Read Online Australian Hauntings: A Second Anthology of Australian Colonial Supernatural Fiction by James Doig - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: James Doig
Tags: Terror, Fiction, Horror, supernatural, Occult & Supernatural, Ghosts, 19th century, Ghost, Desert, hauntings, Australian Fiction, bugs, outback, ants
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many good friends in Sydney, and I knew that they thought a lot of her. She had a small legacy of her own, just enough to live on. I had brought all Tom’s money that was owing to him with me, having got it from our employers, and I handed it over to Miss Imrie then and there.
“‘And do you think my poor brother, Tom, shot himself?’ said she. I told her ‘yes,’ but that it might have been by accident (I did not think so myself). What could I say? But if he had, I couldn’t tell the reason, any more than the man in the moon.
“So ran my thoughts. I knew well enough that Tom meant to lake the man so as to hand him over to justice, fight or no fight. He was a most determined chap. But he would never have shot him unless the other had been so desperate as to fire at him first. And then perhaps he might have had to do so to save his own life. But the other shot, the one which killed him—a shot from his own weapon apparently— that was inexplicable. Miss Imrie broke in upon me at this point in my reflections.
“‘Will you describe the man who was supposed to be shot by my brother, Mr McIlwaine?’ she asked.
“I nodded, and described him exactly. She got paler and paler as I went on, but when I described what was undoubtedly a birthmark, which I had seen on his chest, and which bore an exact similarity to a fallen autumn leaf, she slid off her seat and fainted!
“I rang the bell at once, and the housemaid came, and between us we brought her back to consciousness. The girl, of course, had heard of Tom Imrie’s sudden death, though her mistress would naturally enough conceal the real facts. She (the housemaid) would probably think that we had been talking over the matter, and that that had been the cause of her mistress’ indisposition. She knew me, too, as I had been there on one occasion to tea during Tom’s lifetime. I took my hat and my departure, feeling that I could be of very little use, but I gave the girl a tip as I left, requesting her to give Miss Imrie a message, saying that I would call again if she wished, on hearing from her that she felt sufficiently well to receive me. I also asked the maid to express to Miss Imrie my very great sympathy for her in her sorrow, which I shared also.
“I went to my hotel, and two days afterwards received a letter from Miss Imrie telling me the most awful thing you can think of. I remember the words well enough. They burnt themselves into my brain!
* * * *
“That man you described was my other brother! We hadn’t heard of him for years. Poor Tom! Now I can see the reason for his own rash act. Please don’t call again. I can’t bear it. And may I ask you, on your honour as a gentleman, never to mention this subject to a living soul, for my sake, and for the sake of those who are gone?”
* * * *
“Of course, I complied with her wishes, but it was as equally plain to me now as it had been to Tom’s sister after the dread revelation of the fatal birthmark. The man’s shirt was open at the breast when we found the two bodies, and I saw the mark then and afterwards.
“Strange to say, the refrain of an old drinking song came into my head the moment I saw that fallen leaf mark, and there it droned away in my head, pathetically, in the presence of the dead:
Fades as the leaves do fade,
Fades as the leaves do fade,
Fades as the leaves do fade,
And dies in October.
“But the result had not been brought on by the ‘small beer,’ the prelude to this particular part of the chorus. It was strong liquor, and much of it, which had been the prominent cause of the whole thing. And that tune that droned in my head, the man himself, ‘Flash Jack,’ had played on the concertina in the hotel verandah, the others joining in the chorus, on the previous interlude to the ghastly tragedy.
“And there he lay himself, and another, both cut off like the leaf, and—Alas, poor Tom!
“Tom must have seen this mark in a far worse and more awful light than ever I did.
“‘And do you think my poor brother, Tom, shot himself?’ said she. I told her ‘yes,’ but that it might have been by accident (I did not think so myself). What could I say? But if he had, I couldn’t tell the reason, any more than the man in the moon.
“So ran my thoughts. I knew well enough that Tom meant to lake the man so as to hand him over to justice, fight or no fight. He was a most determined chap. But he would never have shot him unless the other had been so desperate as to fire at him first. And then perhaps he might have had to do so to save his own life. But the other shot, the one which killed him—a shot from his own weapon apparently— that was inexplicable. Miss Imrie broke in upon me at this point in my reflections.
“‘Will you describe the man who was supposed to be shot by my brother, Mr McIlwaine?’ she asked.
“I nodded, and described him exactly. She got paler and paler as I went on, but when I described what was undoubtedly a birthmark, which I had seen on his chest, and which bore an exact similarity to a fallen autumn leaf, she slid off her seat and fainted!
“I rang the bell at once, and the housemaid came, and between us we brought her back to consciousness. The girl, of course, had heard of Tom Imrie’s sudden death, though her mistress would naturally enough conceal the real facts. She (the housemaid) would probably think that we had been talking over the matter, and that that had been the cause of her mistress’ indisposition. She knew me, too, as I had been there on one occasion to tea during Tom’s lifetime. I took my hat and my departure, feeling that I could be of very little use, but I gave the girl a tip as I left, requesting her to give Miss Imrie a message, saying that I would call again if she wished, on hearing from her that she felt sufficiently well to receive me. I also asked the maid to express to Miss Imrie my very great sympathy for her in her sorrow, which I shared also.
“I went to my hotel, and two days afterwards received a letter from Miss Imrie telling me the most awful thing you can think of. I remember the words well enough. They burnt themselves into my brain!
* * * *
“That man you described was my other brother! We hadn’t heard of him for years. Poor Tom! Now I can see the reason for his own rash act. Please don’t call again. I can’t bear it. And may I ask you, on your honour as a gentleman, never to mention this subject to a living soul, for my sake, and for the sake of those who are gone?”
* * * *
“Of course, I complied with her wishes, but it was as equally plain to me now as it had been to Tom’s sister after the dread revelation of the fatal birthmark. The man’s shirt was open at the breast when we found the two bodies, and I saw the mark then and afterwards.
“Strange to say, the refrain of an old drinking song came into my head the moment I saw that fallen leaf mark, and there it droned away in my head, pathetically, in the presence of the dead:
Fades as the leaves do fade,
Fades as the leaves do fade,
Fades as the leaves do fade,
And dies in October.
“But the result had not been brought on by the ‘small beer,’ the prelude to this particular part of the chorus. It was strong liquor, and much of it, which had been the prominent cause of the whole thing. And that tune that droned in my head, the man himself, ‘Flash Jack,’ had played on the concertina in the hotel verandah, the others joining in the chorus, on the previous interlude to the ghastly tragedy.
“And there he lay himself, and another, both cut off like the leaf, and—Alas, poor Tom!
“Tom must have seen this mark in a far worse and more awful light than ever I did.
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