shelidonDecember 28, 2024Leave a Comment

As I said yesterday, I forgot to give you a Christmas ghost story by James Hume Nisbet during our Advent Calendar, so you’ll get two in compensation. If you liked this selection, here’s your friendly reminder to subscribe on Patreon and see the stuff I’m doing around Gothic fiction. This story will be in 4 parts, so it will lead us right up to New Year’s Eve.

Chapter I. Christmas Eve at Federation Hall

John Dagget, Esquire, shipowner, or, as his employés and enemies termed him, “Federation John,” sat in his sumptuous library on Christmas Eve, Anno Domini 1888, enjoying an exceptionally fine and solitary cigar, after having enjoyed an exceptionally good dinner.

Mr. Dagget could well afford the enjoyment of the most expensive dinners and cigars, as his costly and artistic surroundings seemed to imply, for he was one of the most acute and successful of businessmen, in spite of the apparent contradiction that so many of his ventures came to grief; indeed, the name of the Dagget Company line was more frequently to be read in the Shipping Gazette’s list of casualties than that of any other company, yet still he went about the market, polite, smiling and suave, the staunchest supporter of shipowners’ rights divine, and the most implacable enemy to Trade Unionism or Protection Societies, excepting, of course, the Union of and Protection of his own party, The Owner.

He was a fine man to look upon, with features of the ancient Assyrian type, as seen depicted on the monuments; tall, handsome and portly, without being at all corpulent; rather dark in complexion, with a good colour. Heavy drooping eyelids half covered slumbrous brown eyes; a broad, but receding and smooth forehead fell back from above a finely-carved aquiline nose, and beneath that again, very soft, carefully kept and long jet black moustaches and beard, the former completely concealing his mouth, and the latter reaching down with rippling grace to his massive watch chain; his hair, likewise, was worn rather long and wavy, so that altogether his appearance had just that touch of Orientalism about it which caused his modern evening dress to look a little incongruous when worn by him, and apt to make an artistic onlooker almost wish that the vanity which prompted him to take such extraordinary and loving care of his person could have moved him a little further for the sake of absolute harmony with his costume—a turban and robe seemed the correct thing with that splendid profile and perfumed, silky ebon beard.

In age he was considerably past the forties, but Time had not as yet desecrated, with his white powder, that inky mass. A little thinning at the temples perhaps, which only added to his refined and intellectual appearance, and a few minute crows-feet wrinkles at the outer corner of those heavy lids. That John Dagget, the wealthy and prosperous owner of “Federation Hall” and all those vessels which kept sailing out and seldom returning to port, had been a widower for the past fifteen years was surely his own fault, with a sex that can pardon a thousand and one sins in such a man, possessed of such a magnificent beard.

The books on his well-filled shelves showed that his habits were extravagant as well as refined. Editions de luxe, displaying all the quaint conceits of costly binding; rare engravings covered the space left free of shelves, little gems of sculpture and casting in marble and bronze showed up softly in the chastened light of the silver lamp which stood on the table with its hand-painted porcelain shade. A closer look at the titles of the books and the subjects of the engravings and statuary proved this to be a bachelor’s snuggery, the nestling den of a man who admired woman in the abstract and generally, rather than as a single ideal; a longer look at the man himself, and the manner in which he enjoyed his cigar, and reclined within his comfortable Russia leather easy-chair, revealed the selfish voluptuary; a nearer and still more rigid scrutiny might have made the disciple of Lavater shrink back with a shudder; it was the indolent softness and beauty of the food-satisfied human tiger.

One might easily conclude, after this final physiognomic revelation, that domestic ties, where they involved the slightest sacrifice or obligation, would be extremely irksome to this splendid-looking sybarite, and how unlikely it was that he should ever again shackle himself with a wife after he had got free from the first encumbrance. Report had it that, the last years of the poor lady, who had given him the start on his prosperous course with her money, were unhappy ones, and that, in spite of his charms, they had existed under the same roof without addressing each other more than politeness required before the servants and company, and also that both had hailed their freedom with equal relief, for even fine-looking men, although these gifts of Nature are all sufficient to lovers, must have other qualities if they would continue to satisfy wives; therefore, although, I daresay, many spinsters and widows sighed vainly after this costly prize, and blamed the unappreciative, deceased Mrs. Dagget, it was a kind Providence which denied them their wishes, and left the fascinator still a solitary widower.

Federation Hall was a wide, roomy, and cottage-built retreat, with the dining, drawing-rooms and other day rooms on the ground floor, and the bedrooms upstairs, while the kitchen and servants’ quarters were placed more to the back. As it was planned for comfort more than economy of space, it covered a considerable piece of ground, with well-laid-out pleasure grounds surrounding it. A wife, with her extra wants and habits, would have disturbed the economy of masculine comfort of this perfect lair; while he had been troubled with one, he had rented a town mansion, but since that happy release, he had bought this estate and built the house entirely to suit himself.

As he lolled back, with half-closed eyes, watching the distant wood log spouting out its blue flames in the hearth, and sending from his jetty moustache thin, leisurely, spiral wreaths of fragrant smoke, the subdued sound of a piano, mingled with a girl’s fresh voice, stole in soothingly from the distant drawing-room, proving that something feminine, besides the servants, was in the house, which was also quite in keeping with his character, for, although he might not be bothered with the perpetual presence of a wife, such a nature required the occasional presence of a female, young, good-looking and subservient; to amuse, or sooth him when he felt inclined, and for such a position the player and singer, his niece, Mary Gray, exactly suited.

She had been left to his charge by her dying mother, his only sister, when at the most interesting age for such a guardian, that is, when she was interesting herself, being ready to leave school and bring her accomplishments into his lonely house, so that he received the charge willingly.

Mary, when she first came, had supposed herself a rich orphan, for her father had been in a good position and during his life denied her nothing, but it was not very long before her uncle, who had with the care of herself, also sole charge of her late father’s affairs, informed her, that after paying up all outstanding debts, she had no other expectations except what might come from him, her benefactor; she accepted his explanation as gospel and enquired no further about the intricate details of a business she could not understand, and as he was an easy enough guardian so that she did not intrude where she was not wanted, she accepted without much regret, or forebodings, the position of housekeeper and dependent, and did her best to entertain his guests whenever he gave an entertainment in the way of business.

He had another charge living in the house at this time, whose fortune he also had the unravelling of with the same unfortunate results of no balance left, but as he had taken his niece into his house, so he kindly employed the impecunious young Richard Harris, about his office and permitted him, by way of return, a corner at his bountiful table, and the use of a bedroom, with a little pocket money now and again, and a limited order at the tailor’s and bootmaker’s—not the most pleasant position for a youth of spirit to fill, even although it was backed by the somewhat vague promise of a future partnership, when he had mastered the business thoroughly.

At the present moment Richard Harris was sitting in a very dejected attitude with his elbow resting on a corner of the piano and his head supported on his hand, listening, or seeming to listen to the song which Mary was singing and playing for the young man, although the solitary smoker in the library was also getting his share of it, as he managed to get of most things.

Richard Harris was nineteen past, fair-skinned, with curly brown hair, and soft earnest blue-grey eyes, a gentlemanly young fellow with an expression usually frank and attractive, but now clouded over with helpless and hopeless care.

Mary was between seventeen and eighteen, dark, like her uncle, with a graceful small figure and sympathetic face, perhaps there was more sympathy expressed in it than usual as she glanced now and then from her music to her inattentive companion, who had been her constant friend for over a twelvemonth, with a closer place in her heart, for she knew not exactly how long during that space of time, perhaps a little before his eyes had shown her how near she was to his, however, being both so utterly dependent on the great man in the library, they had not as yet ventured to express in words what both had read another way.

Of late Richard had been getting more into the business confidence of his patron, and being as yet a young man with genuine and humane instincts, life was becoming less supportable so that he was not such a cheery companion as he had been to Mary.

Both sat this evening near each other for some time, while she went over several of her songs and pieces, long enough for that fine cigar to be changed to ashes in the library, and the smoker to sink into a light after-dinner slumber within his easy chair, when suddenly Mary Gray rose from her music stool, and touched the moody youth lightly on the shoulder.

“Dick, can’t you lay aside thoughts about business for one night—for this night of all nights—and be happy?”

“No, Mary, this night of all nights I must remember it most, for through it this is likely to be the last night you and I shall be able to spend together, for a long, long time, perhaps for ever.”

“What do you mean, dear?”

“That I am sick of this wrecking office, where men are murdered for the insurance money, as surely as ever the poisoner, Palmer, killed his victims!” replied the young man passionately, raising his head and voice at the same time almost to a shout.

“Hush, Dick, or uncle will hear you! Come to the fire, and let us talk about it there; business ways, you know, are different to the romantic ways of boys and girls like us.”

“Surely no other business on the face of the earth can be conducted as Dagget & Co.’s is conducted or we’d all be better out of it, and dead before every instinct of right and wrong is crushed out of us.”

“Has uncle not been good to you, Dick?—every day you are getting more into his confidence and before long you will be his partner.”

“Never! After to-day I would sooner starve than go back to that office, which the spirits of drowned sailors seem to haunt.”

“But uncle cannot help the sailors drowning if the ships go down.”

“He could prevent the ships going down if he liked; in fact, Mary, that is his principal business—to sink ships, drown the sailors, and rob the widow and the fatherless.”

“Oh! Dick, don’t say that of my uncle, and he so generous and kind to both of us, and so noble looking!” whispered Mary, in a piteous tone, putting her hand in front of his mouth to stop any more words.

The little hand he took in both of his and kissed it fondly, then dropped it in a resigned and hopeless fashion.

“Well, well! Mary, I won’t vex you by saying any more on the subject, only I cannot do the thing he has insisted on me doing to-night, therefore I shall have to go.”

“What is it, Dick? Surely nothing so very bad, since he was so pleasant at dinner to-night.”

“No, Mary, let it be, you’ll know perhaps when the time comes, and I don’t want to prejudice you against your uncle.”

“Dick, do you think I don’t care for you?” said Mary, taking both his hands in hers, so that she might see his eyes, for he had suddenly put them up to hide the despairing dampness which was gathering there.

“Yes, Mary, I think you care for me a little, but not so much as you care for your uncle, nor can I, a pauper, and all dependent on his generosity expect it, and not by a thousand fold so much as I care for you!”

“Dick!”

There was that in the girl’s eyes, as she looked into his, which stopped further words on his part for a time. They were standing now in front of the blazing fire, and after that look, her slender arms crept up, the little hands releasing his hands and then joining themselves round his neck, while she clasped her closely towards him, the two pair of young lips meeting in a different salute to any they had had before.

For a moment Richard Harris forgot his poverty and business scruples as the glowing dark face lay on his breast, and the ebon tresses brushed against the tender down of his cheek, with a thrill which once it passed would never return with quite the same subtle sensation, although the after kisses might be sweet.

A moment passed, one of the supreme moments which go to make eternity, and then a flood of remorseful self-reproaches rushed in, where only love had been before. What right had he with this young girl’s love? going as he was to fling from him protection and home; on that point, to his credit, he did not waver, even with those precious arms still clasping him, and that sweet face still resting against his beating heart. The horror of those business confidences was too real a nightmare for even love to lift. It was clearly his duty to leave her at perfect liberty and go from that ghost-filled, blood-stained house; the furniture about them, the clothes he had on, were all the proceeds of robbery and murders, murder and robbery protected, or rather winked at by law, yet real as the victims who lay by hundreds under the sea, as real as the widows and children who had so much reason to curse the name of the sleek, cold monster who robbed them even of shillings to add to his pile of crimsoned gold, who gathered in all and gave out nothing.

Filled with these self-abased horrors he raised his arms and taking hold of her fingers unclasped them, then holding her from him he spoke:

“Forgive me Mary, my darling, I have done you a great wrong. Your duty, as you say, is to your uncle, mine to fly from him, while I can still call my soul my own, before I am perjured past the power of resistance; perhaps his ways of working are the ordinary methods of business, since it is tolerated; in that case, if I keep to the same mind as I am now, I can never be anything else than a beggar, while if I change and become a business man then I shall have become too utterly base to be worthy of you; let me go, dearest, without saying any more.”

“No, Dick, we have both said too much ever to be at liberty again, and I am glad of it, if you never regret, for now you are more to me than all the world; tell me all your troubles and let me comfort you if I can do no more.”

At this moment the door was opened noiselessly, and the discreet footman made his appearance with an emotionless visage:

“Please Mister Richard, master requests your presence in the library.”

To be continued tomorrow…