stopped singing, and now I heard it plain, saying, ‘_Yes,

sir, I will walk, I will talk with you_,’ and I knew the voice for Ann

Clark’s voice.

 

Att. How did you know it to be her voice?

 

S. It was impossible I could be mistaken. She had a dreadful voice, a

kind of a squalling voice, in particular if she tried to sing. And there

was nobody in the village that could counterfeit it, for they often

tried. So, hearing that, I was glad, because we were all in an anxiety to

know what was gone with her: for though she was a natural, she had a good

disposition and was very tractable: and says I to myself, ‘What, child!

are you returned, then?’ and I ran into the front room, and said to

Squire Martin as I passed by, ‘Squire, here is your sweetheart back

again: shall I call her in?’ and with that I went to open the door; but

Squire Martin he caught hold of me, and it seemed to me he was out of his

wits, or near upon. ‘Hold, woman,’ says he, ‘in God’s name!’ and I know

not what else: he was all of a shake. Then I was angry, and said I,

‘What! are you not glad that poor child is found?’ and I called to Thomas

Snell and said,’ If the Squire will not let me, do you open the door and

call her in.’ So Thomas Snell went and opened the door, and the wind

setting that way blew in and overset the two candles that was all we had

lighted: and Esquire Martin fell away from holding me; I think he fell

down on the floor, but we were wholly in the dark, and it was a minute or

two before I got a light again: and while I was feeling for the fire-box,

I am not certain but I heard someone step ‘cross the floor, and I am sure

I heard the door of the great cupboard that stands in the room open and

shut to. Then, when I had a light again, I see Esquire Martin on the

settle, all white and sweaty as if he had swounded away, and his arms

hanging down; and I was going to help him; but just then it caught my eye

that there was something like a bit of a dress shut into the cupboard

door, and it came to my mind I had heard that door shut. So I thought it

might be some person had run in when the light was quenched, and was

hiding in the cupboard. So I went up closer and looked: and there was a

bit of a black stuff cloak, and just below it an edge of a brown stuff

dress, both sticking out of the shut of the door: and both of them was

low down, as if the person that had them on might be crouched down

inside.

 

Att. What did you take it to be?

 

S. I took it to be a woman’s dress.

 

Att. Could you make any guess whom it belonged to? Did you know anyone

who wore such a dress?

 

S. It was a common stuff, by what I could see. I have seen many women

wearing such a stuff in our parish.

 

Att. Was it like Ann Clark’s dress?

 

S. She used to wear just such a dress: but I could not say on my oath

it was hers.

 

Att. Did you observe anything else about it?

 

S. I did notice that it looked very wet: but it was foul weather

outside.

 

L.C.J. Did you feel of it, mistress?

 

S. No, my lord, I did not like to touch it.

 

L.C.J. Not like? Why that? Are you so nice that you scruple to feel of

a wet dress?

 

S. Indeed, my lord, I cannot very well tell why: only it had a nasty

ugly look about it.

 

L.C.J. Well, go on.

 

S. Then I called again to Thomas Snell, and bid him come to me and

catch anyone that come out when I should open the cupboard door, ‘for,’

says I, ‘there is someone hiding within, and I would know what she

wants.’ And with that Squire Martin gave a sort of a cry or a shout and

ran out of the house into the dark, and I felt the cupboard door pushed

out against me while I held it, and Thomas Snell helped me: but for all

we pressed to keep it shut as hard as we could, it was forced out against

us, and we had to fall back.

 

L.C.J. And pray what came out—a mouse?

 

S. No, my lord, it was greater than a mouse, but I could not see what

it was: it fleeted very swift over the floor and out at the door.

 

L.C.J. But come; what did it look like? Was it a person?

 

S. My lord, I cannot tell what it was, but it ran very low, and it was

of a dark colour. We were both daunted by it, Thomas Snell and I, but we

made all the haste we could after it to the door that stood open. And we

looked out, but it was dark and we could see nothing.

 

L.C.J. Was there no tracks of it on the floor? What floor have you

there?

 

S. It is a flagged floor and sanded, my lord, and there was an

appearance of a wet track on the floor, but we could make nothing of it,

neither Thomas Snell nor me, and besides, as I said, it was a foul night,

 

L.C.J. Well, for my part, I see not—though to be sure it is an odd

tale she tells—what you would do with this evidence.

 

Att. My lord, we bring it to show the suspicious carriage of the

prisoner immediately after the disappearance of the murdered person: and

we ask the jury’s consideration of that; and also to the matter of the

voice heard without the house.

 

Then the prisoner asked some questions not very material, and Thomas

Snell was next called, who gave evidence to the same effect as Mrs

Arscott, and added the following:

 

Att. Did anything pass between you and the prisoner during the time Mrs

Arscott was out of the room?

 

Th. I had a piece of twist in my pocket.

 

Att. Twist of what?

 

Th. Twist of tobacco, sir, and I felt a