THE POWER OF SUGGESTION

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume LXXXI, Issue 18786, 21 May 1923, Page 9

THE POWER OF SUGGESTION

A Complete Story by

D. G. Cochrane

“Well, Breckridge,” said Dr. Burke, as he reined up his old pony, “I’m glad you’ve had this bit of good hick, but what a pity you had let the old place before it came along.” “It was unfortunate,” replied young Breckridge. "Both Mary and 1 love old ruin, as she irreverently terms the home of my ancestors. We feel worse about it when we think of who is ot*cupying it. The thing locks like sacr?lege. The very thought of the transaction makes me feel cheap.” “That fellow’s past thinking about ” agreed the doctor. “I am not th© man to start sneering at a chap because he happens to have made money during the war, but this specimen fairly reeks of the Etuff. Besides, he seems to have neither sense nor manners.” “You’ve met Kerton then?” said th© owner of Breckridge Castle. “ 1 have,” answered Burke. “I camo, 1 saw, and I was disgusted.” Breckridge laughed. “He mav he all you describe,” he said in a resigned tone, " but he’s my tenant for the next seven years. The poor old place has eeased to be a home and has become a store for expensive and ill-chosen furniture.” The doctor nodded his head in sympathy. “Is there no way of getting rid of him?” he inquired.

“None in law. lam afraid.” said Breckridge. “I sav, Doctor, could ft’t you scare them out? Tell them there’s diphtheria in ’.he moat and diabetes in the basement.”

Dr. Burke waved a depreciating hand. "Disease is a sacred, subject to the medical profession. One can’t make jokes about that which keeps one out of the workhouse. I fear you are condemned to seven years without hope of remission.”

“Then besides the old legend the Castle has acquired a new curse of a more material kind.”

" It looks like it,” agreed the doctor. “Still " his facs took on a look of mingled solemnity and amusement,

■‘l’ll think the matter over and tee what can be done.” “Thanks,” said Breckridge as be started his car. “ I’ve got tons of faith in you, Doctor.” he declared. “It only remains lor you to remove the incubus.” “We shall proceed with the treatment,” said the doctor. “ In the words of a famous law-giver, who flourished somewhere about the beginning of the twentieth century, we must ‘wait and see.’ ”

Young Breckridge had been lelt with an encumbered estate, and had found himself forced to let his cld homo to Mr. Samuel Kerton, a peculiarly blatant rpernnen of the newly rich. A lew mouths afterwards a sudden windfall had proved this to be an unnecessary sacrifice, but the bargain having been concluded, lie vas doomed to exile for the term of that gentleman’s lease. As Dr. Burke drove along the country road he was thinking deeply of Breckridge’s affairs. "Whimsical to a degree, he was a man of intense likes and dislikes. He himself had been known to state that he only knew two kinds of people—those for whom he "•as prepared to do any earthly service and those whom ho would cheerfully throw down the nearest well. Breckridge was decidedly in the first category, and Burke’s thoughts gradually shaped themselves into a definite plan to place Breckridge Castle again at its owner's disposal. It was late autumn, and already the short day was drawing to a close. Stopping in the principal street of the village he entered the establishment of Mr. Akers the local tailor, a decent but inquisitive little man. Akers was busy cutting out a rather unsucessful imitation of the latest London overcoat, but he pushed back bis spectacles and gave the doctor a hearty welcome. In the tailor’s back shop the doctor’s ample measurements were taken, and Mr. Akers eagerly pumped his customer for the latest news.

“It must be a bit of a change for the Breckridge’s to the living in town.” he remarked, snipping off a piece of clafh. “"What do you think of the new folk, Doctor 0 ”

“Tempora mutantur,” said the doctor solemnly. “That’s just what I think about them myself,” declared Akers warmly. “The Castle ain't the same with strangers in it.” “Yes,” said Burke, “it’s enough to make the old owners rise from their graves to see the type which occupies their homes. For the matter of that it’s not surprising—” He stopped as if checking himself in theruttering of a rash statement.

You wore going to say, Doctor,” said the tailor inquiringly. The doctor’s brow wrinkled as if in deep thought. “Perhaps I’d better not mention it,” he said at last.

The tailor’s curiosity boiled up like a volcano in intensity “What is it, Doctor?” he asked eagerly. The doctor shook his head. “No, James, no,” he said in decided tones. “ Some things are better not spoken ot. lliey may lead to unpleasantness.” “You needn’t mind me,” declared Akers eagerly. “I wouldn’t mention the affair to a soul.”

For a considerable time the doctor gazed at Akers doubtfully. “You’ll be discreet, Akers,” he said warningly. “You must swear never to mention my name in connection with what I am going to say.”

“I’ll tell nobody.” said the tailor, bursting with curiosity. “Well,” said the doctor in a mysterious voice. “ I was going to ask you if you heard anything about an apparition being seen at tn j Castle?”

Aker’s eyes grew round as sauce’s. “An apparition. Sakes alive. Have they seen a ghost?” “You’ve heard nothing, James 7” said the doctor, still speaking in the same mysterious manner.

“No,” answered Akers. “But I shouldn’t wonder if queer things are seen up at that old place.” He stared at the doctor as if collecting his scattered ideas. “Well,” said Burke. “I must he gning.” He pulled on his overcoat and made towards the door The tailor’s imagination was of the most vivid texture. It required but half an hour’s dwelling on the supernatural to give reality to the flimsiest narrative which had some element of the horible. Work was neglected while his thoughts played around the grey turrets of Breckridge Castle. It was a relief when John Caadick, the blacksmith, arrived for a “fit-on.”

“John,” said Akers, without giving that worthy sou of Vulcan time to state his business, “have you heard about the terrible business up at the Castle?”

“I ’are nor.,” said John, taking his pipe out of his mouth.: “Wot ’a bin ’appenin’ up there‘s” “They say,” said .Akers in a stage

whisper, “that there’s been a ghost seen.” ‘ A wot?” inquired the blacksmith. “An apparition—a ghost,” repeated the tailor. The blacksmith's interest awoke. Things supernatural appeal to him. “What like 2s the thing?” he asked. “I don’t like to say too much,” I answered the tailor. “In my position I’ve go to be careful, but J believe it’s a gruesome-looking object. Ghosts that appear in old buildings usually are the worst kind, and ;.ou know the cld , castle has a terrible history. The cld Brcckridges had good and bad among them.” (

“It'll bo some- fellow as committed) a murder,” suggested the blacksmith;’ “they always come back to haunt the. place.”

“ Have you heard ol such cases before?” inqunecl Akeis. eager to drink deep of sensation. “ But here's Mrs. Thompson. Mrs. Thompson, we’re just .speaking or a strange business up the Castle.” The stout lady who had entered laid down her basket and listened roundeyes to the tailor’s narrative ‘‘My gracious,’’ she gasped, “ft makes you shiver to think about. Did they say what it was like?” Half the wondrous stories told by travellers are wrung from them by the importunity of listeners who demand a thrill. Hakluyt himself was but supplying the demands of a clamorous market. It was thus with the tailor. Ho could not lamely admit that he knew nothing.

“I was told of this by a gentleman who pledged me to secrecy,’’ he began: importantly; “but I can tell you chat' the apparition is no pleasant sight, i They’re terrified up at the Castle.” “I remember a story,” put in the; blacksmith, about the ghost that ’adits throat cut. It just came an’ leaned; over the foot of yer bed an’ looked at I ye.” “Lord preserve us,” cried Mrs. I Thompson. “ An’ there was another.” continued the smith, “that was nothing but a corpse’s ’and carrying a lighted candle, j \e ’card footstens, but that was aJI vel saw.” Akers looked uncomfortable, but felt i bound to add Caddick’s reminiscences, i “ A lot of them carry candles,” lie agreed, “and sometime there’s nothing but a. candle. There was one in an old Scotch castle of that kind. You went into an empty room and found a candle on the mantelpiece that burned with a blue flame. You couldn’t blow it out, and while you were trying to. the door of the room dosed with a bang, and you heard something walking about the room. Try as you liked, you couldn’t get that door open, and in the morning they found you lying on the floor in a dead faint. ’ They Fay that the folks who saw the candle died before the year was out.” “And no wonder.” gasped Mrs. 1 hompson. “ 1 would have died before the night was out.”

“There was another.” said Caddick. “that carried its ’ead in its ’and, as if it was a lighted lantern.” Mrs. Thompson picked up her basket. “I’ll be goin’ ’ome, Air. Akers.” she said tremulously. “This news ’as given me a turn.” She shuffled out, and picking her way across th a mndd’y street, collided with her friend Airs. Gillam “Clara,” she said breathlessly, “'av« ymi ’eard that awful story about the Castle?” “No, T haven’t,” confessed the good gossip addressed. “There’s a ghost been seen. Tt carries its ’ead in its ’and an’ a lighted candle.”

you don't say so.” cried the recipient of this fashionable intelligence. ‘'That must bo old Sir Marmaduke, thei one that miu'dered ’is wife.” “Will it be ’irn” said Mrs. Thompson, who now felt the evidence to be complete.

“ Who else could it be?” replied the logical Mrs. Gillan.. “Who saw it?” "I dunno,” admitted' Mrs. Thompson. “They’re all new servants since them new lot came ” “Of course they’ll try to keep it quiet,” suggested Mrs. Thompson; "but I wouldn’t like to • live in the place.” A fresh audience whs necessary, and Mrs. Thompson prepared to move on. Airs. Gillan also felt that the occasion was momentous. “Good-night, Mrs. Thompson.” she •said. “This is a ’orrible affair.” At the Black Bull honest John Gillan had a rapt and appreciative audience. “ D’ye know the new lady up at the Castle?” he began. “Aye,” came in chorous from the beer drinkers. .“She’s sen e h’appirition. It’s a fearsome-lookin* object, with its ’ead in its ’and an’ a lighted candle. If it comes into the room ye can’t get the door open, till ye’re found in a dead faintrin the morning. They do say that the folks up there are frightened out of their seven senses.” “That’ll be old Sir Marmaduke” said Webster, the cobbler. “There’s been some real villains in that family.” “Them old castle be all ’aunted,” put in another “I wouldn’t like to be one o’ them new ’uns to live in such a place.” Then entrance of a smart Cockney groom arrested the conveisation for a moment. The new-comer was employed at the Castle which was the piece-de-resistance of the villagers’ talk. “Dirty night,” he observed in a friendly tone to the assembled country folk. “ 11 sa rta i n be. ” re pl ied the blackemith affably. “You’ll have a dark walk bock to the Castle.” “Dark enough,” said the groom. “ Give me London for comfort, where you can see where you’re going. Here you don’t know whether you're going or coming. You never know what you’re walkin’ into.” “That’s a fact,” said the cobbler in a moaning tone, “especially at that there Castle o’ yours ” “Why the Castle?’ 1 ’ asked the groom in a mystified tone. 'The crowd exchanged glances. “I suppose you’ve been told not to speak about it.” suggested Gillan. “About wot?” said the Cockney with a touch of irritation “I’m sayin' nothin’.” answeied the I other cautiously, “but I’m glad I ain't got your walk ’ome.” “ Wot’s it all about?” demanded the groom impatiently. With seeming reluctance on the part of the narrators, and an equal amount of incredulity on the part of the Cockney, the story of the Castle’s reputation was told. “D’ye believe all that?” asked the groom, in whose mind contempt for rhe yokel and uneasy thoughts about his walk home’were struggling for mastery. “We’re sayin’ nothin’,” said the cob-

t bier stubbernly, “but I’m glad as I don t live in a ’aunted ouse.’* < • • » 1 Mrs. Kerton was a tall, thin lady, whose inordinate social ambitions were • fast bringing her to the verge of nc-i--vous breakdown. The temporary ac- ; quisition of Breckridge Castle had, in "I the main, been her suggestion. It re--1 presented another stop gained in h<r J fight for social recognition. Samuel ’ Kerton in his coarse’ 1 fashion shared J her ideas. It pleased him to see that she was enjoying the position of chatcI laine of a great country house. It war* J therefore doubly annoying when one evening he found his wife in one of her II characteristic fits of “nerves.” ‘‘And what is the matter, my dear,” ‘. he inquired in his pompous fashion. i “Alatter.” cried Mrs Kerton, dr.cw•jing a shawl over her thin shoulde's, U and giving an unmistakeable shudder. “Did you know that this house was > haunted ?” • Air. Kerton gave a gesture of impatience. “Haunted, fiddlesticks,” he retorted. “Who has been putting such notions into your head ? ’ , " Louise. She tells me that every- . one knows the story.” I “What story?” demanded Air. Ker- • ton testily. ii “About a horrible apparition which ,! is sometimes seen in the corridors. It said to be the ghost of old Sir Alar- ,! maduke who murdered his wife. ; “Ellen, I’m surprised at you believJing such rubbish.” said the now exasperated husband.

“Be surprised if you like,’’ replied the lady. “I’ve felt there was something wrong with this place ever since we came into it.” “Nonsense. It’s only your nervous ness,” said Mr. Kcrtc.n in despair, ns he saw the danger of a hysterical outburst. “How can it be only my nervous ness?” asked lady, “when all the servants feel the same. Some of them are talking of going back to London at one*?’ “Wliat exactly is the story?” asked Kerton angrily. “They say that there is an appan-'. lion seen in this castle. Sometimes it is only the hand of a dead person carrying a candle. At other times it is a horrible figure that leans over the foot of your bed and groans. What with thinking oi it, and listening to the moaning of the wind round this dreadful old place, I’ve been afraid to sit alone in my room.” “Fudge, Ellen,” said the materialistic Kerton, but he seemed to lie uneasy in spite of himself, and furthermore he knew from experience the impossibility of arguing his wife out of a fixed idea. “You set your mind on coming here,” he grumbled defensively. “I didn't ask you to bling apparitions.” replied Mrs. Kerton. “You ought to have inquired about the ap-| paiition before signing the lease.” “Stuff,” retorted Kerton, ncwi

thoroughly angry. “Do you expect me to inquire when I take a house if there is a ghost in the blamed place'” “Well, this one is haunted.” said Mrs. Kerton obttinately. “Ask any- : one.” (Samuel prosecuted his inquiries with results the reverse of favourable to his peace of mind. In addition to this, Airs. Krton’s state became worse. She , was sure she had “seen something,” and demanded to be taken back to London by the first train. Kerton feared the supernatural, but he feared ridicule more. For a time he fought an unequal battle with his wife and for his own feelings, till a hysterical tit made him send hot-foot for Dr Burke

to attend to the chatelaine of Breckridge Castle. Grave and self-possessed, the latter descended from Mrs Kenton’s bedroom to make his report, “Mrs. Kenton is in a highly nervons state,” he said in a sympathetic man-

ner. “1 fear she has been much upset.” “Then, you know of nothing more definite which is calculated to have upset Ab’s. Kerton?” inquired the ductor. “ Nothing at all. At least nothing real,” said Kerton hastily. “1 hardly like to tell you,” but you know that lots of those old houses have weird tales attached to them.” “What exactly do you mean, Air. Kerton?” asked Dr. Burke. “Airs. Kerton,” replied Samuel, throwing the responsibility on his wife like a true desendant of Adam.- “believes that the Castle is haunted. I suppose you’ll laugh, Doctor.” The doctor did not laugh. Instead, his face assumed an expression of portentous gravity “A—h—h,” he said, solemnly. “ Lord bless me, Doctor,” cried Kerton. “you don't mean to say that there’s anything in it.” The tenant cf the Castle was becoming .agitated “}Ve have to cor sider many possibilities in our profession.” be said gravely.“Then you know that the house has a bad reputation?’’ persisted Kerton. The doctor was rilent. “Aly word, this is an intolerable state of affairs,” cried the distracted husband. “You admit that there is ah unpleasant legend connected with the house.” “Air. Kerton.” said Dr Burke, “my first duty is towards my patient. A man in my position naturally avoids all references which might reflect unpleasantly on any well-known family. I can say no more on tlu? subject. “Good-night, Air. Korton. I hope to find Airs. Kerton better in the morning.” Left to himself, Kerton became angry and alarmed by turns. “I’ll see those rascally lawyers tomorrow,” he muttered “palming off a place on me that no other tenant would look at. D—<l scoundrels.”

This resolve led to Messi’s. Wright and Howard, solicitors, receiving a visit from an out-of-temper and very indignified client. Air. Howard looked up quizzically a« Mr. Kerton burst into his private room. “Good-morning.” snapped Kerton, trying to recover his breath. “I trust you find the Castle satisfactory as a place of residence,” went on Mr. Howard.

“You did not tell me that the place bad the reputation of being haunted/ 1 said Kerton. ‘1 find my wife terrified, and th© servant” preparing to leave.”

Howard sat up in his chair. “Mr. Kerton,” he replied, ‘ there is no foundation to this ridiculous story. I have never heard of such a thing.” Mr. Kerton felt indignant at this barefaced denial.

“Never heard of such a thing,” he cried, “when every man, woman, and child in the district can give me the story language, but I feel that 1 have

been disgracefullv imposed upon.” Air. Howard flushed angrily. “I. can only reiterate my statement,” he said firmly. “Your suggestion is out of place in connection with a firm such as ours. What c!o you wish us to do in the matter?” “I want to get Mr. Brookridge's permission to sub-let tlio place,” answered Mr. Kerton. "Mrs Kerton refuses to live any longer in the, place, bo it Lae become useless of me” Howar.W.was a man of few words. “1 shall ask Mr. Breckridge for instructions. ‘ he said drily. “Good morning, Mr. Kerton.” • • • It. was a few days after this that Breckridge called on the doctor. The weather bad been of th© worst description. and he founl the worthy medico exhausted by a long day’s toil. “Funny about those Kerton people.” ho began. * * They're given up the Castle—got hold of some cock and bedl story of its being haunted.” • “H-m,” teaid the doctor, who was too tired to take much interest in anything. “I wouldn’t have believed thaG such superstdutiun existed in the twentieth century.” The doctor lit hie pipe and prepared to enjoy tbe delicious sense of eat© which can only l»c expenened by a thoroughly wearied man. “So you have got back the old place after all.” he remarked cautiously. “Yes,” replied Bre.kndge, “and glad to get into our real home. I’ve been wondering how or earth this ridiculous story was etarted.” “No matter,” said Burke lazily. “It has served its turn. For myself, I feel too contented to worry about anything.” A sharp ring at the dcor-bell interrupted his dream of peace. “Who can this be?” be exclaimed with a movement of disgust. “I haven’t a serious case on my books. Another call to-day would add year* to my already advanced state of senle decay.” A moment later his housekeeper tapped at the door and made the following announcement: — “If you pleas?, sir. you’re wanted at once. Mrs. seen the ghost, an' she's got the bgh-stiricks m»i awful.”