[adapted]

by
Henry James

On Christmas Eve, a group of us sat around the fire telling ghost stories. One story was about a little boy who saw a ghost. His mother woke up and saw it too. Someone said that a ghost story was more frightening when a child was involved.

“Yes,” someone replied. “A child gives the story another turn of the screw.”

Then the man said: “But what if there are two children?”

Everyone became excited. “Then it gives the story two turns of the screw!” they cried. “Tell us the story.”

We asked him to tell it, but he explained that the story was written in an old manuscript locked away in London. He would have to send for it. The manuscript, he told us, had been written by a woman who had died many years before. She had been his sister’s governess. Douglas had known her when he was young, and she had trusted him with a story she had never told anyone else. I guessed that she had once been in love.

“Yes,” Douglas said. “She had been.”

A few days later the manuscript arrived, and we gathered again to hear it. Before he began reading, Douglas explained how the story started.

The writer was the daughter of a poor country clergyman. At twenty years old, she travelled to London to apply for a position as governess. There she met a handsome and wealthy gentleman who wanted her to care for his orphaned nephew and niece, Miles and Flora, at his country house, Bly. The children lived there with Mrs. Grose, the housekeeper. Miles was away at school, but Flora was at home. The previous governess had died. The gentleman warned the young woman that the position carried great responsibility. She would be in charge of the children and the household matters connected with them.

There was one condition above all others. She must never contact him. She must never ask for help, complain, or bring him any problem. She must manage everything herself. Other candidates had refused the position. The young governess hesitated, but at last she accepted. Partly, Douglas suggested, because she admired the gentleman.

After she agreed, he thanked her warmly. She never saw him again. The following evening Douglas opened the manuscript and began to read.

1

I remember the beginning as a mixture of hope and fear. After I accepted the position, I spent several days wondering if I had made a mistake. Yet as I travelled through the countryside on a warm June afternoon, my courage slowly returned.

When I arrived at Bly, I was surprised. I had expected a gloomy place, but the house looked bright and welcoming. The windows stood open. Flowers grew on the lawn. The evening sun shone over the trees.

At the door stood Mrs. Grose, the housekeeper, holding a little girl by the hand. This was Flora. She seemed the most beautiful child I had ever seen. At once I felt fortunate to be responsible for her.

My room was large and comfortable, and everyone treated me with kindness. Mrs. Grose especially seemed pleased that I had come. Her pleasure was so clear that I wondered why she tried to hide it.

That night I slept little. Partly it was excitement, but I also thought I heard strange sounds in the house. Once I imagined I heard a child crying far away. Another time I thought I heard light footsteps outside my door. I soon dismissed these ideas, though later I remembered them.

The next evening I asked Mrs. Grose about Miles. “Is he like his sister?”

“Very much so, miss,” she said warmly. “If you admire Flora, you will admire him too.”

I laughed and admitted that I had already been impressed by the children’s uncle when I met him in London.

“In Harley Street?” Mrs. Grose asked.
“Yes.”
“Well, miss, you are not the first.”
I asked when Miles would arrive.
“On Friday,” she said. “We shall meet him when the coach comes.”

The next day I spent my time with Flora. She showed me every part of Bly. We walked through rooms, passages, staircases, and even climbed an old tower. Before long we became close friends. She moved through the great house with confidence and delight, talking all the time. Following her, I felt as if I were exploring a place from a story. Yet Bly was also vast and strange. At moments I felt lost in it. Still, I reminded myself that I was now responsible for this house and these children. Somehow, I was at the helm.

2

Two days later, Flora and I were preparing to meet Miles when something happened that troubled me greatly. The evening before, the post had brought a letter from the children’s uncle. Inside was another letter, still sealed. The uncle’s note was brief.

“This is from the headmaster. Read it and deal with it yourself. Do not report to me.”

I opened the second letter that night. It brought me great distress and kept me awake. The school informed me that Miles had been dismissed. He would not be allowed to return.

The next morning I went to Mrs. Grose. “What does this mean?” I asked. “Miles has been dismissed from school.”

She looked shocked. “They will not take him back?”
“They refuse completely.”
“What has he done?”

The letter gave no details. It only said that the school could no longer keep him. I suggested that perhaps he had been a bad influence on the other boys.

“Master Miles?” Mrs. Grose cried. “Impossible!” Her confidence surprised me. Though I had never met him, I already wanted to believe her. “See him first,” she said. “Then judge.”

At that moment Flora appeared at the door. Looking at her bright face, I found it difficult to imagine anything wrong with her brother.

Later I questioned Mrs. Grose again. “You have never known him to be bad?”

She considered carefully. “No boy is good all the time,” she said. “But he is still a boy.”

I asked about the previous governess.
“She was young and pretty,” Mrs. Grose replied.
“Did she ever say anything against Miles?”
“No. She never told me anything like that.”

I hesitated, then asked another question. “Did she die here at Bly?”

“No. She left for a holiday and never returned. Later the master wrote and told me she was dead.”

“What did she die of?”

“I do not know,” Mrs. Grose answered. “He never told me.” With that, she left to continue her work.

I was left alone with my questions. Miles had been expelled from school. The former governess was dead. And no one seemed willing, or able, to explain either mystery.

3

When I brought Miles home, all my fears about him seemed foolish. He stood waiting for me at the inn, and at once I saw the same bright innocence I had seen in Flora. He was wonderfully beautiful. His face seemed full of trust and love. I could not believe that such a child had done anything truly wrong.

Back at Bly, I spoke privately with Mrs. Grose. “The letter is absurd,” I said. “Look at him.”

“What will you answer?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
“And to his uncle?”
“Nothing.”
“And to Miles himself?”
“Nothing.”
Mrs. Grose agreed to stand by me. We made it almost like a promise.

For a time, life at Bly became sweet and easy. Miles and Flora gave me little trouble. They were gentle, bright, and charming. I felt that my work was not a burden, but a happy duty. In the long summer evenings, after the children had gone to bed, I often walked alone in the grounds. I liked those quiet hours. I liked to think that I was doing well, and that perhaps the Master would be pleased if he knew.

One evening, as I came out from among the trees, I looked up at the house. There, high on one of the towers, stood a man. For one moment I thought my own wish had become real. I had imagined the Master coming to approve of me. But at once I knew this was not him. The man was a stranger.

He stood very still and looked straight at me. He wore no hat. His hands rested on the tower wall. The whole place seemed to fall silent around him. I stared back. I tried to think who he could be. He was not anyone I knew. He was not a servant. He was not a guest.

For a long moment we faced one another across the lawn. Then he slowly moved along the tower, still watching me. At last he turned away. That was all I saw.

4

I stayed outside for some time after the man vanished. I was shaken and full of questions. Was there some secret at Bly? Was someone hidden there? Had a stranger entered the house? When I returned, Mrs. Grose met me in the hall. She looked worried because I had been out so long. Yet her face showed me that she knew nothing about what I had seen. I decided not to tell her.

For several days I thought about the man. I listened and watched. I tried, without asking direct questions, to learn if anyone in the house knew of a visitor. I became sure no one did. So I told myself the man must have been a bold stranger. Perhaps he had entered the grounds to look at the old house. Perhaps he had climbed the tower and then gone away. I hoped we would never see him again.

Meanwhile, my life with the children still charmed me. Miles and Flora seemed more delightful each day. Miles never spoke of school, and I never asked him. His sweetness made the school’s letter seem more and more impossible. I was under their spell, and I knew it.

One rainy Sunday, Mrs. Grose and I planned to walk to the late church service if the weather improved. Before we left, I remembered my gloves in the dining room and went to fetch them. As I entered, I saw someone outside the window. It was the same man.