The Canterville Ghost | Page 2

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 the Achilles statue, to the huge delight of the young Duke of
Cheshire, who proposed for 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 Star 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.
[Illustration: "HAD ONCE RACED OLD LORD BILTON ON HER
PONY"]
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 pinewoods. Now and then
they heard a wood-pigeon brooding over its own sweet voice, or saw,
deep in the rustling fern, the burnished breast 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 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 long, low room, panelled 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."
[Illustration: "BLOOD HAS BEEN SPILLED 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