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Pixie O'Shaughnessy

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<h3>Chapter Twenty.</h3> <h4>The White Lady.</h4> Esmeralda set out on her expedition in the highest spirits, for a girl who is brought up on a regime of outdoor sport is not troubled with nerves, and she laughed at the suggestion of ghosts with the scorn which it deserved. What she did not laugh at, however, was the promise of Pat’s racket, a gift to him from an absent godfather, and coveted by all his brothers and sisters, but by none so much as Esmeralda, who played a very pretty game of her own, and felt a conviction that she could distinguish herself still more if she possessed a good racket instead of the old one which had done duty for years, and was now badly sprung. Pat had promised in the presence of witnesses to hand over his treasure if she returned to the schoolroom without—oh, elegant expression!—“letting a howl out of her,” and Esmeralda smiled to herself at the unlikeliness of such a proceeding. Why, except for the cold air, it was really a treat to walk along the disused old gallery which traversed the left wing of the Castle, where the moonbeams shone in through the long row of windows with such picturesque effect. She sauntered along, enjoying the scene with artistic appreciation, even feeling a sense of satisfaction in her own appropriate attire. Powdered hair and hooped skirt seemed more in keeping with the surroundings than the bicycling dress of everyday life, and it was an agreeable variety to pose as one’s own great-grandmother once in a way. Esmeralda reached the end of the gallery, and stretched a hand on either side, to feel her way down the circular stone staircase which would lead her into the entrance hall below. This means of descent was rarely used, and was now in a semi-ruinous condition, the stone steps being so much worn with the action of time that it required some little care to descend safely in the darkness. She stood poised on each step, extending a pretty foot to find a secure resting-place on the one below; round the curve where the darkness was almost complete, then coming into sight of the hall, with the moonlight making long streaks of light across the floor, and in the distance a yellow gleam from the solitary lamp. Only three more steps remained to be descended, when suddenly she stopped short, drawing her breath sharply, for there by the second window stood a man’s tall form, all straight and still, and of a curious shining whiteness. The face was turned aside, but at the sound of that gasping sob it turned slowly round, and a pair of keen, steel-like eyes stared into hers. Geoffrey Hilliard had been thoroughly enjoying this opportunity of studying the features of the fine old hall, and making a note of them for future use. “What a magnificent old place!” he said to himself. “Trelawney says the man is at his last gasp, and will positively have to turn out before long. Poor beggar! I pity him. It must be heartbreaking to leave an old place like this, where one’s ancestors have lived for generations, where every stone has its history, and the spirits of the departed seem still hovering in the air. Halloa, what’s that?” He turned his head, and peering round the corner of that quaintest of stone staircases beheld a vision at sight of which he stood transfixed and astounded. Spirits of ancestors, indeed! Here was one before his very eyes, a picture out of its frame, a dream of grace and beauty such as is not vouchsafed to mortal eyes in this commonplace, matter-of-fact twentieth century! The first glance was admiration alone, the second brought a thrill of something uncomfortably like fear, for to the most unsuperstitious of minds there was still something unpleasantly eerie in this unexpected apparition. Motionless as a figure of stone stood the White Lady, her body craned forward, one hand resting against the wall, the other drawing aside the quilted skirt; the moonlight fell full on the face, and showed it stiff and rigid as a sculptor’s block. For one moment Geoffrey felt incapable of movement, but the next commonsense returned, and a dozen matter-of-fact explanations darted into his head. What he saw was no figure, but simply a statue, a reflection, a curious effect of light. He must examine the phenomenon at close quarters, and find a solution with which to confound the superstitious in the future. No sooner said than done, and he stepped forward, momentarily averting his eyes, to make his sight the more searching. When he opened them again the figure still confronted him; but now the position seemed slightly altered, for instead of bending forward she had drawn back, as if to avoid his approach. A dread seized him lest the phenomenon might vanish altogether before he had had time to discover its character; he gave a sudden leap forward, and to his dismay beheld the figure stagger forward, and collapse in a heap on the lowest stair. In an instant his arms were round her, and two warm living hands came together with a shock of surprise. Masculine ghost lifted, and feminine ghost struggled and pinched in a manner unmistakably human. But if Geoffrey Hilliard’s matter-of-fact mind leapt to a quick understanding of the real situation, Esmeralda was much more sensational in her explanation. He remembered that it was Christmas Eve, a time when some family festivity, of which fancy-dress was a feature, might well be in progress; she leapt to the dramatic conclusion that this was a thief masquerading in ghost’s attire, the better to make his escape in the event of discovery. Cowardly ruffian! He should not find it so easy as he expected! If it was only a girl whom he had encountered, he should find that she was not so easily shaken off as he expected. To Hilliard’s intense amazement he felt the hands fasten suddenly round his arm, the white fingers grip his flesh with no uncertain grasp. The premeditated apologies died upon his lips, as the White Lady became rosy red, and her lips parted to show teeth set in threatening anger. He stepped back, or tried to do so, but she clung only the closer; he laughingly tried to move her hand from his arm, at which she shrieked aloud, and struggled valiantly. “No, no, you shall not go! You shall stay here until my father comes!” “That is just what I want to do! Pardon me, there is really no necessity to hold me so fast. I am not going to run away!” returned the young fellow, laughing, but in a somewhat impatient fashion. He had no ambition to be discovered in this melodramatic attitude, and once more made an effort to escape. The grasp on her wrist was gentle, but withal wonderfully strong, and to Esmeralda’s horror she found it impossible to struggle against it. The thought that the thief was escaping after all was too humiliating to be borne, and as one hand after the other was forced back she grew desperate, and raised her voice in a shrill cry for help. “Help! Help! Murder! Thieves! He–l–p!” “My dear, good girl!” exclaimed the Murderer blankly, overcome with amazement, and allowing himself to be once more seized in a detaining grasp, while Esmeralda poured the vials of her wrath upon him. “How dare you call me names! It’s a horsewhip you’ll be feeling on your back for this, once my father is here. I’ll hold you tight till he comes!” The stranger looked at her, tried to speak, choked hopelessly, and was just attempting a stammering, “You are really most—complimentary!” when the sound of flying footsteps came from above, and Bridgie rushed headlong down the staircase. Poor Bridgie, what a sight was that which met her eye! In the middle of the hall stood the figure of the tall Englishman, his face all sparkling with fun, his arms hanging slack by his sides, while Esmeralda clasped him in close embrace, reiterating shrilly— “I’ll hold you tight! I’ll hold you tight!” “For pity’s sake, Esmeralda, let go of him this minute!” she cried, rushing to the rescue, and laying soothing hands upon her sister’s shoulder. “There’s nothing to be frightened at, dear; it’s just that wicked Pat, who ought to be destroyed for his pains. It’s no ghost, darling. See, now, he’s laughing at you. Ghosts don’t laugh! He’s nothing but a man after all!” “He’s a thief! He was trying to get the things out of the cabinet. I am holding him until father comes, so that he may give him in charge!” gasped Esmeralda wildly; and Hilliard looked from one sister to the other with eyes dancing with amusement. “I’m neither ghost nor thief, as Major O’Shaughnessy will testify when he arrives. I’m really exceedingly sorry to have made such an unfortunate impression, but I came on the most innocent errand. I am staying with Mr Trelawney, and your father was kind enough to offer to lend me a mount for to-morrow. We thought of going for a long ride in the morning, so—” Esmeralda’s hands fell to her sides. The commonplace explanation did more than a hundred protestations, and a remembrance of the Major’s rhapsodies over the handsome young Englishman whom he had met but a week before was still fresh in her mind. She stepped back, but the light in her eyes gleamed more threateningly than before, as with tragic attitude she turned towards the staircase. On the lowest step crouched Pixie, all eyes and gaping mouth; on the third Mademoiselle clasped her hands, and wagged her head from side to side, as if calling someone to witness that she at least was innocent of offence; from between the banisters peered a red, questioning face, audacious, yet vaguely alarmed. “Patrick O’Shaughnessy,” said Esmeralda in an awful voice, “you shall pay for this evening’s work!” and at that, audacity triumphed, and Pat retorted sharply— “But not with the racket, me dear, for ye did howl after all. We heard you right up in the schoolroom. You’re not the hero you thought yourself, to mistake an innocent gentleman for a midnight assassin.” “Pat, be quiet!” interrupted Bridgie sharply, then turned to the stranger with that winsome smile which was her greatest charm. “You’ve been a schoolboy yourself, and know the ways of them. My brother never rests out of mischief, and he dared my sister Joan to walk the round of the Castle in the dark. She was dressed up as you see, and he had seen you down here in your white coat, and thought maybe you would each be startled by the sight of the other.” “And at first she wouldn’t go at all, and was only laughing at him for his pains, but Pat said Christmas Eve and Hallowe’en were all the same, and that if a girl went alone by herself in the moonlight she would see the spirit of her future h–—” cried Pixie in one breathless sentence. In her opinion Bridgie’s explanation had been singularly inadequate, and she was filled with indignation at the babel of sounds which drowned her conclusion. Bridgie was seized with a paroxysm of coughing, Mademoiselle with admirable promptitude knocked an old metal cup from a bracket, and sent it clanging to the floor, and Pat cried shrilly— “See a spook! She was dressed all in white, and you said yourself it was a good setting for a ghost story! It was yourself that put it in my head!” “I believe you are right. I certainly did make that remark,” said the stranger obligingly. For some reason or other his colour had decidedly heightened during the last few moments, and he looked at Esmeralda with a quick, embarrassed glance, as if afraid to meet her eyes. She was flushed like himself, a beautiful young fury, with eyes ablaze, and lips set in a hard, straight line. Propitiation was plainly hopeless at the moment, and he was not so foolish as to attempt the impossible. This was evidently “Beauty O’Shaughnessy,” of whom he had heard so much, and, to judge by his own experience, his friends’ accounts of the eccentricities of the family were no whit exaggerated. The dear little girl with the sweet eyes was plainly the eldest sister, since she took upon herself to perform the honours of the house, and he was thankful to follow her towards the fireplace, leaving the belligerents at the end of the hall. “I’m exceedingly sorry to have caused such an alarm! Please make my peace with your sister. I am afraid, if she was not prepared to see me, my actions must have seemed sadly suspicious,” he began apologetically; but Bridgie stopped him with uplifted hand, and a queenliness of manner which sat charmingly upon her slight figure. “Indeed you were not to blame at all, and there is no need to give it another thought. You have had bad weather for your visit, but I hope there is a change to-night. The Major will be delighted that you took him at his word, and Dandy will carry you like a feather. Here he is at last, to welcome you himself.” The Major came forward as she spoke, calling out welcomes from afar, and holding out his hand in hospitable Irish greeting. He was all smiles and superlatives, charmed that Mr Hilliard had called, overjoyed to give him a mount, delighted that he had already made the acquaintance of “me children,” beamingly unconscious that there was trouble in the air, and persistent in summoning Esmeralda to his side. “What do you think of that for an impromptu costume? All made out of a couple of sheets, me dear fellow, and at a moment’s notice. Quite a display we had this night, with the whole lot of them got up to match; but this child is the only one that kept it on. Me daughter Joan! Esmeralda, for short. Mr Geoffrey Hilliard!” Hilliard bowed deeply. Esmeralda drooped her eyelids, and the Major chuckled afresh at “the spirit of the girl!” “A shame to waste such sweetness on the desert air, isn’t it, Hilliard? That’s what she says herself, and there’s nothing for it but to give my consent to a party on New Year’s Eve. A man’s not master of himself when he has three daughters, but you must give us the pleasure of welcoming you with the rest of our guests. The Trelawneys will be here to a man, and you must come over with them. Esmeralda says she is fatigued with meeting the same people over and over again, so she’ll be delighted to see you. Won’t you now, Esmeralda? Give your own invitation to Mr Hilliard.” “Indeed, father, we have scarcely got the length of invitations. It was just an idea we were thinking over, and at the best it will be a poor country affair. If Mr Hilliard is accustomed to London, ’twould be but a bore to him to join us.” It was evident that Esmeralda was by no means anxious to count the stranger among her guests. Having shown herself to him in a ridiculous and unbecoming light, she had no wish to pursue the acquaintance, and the glance which accompanied the words was even more eloquent than themselves. “Don’t dare to come here again!” said the haughty eyes. “Don’t imagine you will get the laugh over me,” said the haughty head, and Geoffrey Hilliard read the signals, and smiled unperturbed—a happy, self-confident smile. “I assure Miss O’Shaughnessy that I should be honoured by an invitation,” he said blandly, “if I may accept in advance. Nothing will give me greater pleasure than to join your gathering.” <hr> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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