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Three at Table · The Lady of the Barge and other Stort Stories

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  Section twelve of The Lady of the Barge. This is the LibriVox recording.
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  All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer,
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  please visit LibriVox dot org. Read by Ben Tucker. The Lady of
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  the Barge by W. W. Jacobs. Three at table, the talk
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  in the coffee room had been of ghosts and apparitions, and nearly everybody present
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  had contributed his might to the stock of information upon a hazy and somewhat threadbare
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  subject. Opinions ranged from rank incredulity to childlike faith. One believer going so
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  far as to denounce unbelief is impious with a reference to the Witch of Indoor,
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  which was somewhat marred by being complicated in an inexplicable fashion with the story
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  of Jonah. Talking of Jonah, he said, solemnly, with a happy
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  disregard of the fact that he had declined to answer several eager questions put to
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  him on the subject. Look at the strange tale, sailors, tell us,
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  I wouldn't advise you to believe all those, said a bluff clean shaven
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  man who had been listening without speaking much. You see, when a sailor
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  gets ashore, he's expected to have something to tell, and his friends would
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  be rather disappointed if he had not. It's a well known fact, interrupted
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  the first speaker, firmly, that sailors are very prone to see visions they
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  are, said the other dryly. They generally see them in pairs, and
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  the shock to the nervous system frequently causes headache. Next morning, you never
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  saw any yourself, suggested an unbeliever man and boy, said the other.
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  I've been at sea thirty years in the only unpleasant incident of that kind occurred
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  in a quiet English countryside, and that said another man. I was a
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  young man at the time, said the narrator, drawing at his pipe and
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  glancing good humoredly at the company. I had just come back from China,
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  and my own people being away, I went down into the country to invite
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  myself to stay with an uncle. When I got down to the place,
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  I found it closed and the family in the south of France. But as
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  they were due back in a couple of days, I decided to put up
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  at the Royal George, a very decent inn, and await their return.
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  The first day I passed well enough, but in the evening, the dullness
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  of the rambling old place in which I was the only visitor, began to
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  weigh upon my spirits, and the next morning, after a late breakfast,
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  I set out with the intention of having a brisk day's walk. I started
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  off in excellent spirits, for the day was bright and frosty, with a
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  powdering of snow on the iron bound roads and nipped hedges, and the country
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  had to me all the charm of novelty. It was certainly flat, but
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  there was plenty of timber, and the villages through which I passed were old
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  and picturesque. I lunched luxuriously on bread and cheese and beer in the bar
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  of a small inn, and resolved to go a little further before turning back.
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  When at length I found I had on far enough, I turned up
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  a lane at right angles to the road I was passing, and resolved to
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  find my way back by another route. It is a long lane that has
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  no turning, but this had several, each of which had turnings of its
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  own, which generally led, as I found by trying two or three of
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  them into the open marshes. Then tired of lanes, I resolved to rely
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  upon the small compass which hung from my watch chain, and go across country
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  home. I got well into the marshes when a white fog, which had
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  been for some time hovering round the edge of the ditches, began gradually to
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  spread. There was no escaping it, but by aid of my compass,
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  I was saved from making a circular tour, and fell instead into frozen ditches
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  or stumbled over roots in the grass. I kept my course, however,
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  until at four o'clock, when night was coming rapidly up. To lend a
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  hand to the fog, I was fain to confess myself lost. The compass
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  was now no good to me, and I wandered about miserably, occasionally giving
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  a shout on the chance of being heard by some passing shepherd of farm hand.
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  At length, by great good luck, I found my feet on a
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  rough road driven through the marshes, and by walking slowly and tapping with my
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  stick, managed to keep to it. I'd followed it for some distance when
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  I heard footsteps approaching me. We stopped as we met, and the new
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  arrival, a sturdy looking countryman, hearing of my plight, walked back with
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  me for nearly a mile, and putting me on to a road, gave
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  me minute instructions how to reach a village some three miles distant. I was
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  so tired. Three miles sounded like tin, And besides that, a little
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  way off from the road I saw dimly a lighted window. I pointed it
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  out, but my companion shuddered and looked round him uneasily. You won't get
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  no good there, he said, hastily. Why not, I asked,
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  there's a something there, sir, he replied, what tis? I dunno,
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  But the little un belongin to a gamekeeper as used to live in these
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  parts. See it, and it was a never much good afterward. Some
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  say, as it's a poor mad thing, others say, as it's a
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  kind of animal. But whatever it is, it ain't good to see.
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  Well, I'll keep on, then, I said good night. He went
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  back, whistling cheerily until his footsteps died away in the distance, and I
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  followed the road he had indicated until it divided into three, any one of
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  which to a stranger might be said to lead straight on. I was now
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  cold and tired, and having half made up my mind, walked slowly back
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  toward the house at first, all I could see if it was the little
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  patch of light at the window. I made for that, until it disappeared
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  suddenly, and I found myself walking into a tall hedge. I felt my
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  way round this until I came to a small gate, and, opening it,
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  cautiously, walked, not without some little nervousness, up a long path
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  which led to the door. There was no light and no sound from within.
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  Half repenting of my temerity, I shortened my stick and knocked lightly upon
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  the door. I waited a couple of minutes, and then knocked again,
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  and my stick was still beating the door when it opened suddenly, and a
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  tall, bony old woman holding a candle confronted me. What do you want,
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  she demanded gruffly. I've lost my way, I said, civilly.
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  I want to get to Asheville. Don't know it, said the old woman.
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  She was about to close the door when a man emerged from a room
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  at the side of the hall and came toward us, an old man of
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  great height and breadth of shoulder. Asheville is fifteen miles distant, he said
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  slowly. If you will direct me to the nearest village, I shall be
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  grateful. I remarked. He made no reply, but exchanged a quick furtive
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  glance with the woman. She made a gesture of dissent. The nearest place
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  is three miles off, he said, turning to me and apparently trying to
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  soften a naturally harsh voice. If you will go me the pleasure of your
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  company, I will make you as comfortable as I can, I hesitated.
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  They were certainly a queer looking couple. In the gloomy hall with the shadows
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  thrown by the candle, looked hardly more inviting than the darkness outside. You
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  are very kind, I murmured, irresolutely. But come in, he said,
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  quickly shut the door Anne. Almost before I knew it, I was
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  standing inside, and the old woman, muttering to herself, had closed the
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  door behind me. With a queer sensation of being trapped, I followed my
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  host into the room, and, taking the proffered chair, warmed my frozen
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  fingers at the fire. Then you will soon be ready, said the old
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  man, regarding me closely. If you'll excuse me, I bowed, and
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  he left the room. A minute afterward, I heard voices his and the
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  old woman's, and I fancied a third before I had finished my inspection of
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  the room, he returned and regarded me with the same strange look I had
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  noticed before. There will be three of us at deadar, he said.
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  At length, we two and my son. I bowed again and secretly hoped
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  that that look didn't run in the family. I suppose you don't mind dining
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  in the dark, he said abruptly, Not at all, I replied,
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  hiding my surprise as well as I could. But really I'm afraid i'm intruding.
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  If you'll allow me, he waved his huge, gaunt hands. We're
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  not going to lose you. Now we've got you, he said, with
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  a dry laugh. It's seldom we have company, and now we've got you,
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  we'll keep you. My son's eyes are bad and he can't stand the
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  light. Ah, here is Anne. As he spoke, the old woman
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  entered, and, eyeing me, stealthily, began to lay the cloth,
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  while my host, taking a chair the other side of the hearth, sat
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  looking silently into the fire. The table set, the old woman brought in
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  a pair of fowl, ready carved in a dish, and placing three chairs,
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  left the room. The old man hesitated a moment, and then rising
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  from his chair, placed a large screen in front of the fire, and
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  slowly extinguished the candles. Blind man's holiday, he said, with clumsy jocacity,
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  and groping his way to the door, opened it. Somebody came back
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  into the room with him, and in a slow, uncertain fashion, took
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  a seat at the table, and the strangest voice I have ever heard broke
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  a silence which was fast becoming oppressive. Oh cold night, it said.
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  Slowly, I replied in the affirmative, and lighter no light fell to with
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  an appetite which had only been sharpened by the snack in the middle of the
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  day. It was somewhat difficult eating in the dark, and it was evident
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  from the behavior of my invisible companions that they were as unused to dining under
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  such circumstances as I was. We ate in silence until the old woman blundered
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  into the room and some sweets, and put them with a crash upon the
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  table. A strange about here, inquired the curious voice. Again, I
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  replied in the affirmative, and murmured something about my luck and stumbling upon such
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  a good dinner. Stumbling is a very good word for it, said the
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  voice grimly. You have forgotten the port father, so I have said the
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  old man rising. It's a bottle of the celebrated to day. I will
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  get it myself. He felt his way to the door, and closing it
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  behind him, left me alone with my unseen neighbor. There was something so
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  strange about the whole business that I must confess to more than a slight feeling
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  of uneasiness. My host seemed to be absent a long time. I heard
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  the man opposite lay down his fork in spoon, and half fancied I could
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  see a pair of wild eyes shining through the gloom like a cat's. With
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  a growing sense of uneasiness, I pushed my chair back. It caught the
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  hearth rug, and in my efforts to disentangle it, the screen fell over
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  with a crash, and in the flickering light of the fire, I saw
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  the face of the creature opposite. With a sharp catch of my breath,
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  I left my chair and stood with clenched fists beside it. Man or beast?
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  Which was it? The flame leaped up and then went out, and
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  in the mere red glow of the fire, it looked more devilish than before.
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  For a few moments we regarded each other in silence. Then the door
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  opened and the old man returned. He stood aghast as he saw the warm
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  firelight, and then, approaching the table, mechanically put down a couple of
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  bottles. I beg your pardon, said I, reassured by his presence.
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  But I have accidentally overturned the screen. Allowed me to replace it. No,
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  said the old man, gently, let it be. We have had
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  enough of the dark. I'll give you a light. He struck a match
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  and slowly lit the candles. Then I saw that the man opposite had but
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  the remnant of a face, a gaunt, wolfish face in which one unquenched
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  eye, the soul remaining feature still glittered. I was greatly moved, some
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  suspicion of the truth occurring to me. My son was injured some years ago
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  in a burning house, said the old man. Since then we have lived
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  a very retired life. When you came to the door, we his voice
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  trembled. That is my son, I thought, said the son, simply
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  that it would be better for me not to come to the dinner table.
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  But it happens to be my birthday, and my father would not hear of
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  my dining alone. So he hit upon this foolish player dining in the dark.
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  I am sorry I startled you. I am sorry, said I,
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  as I reached across the table and gripped his hand, that I am such
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  a fool, but it was only in the dark that you startled me.
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  From a faint tinge in the old man's cheek and a certain pleasant softening of
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  the poor solitary eye in front of me, I secretly congratulated myself upon this
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  last remark. We divors see a friend, said the old man apologetically,
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  and the temptation to have company was too much for us. Besides, I
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  don't know what else you could have done. Nothing else half so good,
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  I'm sure, said I come, said my host with an almost sprightly air.
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  Now we know each other. Draw our chairs to the fire, and
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  let's keep this birthday in a proper fashion. He drew a small table to
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  the fire for the glasses, and produced a box of cigars, and,
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  placing a chair for the old servant, sternly bade her to sit down and
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  drink. If the talk was not sparkling, it did not lack for vivacity,
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  and we were soon as merry a party as I have ever seen.
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  The night wore on so rapidly that we could hardly believe our ears, when
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  in the lull in the conversation, a clock in the hall struck twelve,
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  A last toast before we retire, er, said my host, pitching the
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  end of his cigar into the fire and turning to the small table. We
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  had drunk several before this, But there was something impressive in the old man's
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  manner. As he rose and took up his glass. His tall figure seemed
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  to get taller, and his voice rang as he gazed proudly at his disfigured
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  son. The health of the children my boy saved, he said, and
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  drained his glass at a draft. End of section twelve end of The Lady
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  of the Barge by W. W. Jacobs