‘Then she’s not “out”?’
‘Not in the sense you mean. I hope she’s not “out” in any sense,’ said Mr. Ampleforth, with grim facetiousness.
There was a general shudder.
‘Well, I’m glad we can’t ask her to an evening party,’ observed Ronald. ‘A ghost at tea-time is much less alarming. Is she what is called a “popular girl”?’
‘I’m afraid not.’
‘Then why do people invite her?’
‘They don’t realize what they’re doing.’
‘A kind of pig in a poke business, what? But you haven’t told us yet how we’re to get hold of the little lady.’
‘That’s quite simple,’ said Mr. Ampleforth readily. ‘She comes to the door.’
The drawing-room clock began to strike eleven, and no one spoke till it had finished.
‘She comes to the door,’ said Ronald with an air of deliberation, ‘and then—don’t interrupt, Eileen, I’m in charge of the cross-examination—she—she hangs about—’
‘She waits to be asked inside.’
‘I suppose there is a time-honoured formula of invitation. “Sweet Ermyntrude, in the name of the master of the house I bid thee welcome to Low Threshold Hall. There’s no step, so you can walk straight in.” Charles, much as I admire your house, I do think it’s incomplete without a doorstep. A ghost could just sail in.’
‘There you make a mistake,’ said Mr. Ampleforth impressively. ‘Our ghost cannot enter the house unless she is lifted across the threshold.’
‘Like a bride,’ exclaimed Magdalen.
‘Yes,’ said Mr. Ampleforth. ‘Because she came as a bride.’ He looked round at his guests with an enigmatic smile.
They did not disappoint him. ‘Now, Charlie, don’t be so mysterious! Do tell us! Tell us the whole story.’
Mr. Ampleforth settled himself into his chair. ‘There’s very little to tell,’ he said, with the reassuring manner of someone who intends to tell a great deal, ‘but this is the tale. In the time of the Wars of the Roses the owner of Low Threshold Hall (I need not tell you his name was not Ampleforth) married en troisièmes noces the daughter of a neighbouring baron much less powerful than he. Lady Elinor Stortford was sixteen when she came and she did not live to see her seventeenth birthday. Her husband was a bad hat (I’m sorry to have to say so of a predecessor of mine), a very bad hat. He ill-treated her, drove her mad with terror, and finally killed her.’
The narrator paused dramatically but the guests felt slightly disappointed. They had heard so many stories of that kind.
‘Poor thing,’ said Magdalen, feeling that some comment was necessary, however flat. ‘So now she haunts the place. I suppose it’s the nature of ghosts to linger where they’ve suffered, but it seems illogical to me. I should want to go somewhere else.’
‘The Lady Elinor would agree with you. The first thing she does when she gets into the house is make plans for getting out. Her visits, as far as I can gather, have generally been brief.’
‘Then why does she come?’ asked Eileen.
‘She comes for vengeance,’ Mr. Ampleforth’s voice dropped at the word. ‘And apparently she gets it. Within a short time of her appearance, someone in the house always dies.’
‘Nasty spiteful little girl,’ said Ronald, concealing a yawn. ‘Then how long is she in residence?’
‘Until her object is accomplished.’
‘Does she make a dramatic departure—in a thunderstorm or something?’
‘No, she is just carried out.’
‘Who carries her this time?’
‘The undertaker’s men. She goes out with the corpse. Though some say—’
‘Oh, Charlie, do stop!’ Mrs. Ampleforth interrupted, bending down to gather up the corners of her bedspread. ‘Eileen will never sleep. Let’s go to bed.’
‘No! No!’ shouted Ronald. ‘He can’t leave off like that. I must hear the rest. My flesh was just beginning to creep.’
Mr. Ampleforth looked at his wife.
‘I’ve had my orders.’
‘Well, well,’ said Ronald, resigned. ‘Anyhow, remember what I said. A decent fall of rain, and you’ll have a foot of water under the tower there, unless you put in a doorstep.’
Mr. Ampleforth looked grave. ‘Oh no, I couldn’t do that. That would be to invite er—er—trouble. The absence of a step was a precaution. That’s how the house got its name.’
‘A precaution against what?’
‘Against Lady Elinor.’
‘But how? I should have thought a draw-bridge would have been more effective.’
‘Lord Deadham’s immediate heirs thought the same. According to the story they put every material obstacle they could to bar the lady’s path. You can still see in the tower the grooves which contained the portcullis. And there was a flight of stairs so steep and dangerous they couldn’t be used without risk to life and limb. But that only made it easier for Lady Elinor.’
‘How did it?’
Why, don’t you see, everyone who came to the house, friends and strangers alike, had to be helped over the threshold! There was no way of distinguishing between them. At last when so many members of the family had been killed off that it was threatened with extinction, someone conceived a brilliant idea. Can you guess what it was, Maggie?’
‘They removed all the barriers and levelled the threshold, so that any stranger who came to the door and asked to be helped into the house was refused admittance.’
‘Exactly. And the plan seems to have worked remarkably well.’
‘But the family did die out in the end,’ observed Maggie.
‘Yes,’ said Mr. Ampleforth, ‘soon after the middle of the eighteenth century. The best human plans are fallible, and Lady Elinor was very persistent.’
He held the company with his glittering raconteur’s eye.
But Mrs. Ampleforth was standing up. ‘Now, now,’ she said, ‘I gave you twenty minutes’ grace. It will soon be midnight. Come along, Maggie, you must be tired after your journey. Let me light you a candle.’ She took the girl’s arm and piloted her into the comparative darkness of the hall. ‘I think they must be on this table,’ she said, her fingers groping; ‘I don’t know the house myself yet. We ought to have had a light put here. But it’s one of Charlie’s little economies to have as few lights as possible. I’ll tell him about it. But it takes so long to get anything done in this out-of-the-way spot. My dear, nearly three miles to the nearest clergyman, four to the nearest doctor! Ah, here we are, I’ll light some for the others. Charlie is still holding forth about Lady Elinor. You didn’t mind that long recital?’ she added, as, accompanied by their shadows, they walked up the stairs. ‘Charlie does so love an audience. And you don’t feel uncomfortable or anything? I am always so sorry for Lady Elinor, poor soul, if she ever existed. Oh, and I wanted to say we were so disappointed about Antony. I feel we got you down to-day on false pretences. Something at the office kept him. But he’s coming to-morrow. When is the wedding to be, dearest?’
‘In the middle of September.’
‘Quite soon now. I can’t tell you how excited I am about it. I think he’s such a dear. You both are. Now which is your way, left, right, or middle? I’m ashamed to say I’ve forgotten.’
Maggie considered. ‘I remember; it’s to the left.’
‘In that black abyss? Oh, darling, I forgot; do you feel equal to going on the picnic to-morrow? We shan’t get back till five. It’ll be a long day: I’ll stay at home with you if you like—I’m tired of ruins.’
‘I’d love to go.’
‘Good-night, then.’
‘Good-night.’
In the space of ten minutes the two men, left to themselves, had succeeded in transforming the elegant Queen Anne drawing-room into something that looked and smelt like a bar-parlour.