THE LAYING OF STARKEY’S GHOST.

Otago Witness, Issue 3212, 6 October 1915, Page 85

THE LAYING OF STARKEY’S GHOST.

By Tom Gallon'.

(Copyright.) It was perhaps a little unfortunate that the conversation should have turned on the subject of love. When the prettiest girl in the house party has definitely refu ed the one man who seemed eligible, the fact, in some fashion or other, generally gets known, and is more or less talked about. And it was generally known, and had been very considerably talked about, that Barbara Newcombe had definitely refused John Elwood. “ Personally, of course, I don’t believe that any Johnny would kill himself for love—much less take to haunting a nlace ever afterwards,” said one man, stretching out his and yawning. “ You can tell me that it was a couple of hundred years ago if yon like; but that doesn’t make any difference.” The members of the : party at the Moat House were gat ho , the wide comfortable hall, waiting for the sounding of the dinner gong; and the talk had turned on that old legend that always crapped up in some fashion or other concerning the_ love affair of one Josiah Starkey early in the eighteenth century. It was a shuddery sort of storv, and if you went to the Moat House (mo.t cheerful of country houses) you were sure to hear of it sooner' or later. “I’m not so sure about that,” said Barbara Newcombe, a little maliciously. “ Why shouldn’t a man kill himself fop love; it’s been done over and over again.” ‘‘The thing seems to me to be quite po sible and quite reasonable,” said JohnElwood, with a gloomy glance in the direction of Barbara. ‘‘After all, if the one woman for him won’t have anything to do with him, there isn’t much tc live for, is there?” There was an uncomfortable silence, by reason of the fact that that story was already well known. The silence was broken by the man who had first received the legend with some degrees of scepticism. “ That doesn t matter so much. What I’m talking about is the. haunting business. That seems to me to be all nonsense ; a man doesn’t do that sort of thing. Only a pack of tales told by the yokels. They’ve seen shadows, or tho effect of moonlight on the old ruined chapel, or something of that sort. If I thought there was anything in it I should jolly well go and investigate.” 11 1 sincerely hope you’ll do nothing of the kind,” broke in their hostess. “I don’t want the servants frightened away, and it would be certain 'to be talked about. Besides. I expect anyone would be too much afrad to go up to that ghostly place at midnight.” ‘‘l don’t :ee what there is to he afraid of,” said Barbara, with a little halfnervous laugh. “Besides; I should think : t’d be raHer interesting to meet even He ghost of a man who had been faithful to the memory of one woman for two * hundred rears. I should rather like to have a Irok at him.” “I’ll bet you wouldn’t,” said the host, who had entered a moment before, and was adjusting his tie. “ Better keep away from that sort of thing. Barbara.” “ I’ll bet you’d make a holt for it, Mi's Newcombe,” said the man who had first spoken, with a lansrh. ‘‘lf you saw the ghost of Josiah Starkey in the moonlight you’d turn fail and run home, even if von d'du’t scream the nlace down.” As the gong sounded at that moment Barbara Newcombe rose to her feet and looked icily at the man who had spoken. “ I can’t see there could be anything to he afraid of,” she said; ‘‘and in any case I shouldn’t ‘turn tail and run.’ as you phrase it. I’ve never been afraid of anything in my life.” “ What’s the betting that you’ll go up there at midnight to-night and face old Jos’ah Starker?” asked the man again as they all got to their feet. “ There’s no hatting, ’ said Barbara a little nettled. ‘‘But I’ll go all the same.” Barbara was sorry the moment the words were out of her mouth. But the truth of the matter was that Barbara was slightly hysterical that evening, by reason of the fact that several people had spoken to her about “poor old John Elwood.” with a suggestion in the words that she had not treated him quite well: and Barbara wished that she had never sren John Elwood at all, and, above all, that lie had never proposed to her. And at the worst it was surely no one elso’s business but her own. Nor did it mend matters that John Elwood should come up to her after dinner, and should approach the subject of the ridiculous Josiah Starkey ana his ghost once again. “You’re surely not thinking of going up to that place all alone to-night, Mias Newcombe?” he said. In all probabilitv Barbara would not have gone, or would at least have treated the matter lightly as a joke ; but she told herself that she declined to he dictated to by anyone, especially bv John Elwood. She *looked at him defiantly—and ha thought how adorable she looked as she did so—and answered him firmly. “Mr Elwood, I do not change my mind. ’ she said. "If I .sav that I am going to do a thing, I do it.” “ Couldn’t we make up a party, and go up with you?” he ventured lamely. “ And frighten away anv ghost of good principles and nice manners,” said Barbara. “ I tell you that I’m going alone ” More than one laughing offer was made to Barbara in that connection; and Mr and Mrs Huger GnlH—’-e" ho-t and boste~s —seemed genuinely alarmed when the girl persisted in her intention to go alone “ Not that you could come to any harm, dear.” said Mrs Gully. “I’m sure that

you 'wouldn’t meet a soul on the road between, here and the ruined chapel; but I don’t like the idea of it at all. Lou a much better give it all up and stay acre, and play bridge with the others. “That’s exactly what I think,’ said John Elwood eagerly. And that unlucky speech clinched the matter so far as Barbara was concerned. “I have made up my mind, and I don’t change it,’’ said Barbara. “Well, the only thing we cam do is to wait up for you, I suppose,’’ said Jtoger Gully, with a laugh. “Lucky thing it’3 a fine night.’’ There rvas quite a little party to see Barbara off on that weird expedition. They stood at the hall door, and watched her as she disappeared through the grounds and out towards the open road. It Avas a clear, bright, moonlight night, -and the girl was well wrapped up; and the road before her, winding like a white etreak along the top of the cliffs towards the ruined chapel that stood up, grim and gaunt, against the sky-line, _ was absolutely empty. She laughed a little hysterically and excitedly as she started; it was only when she was within a hundred yards of her destination that she thought a little uneasily what a foolhardy thing it was to have attempted at all. She would have given quite a great deal to be able to go back on one excuse or another; but that was clearly impossible. She would have the whole house party —whether secretly or not—laughing at her. She got to the doorway of the chapel, and gazed fearfully in. After all, it was not really necessary, she thought, that alie should go inside; no one could possibly know if she waited outside there in the bright moonlight until the dista.nt clock in the stableyard of the Moat House struck midnight, and then hurried away again. But some innate honesty in Barbara demanded that she should play the game as completely as though a crowd were watching her; and she crept forward through the ruined gateway, and glanced up at the bare and empty windows through which the moonlight was pouring.

“It isn’t a nice place bv this light,” said Barbara to herself with a shiver.”

Some small animal scuttled across the flagstones at her feet; and she turned, with a little cry, back towards the doorway through which she had come. And then some flapping black object crossed between her and the moon, and came, as it seemed, within a few inches of her head. It was only a bat; but another and yet another flapped across the moonlit place, and so out of sight.” “I’m not a bit afraid,” said Barbara to herself between teeth that chattered suspiciously. “ Why should a man come back out of the grave—after two hundred years —to a silly place like this, just to wander about and frighten people? What on earth’s that?”

It seemed perfectly absurd; and yet Barbara felt certain that a shadow had crossed the end of the chapel under the min of the - great window. Almost she thought it was moving now in the deepest shadow; and then it was gone again. And at that moment, coming across the stillness of the night, came , the first boom of midnight from the old clock over the stable gates. She to count the strokes feverishly, while she stared all about her with wide eyes of terror.

“When the last stroke sounds, I’m gqjng,” she said, in a whisper to herself. “Why doesn’t it hurry up a bit? Nine—ten —eleven ”

She got no further than that; she found herself standing against the wall, with her hands spread out behind her, staring down the length of the chapel. And then she filled the place with shriek after shriek; and wondered why on earth she could not turn and go out by the way she had come in.

A cloaked figure was coming slowly down the side of the chapel towards her; and it seemed to be stretching out hands towards her as it walked. She screamed out again, and then dreyped to her knees. “Good Mr Starkey,” she panted, covering her face for a moment with her hands —“I never meant to come and disturb you—indeed and indeed I did not. I don’t believe in you ” “Barbara, it’s all right.” Barbara dropped her bands from her face, and knelt there on the stones, looking up at John Elwood. Then, (as she scrambled to her feet, her first impulse was to turn upon him, and to flare cr.it at him in characteristic fashion for the shock he had given. But the more natural impulse overpowered her ; and suddenly, In the most surprising fashion, she found herself in his arms, clinging to him, and hiding her face, and begging him never to let her go again. “I don’t intend to, my darling,” said John. “I didn’t mean to frighten you; I only thought that something might hapfen, and sr> I slipped up here, meaning o see that it was all right, and that you got safely home again.” “Jack, dear,” said Barbara, “I’ve been R little* beast; I didn’t understand before how necessary you were to me, or how much I loved you. Will you please let me take back all that I said ?”

‘ Well,” said John Elwood, after a pause that had been adequately filled in. “I should really like to thank the shade of Josiah Starkey; he’s been a good friend to me. If he was to turn up at this moment, I would thank him, too, I can tell vou.” *

Barbara suddenly clutched him ■wildly, and bid her face against his breast. “He’s over there now.” she cried, with a shudder.

There certainly was o shadowy figure stealing in through a door beside the great window; and as John Elwood watched, with a little sudden stirring of his pulses, he saw another figure—and then another. He made a movement to draw the. girl away from the place; and then a familiar voice called out across the darkness.

“It’s all right, John; we’re flesh and blood,” said the voice of Roger Gully. “I brought up the other men with me; we didn’t like the idea of Barbara being here alone. It seemed we wore mistaken.” As the party turned homeward, Barbara

clung to the arm of her host, and whispered something to him. “I’m jolly glad to hear it, my dear,” he said heartily. “And you’ve laid the ghost, if ever there was one, of Josiah Starkey. That’s part of the legend; if ever a couple of lovelorn people should have the courage _to plight their troth there at midnight, Josiah Starkey swore to appear no more. ’Pou my word, I believe you did it all on purpose!”