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The Lancashire Witches by William Harrison Ainsworth

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"It is useless to pursue him," said Nicholas. "He will not escape. The
whole country will be roused by the beacon fire, and hue and cry shall
be made after him."

"Right!" exclaimed Potts; "and now let some one creep into that cavern,
and bring out my boots, and then I shall be in a better condition to
attend you."

The request being complied with, and the attorney being once more
equipped for walking, the party climbed the hill-side, and, bringing
Mother Demdike with them, shaped their course towards the beacon.

And now to see what had taken place in the interim.

Scarcely had the squire quitted Mistress Nutter than Sir Ralph Assheton
rode up to her.

"Why do you loiter here, madam?" he said, in a stern tone, somewhat
tempered by sorrow. "I have held back to give you an opportunity of
escape. The hill is invested by your enemies. On that side Roger Nowell
is advancing, and on this Sir Thomas Metcalfe and his followers. You may
possibly effect a retreat in the opposite direction, but not a moment
must be lost."

"I will go with you," said Alizon.

"No, no," interposed Richard. "You have not strength for the effort, and
will only retard her."

"I thank you for your devotion, my child," said Mistress Nutter, with a
look of grateful tenderness; "but it is unneeded. I have no intention of
flying. I shall surrender myself into the hands of justice."

"Do not mistake the matter, madam," said Sir Ralph, "and delude yourself
with the notion that either your rank or wealth will screen you from
punishment. Your guilt is too clearly established to allow you a chance
of escape, and, though I myself am acting wrongfully in counselling
flight to you, I am led to do so from the friendship once subsisting
between us, and the relationship which, unfortunately, I cannot
destroy."

"It is you who are mistaken, not I, Sir Ralph," replied Mistress Nutter.
"I have no thought of turning aside the sword of justice, but shall
court its sharpest edge, hoping by a full avowal of my offences, in some
degree to atone for them. My only regret is, that I shall leave my child
unprotected, and that my fate will bring dishonour upon her."

"Oh, think not of me, dear mother!" cried Alizon, "but persist
unhesitatingly in the course you have laid down. Far rather would I see
you act thus--far rather hear the sentiments you have uttered, even
though they may be attended by the saddest, consequences, than behold
you in your former proud position, and impenitent. Think not of me,
then. Or, rather, think only how I rejoice that your eyes are at length
opened, and that you have cast off the bonds of iniquity. I can now pray
for you with the full hope that my intercessions will prevail, and in
parting with you in this world shall be sustained by the conviction that
we shall meet in eternal happiness hereafter."

Mistress Nutter threw her arms about her daughter's neck, and they
mingled their tears together, Sir Ralph Assheton was much moved.

"It is a pity she should fall into their hands," he observed to Richard.

"I know not how to advise," replied the latter, greatly troubled.

"Ah! it is too late," exclaimed the knight; "here come Nowell and
Metcalfe. The poor lady's firmness will be severely tested."

The next moment the magistrate and the knight came up, with such of
their attendants as were not engaged in pursuing the witches, several of
whom had already been captured. On seeing Mistress Nutter, Sir Thomas
Metcalfe sprang from his horse, and would have seized her, but Sir Ralph
interposed, saying "She has surrendered herself to me. I will be
answerable for her safe custody."

"Your pardon, Sir Ralph," observed Nowell; "the arrest must be formally
made, and by a constable. Sparshot, execute your warrant."

Upon this, the official, leaping from his horse, displayed his staff and
a piece of parchment to Mistress Nutter, telling her she was his
prisoner.

The lady bowed her head.

"Shan ey tee her hands, yer warship?" demanded the constable of the
magistrate.

"On no account, fellow," interposed Sir Ralph. "I will have no indignity
offered her. I have already said I will be responsible for her."

"You will recollect she is arrested for witchcraft, Sir Ralph," observed
Nowell.

"She shall answer to the charges brought against her. I pledge myself
to that," replied Sir Ralph.

"And by a full confession," said Mistress Nutter. "You may pledge
yourself to that also, Sir Ralph."

"She avows her guilt," cried Nowell. "I take you all to witness it."

"I shall not forget it," said Sir Thomas Metcalfe.

"Nor I--nor I!" cried Sparshot, and two or three others of the
attendants.

"This girl is my prisoner," said Sir Thomas Metcalfe, dismounting, and
advancing towards Alizon, "She is a witch, as well as the rest."

"It is false," cried Richard! "and if you attempt to lay hands upon her
I will strike you to the earth."

"'Sdeath!" exclaimed Metcalfe, drawing his sword, "I will not let this
insolence pass unpunished. I have other affronts to chastise. Stand
aside, or I will cut your throat."

"Hold, Sir Thomas," cried Sir Ralph Assheton, authoritatively. "Settle
your quarrels hereafter, if you have any to adjust; but I will have no
fighting now. Alizon is no witch. You are well aware that she was about
to be impiously and cruelly sacrificed by Mother Demdike, and her rescue
was the main object of our coming hither."

"Still suspicion attaches to her," said Metcalfe; "whether she be the
daughter of Elizabeth Device or Alice Nutter, she comes of a bad stock,
and I protest against her being allowed to go free. However, if you are
resolved upon it, I have nothing more to say. I shall find other time
and place to adjust my differences with Master Richard Assheton."

"When you please, sir," replied the young man, sternly.

"And I will answer for the propriety of the course I have pursued," said
Sir Ralph; "but here comes Nicholas with Mother Demdike."

"Demdike taken! I am glad of it," cried Mother Chattox, slightly raising
herself as she spoke. "Kill her, or she will 'scape you."

When Nicholas came up with the old hag, both Sir Ralph Assheton and
Roger Nowell put several questions to her, but she refused to answer
their interrogations; and, horrified by her blasphemies and
imprecations, they caused her to be removed to a short distance, while a
consultation was held as to the course to be pursued.

"We have made half a dozen of these miscreants prisoners," said Roger
Nowell, "and the whole of them had better be taken to Whalley, where
they can be safely confined in the old dungeons of the Abbey, and after
their examination on the morrow can be removed to Lancaster Castle."

"Be it so," replied Sir Ralph; "but must yon unfortunate lady," he
added, pointing to Mistress Nutter, "be taken with them?"

"Assuredly," replied Nowell. "We can make no distinction among such
offenders; or, if there are any degrees in guilt, hers is of the highest
class."

"You had better take leave of your daughter," said Sir Ralph to Mistress
Nutter.

"I thank you for the hint," replied the lady. "Farewell, dear Alizon,"
she added, straining her to her bosom. "We must part for some time. Once
more before I quit this world, in which I have played so wicked a part,
I would fain look upon you--fain bless you, if I have the power--but
this must be at the last, when my trials are wellnigh over, and when all
is about to close upon me!"

"Oh! must it be thus?" exclaimed Alizon, in a voice half suffocated by
emotion.

"It must," replied her mother. "Do not attempt to shake my resolution,
my sweet child--do not weep for me. Amidst all the terrors that surround
me, I am happier now than I have been for years. I shall strive to work
out my redemption by prayers."

"And you will succeed!" cried Alizon.

"Not so!" shrieked Mother Demdike; "the Fiend will have his own. She is
bound to him by a compact which nought can annul."

"I should like to see the instrument," said Potts. "I might give a legal
opinion upon it. Perhaps it might be avoided; and in any case its
production in court would have an admirable effect. I think I see the
counsel examining it, and hear the judges calling for it to be placed
before them. His infernal Majesty's signature must be a curiosity in its
way. Our gracious and sagacious monarch would delight in it."

"Peace!" exclaimed Nicholas; "and take care," he cried, "that no further
interruptions are offered by that infernal hag. Have you done, madam?"
he added to Mistress Nutter, who still remained with her daughter folded
in her arms.

"Not yet," replied the lady. "Oh! what happiness I have thrown away!
What anguish--what remorse brought upon myself by the evil life I have
led! As I gaze on this fair face, and think it might long, long have
brightened my dark and desolate life with its sunshine--as I think upon
all this, my fortitude wellnigh deserts me, and I have need of support
from on high to carry me through my trial. But I fear it will be denied
me. Nicholas Assheton, you have the deed of the gift of Rough Lee in
your possession. Henceforth Alizon is mistress of the mansion and
domains."

"Provided always they are not forfeited to the crown, which I apprehend
will be the case," suggested Potts.

"I will take care she is put in possession of them," said Nicholas.

"As to you, Richard," continued Mistress Nutter, "the time may come
when your devotion to my daughter may be rewarded and I could not bestow
a greater boon upon you than by giving you her hand. It may be well I
should give my consent now, and, if no other obstacle should arise to
the union, may she be yours, and happiness I am sure will attend you!"

Overpowered by conflicting emotions, Alizon hid her face in her mother's
bosom, and Richard, who was almost equally overcome, was about to reply,
when Mother Demdike broke upon them.

"They will never be united!" she screamed. "Never! I have said it, and
my words will come true. Think'st thou a witch like thee can bless an
union, Alice Nutter? Thy blessings are curses, thy wishes
disappointments and despair. Thriftless love shall be Alizon's, and the
grave shall be her bridal bed. The witch's daughter shall share the
witch's fate."

These boding words produced a terrible effect upon the hearers.

"Heed her not, my sweet child--she speaks falsely," said Mistress
Nutter, endeavouring to re-assure her daughter; but the tone in which
the words were uttered showed that she herself was greatly alarmed.

"I have cursed them both, and I will curse them again," yelled Mother
Demdike.

"Away with the old screech-owl," cried Nicholas. "Take her to the
beacon, and, if she continues troublesome, hurl her into the flame."

And, notwithstanding the hag's struggles and imprecations, she was
removed.

"Whatever may betide, Alizon," cried Richard, "my life shall be devoted
to you; and, if you should not be mine, I will have no other bride. With
your permission, madam," he added, to Mistress Nutter, "I will take your
daughter to Middleton, where she will find companionship and solace, I
trust, in the attentions of my sister, who has the strongest affection
for her."

"I could wish nothing better," replied the lady, "and now to put an end
to this harrowing scene. Farewell, my child. Take her, Richard, take
her!" she cried, as she disengaged herself from the relaxing embrace of
her daughter. "Now, Master Nowell, I am ready."

"It is well, madam," he replied. "You will join the other prisoners, and
we will set forth."

But at this juncture a terrific shriek was heard, which drew all eyes
towards the beacon.

When Mother Demdike had been removed, in accordance with the squire's
directions, her conduct became more violent and outrageous than ever,
and those who had charge of her threatened, if she did not desist, to
carry out the full instructions they had received, and cast her into the
flames. The old hag defied and incensed them to such a degree by her
violence and blasphemies, that they carried her to the very edge of the
fire.

At this moment the figure of a monk, in mouldering white habiliments,
came from behind the beacon, and stood beside the old hag. He slowly
raised his hood, and disclosed features that looked like those of the
dead.

"Thy hour is come, accursed woman!" cried the phantom, in thrilling
accents. "Thy term on earth is ended, and thou shalt be delivered to
unquenchable fire. The curse of Paslew is fulfilled upon thee, and will
be fulfilled upon all thy viperous brood."

"Art thou the abbot's shade?" demanded the hag.

"I am thy implacable enemy," replied the phantom. "Thy judgment and thy
punishment are committed to me. To the flames with her!"

Such was the awe inspired by the monk, and such the authority of his
tones and gesture, that the command was unhesitatingly obeyed, and the
witch was cast, shrieking, into the fire.

She was instantly swallowed up as in a gulf of flame, which raged, and
roared, and shot up in a hundred lambent points, as if exulting in its
prey.

The wretched creature was seen for a moment to rise up in it in
extremity of anguish, with arms extended, and uttering a dreadful yell,
but the flames wreathed round her, and she sank for ever.

When those who had assisted at this fearful execution looked around for
the mysterious being who had commanded it, they could nowhere behold
him.

Then was heard a laugh of gratified hate--such a laugh as only a demon,
or one bound to a demon, can utter--and the appalled listeners looked
around, and beheld Mother Chattox standing behind them.

"My rival is gone!" cried the hag. "I have seen the last of her. She is
burnt--ah! ah!"

Further triumph was not allowed her. With one accord, and as if prompted
by an irresistible impulse, the men rushed upon her, seized her, and
cast her into the fire.

Her wild laughter was heard for a moment above the roaring of the
flames, and then ceased altogether.

Again the flame shot high in air, again roared and raged, again broke
into a multitude of lambent points, after which it suddenly expired.

All was darkness on the summit of Pendle Hill.

And in silence and in gloom scarcely more profound than that Weighing in
every breast, the melancholy troop pursued its way to Whalley.


END OF THE SECOND BOOK.




BOOK THE THIRD.

Hoghton tower




CHAPTER I.--DOWNHAM MANOR-HOUSE.


On a lovely morning, about the middle of July, in the same year as the
events previously narrated, Nicholas Assheton, always astir with the
lark, issued from his own dwelling, and sauntered across the smooth lawn
in front of it. The green eminence on which he stood was sheltered on
the right by a grove of sycamores, forming the boundary of the park, and
sloped down into a valley threaded by a small clear stream, whose
murmuring, as it danced over its pebbly bed, distinctly reached his ear
in the stillness of early day. On the left, partly in the valley, and
partly on the side of the acclivity on which the hall was situated,
nestled the little village whose inhabitants owned Nicholas as lord;
and, to judge from their habitations, they had reason to rejoice in
their master; for certainly there was a cheerful air about Downham which
the neighbouring hamlets, especially those in Pendle Forest, sadly
wanted.

On the left of the mansion, and only separated from it by the garden
walls, stood the church, a venerable structure, dating back to a period
more remote even than Whalley Abbey. From the churchyard a view, almost
similar to that enjoyed by the squire, was obtained, though partially
interrupted by the thick rounded foliage of a large tree growing beneath
it; and many a traveller who came that way lingered within the hallowed
precincts to contemplate the prospect. At the foot of the hill was a
small stone bridge crossing the stream.

Across the road, and scarce thirty paces from the church-gate, stood a
little alehouse, whose comfortable fireside nook and good liquors were
not disdained by the squire. In fact, to his shame be it spoken, he was
quite as often to be found there of an evening as at the hall. This had
more particularly been the case since the house was tenanted by Richard
Baldwyn, who having given up the mill at Rough Lee, and taken to wife
Bess Whitaker of Goldshaw Booth, had removed with her to Downham, where
he now flourished under the special protection of the squire. Bess had
lost none of her old habits of command, and it must be confessed that
poor Richard played a very secondary part in the establishment.
Nicholas, as may be supposed, was permitted considerable licence by her,
but even he had limits, which she took good care he should not exceed.

The Downham domains were well cultivated; the line of demarcation
between them and the heathy wastes adjoining, being clearly traced out,
and you had only to follow the course of the brook to see at a glance
where the purlieus of the forest ended, and where Nicholas Assheton's
property commenced: the one being a dreary moor, with here and there a
thicket upon it, but more frequently a dangerous morass, covered with
sulphur-coloured moss; and the other consisting of green meadows,
bordered in most instances by magnificent timber. The contrast, however,
was not without its charm; and while the sterile wastes set off the fair
and fertile fields around them, and enhanced their beauty, they offered
a wide, uninterrupted expanse, over which the eye could range at will.

On the further side of the valley, and immediately opposite the lawn
whereon Nicholas stood, the ground gradually arose, until it reached the
foot of Pendle Hill, which here assuming its most majestic aspect,
constituted the grand and peculiar feature of the scene. Nowhere could
the lordly eminence be seen to the same advantage as from this point,
and Nicholas contemplated it with feelings of rapture, which no
familiarity could diminish. The sun shone brightly upon its rounded
summit, and upon its seamy sides, revealing all its rifts and ridges;
adding depth of tint to its dusky soil, laid bare in places by the
winter torrents; lending new beauty to its purple heath, and making its
grey sod glow as with fire. So exhilarating was the prospect, that
Nicholas felt half tempted to cross the valley and scale the hill before
breaking his fast; but other feelings checked him, and he turned towards
the right. Here, beyond a paddock and some outbuildings, lay the park,
small in extent, but beautifully diversified, well stocked with deer,
and boasting much noble timber. In the midst was an exquisite knoll,
which, besides commanding a fine view of Pendle Hill, Downham, and all
the adjacent country, brought within its scope, on the one hand, the
ancient castle of Clithero and the heights overlooking Whalley; and, on
the other, the lovely and extensive vale through which the Ribble
wandered. This, also, was a favourite point of view with the squire, and
he had some idea of walking towards it, when he was arrested by a person
who came from the house, and who shouted to him, hoarsely but blithely,
to stay.

The new-comer was a man of middle age, with a skin almost as tawny as a
gipsy's, a hooked nose, black beetling brows, and eyes so strangely set
in his head, that they communicated a sinister expression to his
countenance. He possessed a burly frame, square, and somewhat heavy,
though not so much so as to impede his activity. In deportment and
stature, though not in feature, he resembled the squire himself; and the
likeness was heightened by his habiliments being part of Nicholas's old
wardrobe, the doublet and hose, and even the green hat and boots, being
those in which Nicholas made his first appearance in this history. The
personage who thus condescended to be fed and clothed at the squire's
expense, and who filled a situation something between guest and menial,
without receiving the precise attention of the one or the wages of the
other, but who made himself so useful to Nicholas that he could not
dispense with him--neither, perhaps would he have been shaken off, even
if it had been desired--was named Lawrence Fogg, an entire stranger to
the country, whom Nicholas had picked up at Colne, and whom he had
invited to Downham for a few weeks' hunting, and had never been able to
get rid of him since.

Lawrence Fogg liked his quarters immensely, and determined to remain in
them; and as a means to so desirable an end, he studied all the squire's
weak points and peculiarities, and these not being very difficult to be
understood, he soon mastered them, and mastered the squire into the
bargain, but without allowing his success to become manifest. Nicholas
was delighted to find one with tastes so congenial to his own, who was
so willing to hunt or fish with him--who could train a hawk as well as
Phil Royle, the falconer--diet a fighting-cock as well as Tom Shaw, the
cock-master--enter a hound better than Charlie Crouch, the old
huntsman--shoot with the long-bow further than any one except himself,
and was willing to toss off a pot with him, or sing a merry stave
whenever he felt inclined. Such a companion was invaluable, and Nicholas
congratulated himself upon the discovery, especially when he found
Lawrence Fogg not unwilling to undertake some delicate commissions for
him, which he could not well execute himself, and which he was unwilling
should reach Mistress Assheton's ears. These were managed with equal
adroitness and caution. About the same time, too, Nicholas finding money
scarce, and, not liking to borrow it in person, delegated Fogg, and sent
him round to his friends to ask for a loan; but, in this instance, the
mission was attended with very indifferent success, for not one of them
would lend him so small a sum as thirty pounds, all averring they stood
in need of it quite as much as himself. Though somewhat inconvenienced
by their refusal, Nicholas bore the disappointment with his customary
equanimity, and made merry with his friend as if nothing had happened.
Fogg showed an equal accommodating spirit in all religious observances,
and, though much against his inclination, attended morning discourses
and lectures with his patron, and even made an attempt at psalm-singing;
but on one occasion, missing the tune and coming in with a bacchanalian
chorus, he was severely rebuked by the minister, and enjoined to keep
silence in future. Such was the friendly relation subsisting between
the parties when they met together on the lawn on the morning in
question.

"Well, Fogg," cried Nicholas, after exchanging salutations with his
friend, "what say you to hunting the otter in the Ribble after
breakfast? 'Tis a rare day for the sport, and the hounds are in
excellent order. There is an old dam and her litter whom we must kill,
for she has been playing the very devil with the fish for a space of
more than two miles; and if we let her off for another week, we shall
have neither salmon, trout, nor umber, as all will have passed down the
maws of her voracious brood."

"And that would be a pity, in good sooth, squire," replied Fogg; "for
there are no fish like those of the Ribble. Nothing I should prefer to
the sport you promise; but I thought you had other business for me
to-day? Another attempt to borrow money--eh?"

"Ay, from my cousin, Dick Assheton," rejoined Nicholas; "he will lend me
the thirty pounds, I am quite sure. But you had better defer the visit
till to-morrow, when his father, Sir Richard, will be at Whalley, and
when you can have him to yourself. Dick will not say you nay, depend
on't; he is too good a fellow for that. A murrain on those close-fisted
curmudgeons, Roger Nowell, Nicholas Townley, and Tom Whitaker. They
ought to be delighted to oblige me."

"But they declare they have no money," said Fogg.

"No money!--pshaw!" exclaimed Nicholas; "an idle excuse. They have
chests full. Would I had all Roger Nowell's gold, I should not require
another supply for years. But, 'sdeath! I will not trouble myself for a
paltry thirty pounds."

"If I might venture to suggest, squire, while you are about it, I would
ask for a hundred pounds, or even two or three hundred," said Fogg.
"Your friends will think all the better of you, and feel more satisfied
you intend to repay them."

"Do you think so!" cried Nicholas. "Then, by Plutus, it shall be three
hundred pounds--three hundred at interest. Dick will have to borrow the
amount to lend it to me; but, no matter, he will easily obtain it.
Harkye, Fogg, while you are at Middleton, endeavour to ascertain whether
any thing has been arranged about the marriage of a certain young lady
to a certain young gentleman. I am curious to know the precise state of
affairs in that quarter."

"I will arrive at the truth, if possible, squire," replied Fogg; "but I
should scarcely think Sir Richard would assent to his son's union with
the daughter of a notorious witch."

"Sir Richard's son is scarcely likely to ask Sir Richard's consent,"
said Nicholas; "and as to Mistress Nutter, though heavy charges have
been brought against her, nothing has been proved, for you know she
escaped, or rather was rescued, on her way to Lancaster Castle."

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Sylvia Plath's only play was never intended for the stage, being broadcast instead on BBC radio in August 1962. Less than six months later, Plath killed herself, but not before the burst of astonishing creative energy that produced her extraordinary, terrifying Ariel poems.

Anyone who knows Plath's poetry will see the connection between Three Women and Plath's subsequent poems, particularly in the way she talks about the agony of childbirth, the rush of love for this tiny alien being, and both the wonder and wounded rawness of motherhood. It is a beautiful piece, full of startling imagery that draws you in through the sheer intensity of its femaleness, and because it so precisely articulates the emotions that are often thought but seldom voiced by women - certainly not in the early 1960s - about men, motherhood and our relationship to our bodies.

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