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Updated: May 12, 2025
So the Horsinghams never cease talking of the Horsingham hand; and if I want to get anything out of Aunt Deborah, I have only to lend her a pair of my gloves, and apologize to her for their being so large that she can get both her hands into one. Now the only thing we ever fall out about is what my aunt calls propriety.
There were three Miss Horsinghams, all with white hands poor mamma, Aunt Deborah, and Aunt Dorcas. I can just remember him a snuffy little man with a brown wig, but perhaps he wasn't always so; and David Jones, who was frightened at Aunt Deborah's black eyes, thought he would rather marry Aunt Dorcas.
By the way, Miss Horsingham, I saw a curious old picture the other day in the West of England, purporting to be a portrait of the celebrated 'Ysonde of Brittany, with the White Hand, in which I traced a strong resemblance to some of the Horsinghams, with whom I am acquainted.
The fact is, the Horsinghams were quite as proud of their ghost as they were of their hand; and although not a very creditable tale to any of the family, Aunt Deborah would never forgive me if I were not to relate the tragedy which conferred on Dangerfield the honour of being a haunted house.
Whatever other remains accompanied them turned to dust immediately on exposure to the air. That dust was, however, religiously collected and buried in a mausoleum appropriated to the Horsinghams. Since then the ghost has been less troublesome; but most of the family have seen or heard it at least once in their lives.
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