The Legend of Mr. Bickerstaff

This tale is loosely based on the Greek myth of Hades and Persephone. Readers familiar with the myth will notice some similarities, but also some major differences. The setting has been moved from ancient Greece to the English countryside of the early 1800's.


The Legend of Mr. Bickerstaff

Rumor has it Mr. Bickerstaff made a pact with the devil. He was a professor at a very prestigious school nestled in the English countryside near a small village. He was a dark and brooding man, very near to fifty; and while he could be excellent company on occasion, he seldom put forth the effort. He had a haughty tone to his deep voice, and his smile only had two settings: smug or cruel. He exuded a sinister sensuality that made most young women feel uncomfortable in his presence. And yet this man somehow possessed the most beautiful and virtuous young wife.

Her name was Mary, but it should have been Spring, because she affected the town like a fresh breeze after a long and stale winter. Barely twenty, her vivacious nature and breathtaking beauty endeared everyone to her. People swore that flowers smelled more fragrant in her presence, and compared her lilting voice to musical notes. She had long heavenly golden curls that were the envy of every woman in town, and pale green eyes framed with long dark lashes.

The entire village was shocked when this young virginal creature wed the sinister Mr. Bickerstaff on a beautiful June day in 1837. They were worried for her, when after her marriage; she disappeared into his estate and was not seen for quite some time. She did not even come to town to visit her own mother. Whenever her mother tried to visit Mary, she was promptly turned away by the servants and told to go home. She didn’t even know if Mary knew that she was trying to see her.

When word of this spread around the town, Mr. Bickerstaff was disliked more intently that ever before. Some people even began to believe he was evil. It became a sort of town obsession. What was he doing to her? Was she all right? Was she still alive? Mr. Bickerstaff continued to carry on as normal, and conducted all his usual affairs as if nothing was amiss. Everyone was burning to ask him about young Mary, but not one person had the courage to confront him and ask about her point blank. And he of course, offered no intimations of wife’s welfare.

A young man came forward and claimed he knew the secret behind their unlikely union. He said that one summer night; he was walking through the woods and came upon a clearing.

“And who was standing in that clearing?” he asked the village people who had gathered round him, eager for any word on Mary. “It was Mr. Bickerstaff. And standing next to him was the devil himself!” Murmurs and gasps ripped through the crowd. “I overheard their conversation, and I tell you it chilled me to the core, it did.” He paused for a minute, looking genuinely frightened at the memory.

“Well what did they say?” asked one of the old women in the crowd. “Yes, tell us,” chanted some of the others.

“I heard Mr. Bickerstaff tell the devil that he longed for a wife. He said there was a girl, a lady he had admired for quite some time. And he needed the devil’s help to win her heart; as she was so rare and exquisite in her young innocence he could not imagine any other possible way to obtain her for a bride. The devil agreed to grant him this favor, on one condition. Mr. Bickerstaff must sell the devil his soul. He signed the devil’s contract, and the devil deposited into Mr. Bickerstaff’s hand, a pomegranate.”

“The devil told him of a lake just beyond the woods, and said that he was to go there and wait. ‘Sunrise is within the hour’ the devil told him. ‘I will bring her to you. You will give her the fruit, and upon tasting it, she will immediately become seized with love for you.” The lad stopped to take a deep breath, and the crowd instantly began to press him for more information. He began again.

“I followed him to the lake, making sure he didn’t catch sight of me, and sure enough, shortly after sunrise, Mary came into view. She was chasing a little black dog, and upon seeing Mr. Bickerstaff, was so startled that she lost sight of it and it disappeared into the forest.”

“Mr. Bickerstaff pretended he was surprised to see her, and he asked her if she would like to join him for a morning walk around the lake. She seemed a little hesitant, but he was silkily persuasive, and after a brief conversation my ears could not discern, they began to stroll leisurely around the water. I saw him hand her the pomegranate, and I swear good people, I swear to you I tried to cry out and stop her. But the devil had taken my very voice, and I watched in horror as she raised it to her lips and took a bite.”

“What happened after that, I can’t say; not because I left the scene, for I could not move a limb. It was as if I was made of stone. But it’s not proper to say in Christian company what that monstrous man did next. I pray my God forgive me for not averting my eyes.”

The townspeople could bear no more, and the crowd departed, some of them openly weeping for the poor girl. They felt a great deal of pity for Mary, and were more convinced than ever that she was his prisoner, trapped inside his estate never to be released.

The person most bothered by all of this was Mary’s mother. She missed her daughter terribly, and renewed her efforts to see her daughter. Every day she went to Mr. Bickerstaff’s estate and every day the servants turned her away. She became frantic and began to believe her precious daughter might very well be dead. So one day when she happened upon Mr. Bickerstaff in the village (he had been taking great pains to avoid her) she began to accost him, beating him hysterically with her feeble arms and crying wildly.

“You took my daughter from me!” she screamed franticly. “What have you done with her? What have you done with her?”

“Madam,” he said smoothly, brushing her off him like a piece of dust on his jacket. “Calm yourself. You’re daughter is well, I assure you.”

“I want to see her!” she cried, her voice frenzied with rage. “Show me my daughter, then, if she is well! I’ll not believe you till I see her face.”

“Very well. You shall see your daughter. Come tonight, and I give you my word you shall be received.”

“You’re word, sir, means very little to me.” She spat on him as she said this, and he grabbed her arm with a sudden cat-like fierceness.

“Did it ever occur to you madam,” he said rapidly under his breath, “that it’s very foolish of you to displease me? If your wish is never to see your daughter again I can easily make it so.” He released her arm and regained his composure. When he spoke again, his voice had regained its usual silky qualities. “Come tonight, and you shall see her. Good day.” And with that, he was off.

Mary’s mother did go to the Bickerstaff home that evening, and true to his word, she was received. One of the maids led her to the parlor, and she sat there alone in silence waiting for Mary to come join her. After a while she heard footsteps coming down the hall. The door opened and Mr. Bickerstaff entered the room.

“Good evening,” he said smoothly as he entered, as if there was nothing unusual at all about her visit.

“Where is she? Where is my daughter?” She asked, rising from her seat, her voice panicky.

“Your daughter, Madam, is on the other side of this door. I want to caution you, though, before you speak to her. You must not upset her. I presume you remember what we spoke of earlier today? I assure you, it was no idle threat.”

“May I please see my daughter now?”

“Do you plan on maintaining your composure?”

“Yes, yes,” she said rapidly, nodding. She was so desperate to see her daughter she would have said anything to see her. “I swear it.”

“Very well,” he said his deep silky voice, as he exited the room. “You shall see her momentarily.” He closed the door behind him. Mary’s mother could hear a whispered conversation outside the door. Was that her Mary he was whispering to? Would she finally see her at last?

The door opened again, and Mary entered the room. If it was possible, she looked more stunning than ever. She was dressed in the most beautiful gown that she had ever seen; made of the palest rose silk, so light and creamy it nearly matched her skin. Shimmering diamonds were strung generously around her slender neck, and there were even more diamonds entwined with her golden hair, making it glitter.

Mother and daughter embraced, and then seated themselves on the plush sofa. Her mother looked intently into her face.

“Tell me,” she said softly, fearing Mr. Bickerstaff was right outside. “Are you well?”

“Of course I am well.” She looked as if she told the truth. She was a vision of health and beauty.

“Is he…” her mother paused, “is he kind to you?”

“Of course he is kind to me, Mother.” Mary looked at her with her wide pale green eyes, took her mother’s hand and held it in her own. “I am content. My husband is wise and generous; he treats me well.”

“You are bewitched, my daughter!” She whispered fervently, praying he not hear her from the hallway. “He loves you not. You are but his toy, his captive, how can you not know this?” Mary rose and walked to the door. When she spoke, her tone was very cold.

“My husband is a fine gentleman, Mother. You would speak only ill of him, when he himself holds no ill will towards you. Do you think me foolish? Do you think your daughter a wanton woman? I assure you no man could ever claim me, save this kind and noble gentleman, whom I love with every ounce of strength God ever gave me. Goodbye, Mother. God knows when we shall meet again.”

And with that her precious Mary exited the room and her life. The servants escorted her out of the house in tears, and she was never received there again.

Things were quiet in the village after that. Mary was alive, and that was enough for the townspeople. After all, the two were legally wed. There really wasn’t anything that anyone could do. Five long years past and the once happy bustling village became a dreary and dismal place without Mary’s presence.

Then one day, the town physician claimed he had been summoned to the Bickerstaff estate. Young Mary had taken ill, and he had been summoned in the middle of the night by one of the servants, to come see her at once. When he arrived, Mr. Bickerstaff was pacing around her beautifully furnished golden bedroom, very distraught and entirely not himself.

The doctor examined Mary. She was very thin and very pale. Her green eyes were glassy and unfocused. She was burning up with fever, a fine sheen of sweat making her white face glisten unnaturally in the firelight. The doctor could not be sure what was affecting her, but he was quite sure she was dying.

“You should have sent for me sooner,” he admonished Mr. Bickerstaff. “You will be lucky if she survives the night.”

“Isn’t there anything you can do for her, doctor?” pleaded Mr. Bickerstaff.

“No,” he replied sadly. “There’s nothing I can do. I’m sorry.”

What Mr. Bickerstaff did next he would never forget. On Mary’s wall there was a crucifix, and he turned and knelt before, it rapidly whispering some kind of desperate prayer and rocking back and forth on his knees like a mad man.

“Sir,” the doctor started. “She is too far gone. No amount of prayer is going to help her now.” Mr. Bickerstaff turned to face him, his eyes burning with an unnatural fire.

“Get out!” he screamed violently. “Leave if you won’t help her!”

“Sir,” the doctor said, doing his best to calm him. “It’s not that I refuse to help her. Surely you know this. Your wife is gravely ill. There is simply nothing I can do for her.”

“Not even to ease her suffering? Is there nothing you can give her for that?”

The doctor dropped his voice and said very quietly, “I do not think she will suffer very much longer, if that is any comfort to you.”

“No,” Mr. Bickerstaff replied, turning away. “It is of no great comfort to me.”

The good doctor left the house, and by the time he shared this information, it was three days since his late night visit to the Bickerstaff estate. He knew Mary was dead. She had to be. There was no way she could have lived through the night. But Mr. Bickerstaff did not emerge from his home. There was no talk of a funeral or a burial for the young girl everyone had loved and missed so much.

Legend has it that after Mary died, Mr. Bickerstaff went stark raving mad. It was said that he allowed no one to move her from her deathbed, and that he took his tea in her room every afternoon, sitting next to her bed and speaking to her as if she were alive.

When Mr. Bickerstaff finally passed away some years later, Mary’s skeletal remains were discovered upstairs in her golden bedroom, lying in her bed exactly as the rumors had stated. She was given a proper Christian burial, but was not buried next to her spouse. In burial the village finally succeeded in separating Mary from her strange husband. They finally began to feel a measure of peace.

However, soon after her bones were removed from the home, the sightings began to occur. People said they saw her looking out the windows, and servants claimed they’d seen her in her hallway near her bedroom. They say she searches for her husband, whom she can never find, and she is forever waiting for him in that golden room upstairs; waiting for a meeting that will never come.