his work speaks for itself.”
“Indeed it does,” said Sir John, ”oh, indeed so.”
Had there been any need to do so, I might have raised my voice to second Sir John, for while I commented a moment ago upon the great abundance of the food, it should be said that it tasted remarkably well. It was perhaps a bit too delicately spiced for one, like me, who sought grosser gustatory satisfactions. Which is to say, I knew that the turbot, the quail, and the lamb that were put before me in their diverse sauces were in every way exceptional, yet I still preferred Annie’s well-garlicked beef stew.
“Remarkable coincidence,” said Sir John.
“Oh? What is that, sir?” queried our host.
“That your wife should be away visiting an ill member of her family. So also is my own dear wife. Which of her relations is sick?”
“Pardon?”
“Which family member? Brother? Sister …?”
“Oh, well, her mother.”
“You see? Remarkable coincidence. It is her mother also, whose illness has occasioned my wife’s visit. Remarkable.”
Sir Simon, for some reason, seemed disturbed by this exchange. He signaled the wine server to refill the glasses. Glancing uneasily at Clarissa, who sat next me, I wondered how much more she should or could drink of the wine. It was not that I feared that she would become boisterous or rude, yet she might become talkative. And the conversationalists at this table were to be Sir Simon and Sir John-and no others. Surely she realized that. Clarissa took a sip from the newly refilled glass, then turned to me with a lazy smile upon her face. Her eyes, I noted, were a bit opaque.
“I do regret Marie-Hélène’s absence now, at the time of your visit,” said Sir Simon, resuming their talk. ”Lady Grenville, that is. She would be the ideal guide through this old house. She knows its history better than I.”
“How old is it?” Sir John asked, showing little more than polite interest.
“Oh … let me see. The core of the house is quite old-fourteen-something. Marie-Hélène would have it exact.”
“That is indeed old.”
“There have been three major additions since then. It is one of those old houses which simply grew of its own volition. Why, it even has a ghost or two.”
This was simply too much for Clarissa. Her eyes brightened. ”A
That last was her response to the kick I gave her in the ankle. As I administered it, I leaned close and whispered, ”Do you wish to have us eating with the servants?”
Lips pursed, she nodded primly, indicating that she understood and would cooperate.
Sir Simon Grenville, on the other hand, seemed to take no notice of the breach of etiquette. He smiled blandly at Clarissa and shrugged rather grandly. ”The truth is, alas, I know not much to tell. It, or perhaps he, is said to be the ghost of the first Grenville Baronet, who would have been-let me see now-my great-grandfather, no less.”
“And how does this restless spirit make himself known?” asked Sir John.
“Oh, by rambling about the house, making a good deal of noise and generally creating havoc.”
“Havoc, is it? And how does he do that?”
“Why, by allowing himself to be seen from time to time. He looks rather different from me. His is a face that seems to run in the family. My father was quite like him. We’ve a portrait of him in the library. He appears in these visible visitations in dress of the last century, and there does seem to be something-though I risk his wrath to say it-rather evil about him, his expression, the look in his eyes, the rather frightening smile he offers the viewer.”
“I can only gather,” said Sir John, ”that you yourself have seen this apparition on at least one occasion.”
“Yes,” said he, ”I have, and on more than one occasion.” Sir Simon had grown most serious of a sudden. Any hint of jocularity had vanished from his manner. ”And each time I have counted myself lucky to survive unscathed.”
“Why so? Is this spirit so dangerous?”
“Dangerous enough. His appearance, which is to say, his visible manifestation, usually means that someone in or around this house … will die, and die most horribly, within the next week or so.”
There was a sudden and quite audible intake of breath next me. It was Clarissa, of course, so overcome by Sir Simon’s lurid tale that she could but gasp for air; indeed she was truly afrighted.
Yet Sir John, having listened, primed his host with questions and comments through the recital, and in short, done all that a good guest might be expected to do, had finally had quite enough of ghosts, spirits, and apparitions.
“If you will forgive me, Sir Simon,” said he, ”I find all such tales naught but poppycock. Naturally, they frighten children like Clarissa, who deep down rather likes to be frightened. But frankly, it would take a great deal to convince me of their validity.”
“What, specifically, would it take?”
“Well, since I am incapable of accepting the proof offered me by my eyes, I would have to be convinced by one or more of the other four senses.”
“Did I mention the smell which comes with his appearance?”
“No sir, you did not.”
“When he appears, and sometimes only when he is about and wishes to make his presence known, there is a rather overpowering smell of brimstone about.”
“Brimstone?” Sir John puzzled that about in his head for a moment or two. ”You mean sulphur?”
“That is what some call it today, yes.”
“It is sulphur, is it not, which gives off the foul odor of rotting eggs? It can be quite overwhelming.”
“Yes, that’s it!” said Sir Simon in sudden excitement. ”Rotting eggs-a terrible smell! That’s it exactly!”
Sir John began laughing quite abruptly. He threw back his head and let it peal forth from him in great waves of merriment. I had not the slightest notion what had, of a sudden, struck him as so terribly funny.
Nor was I the only one. Sir Simon Grenville recoiled slightly from his guest as he looked upon him in utter bafflement. Then did the baffled expression turn to one of slight though open annoyance. At last, when Sir John’s laughter had subsided, he risked a query.
“What, praytell, did strike you as so amusing, sir?”
‘“Twas but a passing thought which tickled my fancy.” And having gone only so far, he began snickering again. ”It came to me that yours may be the only house in the realm that is haunted by a farting ghost.” Then, having said it, he was once again beset by a laughing fit of a length and intensity quite like the last.
Thereafter the table remained rather quiet for quite some time.
For one unused to drinking wine of any kind, Clarissa did rather well drinking wines of every kind. In her own way, she kept up until the dessert course. It was not the piece of
It continued thus for less than a minute. Sir John did then become uncomfortably aware of the persistent drone.
“My ears tell me,” said he, ”that Clarissa has been summoned off to sleep. The poor child must be terribly weary. Perhaps we had best cut the evening a bit short and take her up to bed.”
“Oh, do stay a bit longer, Sir John,” urged the host. ”We’ve matters to discuss, those which brought you here, matters that we have not even touched upon.”
Sir John sighed. ”Indeed, sir, you’re right.” He hesitated but a moment, then turned to me. ”Jeremy, will you take Clarissa upstairs to her room?”
“Certainly I will, Sir John.”
