CHAPTER XII.
SOME ODD FACTS ABOUT THE TILED HOUSE—BEING AN AUTHENTIC NARRATIVE OF
THE GHOST OF A HAND.
I'm sure she believed every word she related, for old Sally was
veracious. But all this was worth just so much as such talk commonly
is—marvels, fabulæ, what our ancestors called winter's tales—which
gathered details from every narrator, and dilated in the act of
narration. Still it was not quite for nothing that the house was held to
be haunted. Under all this smoke there smouldered just a little spark of
truth—an authenticated mystery, for the solution of which some of my
readers may possibly suggest a theory, though I confess I can't.
Miss Rebecca Chattesworth, in a letter dated late in the autumn of 1753, gives a minute and curious relation of occurrences in the Tiled House, which, it is plain, although at starting she protests against all such fooleries, she has heard with a peculiar sort of interest, and relates it certainly with an awful sort of particularity.
I was for printing the entire letter, which is really very singular as
well as characteristic. But my publisher meets me with his veto; and I
believe he is right. The worthy old lady's letter is, perhaps, too
long; and I must rest content with a few hungry notes of its tenor.
That year, and somewhere about the 24th October, there broke out a
strange dispute between Mr. Alderman Harper, of High Street, Dublin, and
my Lord Castlemallard, who, in virtue of his cousinship to the young
heir's mother, had undertaken for him the management of the tiny estate
on which the Tiled or Tyled House—for I find it spelt both ways—stood.
This Alderman Harper had agreed for a lease of the house for his
daughter, who was married to a gentleman named Prosser. He furnished it, and put up hangings, and otherwise went to considerable expense. Mr. and Mrs. Prosser came there sometime in June, and after having parted with a good many servants in the interval, she made up her mind that she could not live in the house, and her father waited on Lord Castlemallard, and told him plainly that he would not take out the lease because the house was subjected to annoyances which he could not explain. In plain terms, he said it was haunted, and that no servants would live there more than a few weeks, and that after what his son-in-law's family had suffered there, not only should he be excused from taking a lease of it, but that the house itself ought to be pulled down as a nuisance and the habitual haunt of something worse than human malefactors.
Lord Castlemallard filed a bill in the Equity side of the Exchequer to
compel Mr. Alderman Harper to perform his contract, by taking out the
lease. But the Alderman drew an answer, supported by no less than seven
long affidavits, copies of all which were furnished to his lordship, and
with the desired effect; for rather than compel him to place them upon
the file of the court, his lordship struck, and consented to release
him.
I am sorry the cause did not proceed at least far enough to place upon
the files of the court the very authentic and unaccountable story which
Miss Rebecca relates.
The annoyances described did not begin till the end of August, when, one
evening, Mrs. Prosser, quite alone, was sitting in the twilight at the
back parlour window, which was open, looking out into the orchard, and
plainly saw a hand stealthily placed upon the stone window-sill outside, as if by some one beneath the window, at her right side, intending to climb up. There was nothing but the hand, which was rather short but handsomely formed, and white and plump, laid on the edge of the window-sill; and it was not a very young hand, but one aged, somewhere about forty, as she conjectured. It was only a few weeks before that the horrible robbery at Clondalkin had taken place, and the lady fancied that the hand was that of one of the miscreants who was now about to scale the windows of the Tiled House. She uttered a loud scream and an ejaculation of terror, and at the same moment the hand was quietly withdrawn.
Search was made in the orchard, but no indications of any person's
having been under the window, beneath which, ranged along the wall, stood a great column of flower-pots, which it seemed must have prevented any one's coming within reach of it.