Jane Of George Street Edinburgh
Scary Books: Scottish Ghost Stories
The news that, for several years at any rate, George Street,
Edinburgh, was haunted, wrote a correspondent of mine some short time
ago, might cause no little surprise to many of its inhabitants. And
my friend proceeded to relate his experience of the haunting, which I
will reproduce as nearly as possible in his own words. I quote from
memory, having foolishly destroyed the letter.
I was walk
ng in a leisurely way along George Street the other day,
towards Strunalls, where I get my cigars, and had arrived opposite No.
--, when I suddenly noticed, just ahead of me, a tall lady of
remarkably graceful figure, clad in a costume which, even to an
ignoramus in fashions like myself, seemed extraordinarily out of date.
In my untechnical language it consisted of a dark blue coat and
skirt, trimmed with black braid. The coat had a very high collar,
turned over to show a facing of blue velvet, its sleeves were very
full at the shoulders, and a band of blue velvet drew it tightly in at
the waist. Moreover, unlike every other lady I saw, she wore a small
hat, which I subsequently learned was a toque, with one white and one
blue plume placed moderately high at the side. The only other
conspicuous items of her dress, the effect of which was, on the whole,
quiet, were white glace gloves,--over which dangled gold curb
bracelets with innumerable pendants,--shoes, which were of patent
leather with silver buckles and rather high Louis heels, and fine,
blue silk openwork stockings. So much for her dress. Now for her
herself. She was a strikingly fair woman with very pale yellow hair
and a startlingly white complexion; and this latter peculiarity so
impressed me that I hastened my steps, determining to get a full view
of her. Passing her with rapid strides, I looked back, and as I did so
a cold chill ran through me,--what I looked at was--the face of the
dead. I slowed down and allowed her to take the lead.
I now observed that, startling as she was, no one else seemed to
notice her. One or two people obviously, though probably
unconsciously, possessing the germs of psychism, shivered when they
passed her, but as they neither slackened their pace nor turned to
steal a second look, I concluded they had not seen her. Without
glancing either to the right or left, she moved steadily on, past
Molton's the confectioner's, past Perrin's the hatter's. Once, I
thought she was coming to a halt, and that she intended crossing the
road, but no--on, on, on, till we came to D---- Street. There we were
preparing to cross over, when an elderly gentleman walked deliberately
into her. I half expected to hear him apologise, but naturally nothing
of the sort happened; she was only too obviously a phantom, and, in
accordance with the nature of a phantom, she passed right through him.
A few yards farther on, she came to an abrupt pause, and then, with a
slight inclination of her head as if meaning me to follow, she glided
into a chemist's shop. She was certainly not more than six feet ahead
of me when she passed through the door, and I was even nearer than
that to her when she suddenly disappeared as she stood before the
counter. I asked the chemist if he could tell me anything about the
lady who had just entered his shop, but he merely turned away and
Lady! he said; what are you talking about? You're a bit out of your
reckoning. This isn't the first of April. Come, what do you want?
I bought a bottle of formamints, and reluctantly and regretfully
turned away. That night I dreamed I again saw the ghost. I followed
her up George Street just as I had done in reality; but when she came
to the chemist's shop, she turned swiftly round. I'm Jane! she said
in a hollow voice. Jane! Only Jane! and with that name ringing in my
ears I awoke.
Some days elapsed before I was in George Street again. The weather had
in the meanwhile undergone one of those sudden and violent changes, so
characteristic of the Scottish climate. The lock-gates of heaven had
been opened and the rain was descending in cataracts. The few
pedestrians I encountered were enveloped in mackintoshes, and carried
huge umbrellas, through which the rain was soaking, and pouring off
from every point. Everything was wet--everywhere was mud. The water,
splashing upwards, saturated the tops of my boots and converted my
trousers into sodden sacks. Some weather isn't fit for dogs, but this
weather wasn't good enough for tadpoles--even fish would have kicked
at it and kept in their holes. Imagine, then, the anomaly! Amidst all
this aqueous inferno, this slippery-sloppery, filth-bespattering
inferno, a spotlessly clean apparition in blue without either
waterproof or umbrella. I refer to Jane. She suddenly appeared, as I
was passing The Ladies' Tea Association Rooms, walking in front of me.
She looked just the same as when I last saw her--spick and span,
and--dry. I repeat the word--dry--for that is what attracted my
attention most. Despite the deluge, not a single raindrop touched
her--the plumes on her toque were splendidly erect and curly, her
shoe-buckles sparkled, her patent leathers were spotless, whilst the
cloth of her coat and skirt looked as sheeny as if they had but just
come from Keeley's.
Anxious to get another look at her face, I quickened my pace, and,
darting past her, gazed straight into her countenance. The result was
a severe shock. The terror of what I saw--the ghastly horror of her
dead white face--sent me reeling across the pavement. I let her pass
me, and, impelled by a sickly fascination, followed in her wake.
Outside a jeweller's stood a hansom--quite a curiosity in these days
of motors--and, as Jane glided past, the horse shied. I have never
seen an animal so terrified. We went on, and at the next crossing
halted. A policeman had his hand up checking the traffic. His glance
fell on Jane--the effect was electrical. His eyes bulged, his cheeks
whitened, his chest heaved, his hand dropped, and he would undoubtedly
have fallen had not a good Samaritan, in the guise of a non-psychical
public-house loafer, held him up. Jane was now close to the chemist's,
and it was with a sigh of relief that I saw her glide in and
Had there been any doubt at all, after my first encounter with Jane,
as to her being superphysical, there was certainly none now. The
policeman's paroxysm of fear and the horse's fit of shying were facts.
What had produced them? I alone knew--and I knew for certain--it was
Jane. Both man and animal saw what I saw. Hence the phantom was not
subjective; it was not illusionary; it was a bona fide spirit
manifestation--a visitant from the other world--the world of
earthbound souls. Jane fascinated me. I made endless researches in
connection with her, and, in answer to one of my inquiries, I was
informed that eighteen years ago--that is to say, about the time
Jane's dress was in fashion--the chemist's shop had been occupied by a
dressmaker of the name of Bosworth. I hunted up Miss Bosworth's
address and called on her. She had retired from business and was
living in St. Michael's Road, Bournemouth. I came to the point
Can you give me any information, I asked, about a lady whose
Christian name was Jane?
That sounds vague! Miss Bosworth said. I've met a good many Janes
in my time.
But not Janes with pale yellow hair, and white eyebrows and
eyelashes! And I described her in detail.
How do you come to know about her? Miss Bosworth said, after a long
Because, I replied with a certain slowness and deliberation
characteristic of me, because I've seen her ghost!
Of course I knew Miss Bosworth was no sceptic--the moment my eyes
rested on her I saw she was psychic, and that the superphysical was
often at her elbow. Accordingly, I was not in the least surprised at
her look of horror.
What! she exclaimed, is she still there? I thought she would surely
be at rest now!
Who was she? I inquired. Come--you need not be afraid of me. I have
come here solely because the occult has always interested me. Who was
Jane, and why should her ghost haunt George Street?
It happened a good many years ago, Miss Bosworth replied, in 1892.
In answer to an advertisement I saw in one of the daily papers, I
called on a Miss Jane Vernelt--Mademoiselle Vernelt she called
herself--who ran a costumier's business in George Street, in the very
building, in fact now occupied by the chemist you have mentioned. The
business was for sale, and Miss Vernelt wanted a big sum for it.
However, as her books showed a very satisfactory annual increase in
receipts and her clientele included a duchess and other society
leaders, I considered the bargain a tolerably safe one, and we came to
terms. Within a week I was running the business, and, exactly a month
after I had taken it over, I was greatly astonished to receive a visit
from Miss Vernelt. She came into the shop quite beside herself with
agitation. 'It's all a mistake!' she screamed. 'I didn't want to sell
it. I can't do anything with my capital. Let me buy it back.' I
listened to her politely, and then informed her that as I had gone to
all the trouble of taking over the business and had already succeeded
in extending it, I most certainly had no intention of selling it--at
least not for some time. Well, she behaved like a lunatic, and in the
end created such a disturbance that I had to summon my assistants and
actually turn her out. After that I had no peace for six weeks. She
came every day, at any and all times, and I was at last obliged to
take legal proceedings. I then discovered that her mind was really
unhinged, and that she had been suffering from softening of the brain
for many months. Her medical advisers had, it appeared, warned her to
give up business and place herself in the hands of trustworthy friends
or relations, who would see that her money was properly invested, but
she had delayed doing so; and when, at last, she did make up her mind
to retire, the excitement, resulting from so great a change in her
mode of living, accelerated the disease, and, exactly three weeks
after the sale of her business, she became a victim to the delusion
that she was ruined. This delusion grew more and more pronounced as
her malady increased, and amidst her wildest ravings she clamoured to
be taken back to George Street. The hauntings, indeed, began before
she died; and I frequently saw her--when I knew her material body to
be under restraint--just as you describe, gliding in and out the
For several weeks after her death, the manifestations continued--they
then ceased, and I have never heard of her again until now.
If I remember rightly the account of the George Street ghost here
terminated; but my friend referred to it again at the close of his
Since my return to Scotland, he wrote, I have frequently visited
George Street, almost daily, but I have not seen 'Jane.' I only hope
that her poor distracted spirit has at last found rest. And with this
kindly sentiment my correspondent concluded.