J. Sheridan Le Fanu's Laura Silver Bell: A Detailed Summary and Literary Analysis

"Laura Silver Bell" artfully fuses the folkloric DNA of two of Le Fanu’s most haunting stories: "The Child that Went with the Fairies" and "Schalken the Painter." From the former, it inherits the structure and atmosphere of traditional Irish fairy lore—specifically tales of changelings, abductions, and the eerie disappearance of innocents at the hands of otherworldly forces.

From the latter, it borrows the dark intensity of continental European legends, particularly those involving Demon Lovers—supernatural male figures who seduce and spirit away women, often as a symbolic enactment of damnation or moral collapse.

Where "The Child that Went with the Fairies" features a child taken by cruel, capricious fairies—agents of a world just beyond the hedge—"Laura Silver Bell" replaces the whimsical malevolence of the fairy realm with a far more human and sinister predator: a mysterious, leering man who embodies the archetype of the Demon Lover. This figure is strongly reminiscent of Vanderhausen from "Schalken the Painter," a spectral suitor who purchases his bride’s soul with wealth and elegance, masking infernal intentions beneath a veneer of refinement.

In "Laura Silver Bell," as in "Schalken," the allure of social mobility, beauty, and luxury masks the threat of spiritual and physical destruction. By blending these two strands of folklore—Celtic and continental, fairy myth and demon lover legend—Le Fanu creates a hybrid tale that critiques both the vulnerability of the powerless and the seductive dangers of upward aspiration.

The Demon Lover is no longer an otherworldly ghoul in a shadowed castle, nor a hidden fairy luring children with music and sweets, but a worldly figure who symbolizes the predatory forces in society: men with power, money, and charm, who exploit the desires and dreams of the marginalized.

In doing so, Le Fanu deepens his social commentary: he suggests that fairy abductions and demon seductions are not merely supernatural metaphors, but veiled depictions of real-world horrors—poverty, exploitation, and the cruel injustices permitted by a world that protects privilege and punishes innocence.

II.

Unlike in “The Child that Went with the Fairies,” where the child is handed over by a dazzled guardian, Laura Silver Bell is herself seduced and led astray by the vision of a finely dressed man. This man represents a specific spirit from Irish folklore called the Gean-canach (also spelled Gancanagh or anglicized as Ganconer), literally meaning “Love-Talker.” Known for his seductive powers, the Ganconer targets women—especially those who are beautiful, rebellious, or refuse to conform to societal norms.

In folk tradition, Ganconers were blamed whenever lively young women mysteriously disappeared from their villages. These stories functioned as cautionary tales, warning unmarried women to be wary of charming, smooth-talking men, particularly strangers, itinerant wanderers, or flirtatious members of the gentry. The myth of the Ganconer shares a similar function to that of “Little Red Riding Hood,” which is a coded moral fable about the dangers posed by strangers.

The Ganconer legend masked a far darker and more disturbing reality faced by rural Irish communities during the English occupation: flirtatious young women were often seen consorting with predatory soldiers, opportunistic gentry, or displaced refugees—usually near isolated spots where illicit acts like sex and violence could take place unseen. These women would frequently “disappear.” Sometimes their bodies would be found—ravished and murdered—but just as often no trace remained. The community would explain these vanishings by claiming the victims had been taken by a Ganconer.

For Le Fanu, however, the Ganconer is not just a folkloric bogeyman but a potent symbol. Like Vanderhausen, this figure embodies the abuses inflicted by the privileged classes, the suffering endured by the vulnerable poor, and the cruel indifference of a universe that allows such atrocities to go unpunished. The seductive, dangerous Ganconer stands for the destructive power of social inequality and exploitation masked under the guise of charm and allure. Through “Laura Silver Bell,” Le Fanu exposes the harsh realities lurking beneath folkloric warnings—the systemic violence, gendered oppression, and moral decay in a society marked by occupation and class division.

SUMMARY

In the bleak and savage expanse of Dardale Moss, one of the most forbidding moorlands in Northumbria, stands a primitive stone cottage. This lonely dwelling, built of shingle with a hollow thatched roof and a stunted chimney, belongs to Mother Carke, a feared and shunned woman once known as the “sage femme” of the region. Now retired from midwifery, she is whispered to be a witch, dabbling in charms and fortune-telling. “No rowan-tree grows near, nor holly, nor bracken,” say the locals ominously, and witch-loving plants like ragwort and broom are found nearby.

One evening, returning from the market town of Willarden, Mother Carke sees a strange, gaunt man step out from a patch of dwarf-oak jungle. Clad in a beggar’s dusty black suit, with bony limbs and a dirty face, he silently offers her snuff. She rebuffs him, saying, “I hev nowt to say to thee, whoe’er thou beest,” and widens the distance between them. He mentions a girl named Laura Silver Bell, but she replies, “That’s a byneyam; the lass’s neyam is Laura Lew.” He offers her a gold guinea to bring Laura to her cottage and perform a ritual involving cross-pins and candle magic, but the old woman grows angry: “Git thee awa’! I earned nea goold o’ thee, and I’ll tak’ nane.” As he leaves, she sees him grow taller and taller, vanishing like a specter into the woods.

Laura’s story is then revealed. Seventeen years earlier, her mother—an unnamed young lady—rented rooms from Farmer Lew, saying her husband would follow from Liverpool. But ten days later, she gave birth and died the same evening. No husband appeared, and no ring was found on her finger. In her desk were fifty pounds and love letters signed “Francis.” Farmer Lew, having lost his own children, kept the baby and named her Laura, after her mother, and “Silver Bell” after a small ornament found among her things. She grew up lovely, spirited, and unbaptized—an important detail in a land where unchristened souls are believed vulnerable to fairy power.

The next afternoon, Laura climbs over the stile near Mother Carke’s cottage, calling out cheerfully, “Mall, Mall! Mother Carke, are ye alane all by yersel’?” She brings bacon and a silver sixpence as gifts, and the old woman draws her inside, warning darkly, “There’s ill folk watchin’ ye.” She chastises Farmer Lew for not arranging her baptism: “If he lets Sunda’ next pass, I’m afeared ye’ll never be sprinkled nor signed wi’ cross, while there’s a sky aboon us.” Laura listens, intrigued but unafraid.

Laura then recounts a haunting and wondrous encounter from the previous evening. She had been walking home alone after a village wake, following a familiar path near the ruins of Hawarth Castle, when she was drawn by distant sounds of laughter, music, and revelry. As she paused in the moonlit Pie-Mag field, she glimpsed a breathtaking scene across a small brook—a grand gathering that seemed like something from another world. There were ladies in shining silks, gentlemen in velvet coats striped with gold lace, and powdered footmen serving drinks from gilded cups. The group was feasting and dancing on the grass beneath the castle’s ancient walls.

From behind a bush, Laura watched in fascination, when a tall man—elegantly dressed in black velvet, wearing a sword and sash—stepped forward. He called out to her, inviting her to cross the water and join the dance, claiming he was a young lord in love with her and had come with his father and sister just to see her. Though she admitted he was “a conny lad” and felt herself strongly drawn to him, Laura said she held back out of pride—embarrassed by her plain dress—and also out of a stubborn sense of caution. She did not cross the brook.

Hearing this, Mother Carke was visibly alarmed. Her face darkened, and her voice dropped to a warning tone. She told Laura that such dazzling sights often conceal something far more dangerous, remarking grimly that evil always finds its own light, no matter how lovely. These were no ordinary folk, she insisted, but fairies or dobies, and if Laura consorted with them—if she danced, ate, or accepted any gift—she would be “takken” and lost forever.

Laura protested, saying she had felt no fear at the time, only delight; everything had seemed “luvesome and bonny and shaply”, full of warmth and charm. But even as she spoke, her curiosity had turned to unease. She asked the old woman what she ought to do. Mother Carke replied firmly that she must pray, keep her distance from the fairy folk, and most urgently of all, arrange to be baptized without delay—for if she delayed much longer, the fairies might claim her for good.

II.

One night, Laura’s friend Bessie rushes into town in a tearful panic. According to Bessie, the two girls had spent the day wandering together through the bramble-thick slopes near Hawarth Castle, filling their baskets with blaebirries in the warm afternoon light. As the sun lowered in the sky and shadows lengthened across the Pie-Mag field, Bessie suddenly noticed a tall, bony man standing on the far side of a narrow stream. The man was dressed in rusty, worn-out black, his face smirched and ill-favoured, and his appearance immediately filled her with a sense of unease. To her, he looked like a “dirty, wicked, starved figure”—far more like a specter than a man.

But Laura responded in a completely different way. Instead of fear, her expression was lit with a kind of romantic confusion, even rapture. She touched Bessie’s arm and pointed excitedly at the man across the brook, whispering how fine his clothes were—especially his “bonny velvet” coat and ornate sash—and confidently declared that he was a lord. Her tone was not simply admiring; it was possessive and dreamy, as if she already knew he loved her, would follow her, and intended to marry her.

Bessie, increasingly alarmed, warned Laura not to go near him. She describes blurting out a panicked warning—“Darrat ta! Gaa not near him! He’ll wring thy neck!”—but Laura was unmoved. Enchanted by the man’s gaze, she stepped forward to the edge of the stream and took the hand he offered her. It wasn’t necessity that led her to take it—Bessie emphasizes this—it was affection. She crossed over to him as though under a spell, resting her head lightly against his shoulder with the dreamy satisfaction of someone reaching a long-desired goal.

With her other hand, Laura waved back at Bessie. She said farewell in a quiet voice, asking Bessie to tell Father Lew that she was “gaining her ways to be happy,” and that perhaps, “at lang last,” she would see him again. It was a final goodbye, gentle but resolute, and no part of it suggested fear. She appeared entirely willing.

Bessie tried to follow. She crossed the brook, determined not to let Laura vanish without a trace. But though the man and Laura didn’t seem to be walking fast, Bessie had to run just to keep them in sight. She called out again and again, crying, “Come back, come back, bonnie Laurie!” but they did not turn. They moved calmly away, hand in hand, as if Bessie’s voice could no longer reach them.

Then, as she clambered over a steep bank in her pursuit, Bessie encountered a white-faced old man, whose sudden appearance startled her so badly that she either fainted or lost time. She described the sensation as blacking out. When she next regained awareness, the birds were singing their vespers, the sun was setting in a rich amber haze, and Laura was gone.

Despite a search, no tracks were found, no direction of flight identified, and Laura Silver Bell was never seen again. Bessie’s story was the last eyewitness account of Laura’s disappearance, and while many in the village dismissed it as fancy or enchantment, others—especially the wise and the old—believed it without question. They said the fairies had taken Laura, and she had crossed their threshold willingly.

III.

A year later, Mother Carke’s goat dies under mysterious circumstances. Believing herself cursed, she prepares a witch’s counter-charm, burning the goat’s heart stuck with pins. That night, a richly appointed coach and four arrives at her door. A man in black—tall, grim, eerily familiar—asks her to come assist Lady Lairdale, who is in labor twelve miles away. Enticed by the promise of gold, Carke agrees and enters the coach.

But the journey becomes uncanny. The road disappears, and when she tries to stay awake, the coach transforms into a hurdle drawn by a skeletal horse. The man driving it is the same demonic figure she met before. He takes her to a crumbling hut where a woman, unwashed and dying, lies groaning. It is Laura Silver Bell, now a haggard shell of the girl she once was. Her cries are mocked by her partner, who howls and babbles in the corners of the room, deriding her pain.

Laura gives birth to a child—a monstrous imp with long ears, a flat nose, and huge rolling eyes. It begins talking in an unknown language as soon as it is born. When the man offers Mother Carke a bag of gold, Laura urgently whispers, “Tak no more now than your rightful fee, or he’ll keep ye here.” He returns, pours the coins on the table, but Carke takes only four shillings, resisting all his urging.

Furious, the man throws the bag after her. It hits her shoulder and knocks her unconscious. When she awakens, she is lying across her own threshold. From that day on, Mother Carke never tells another fortune or casts another spell. As for Laura, the villagers say she lives still, “among the fairies,” lost to the mortal world, until the day of doom. The tale ends with a chill: a girl lured away by love and glamour, into a twilight world of enchantment and ruin.

ANALYSIS

On May 31, 2014, two twelve-year-old girls lured a classmate into the woods outside Waukesha, Wisconsin. The night before, all three had attended a birthday sleepover at one of the girls’ homes. There, the two conspirators had planned to murder their friend in the middle of the night—but one of them decided, in a chilling act of imagined mercy, to grant her “one more day to live.”

The next day, the girls went into the forest under the pretense of playing hide-and-seek. During the game, one of the pair “found” the victim—who believed they were still playing—and pinned her down. The other girl was urged to “finish her off.” Using a heavy kitchen knife, the victim was stabbed 19 times—twice in major arteries—and left for dead. Incredibly, the wounded girl managed to drag herself out of the woods and onto a road, where she was discovered by a passing bicyclist. She survived. Her attackers were soon arrested and charged with attempted first-degree murder.

As I write this—on July 13, 2016—their next court appearance is scheduled for July 15. What made this case especially horrifying was its motive. The girls had intended to offer their friend as a human sacrifice to Slenderman, a fictional horror figure and internet urban legend. Slenderman originated as a photoshopped image in 2009, depicting a grotesquely tall, faceless man in a black suit with elongated limbs, lurking in the background of playgrounds.

A digital-age bogeyman, Slenderman features in countless stories of abduction, stalking, and terror—often targeting children. The two girls believed he was real and were determined to become his "proxies" or followers. They hoped their act of violence would prove their loyalty, confirm his existence, and protect their families from harm.

II.

At first glance, this gruesome juvenile crime—taking place 142 years after Le Fanu’s story was written, fueled by internet fan fiction—seems far removed from a ghost tale involving fairy men and demon lovers. And yet, I believe the connection is uncomfortably strong. The Waukesha perpetrators were lonely. Despite their fear of Slenderman, they were drawn to him as a kind of dark protector—someone who, in their minds, could offer acceptance, power, and even a twisted form of love, if only they were willing to sacrifice something precious. In this case, it was a friend they seemed to genuinely care for.

In "Laura Silver Bell," Laura’s choice follows a disturbingly similar pattern. She abandons her loving, adoptive father—a kind and devoted parent—for the alluring promises of the fairy lord. To her, this mysterious figure offers escape from boredom, poverty, and loneliness. To her friend, however, he is a dangerous predator, his true nature plain to see. "Laura Silver Bell" shares its deepest thematic connections with "The Child That Went with the Fairies" and "Schalken the Painter."

In each, a young, innocent person—loved and celebrated by their community—is seduced or stolen away by an aristocratic, supernatural abductor. Later, the vanished victims reappear briefly to those who once loved them (Schalken, Billy’s sister, Mother Clarke), only to be seen as neglected, emaciated, and spiritually lost.

III.

Le Fanu, as always, is fascinated by the fault lines in human nature—how people can be lured from contentment into bondage by promises of power, love, or wealth. Billy is seduced by kindness and gifts, a metaphor perhaps for how the British Empire tempted Irish soldiers with hollow promises. Rose is coerced into marriage with Vanderhausen by her uncle, who is dazzled by status and money—symbolizing Victorian society’s willingness to trade virtue for social gain.

But Laura Silver Bell is the most pitiable of all. She is not a naïve child like Billy, nor a dependent like Rose. She is a free young woman with an adult's intellect and agency. And yet, she chooses to leave—driven not by coercion but by flattery, vanity, and material temptation. When we last see her, she is a tragic figure: starved, disheveled, exhausted, and carrying a deformed, half-demon child. She warns Mother Clarke—now fully aware of the horror she once mistook for romance—not to fall for the fairy’s tricks. And then she vanishes once more, lost to the world she left behind.

While Billy may represent deceived Irish soldiery and Rose the commodified daughters of Victorian patriarchy, Laura—once the pride of her town—becomes a symbol of the perils of unchecked desire. Poor like Billy, yet adult like Rose, she is fully responsible for her downfall. She has been tempted away from her father, her community, her baptism, and her humanity. Like so many impoverished girls in Victorian Ireland, Laura is seduced by the fantasy of a powerful protector who offers glamour and escape—in exchange for silence and submission. And in that sense, the girls in Waukesha—who nearly committed murder for a chance at acceptance and power—are not so different from Laura Silver Bell.

You can read the original story HERE!

And you can find our annotated and illustrated edition of Le Fanu’s best ghost stories HERE!