Heiress of Haddon by William E. Doubleday

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[EIGHTH EDITION.]

THE

HEIRESS OF HADDON.

BY

WM. E. DOUBLEDAY.

LONDON:

SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, HAMILTON, KENT AND CO., LIMITED.

BUXTON AND BAKEWELL:

U.F. WARDLEY, "HIGH PEAK NEWS" OFFICES.

PREFACE

The real romance of Haddon Hall is a sweet, old-world idyll of
singular attractiveness and interest. The gems of the story have been
reset by dramatists in different surroundings; but while, as in the
Sullivan-Grundy opera, many of its chief incidents have been retained,
many have been omitted.

In the old story there are no Puritans, and not one solitary Scotchman
appears upon the scene. The original drama was enacted in the pastoral
days of "Good Queen Bess," when the Tudor Queen was still young and
beautiful, and

"When all the world was young, lad,
And all the trees were green;
And every goose a swan, lad,
And every lass a queen."

Haddon Hall, the scene of the story, is situated at the foot of the
Peak, between Bakewell and Chatsworth, close to Matlock, and not far
from Buxton. Far from the madding crowd the hoary old edifice stands,
carefully preserved, and generously thrown open to public view by its
princely owners, the Dukes of Rutland, who, though for more than a
century back they have ceased to inhabit it, have yet most carefully
protected the building from falling into the slightest disrepair.

In our own day, the Hall stands very much as it did in the heyday of
its glory, when the sisters Margaret and Dorothy received the homage
of their numerous admirers, or the "King of the Peak" himself passed
to and fro within its walls. But it is more beautiful now than it was
then, for now it is tinged with a beauty which age alone can bestow,
and mellowed with a charm that none of the Vernons ever knew.

And of this charm Dorothy Vernon herself is assuredly the central
figure. For three centuries her romantic career has been a favourite
theme with minstrel, poet, and painter; and during all this time--like
the ivy which grows and clusters around the walls and nooks and
crannies of what, generations ago, were the abiding-places of kings
or nobles, scenes of splendour and animation--so, during the lapse of
time, there has grown a beautiful and romantic web of legendary lore
which clings tenaciously to every wall, window, and stone of the old
Hall, until every room and every corner of old Haddon seems to tell
the story of the beautiful maiden who, once upon a time, fell in love
with a certain plain John Manners, whom she was determined to wed, in
spite of all the obstacles that were placed in her way.

The story telling how she accomplished this has been told in many
varying forms, but in the following pages the writer has sought to
incorporate the essence of nearly all the legends, concerning not only
Dorothy, but also of Sir George Vernon. A considerable amount of fresh
matter has been introduced, and, without unduly intruding the dry
facts of history, a few of the great events and persons of the time
have been pressed into service; whilst at the same time, some of the
old English customs of the days of "Good Queen Bess" have been made to
serve the purpose of the narrative.

W.E.D.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER. PAGE.

I.--AT FIRST SIGHT 1
II.--A JEALOUS HEART AND CRAFTY 7
III.--THE CLOSE OF THE DAY 13
IV.--DAME DURDEN'S ORDEAL 19
V.--A VISIT TO NOTTINGHAM 26
VI.--DE LA ZOUCH INDULGES IN A
LITTLE VILLAINY 32
VII.--DOROTHY OVERHEARS SOMETHING 42
VIII.--A TOURNAMENT; THE COMBAT 49
IX.--AT THE COCK TAVERN, LONDON 55
X.--IN DIRE STRAITS 63
XI.--AN UNFORTUNATE DENOUEMENT 71
XII.--A CONFESSION OF LOVE 79
XIII.--FATHER PHILIP'S ACCIDENT 88
XIV.--AN UNPLEASANT NIGHT 94
XV.--SIR GEORGE AT WESTMINSTER 101
XVI.--A NIGHT ADVENTURE 107
XVII.--A DALE ABBEY HERMIT 114
XVIII.--THE CHAMBER OF DEATH 120
XIX.--"THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE." 126
XX.--THE TROTH-PLIGHT 133
XXI.--THE PLOT IN PROGRESS 139
XXII.--ON A FALSE SCENT 147
XXIII.--DARK SUSPICIONS 153
XXIV.--THE ESCAPE 159
XXV.--THE LAST OF DE LA ZOUCH 166
XXVI.--A DISGUISED LOVER 174
XXVII.--A NARROW ESCAPE 180
XXVIII.--"NOT YET" 188
XXIX.--THE ANGELS OF LIFE AND DEATH 197
XXX.--STOLEN SWEETS 206
XXXI.--THE TOKEN 215
XXXII.--PLAIN JOHN MANNERS WINS HIS
BRIDE 222
XXXIII.--PEACE AT LAST 229

THE HEIRESS OF HADDON.

CHAPTER I.

AT FIRST SIGHT.

There is a spirit brooding o'er these walls
That tells the record of a bygone day,
When 'mid the splendour of these courtly halls,
A pageant shone, whose gorgeous array
Like pleasure's dream has passed away.

ANON.

Where both deliberate the love is slight;
Who ever loved that love not at first sight?

MARLOWE.

Amid the hills of Derbyshire which cluster around the Peak there
rises, in a lovely dale slyly peeping out from behind the surrounding
trees, the fine old pile of Haddon Hall.

Perhaps the old shire of Derby, with its many rich examples, can
present to view nothing equal in historic and legendary interest to
this old mansion. Its turrets and towers, its windows and its
walls, its capacious kitchens, and its fine halls and banqueting
rooms--unspoiled by the hands of the "restorer"--have gained for
it the almost unchallenged position of being the finest baronial
residence which still exists.

There stand the grey old walls whose battlements have proudly bidden
defiance to the storms and blasts of half a thousand winters, and
there still stand the gnarled old trees which have gently swayed to
and fro while many a baron has ruled the Hall, and whose leaves after
growing in superlative beauty, seeming to partake in the grandeur and
pride of the "King of the Peak," have drooped and fallen, after having
made, with their rich autumnal tints, a succession of beautiful living
pictures which have delighted the lords and ladies of Haddon for
almost twenty generations.

When William the Conqueror had invaded England and had succeeded in
seating himself upon his somewhat insecure throne, he began to reward
his followers with liberal grants of the land he had won. Among these
fortunate individuals was one, William Peveril, said to be a son of
the Conqueror, and to him, in common with many other estates in and
around Derbyshire, was given the manor of Haddon. Part of the fabric
which was then erected is still standing, and it is surmised by some
that traces are still left of a previous Saxon erection. In the year
1154, the estate was forfeited to the Crown, and it was granted by
King Henry II. to the Avenals, from which family, two hundred years
later, it was transferred by marriage to the Vernons.

Its fate has been strangely wrapped up in the history of its women,
for as it passed from the Avenals to the Vernons by marriage, so
again, three centuries later, by a similar process, it passed from the
Vernon family to the Rutland, which ever since has retained it in its
possession.

Everything around, both inside and out, is fragrant with interest.
Everything seems to breathe out the spirit of departed ages. It is one
vast relic of "Merrie England's" bygone splendour.

It was the old original "Palace of the Peak," nor was it unworthy of
the name. The glory of many royal palaces of its time indeed might
well have paled beside its splendour, and as a matter of fact the
baron of Haddon was a king within his own domain, who wielded a
power which few around dared to question, and fewer still resist. Its
hospitality was lavish, as the poor of a neighbourhood of no small
radius knew full well; and the vastness and riches of the property
which accompanied the ownership of Haddon was enough to maintain its
lord in an almost regal state.

What happy scenes have taken place within its walls! How many fair
ladies have stepped off the riding stone outside its gate, helped by
the gallant but superfluous aid of chivalrous knights, each striving
to outdo the others by gentle acts of courtesy! What brilliant
cavalcades have issued from its portals! How many merry hunting
parties have started from its iron-studded gate; and what jovial
monster feasts have taken place within its rooms. If walls could
speak, what a tale would Haddon have to tell.

The spring of the year of grace 1567 had just commenced, and the trees
were beginning to adorn themselves once again in their green array,
when the Knight of Haddon, Sir George Vernon, led out a merry company
for the first hawking expedition of the year. The winter had been
unusually long, and more than extraordinarily severe; and whilst the
knight and his sturdy friends had been enabled to pursue their sport
by submitting to a more than usual amount of inconvenience, yet the
ladies had been almost entirely confined within the limits of the
Hall. Winter at Haddon was by no means a dreary imprisonment, for
fetes and balls were continually taking place, and however rough the
weather might be, and the condition of the miserable tracts which in
those days did duty for roads, there were not a few cavaliers, both
old and young, who would gladly adventure the discomforts of a journey
to Haddon, even were it to be only rewarded by a smile, or perchance
a dance with the two daughters of the host, whose beauty, though of
different types, many were ready to swear, and to maintain it, if
need be, at the point of the sword, could not be surpassed in all the
counties of the land.

Indeed, the beauty of Margaret and Dorothy was almost as famous as
the reputation of the "King of the Peak" himself, and the old knight,
owner as he was of immense wealth, was often heard to assert that his
two daughters were the greatest treasures he possessed.

Many eyes were cast upon these two fair maidens, and many hearts were
laid at their feet. Margaret, the elder, was already being wooed by
Sir Thomas Stanley, and some gossips even went so far as to say
that she had already plighted her troth to him. The younger sister,
however, had kept her heart intact, and in spite of the persuasions of
Sir George and the threats of Lady Maude, had refused to comply with
their request to accept Sir Henry de la Zouch as her betrothed.

Although by no means dreary, yet the continual round of winter feasts
had at last begun to assume an aspect of staleness, and lords and
ladies alike had for some time past been eagerly anticipating the time
when they might once more pursue their noble sports. As the winter
had gradually withdrawn its ice and snow, and occasional gleams of
sunshine appeared, hearalding the advent of spring, the excitement had
increased. Dancing was discarded, the tapestry work was laid aside,
and all with one mind began to make preparations for the coming
excursions.

And now the long wished for day had come. The number of guests at the
Hall had been largely augmented by fresh arrivals, and as the jovial
baron looked round the table at the feast of the previous evening, he
declared that a better company could not be found in all the land.

The scene as they started out was animated in the extreme. The ladies,
in their many-coloured dresses, riding on horseback, were gracefully
coquetting with the knights and squires who surrounded them and
dutifully paid their court to them with all the reverence of a
fast-departing chivalry.

The chase was to be on foot, and in the rear followed a number of
pages, each leading his dogs and carrying his own as well as his
master's jumping pole. Everything promised well. The turf had dried
after the recent floods, with a pleasing elasticity. The sun shone
brilliantly upon the gold-trimmed jerkins of the hawks, and the hum of
conversation, with its occasional outburst of merry ringing laughter,
added to the tinkling of the sonorous little falcon bells, or the bark
of the dogs every now and again as they ineffectually tried to break
away from the leashes in which they were held, all tended to put the
party in the best of spirits.

Dorothy Vernon, as usual, was surrounded by a circle of admirers,
each of whom was anxious to bring himself under her especial notice by
anticipating her wishes, or quickly fulfilling her slightest commands.

Sir Henry de la Zouch was there, as a matter of course. He was most
assiduous in his attentions, and although it was plainly visible that
his presence was as little appreciated as his suit, yet he still kept
by her side.

"Methinks, fair demoiselle," he began, "thou art hardly so sprightly
this morning as the occasion might warrant. Now, Mistress Margaret,
there--"

"Aye, Margaret again, Sir Henry," interrupted the maiden; "thou art
for ever placing me beside my sister Margaret. He bears too hardly
upon a simple maiden, does he not, Sir John?"

Sir John de Lacey, a little fidgety old man on the wrong side of
sixty, nervously played with his collar, and, delighted at the
opportunity thus afforded him of paying back a grudge of long
standing, he summoned to his aid all the dignity he was capable of
assuming, and declared that the whole of Sir Henry's conduct was
ungallant to the last degree.

De la Zouch darted a look of intense wrath at the old man, but as the
latter was yet rearranging his collar, the effort was lost.

"Nay, nay, sweet Dorothy," he said, "I meant to say naught that would
vex thee, for I would have thee smile upon me and not frown; and if my
words have not been pleasing to thee in the past, I am sorry for it,
and will endeavour to amend my ways in the future."

"Where do we go to-day?" asked Dorothy, not noticing his last remark.
"We are full late for the woodcock, and the partridges are not yet
ready."

"There are plenty of sparrows on the wing," exclaimed Sir Benedict a
Woode, who had been anxiously awaiting an opportunity to join in the
conversation.

"Aha! Sir Benedict," she replied. "Methought thou wert too unwell to
join us to-day, but thou hast weathered the attack, I see."

"Now, could I stay away, fair cousin, when I knew thou wert among the
merry company?" gallantly responded the knight.

"'Twas but the wine got into his head, Dorothy," insinuated Sir Henry.

Dorothy, according to the fashion of the time, was carrying a hawk,
one which she herself had trained, upon her wrist, which was protected
from the beak and talons of the bird by a large thick glove. She
looked upon the noble bird, and felt proud of her treasure.

"St. George," she said, "would scorn a sparrow, though, or else,
I fear, most noble Benedict, he shares not in the pride of his
mistress."

St. George cocked his head on one side, as if to receive the
compliment in a most befitting manner, and catching sight of a hand
upon the saddle, it rapidly dipped down its head and made a vicious
peck at the intruding fingers.

It was the hand of De la Zouch, and he withdrew with an ejaculation of
anger.

"There, Mistress Dorothy," he exclaimed, "did I not say the bird was
but imperfectly taught, and now see here;" and he ruefully pointed to
the bleeding finger.

Dorothy was so overcome by the tragic attitude Sir Henry assumed,
that instead of offering him her sympathy, she burst out into an
uncontrollable fit of laughter, in which the rest of the company
joined; and, burning with indignation, the unlucky knight hastened
away to join the group around the elder sister.

Having fallen behind, Dorothy and her companions had now to hurry
forward, for they learned by the blowing of the horns and signals of
Sir George Vernon that they were now close upon the scene of the day's
sport.

"Come, Doll," shouted the baron, "we are waiting for you; we are ready
to begin, and there are some strangers with whom I must acquaint you."

They soon joined company, and Master John Manners, together with his
friend, Sir Everard Crowleigh, had soon passed through the pleasant
formality of an introduction to one of the prettiest and wealthiest
heiresses in England.

John Manners, who plays a prominent part in this veracious narrative,
was the nephew of the Earl of Rutland. As he reverently kissed the
dainty hand which Dorothy held out to him he was so smitten with the
charm of her beauty that Cupid led him, an unresisting captive, to
yield his heart to the keeping of the maid. He was deeply smitten,
nor was Dorothy herself insensible to the more masculine beauty of the
scion of the house of Rutland, for as his dark, flashing eyes met her
own, in spite of herself, she felt the power of a strange attraction
which drew her towards him. The sprightly god of love had already done
his work, and, although perhaps neither of them was aware of the fact,
they were each being bound by his chains.

It was a case of love at first sight.

CHAPTER II.

A JEALOUS HEART AND CRAFTY.

He that sows in craft does reap in jealousy.

MIDDLETON.

Vengeance is in my heart, death in my hand;
Blood and revenge are hammering in my head.

SHAKESPEARE.

The scene of the pastime had been reached, and the preparations for
the hawking had already begun. The falconers brought up their birds,
the pages gave up their masters' jumping poles, and the dogs were
sniffing the air, eager for the chase to commence.

At last the jerkins were taken off, and the straps which had held the
hawks were unloosed; the dogs were sent to the front, and the real
work of the day began.

Sir George was in capital humour, and closely followed by Sir Benedict
a Woode and the others, he led off at a rare pace, with the ladies
following upon their steeds a little distance in the rear, and, behind
all, a number of admiring rustics, eager to see a little of the sport
in which it was not their lot to participate.

Sparrows were plentiful, but no other kind of bird was to be seen, and
Sir Benedict was just thinking that Sir George would have to humble
himself, when the dogs began to bark.

"Quails, as I'm alive! See!" shouted the baron, in high delight.

"And a whole bevy of them, too," added De la Zouch, turning round to
the ladies.

The excitement, which had simmered before, now suddenly became
intense, and away went lord and lady, knight and esquire, over wall
and ditch, in their eagerness to keep up with the hunt.

Dorothy had not flown her bird, for she had noticed that Master
Manners was without a hawk, and now she sent it forward to him by her
page, and waited with a beating heart to learn whether her offer had
been accepted.

Manners himself came back and thanked her.

"But marry, fair Mistress Vernon," said he, "I could no more rob you
of your bird than I could steal away your beauty or take possession of
your heart."

"Nay, now," replied Dorothy, not paying the proper amount of regard to
the truth, "I am already for-wearied of the hawking; and it were more
to my taste to follow on in a more leisurely fashion," she added,
seeing that he was about to refuse. "St. George is a good bird, and is
anxious to try a flight; and thou art a stranger, too; thou must take
it," and she placed the merlin on his wrist.

Manners had never felt more embarrassed in the course of his life,
and, ready-witted though he was, he found himself at a loss how to
reply. Before he had collected his scattered senses, Dorothy had
gone, and he, left alone, was a long way in the rear. The horns of the
hunters, which were continually sounding, proved a sufficient guide,
and being nimble of foot, he started off in great haste to rejoin the
party, which was now well out of sight.

All this had not escaped the jealous eyes of De la Zouch, for,
securely hidden within the friendly foliage of a patch of brushwood,
he had seen and heard all, and, with perceptions sharpened by the
jealous spirit which raged within his breast, he had at once divined
the secret which neither of the two, as yet, understood.

As Manners departed, he emerged from his hiding-place, gnashing his
teeth with rage. His anger was terrible to behold.

"So, so!" he exclaimed, as he watched the retreating figure, "it
has come to this, then, that I am to yield my share of the riches of
Haddon to this usurping churl. But no; it shall never, never be! John
Manners shall lie in six feet of solid earth ere I forego the prize!"

Had he been more careful, Sir Henry would have discovered that he was
not alone. Had he been less rash, whatever he might have thought, he
would have kept his opinions to himself; for hardly had he spoken,
when a rough voice at his elbow awakened him from the reverie into
which he had fallen.

"Such words, noble sir, are costly, and I ween thou hadst rather not
have them repeated to the King of the Peak."

De la Zouch turned sharply round and fiercely confronted the
well-known figure of the Derby packman.

"Thou art over bold for a knave," he exclaimed; "get thee gone."

"Not till I am the richer, or I will hie me to Sir George, and tell my
tale to him," was the cool reply.

"Villain!" hissed Sir Henry, "begone!" and obeying the impulse of the
moment, he dealt the pedlar a blow which felled him to the ground.

"There will be a few more nobles for that," groaned the man as he
slowly regained his feet.

De la Zouch glanced contemptuously at him and turned to depart, but he
was not to go so easily.

"Nay, forsooth," cried the pedlar, clapping his hands upon the
shoulders of the nobleman. "And thou wilt forget thy debts it behoves
me to insist."

With a curse the latter turned round again, but seeing the determined
aspect of the man, he pulled out three golden nobles and offered them
to him.

The packman laughed.

"What!" he exclaimed. "I must have more than that for my bruises
alone."

"Thou art insolent; that is all I shall give thee; take it or leave it
and get thee gone. Thy word would never weigh against mine."

"Well, master," returned the other, "it is a case of life or death,
and you value your life at three sorry nobles? I would take that
rather than the money, for Manners is a friend to the poor," and
grasping his thick stick with both his hands he struck at De la Zouch
with all his might.

The blow was parried by Sir Henry, who received it upon his jumping
pole, and with blood now thoroughly aroused and life on either side to
fight for, the conflict was furiously sustained.

The packman's attack was at no time equal to the defence of his
adversary, and as he rained down blow after blow they were coolly
caught upon the pole, which, used in skilful hands in much the same
fashion as the quarter-staff, made quite an admirable weapon both for
attack and defence.

Such an unequal contest could not long continue. Science must ever
triumph over mere brute force, and this occasion proved to be no
exception to the rule, and as the man tired, his blows perceptibly
weakened. Had Sir Henry by any piece of misfortune failed to protect
himself, the end might have been different. His skill, however, saved
him in the end, and as the fury of his opponent abated the knight
became more vigorous in his attack.

The end soon came, for, raising his stout ash pole high up in the
air, De la Zouch brought it down with, tremendous force, and easily
breaking through the pedlar's guard, it alighted heavily upon his
head. With a groan the unlucky man staggered back and fell upon the
turf. The blow had struck home, and the Derby packman was no more.

Whilst this scene was being enacted, Sir Henry's page, missing his
master from amongst the hawking party, had turned back in great
trepidation to seek him. Guided by the sound of the blows, the youth
had experienced little difficulty in attaining the object of his
search, and, standing at a respectable distance, he had been a silent
witness of the tragic conclusion of the encounter. Seeing that all was
over, he slowly advanced, in a very uncertain state of mind as to the
character of his reception.

De la Zouch was too busily engaged in a scrutiny of his late opponent
to notice the arrival of his page, and upon the latter devolved the
unpleasant duty of announcing himself.

"That was a featly stroke, my lord," he began.

Sir Henry turned round, and a sigh of relief escaped him as he found
it was not a fresh combatant with whom he would have to contend.

"Ha, Eustace," he said, "There are many who would like to learn the
trick of it; 'tis known to few besides myself, but I will teach it
thee some future time."

Eustace, too, gave a sigh of relief. His master was unusually
gracious.

When Sir Henry spoke again, his voice was changed.

"Hast thou seen all?" he asked.

"I saw the end of it."

"But the commencement?"

"No! I was--"

"Ah, well," interrupted the knight, "'twas not my fault; I would fain
have had thee witness its commencement, for, by my troth, the knave
brought his fate upon himself."

He rolled the corpse over and they turned to go, but ere they had
proceeded many yards they came to a halt. De la Zouch had an idea, and
they wheeled about and returned to the body once more.

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