The Lancashire Witches by William Harrison Ainsworth

W >> William Harrison Ainsworth >> The Lancashire Witches

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40 | 41 | 42 | 43 | 44 | 45 | 46 | 47 | 48 | 49 | 50 | 51 | 52 | 53

CHAPTER II.--THE PENITENT'S RETREAT.

Nicholas and Sherborne returned by a different road from that taken by
the others, and loitered so much by the way that they did not arrive at
the manor-house until the prisoner and his escort had set out. Probably
this was designed, as Nicholas seemed relieved when he learnt they were
gone. Having entered the house with his brother-in-law, and conducted
him to an apartment opening out of the hall, usually occupied by
Mistress Assheton, and where, in fact, they found that amiable lady
employed at her embroidery, he left Sherborne with her, and, making some
excuse for his own hasty retreat, betook himself to another part of the
house.

Mounting the principal staircase, which was of dark oak, with
richly-carved railing, he turned into a gallery communicating with the
sleeping apartments, and, after proceeding more than half-way down it,
halted before a door, which he unlocked, and entered a spacious but
evidently disused chamber, hung round with faded tapestry, and
containing a large gloomy-looking bedstead. Securing the door carefully
after him, Nicholas raised the hangings in one corner of the room, and
pressing against a spring, a sliding panel flew open. A screen was
placed within, so as to hide from view the inmate of the secret chamber,
and Nicholas, having coughed slightly, to announce his presence, and
received an answer in a low, melancholy female voice, stepped through
the aperture, and stood within a small closet.

It was tenanted by a lady, whose features and figure bore the strongest
marks of affliction. Her person was so attenuated that she looked little
more than a skeleton--her fingers were long and thin--her cheeks hollow
and deathly pale--her eyes lustreless and deep sunken in their
sockets--and her hair, once jetty as the raven's wing, prematurely
blanched. Such was the profound gloom stamped upon her countenance, that
it was impossible to look upon her without compassion; while, in spite
of her wo-begone looks, there was a noble character about her that
elevated the feeling into deep interest, blended with respect. She was
kneeling beside a small desk, with an open Bible laid upon it, which she
was intently studying when the squire appeared.

"Here is a terrible text for you, Nicholas," she said, regarding him,
mournfully. "Listen to it, and judge of its effect on me. Thus it is
written in Deuteronomy:--'There shall not be found among you any one
that maketh his son or his daughter to pass through the fire, or that
useth divination, or an observer of times, or an enchanter, or a witch.'
A witch, Nicholas--do you mark the word? And yet more particular is the
next verse, wherein it is said;--'Or a charmer, or a consulter with
familiar spirits, or a wizard, or a necromancer.' And then cometh the
denunciation of divine anger against such offenders in these awful
words:--'For all that do these things are an abomination unto the Lord:
and because of these abominations, the Lord thy God doth drive them out
from before thee.' Again, it is said in Leviticus, that 'the Lord
setteth his face against such, to cut them off.' And in Exodus, the law
is expressly laid down thus--'THOU SHALT NOT SUFFER A WITCH TO LIVE.'
There is no escape for her, you see. By the divine command she must
perish, and human justice must; carry out the decree. Nicholas, I am one
of the offenders thus denounced, thus condemned. I have practised
witchcraft, consulted with familiar spirits, and done other abominations
in the sight of Heaven; and I ought to pay the full penalty of my
offences."

"Do not, I beseech you, madam," replied the squire, "continue to take
this view of your case. However you have sinned, you have made amends by
the depth and sincerity of your repentance. Your days and nights--for
you allow yourself only such rest as nature forces on you, and take even
that most unwillingly--are passed in constant prayer. Your abstinence is
severer than any anchoress ever practised, for I am sure for the last
month you have not taken as much food altogether as I consume in a day;
while, not content with this, you perform acts of penance that afflict
me beyond measure to think upon, and which I have striven in vain to
induce you to forego. There will be no occasion to deliver yourself up
to justice, madam; for, if you go on thus, and do not deal with
yourself a little more mildly, your accounts with this world will be
speedily settled."

"And I should rejoice to think so, Nicholas," replied Mistress Nutter,
"if I had any hope in the world to come. But, alas! I have none. I
cannot, by any act of penitence and contrition, expiate my offences. My
soul is darkened by despair. I know I ought to give myself up--that
Heaven and man alike require my life, and I cannot reconcile myself to
avoiding my just doom."

"It is the Evil One who puts these thoughts into your head," replied
Nicholas, "and who fills your heart with promptings of despair, that he
may again obtain the mastery over it. But take a calmer and more
consolatory view of your condition. Human justice may require a public
sacrifice as an example, but Heaven, will be satisfied with contrition
in secret."

"I trust so," replied the lady, vainly striving to draw comfort from his
words. "Oh, Nicholas! you do not know the temptations I am exposed to in
this chamber--the difficulty I experience in keeping my thoughts fixed
on one object--the distractions I undergo--the mental obscurations--the
faintings of spirit--the bodily prostration--the terrors, the
inconceivable terrors, that assail me. Sometimes I wish my spirit would
flee away, and be at rest. Rest! there is none for me--none in the
grave--none beyond the grave--and therefore I am afraid of death, and
still more of the judgment after death! Man might inflict all the
tortures he could devise upon this poor frame. I would bear them all
with patience, with delight, if I thought they would purchase me
immunity hereafter! But with the dread conviction, the almost certainty,
that it will be otherwise, I can only look to the final consummation
with despair!"

"Again I tell you these suggestions are evil," said Nicholas. "The Son
of God, who sacrificed himself for man, and by whose atonement all
mankind hope for salvation, has assured us that the greatest sinner who
repents shall be forgiven, and, indeed, is more acceptable in the eyes
of Heaven than him who has never erred. Far be it from me to attempt to
exculpate you in your own eyes, or extenuate your former criminality.
You have sinned deeply, so deeply that you may well shrink aghast from
the contemplation of your past life--may well recoil in abhorrence from
yourself--and may fitly devote yourself to constant prayer and acts of
penitence. But having cast off your iniquity, and sincerely repented, I
bid you hope--I bid you place a confident reliance in the clemency of an
all-merciful power."

"You give me much comfort, Nicholas," said the lady, "and if tears of
blood can wash away my sin they shall be shed; but much as you know of
my wickedness, even you cannot conceive its extent. In my madness, for
it was nothing else, I cast off all hopes of heaven, renounced my
Redeemer, was baptised by the demon, and entered into a compact by
which--I shudder to speak it--my soul was surrendered to him."

"You placed yourself in fearful jeopardy, no doubt," rejoined Nicholas;
"but you have broken the contract in time, and an all righteous judge
will not permit the penalty of the bond to be exacted. Seeing your
penitence, Satan has relinquished all claim to your soul."

"I do not think it," replied the lady. "He will contest the point to the
last, and it is only at the last that it will be decided."

As she spoke, a sound like mocking laughter reached the ears of
Nicholas.

"Did you hear that?" demanded Mistress Nutter, in accents of wildest
terror. "He is ever on the watch. I knew it--I knew it."

Clasping her hands together, and fixing her looks on high she then
addressed the most fervent supplications to Heaven for deliverance from
evil, and erelong her troubled countenance began to resume its former
serenity, proving that the surest balm for a "mind diseased" is prayer.
Her example had been followed by Nicholas, who, greatly alarmed, had
dropped upon his knees likewise, and now arose with somewhat more
composure in his demeanour and aspect.

"I am sorry I do not bring you good news, madam," he said; "but Jem
Device has been arrested this morning, and as the fellow is greatly
exasperated against me, he threatens to betray your retreat to the
officers; and though he is, probably, unacquainted with it
notwithstanding his boasting, still he may cause search to be made, and,
therefore, I think you had better be removed to some other
hiding-place."

"Deliver me up without more ado, I pray you, Nicholas," said the lady.

"You know my resolution on that point, madam," he replied, "and,
therefore, it is idle to attempt to shake it. For your daughter's sake,
if not for your own, I will save you, in spite of yourself. You would
not fix a brand for ever on Alizon's name; you would not destroy her?"

"I would not," replied the wretched lady. "But have you heard from
her--have you seen her? Tell me, is she well and happy?"

"She is well, and would be happy, were it not for her anxiety about
you," replied Nicholas, evasively. "But for her sake--mine--your own--I
must urge you to seek some other place of refuge to night, for if you
are discovered here you will bring ruin on us all."

"I will no longer debate the point," replied Mistress Nutter. "Where
shall I go?"

"There is one place of absolute security, but I do not like to mention
it," replied Nicholas. "Yet still, as it will only be necessary to
remain for a day or two, till the search is over, when you can return
here, it cannot much matter."

"Where is it?" asked Mistress Nutter.

"Malkin Tower," answered the squire, with some hesitation.

"I will never go to that accursed place," cried the lady. "Send me hence
when you will--now, or at midnight--and let me seek shelter on the bleak
fells or on the desolate moors, but bid me not go there!"

"And yet it is the best and safest place for you," returned Nicholas,
somewhat testily; "and for this reason, that, being reputed to be
haunted, no one will venture to molest you. As to Mother Demdike, I
suppose you are not afraid of her ghost; and if the evil beings you
apprehend were able or inclined to do you mischief, they would not wait
till you got there to execute their purpose."

"True," said Mistress Nutter, "I was wrong to hesitate. I will go."

"You will be as safe there as here--ay, and safer," rejoined Nicholas,
"or I would not urge the retreat upon you. I am about to ride over to
Middleton this morning to see your daughter and Richard Assheton, and
shall sleep at Whalley, so that I shall not be able to accompany you to
the tower to-night; but old Crouch the huntsman shall be in waiting for
you, as soon as it grows dusk, in the summer-house, with which, as you
know, the secret staircase connected with this room communicates, and he
shall have a horse in readiness to take you, together with such matters
as you may require, to the place of refuge. Heaven guard you, madam!"

"Amen!" responded the lady.

"And now farewell!" said Nicholas. "I shall hope to see you back again
ere many days be gone, when your quietude will not again be disturbed."

So saying, he stepped back, and, passing through the panel, closed it
after him.

CHAPTER III.--MIDDLETON HALL.

Middleton Hall, the residence of Sir Richard Assheton, was a large
quadrangular structure, built entirely of timber, and painted externally
in black and white checker-work, fanciful and varied in design, in the
style peculiar to the better class of Tudor houses in South Lancashire
and Cheshire. Surrounded by a deep moat, supplied by a neighbouring
stream, and crossed by four drawbridges, each faced by a gateway, this
vast pile of building was divided into two spacious courts, one of which
contained the stables, barns, and offices, while the other was reserved
for the family and the guests by whom the hospitable mansion was almost
constantly crowded. In the last-mentioned part of the house was a great
gallery, with deeply embayed windows filled with painted glass, a floor
of polished oak, walls of the same dark lustrous material, hung with
portraits of stiff beauties, some in ruff and farthingale, and some in a
costume of an earlier period among whom was Margaret Barton, who brought
the manor of Middleton into the family; frowning warriors, beginning
with Sir Ralph Assheton, knight-marshal of England in the reign of
Edward IV., and surnamed "the black of Assheton-under-line," the founder
of the house, and husband of Margaret Barton before mentioned, and
ending with Sir Richard Assheton, grandfather of the present owner of
the mansion, and one of the heroes of Flodden; grave lawyers, or graver
divines--a likeness running through all, and showing they belonged to
one line--a huge carved mantelpiece, massive tables of walnut or oak,
and black and shining as ebony, set round with high-backed chairs. Here,
also, above stairs, there were long corridors looking out through
lattices upon the court, and communicating with the almost countless
dormitories; while, on the floor beneath, corresponding passages led to
all the principal chambers, and terminated in the grand entrance hall,
the roof of which being open and intersected by enormous rafters, and
crooks of oak, like the ribs of some "tall ammiral," was thought from
this circumstance, as well as from its form, to resemble "a ship turned
upside down." The lower beams were elaborately carved and ornamented
with gilded bosses and sculptured images, sustaining shields emblazoned
with the armorial bearings of the Asshetons. As many as three hundred
matchlocks, in good and serviceable condition, were ranged round the
entrance-hall, besides corselets, Almayne rivets, steel caps, and other
accoutrements; this stand of arms having been collected by Sir Richard's
predecessor, during the military muster made in the country in 1574,
when he had raised and equipped a troop of horse for Queen Elizabeth.
Outside the mansion was a garden, charmingly laid out in parterres and
walks, and not only carried to the edge of the moat, but continued
beyond it till it reached a high knoll crowned with beech-trees. A crest
of tall twisted chimneys, a high roof with quaintly carved gables,
surmounted by many gilt vanes, may serve to complete the picture of
Middleton Hall.

On a lovely summer evening, two young persons of opposite sexes were
seated on a bench placed at the foot of one of the largest and most
umbrageous of the beech-trees crowning the pleasant eminence before
mentioned; and though differing in aspect and character, the one being
excessively fair, with tresses as light and fleecy as the clouds above
them, and eyes as blue and tender as the skies--and the other
distinguished by great manly beauty, though in a totally different
style; still there was a sufficiently strong likeness between them, to
proclaim them brother and sister. Profound melancholy pervaded the
countenance of the young man, whose handsome brow was clouded by
care--while the girl, though sad, seemed so only from sympathy.

They were conversing together in deep and earnest tones, showing how
greatly they were interested; and, as they proceeded, many an
involuntary sigh was heaved by Richard Assheton, while a tear, more than
once, dimmed the brightness of his sister's eyes, and her hand sought by
its gentle pressure to re-assure him.

They were talking of Alizon, of her peculiar and distressing situation,
and of the young man's hopeless love for her. She was the general theme
of their discourse, for Richard's sole comfort was in pouring forth his
griefs into his sister's willing ear; but new causes of anxiety had been
given them by Nicholas, who had arrived that afternoon, bringing
intelligence of James Device's capture, and of his threats against
Mistress Nutter. The squire had only just departed, having succeeded in
the twofold object of his visit--which was, firstly, to borrow three
hundred pounds from his cousin--and, secondly, to induce him to attend
the meeting at Hoghton Tower. With the first request Richard willingly
complied, and he assented, though with some reluctance, to the second,
provided nothing of serious moment should occur in the interim. Nicholas
tried to rally him on his despondency, endeavouring to convince him all
would come right in time, and that his misgivings were causeless; but
his arguments were ineffectual, and he was soon compelled to desist. The
squire would fain also have seen Alizon, but, understanding she always
remained secluded in her chamber till eventide, he did not press the
point. Richard urged him to stay over the night, alleging the length of
the ride, and the speedy approach of evening, as inducements to him to
remain; but on this score the squire was resolute--and having carefully
secured the large sum of money he had obtained beneath his doublet, he
mounted his favourite steed, Robin, who seemed as fresh as if he had not
achieved upwards of thirty miles that morning, and rode off.

Richard watched him cross the drawbridge, and take the road towards
Rochdale, and, after exchanging a farewell wave of the hand with him,
returned to the hall and sought out his sister.

Dorothy was easily persuaded to take a turn in the garden with her
brother, and during their walk he confided to her all he had heard from
Nicholas. Her alarm at Jem Device's threat was much greater than his
own; and, though she entertained a strong and unconquerable aversion to
Mistress Nutter, and could not be brought to believe in the sincerity of
her penitence, still, for Alizon's sake, she dreaded lest any harm
should befall her, and more particularly desired to avoid the disgrace
which would be inflicted by a public execution. Alizon she was sure
would not survive such a catastrophe, and therefore, at all risks, it
must be averted.

Richard did not share, to the same extent, in her apprehensions, because
he had been assured by Nicholas that Mistress Nutter would be removed to
a place of perfect security, and because he was disposed, with the
squire, to regard the prisoner's threats as mere ravings of impotent
malice. Still he could not help feeling great uneasiness. Vague fears,
too, beset him, which he found it in vain to shake off, but he did not
communicate them to his sister, as he knew the terrifying effect they
would have upon her timid nature; and he, therefore, kept the mental
anguish he endured to himself, hoping erelong it would diminish in
intensity. But in this he was deceived, for, instead of abating, his
gloom and depression momently increased.

Almost unconsciously, Richard and his sister had quitted the garden,
proceeding with slow and melancholy steps to the beech-crowned knoll.
The seat they had chosen was a favourite one with Alizon, and she came
thither on most evenings, either accompanied by Dorothy or alone. Here
it was that Richard had more than once passionately besought her to
become his bride, receiving on both occasions a same meek yet firm
refusal. To Dorothy also, who pleaded her brother's cause with all the
eloquence and fervour of which she was mistress, Alizon replied that her
affections were fixed upon Richard; but that, while her mother lived,
and needed her constant prayers, they must not be withheld; and that,
looking upon any earthly passion as a criminal interference with this
paramount duty, she did not dare to indulge it. Dorothy represented to
her that the sacrifice was greater than she was called upon to make,
that her health was visibly declining, and that she might fall a victim
to her over-zeal; but Alizon was deaf to her remonstrances, as she had
been to the entreaties of Richard.

With hearts less burthened, the contemplation of the scene before them
could not have failed to give delight to Richard and his sister, and,
even amid the adverse circumstances under which it was viewed, its
beauty and tranquillity produced a soothing influence.

Evening was gradually stealing on, and all the exquisite tints marking
that delightful hour, were spreading over the landscape. The sun was
setting gorgeously, and a flood of radiance fell upon the old mansion
beneath them, and upon the grey and venerable church, situated on a hill
adjoining it. The sounds were all in unison with the hour, and the
lowing of cattle, the voices of the husbandmen returning from their
work, mingled with the cawing of the rooks newly alighted on the high
trees near the church, told them that bird, man, and beast were seeking
their home for the night. But though Richard's eye dwelt upon the fair
garden beneath him, embracing all its terraces, green slopes, and trim
pastures; though it fell upon the moat belting the hall like a
glittering zone; though it rested upon the church tower; and, roaming
over the park beyond it, finally settled upon the range of hills
bounding the horizon, which have not inaptly been termed the English
Apennines; though he saw all these things, he thought not of them,
neither was he conscious of the sounds that met his ear, and which all
spoke of rest from labour, and peace. Darker and deeper grew his
melancholy. He began to persuade himself he was not long for this world;
and, while gazing upon the beautiful prospect before him, was perhaps
looking upon it for the last time.

For some minutes Dorothy watched him anxiously, and at last receiving no
answer to her questions, and alarmed by the expression of his
countenance, she flung her arms round his neck, and burst into tears. It
was now Richard's turn to console her, and he inquired with much anxiety
as to the cause of this sudden outburst of grief.

"You yourself are the cause of it, dear Richard," replied Dorothy,
regarding him with brimming eyes; "I cannot bear to see you so unhappy.
If you suffer this melancholy to grow upon you, it will affect both mind
and body. Just now your countenance wore an expression most distressing
to look upon. Try to smile, dear Richard, if only to cheer me, or else I
shall grow as sad as you. Ah, me! I have known the day, and not long
since either, when on a pleasant summer evening like this you would
propose a stroll into the park with me; and, when there, would trip
along the glades as fleetly as a deer, and defy me to catch you. But you
always took care I should, though--ha! ha! Come, there is a little
attempt at a smile. That's something. You look more like yourself now.
How happy we used to be in those days, to be sure!--and how merry! You
would make the courts ring with your blithe laughter, and wellnigh kill
me with your jests. If love is to make one mope like an owl, and sigh
like the wind through a half-shut casement; if it is to cause one to
lose one's rosy complexion and gay spirit, and forget how to dance and
sing--take no pleasure in hawking and hunting, or any kind of
sport--walk about with eyes fixed upon the ground, muttering, and with
disordered attire--if it is to make one silent when one should be
talkative, grave when one should be gay, heedless when one should
listen--if it is to do all this, defend me from the tender passion! I
hope I shall never fall in love."

"I hope you never will, dear Dorothy," replied Richard, pressing her
hand affectionately, "if your love is to be attended with such unhappy
results as mine. I know not how it is, but I feel unusually despondent
this evening, and am haunted by a thousand dismal fancies. But I will do
my best to dismiss them, and with your help no doubt I shall succeed."

"There!--there was a smile in earnest!" cried Dorothy, brightening up.
"Oh, Richard! I am quite happy now. And after all I do not see why you
should take such a gloomy view of things. I have no doubt there is a
great deal, a very great deal, of happiness in store for you and
Alizon--I must couple her name with yours, or you will not allow it to
be happiness--if you can only be brought to think so. I am quite sure of
it; and you shall see how nicely I can make the matter out. As thus.
Mistress Nutter is certain to die soon--such a wicked woman cannot live
long. Don't be angry with me for calling her wicked, Richard; but you
know I never can forget her unhallowed proceedings in the convent church
at Whalley, where I was so nearly becoming a witch myself. Well, as I
was saying, she cannot live long, and when she goes--and Heaven grant it
may be soon!--Alizon, no doubt, will mourn for her though I shall not,
and after a decent interval--then, Richard, then she will no longer say
you nay, but will make you happy as your wife. Nay, do not look so sad
again, dear brother. I thought I should make you quite cheerful by the
picture I was drawing."

"It is because I fear it will never be realized that I am sad, Dorothy,"
replied Richard. "My own anticipations are the opposite of yours, and
paint Alizon sinking into an early grave before her mother; while as to
myself, if such be the case, I shall not long survive her."