chapter 1

WHEN, Mr. Hiram B. Otis, the American minister, bought Canterville Chase, every one told

him he was doing a very foolish thing, as there was no doubt at all that the place was haunted.

Indeed Lord Canterville himself, who was a man of the most punctilious honour, had felt it

his duty to mention the fact to Mr. Otis, when they came to discuss terms.

"We have not cared to live in the place ourselves," said Lord Canterville, "since my grand-

aunt, the Dowager Duchess of Bolton, was frightened into a fit, from which she never really

recovered, by two skeleton hands being placed on her shoulders as she was dressing for

dinner, and I feet bound to tell you, Mr. Otis, that the ghost has been seen by several living

members of my family, as well as by the rector of the parish, the Rev. Augustus Dampier,

who is a fellow of King's College, Cambridge. After the unfortunate accident to the Duchess,

none very little sleep at night, in consequence of the mysterious noises that came of our

younger servants would stay with us, and Lady Canterville often got from the corridor and the

library."

"My lord," answered the Minister, "I will take the furniture and the ghost at a valuation. I

come from a modern country, where we have everything that money can buy; and with all our

spry young fellows painting the Old World red, and carrying off your best actresses and

prima-donnas, I reckon that if there were such a thing as a ghost in Europe, we'd have it at

home in a very short time in one of our public museums, or on the road as a show."

"I fear that the ghost exists," said Lord Canterville, smiling, "though it may have resisted the

overtures of your enterprising impresarios. It has been well known for three centuries, since

1584 in fact, and always makes its appearance before the death of any member of our family."

"Well, so does the family doctor for that matter, Lord Canterville. But there is no such thing,

sir, as a ghost, and I guess the laws of nature are not going to be suspended for the British

aristocracy."

"You are certainly very natural in America," answered Lord Canterville, who did not quite

understand Mr. Otis's last observation, "and if you don't mind a ghost in the house, it is all

right. Only you must remember I warned you."

A few weeks after this, the purchase was completed, and at the close of the season the

Minister and his family went down to Canterville Chase. Mrs. Otis, who, as Miss Lucretia R.

Tappan, of West 53rd Street, had been a celebrated New York belle, was now a very

handsome middle-aged woman, with fine eyes, and a superb profile. Many American ladies

on leaving their native land adopt an appearance of chronic ill-health, under the impression

that it is a form of European refinement, but Mrs. Otis had never fallen into this error. She had a magnificent constitution, and a really wonderful amount of animal spirits. Indeed, in many

respects, she was quite English, and was an excellent example of the fact that we have really

everything in common with America nowadays, except, of course, language. Her eldest son,

christened Washington by his parents in a moment of patriotism, which he never ceased to

regret, was a fair-haired, rather good-looking young man, who had qualified himself for

American diplomacy by leading the German at the Newport Casino for three successive

seasons, and even in London was well known as an excellent dancer. Gardenias and the

peerage were his only weaknesses. Otherwise he was extremely sensible. Miss Virginia E.

Otis was a little girl of fifteen, lithe and lovely as a fawn, and with a fine freedom in her large

blue eyes. She was a wonderful amazon, and had once raced old Lord Bilton on her pony

twice round the park, winning by a length and a half, just in front of Achilles statue, to the

huge delight of the young Duke of Cheshire, who proposed to her on the spot, and was sent

back to Eton that very night by his guardians, in floods of tears. After Virginia came the

twins, who were usually called "The Stars and Stripes" as they were always getting swished.

They were delightful boys, and with the exception of the worthy Minister the only true

republicans of the family.

As Canterville Chase is seven miles from Ascot, the nearest railway station, Mr. Otis had

telegraphed for a waggonette to meet them, and they started on their drive in high spirits. It

was a lovely July evening, and the air was delicate with the scent of the pine woods. Now and

then they heard a wood pigeon brooding over its own sweet voice, or saw, deep in the rustling

fern, the burnished ****** of the pheasant. Little squirrels peered at them from the beech trees

as they went by, and the rabbits scudded away through the brushwood and over the mossy

knolls, with their white tails in the air. As they entered the avenue of Canterville Chase,

however, the sky became suddenly overcast with clouds, a curious stillness seemed to hold

the atmosphere, a great flight of rooks passed silently over their heads, and, before they

reached the house, some big drops of rain had fallen.

Standing on the steps to receive them was an old woman, neatly dressed in black silk, with a

white cap and apron. This was Mrs. Umney, the housekeeper, whom Mrs. Otis, at Lady

Canterville's earnest request, had consented to keep on in her former position. She made them

each a low curtsey as they alighted, and said in a quaint, old-fashioned manner, "I bid you

welcome to Canterville Chase." Following her, they passed through the fine Tudor hall into

the library, a tong, low room, paneled in black oak, at the end of which was a large stained-

glass window. Here they found tea laid out for them, and, after taking off their wraps, they sat

down and began to look round, while Mrs. Umney waited on them.

Suddenly Mrs. Otis caught sight of a dull red stain on the floor just by the fireplace and,

quite unconscious of what it really signified, said to Mrs. Umney, "I am afraid something has

been spilt there."

"Yes, madam," replied the old housekeeper in a low voice, "blood has been spilt on that

spot."

"How horrid," cried Mrs. Otis. "I don't at all care for blood-stains in a sitting-room. It must

be removed at once."

The old woman smiled, and answered in the same low, mysterious voice, "It is the blood of

Lady Eleanore de Canterville, who was murdered on that very spot by her own husband, Sir

Simon de Canterville, in 1575. Sir Simon survived her nine years, and disappeared suddenly under very mysterious circumstances. His body has never been discovered, but his guilty

spirit still haunts the Chase. The blood-stain has been much admired by tourists and others,

and cannot be removed."

"That is all nonsense," cried Washington Otis; "Pinkerton's Champion Stain Remover and

Paragon Detergent will clean it up in no time," and before the terrified housekeeper could

interfere he had fallen upon his knees, and was rapidly scouring the floor with a small stick of

what looked like a black cosmetic. In a few moments no trace of the blood-stain could be

seen.

"I knew Pinkerton would do it," he exclaimed triumphantly, as he looked round at his

admiring family; but no sooner had he said these words than a terrible flash of lightning lit up

the somber room, a fearful peal of thunder made them all start to their feet, and Mrs. Umney

fainted.

"What a monstrous climate!" said the American Minister calmly, as he lit a long cheroot. "I

guess the old country is so overpopulated that they have not enough decent weather for

everybody. I have always been of opinion that emigration is the only thing for England."

"My dear Hiram," cried Mrs. Otis, "what can we do with a woman who faints?"

"Charge it to her like breakages," answered the Minister; "she won't faint after that"; and in a

few moments Mrs. Umney certainly came to. There was no doubt, however, that she was

extremely upset, and she sternly warned Mr. Otis to beware of some trouble coming to the

house.

"I have seen things with my own eyes, sir," she said, "that would make any Christian's hair

stand on end, and many and many a night I have not closed my eyes in sleep for the awful

things that are done here." Mr. Otis, however, and his wife warmly assured the honest soul

that they were not afraid of ghosts, and, after invoking the blessings of Providence on her new

master and mistress, and making arrangements for an increase of salary, the old housekeeper

tottered off to her own room.

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