Hugh Lamb - Ghosts in the House - Tales of Terror by A. C. Benson and R. H. Benson

‘The church stood only a few steps away, for the garden and churchyard adjoined one another. As I went down carrying the lantern that Parker had lighted for me, I remember hearing far away to the south, beyond the village, the beat of a horse’s hoofs. The horse seemed to be in a gallop, but presently the noise died away behind a ridge.

‘When I entered the church I found that the sacristan had lighted a candle or two as I had asked him, and I could just make out the kneeling figures of three or four people in the north aisle.

‘When I was ready I took my seat in the chair beyond the screen, at the place I have described; and then, one by one, the labourer and his children came up and made their confessions. I remember feeling again, as on Christmas Eve, the strange charm of this old place of penitence, so redolent of God and man, each in his tenderest character of Saviour and penitent; with the red light burning like a luminous flower in the dark before me, to remind me how God was indeed tabernacling with men, and was their God.

‘Now I do not know how long I had been there, when again I heard the beat of a horse’s hoofs, but this time in the village just below the churchyard; then again there fell a sudden silence. Then presently a gust of wind flung the door wide, and the candles began to gutter and flare in the draught. One of the girls went and closed the door.

‘Presently the boy who was kneeling by me at that time finished his confession, received absolution and went down the church, and I waited for the next, not knowing how many there were.

‘After waiting a minute or two I turned in my seat, and was about to get up, thinking there was no one else, when a voice whispered sharply through the hole a single sentence. I could not catch the words, but I supposed they were the usual formula for a blessing, so I gave the blessing and waited, a little astonished at not having heard the penitent come up.

‘Then the voice began again.’

The priest stopped a moment and looked round, and I could see that he was trembling a little.

‘Would you rather not go on?’ I said. ‘I think it disturbs you to tell me.’

‘No, no,’ he said; ‘it is all right, but it was very dreadful – very dreadful.

‘Well, the voice began again in a loud quick whisper, but the odd thing was that I could hardly understand a word; there were just phrases here and there, like the name of God and of our Lady, that I could catch. Then there were a few old French words that I knew; “ le roy ” came over and over again. Just at first I thought it must be some extreme form of dialect unknown to me; then I thought it must be a very old man who was deaf, because when I tried, after a few sentences, to explain that I could not understand, the penitent paid no attention, but whispered on quickly without a pause. Presently I could perceive that he was in a terrible state of mind; the voice broke and sobbed, and then almost cried out, but still in this loud whisper; then on the other side of the screen I could hear fingers working and moving uneasily, as if entreating admittance at some barred door. Then at last there was silence for a moment, and then plainly some closing formula was repeated, which gradually grew lower and ceased. Then, as I rose, meaning to come round and explain that I had not been able to hear, a loud moan or two came from the penitent. I stood up quickly and looked through the upper part of the screen, and there was no one there.

‘I can give you no idea of what a shock that was to me. I stood there glaring, I suppose, through the screen down at the empty step for a moment or two, and perhaps I said something aloud, for I heard a voice from the end of the church.

‘“Did you call, sir?” And there stood the sacristan, with his keys and lantern, ready to lock up.

‘I still stood without answering for a moment, and then I spoke; my voice sounded oddly in my ears.

‘“Is there any one else, Williams? Are they all gone?” or something like that.

‘Williams lifted his lantern and looked round the dusky church.

‘“No, sir; there is no one.”

‘I crossed the chancel to go to the vestry, but as I was half-way, suddenly again in the quiet village there broke out the desperate gallop of a horse.

‘“There! there!” I cried, “do you hear that?”

‘Williams came up the church towards me.

‘“Are you ill, sir?” he said. “Shall I fetch your servant?”

‘I made an effort and told him it was nothing; but he insisted on seeing me home: I did not like to ask him whether he had heard the gallop of the horse; for, after all, I thought, perhaps there was no connection between that and the voice that whispered.

‘I felt very much shaken and disturbed; and after dinner, which I took alone of course, I thought I would go to bed very soon. On my way up, however, I looked into my friend’s room for a few minutes. He seemed very bright and eager to talk, and I stayed very much longer than I had intended. I said nothing of what had happened in the church; but listened to him while he talked about the village and the neighbourhood. Finally, as I was on the point of bidding him good-night, he said something like this:

‘“Well, I mustn’t keep you, but I’ve been thinking while you’ve been in church of an old story that is told by antiquarians about this place. They say that one of St Thomas à Becket’s murderers came here on the very evening of the murder. It is his day, today, you know, and that is what put me in mind of it, I suppose.”

‘While my friend said this, my old heart began to beat furiously; but with a strong effort of self-control, I told him I should like to hear the story.

‘“Oh! there’s nothing much to tell,” said my friend; “and they don’t know who it’s supposed to have been; but it is said to have been either one of the four knights, or one of the men-at-arms.”

‘“But how did he come here?” I asked, “and what for?”

‘“Oh! he’s supposed to have been in terror for his soul, and that he rushed here to get absolution, which, of course, was impossible.”

‘“But tell me,” I said. “Did he come here alone, or how?”

‘“Well, you know, after the murder they ransacked the Archbishop’s house and stables; and it is said that this man got one of the fastest horses and rode like a madman, not knowing where he was going; and that he dashed into the village, and into the church where the priest was: and then afterwards, mounted again and rode off. The priest, too, is buried in the chancel, somewhere, I believe. You see it’s a very vague and improbable story. At the Gatehouse at Malling, too, you know, they say that one of the knights slept there the night after the murder.”

‘I said nothing more; but I suppose I looked strange, because my friend began to look at me with some anxiety, and then ordered me off to bed: so I took my candle and went.

‘Now,’ said the priest, turning to me, ‘that is the story. I need not say that I have thought about it a great deal ever since: and there are only two theories which appear to me credible, and two others, which would no doubt be suggested, which appear to me incredible.

‘First, you may say that I was obviously unwell: my previous depression and dreaming showed that, and therefore that I dreamt the whole thing. If you wish to think that – well, you must think it.

‘Secondly, you may say, with the Psychical Research Society, that the whole thing was transmitted from my friend’s brain to mine; that his was in an energetic, and mine in a passive state, or something of the kind.

‘These two theories would be called “scientific”, which term means that they are not a hair’s-breadth in advance of the facts with which the intellect, a poor instrument at the best, is capable of dealing. And these two “scientific” theories create in their turn a new brood of insoluble difficulties.