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The Lancashire Witches by William Harrison Ainsworth

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"Ey should like to see Alizon dance, an so ey win go wi' ye, Jem,"
replied Jennet, getting up, "otherwise your orders shouldna may me stir,
ey con tell ye."

As she came out, she found her brother whistling the blithe air of
"Green Sleeves," cutting strange capers, in imitation of the
morris-dancers, and whirling his cudgel over his head instead of a
kerchief. The gaiety of the day seemed infectious, and to have seized
even him. People stared to see Black Jem, or Surly Jem, as he was
indifferently called, so joyous, and wondered what it could mean. He
then fell to singing a snatch of a local ballad at that time in vogue in
the neighbourhood:--


"If thou wi' nah my secret tell,
Ne bruit abroad i' Whalley parish,
And swear to keep my counsel well,
Ey win declare my day of marriage."

"Cum along, lass," he cried stopping suddenly in his song, and snatching
his sister's hand. "What han ye getten there, lapped up i' your kirtle,
eh?"

"A white dove," replied Jennet, determined not to tell him any thing
about her strange dream.

"A white dove!" echoed Jem. "Gi' it me, an ey'n wring its neck, an get
it roasted for supper."

"Ye shan do nah such thing, Jem," replied Jennet. "Ey mean to gi' it to
Alizon."

"Weel, weel, that's reet," rejoined Jem, blandly, "it'll may a protty
offering. Let's look at it."

"Nah, nah," said Jennet, pressing the bird gently to her bosom, "neaw
one shan see it efore Alizon."

"Cum along then," cried Jem, rather testily, and mending his pace, "or
we'st be too late fo' t' round. Whoy yo'n scratted yourself," he added,
noticing the red spots on her sleeve.

"Han ey?" she rejoined, evasively. "Oh now ey rekilect, it wos Tib did
it."

"Tib!" echoed Jem, gravely, and glancing uneasily at the marks.

Meanwhile, on quitting the cottage, the May-day revellers had proceeded
slowly towards the green, increasing the number of their followers at
each little tenement they passed, and being welcomed every where with
shouts and cheers. The hobby-horse curveted and capered; the Fool
fleered at the girls, and flouted the men, jesting with every one, and
when failing in a point rapping the knuckles of his auditors; Friar Tuck
chucked the pretty girls under the chin, in defiance of their
sweethearts, and stole a kiss from every buxom dame that stood in his
way, and then snapped his fingers, or made a broad grimace at the
husband; the piper played, and the taborer rattled his tambourine; the
morris-dancers tossed their kerchiefs aloft; and the bells of the
rush-cart jingled merrily; the men on the top being on a level with the
roofs of the cottages, and the summits of the haystacks they passed, but
in spite of their exalted position jesting with the crowd below. But in
spite of these multiplied attractions, and in spite of the gambols of
Fool and Horse, though the latter elicited prodigious laughter, the main
attention was fixed on the May Queen, who tripped lightly along by the
side of her faithful squire, Robin Hood, followed by the three bold
foresters of Sherwood, and her usher.

In this way they reached the green, where already a large crowd was
collected to see them, and where in the midst of it, and above the heads
of the assemblage, rose the lofty May-pole, with all its flowery
garlands glittering in the sunshine, and its ribands fluttering in the
breeze. Pleasant was it to see those cheerful groups, composed of happy
rustics, youths in their holiday attire, and maidens neatly habited too,
and fresh and bright as the day itself. Summer sunshine sparkled in
their eyes, and weather and circumstance as well as genial natures
disposed them to enjoyment. Every lass above eighteen had her
sweetheart, and old couples nodded and smiled at each other when any
tender speech, broadly conveyed but tenderly conceived, reached their
ears, and said it recalled the days of their youth. Pleasant was it to
hear such honest laughter, and such good homely jests.

Laugh on, my merry lads, you are made of good old English stuff, loyal
to church and king, and while you, and such as you, last, our land will
be in no danger from foreign foe! Laugh on, and praise your sweethearts
how you will. Laugh on, and blessings on your honest hearts!

The frolic train had just reached the precincts of the green, when the
usher waving his wand aloft, called a momentary halt, announcing that
Sir Ralph Assheton and the gentry were coming forth from the Abbey gate
to meet them.




CHAPTER III.--THE ASSHETONS.


Between Sir Ralph Assheton of the Abbey and the inhabitants of Whalley,
many of whom were his tenants, he being joint lord of the manor with
John Braddyll of Portfield, the best possible feeling subsisted; for
though somewhat austere in manner, and tinctured with Puritanism, the
worthy knight was sufficiently shrewd, or, more correctly speaking,
sufficiently liberal-minded, to be tolerant of the opinions of others,
and being moreover sincere in his own religious views, no man could call
him in question for them; besides which, he was very hospitable to his
friends, very bountiful to the poor, a good landlord, and a humane man.
His very austerity of manner, tempered by stately courtesy, added to the
respect he inspired, especially as he could now and then relax into
gaiety, and, when he did so, his smile was accounted singularly sweet.
But in general he was grave and formal; stiff in attire, and stiff in
gait; cold and punctilious in manner, precise in speech, and exacting in
due respect from both high and low, which was seldom, if ever, refused
him. Amongst Sir Ralph's other good qualities, for such it was esteemed
by his friends and retainers, and they were, of course, the best judges,
was a strong love of the chase, and perhaps he indulged a little too
freely in the sports of the field, for a gentleman of a character so
staid and decorous; but his popularity was far from being diminished by
the circumstance; neither did he suffer the rude and boisterous
companionship into which he was brought by indulgence in this his
favourite pursuit in any way to affect him. Though still young, Sir
Ralph was prematurely grey, and this, combined with the sad severity of
his aspect, gave him the air of one considerably past the middle term of
life, though this appearance was contradicted again by the youthful fire
of his eagle eye. His features were handsome and strongly marked, and he
wore a pointed beard and mustaches, with a shaved cheek. Sir Ralph
Assheton had married twice, his first wife being a daughter of Sir James
Bellingham of Levens, in Northumberland, by whom he had two children;
while his second choice fell upon Eleanor Shuttleworth, the lovely and
well-endowed heiress of Gawthorpe, to whom he had been recently united.
In his attire, even when habited for the chase or a merry-making, like
the present, the Knight of Whalley affected a sombre colour, and
ordinarily wore a quilted doublet of black silk, immense trunk hose of
the same material, stiffened with whalebone, puffed out well-wadded
sleeves, falling bands, for he eschewed the ruff as savouring of vanity,
boots of black flexible leather, ascending to the hose, and armed with
spurs with gigantic rowels, a round-crowned small-brimmed black hat,
with an ostrich feather placed in the side and hanging over the top, a
long rapier on his hip, and a dagger in his girdle. This buckram attire,
it will be easily conceived, contributed no little to the natural
stiffness of his thin tall figure.

Sir Ralph Assheton was great grandson of Richard Assheton, who
flourished in the time of Abbot Paslew, and who, in conjunction with
John Braddyll, fourteen years after the unfortunate prelate's attainder
and the dissolution of the monastery, had purchased the abbey and
domains of Whalley from the Crown, subsequently to which, a division of
the property so granted took place between them, the abbey and part of
the manor falling to the share of Richard Assheton, whose descendants
had now for three generations made it their residence. Thus the whole of
Whalley belonged to the families of Assheton and Braddyll, which had
intermarried; the latter, as has been stated, dwelling at Portfield, a
fine old seat in the neighbourhood.

A very different person from Sir Ralph was his cousin, Nicholas Assheton
of Downham, who, except as regards his Puritanism, might be considered a
type of the Lancashire squire of the day. A precisian in religious
notions, and constant in attendance at church and lecture, he put no
sort of restraint upon himself, but mixed up fox-hunting, otter-hunting,
shooting at the mark, and perhaps shooting with the long-bow,
foot-racing, horse-racing, and, in fact, every other kind of country
diversion, not forgetting tippling, cards, and dicing, with daily
devotion, discourses, and psalm-singing in the oddest way imaginable. A
thorough sportsman was Squire Nicholas Assheton, well versed in all the
arts and mysteries of hawking and hunting. Not a man in the county could
ride harder, hunt deer, unkennel fox, unearth badger, or spear otter,
better than he. And then, as to tippling, he would sit you a whole
afternoon at the alehouse, and be the merriest man there, and drink a
bout with every farmer present. And if the parson chanced to be out of
hearing, he would never make a mouth at a round oath, nor choose a
second expression when the first would serve his turn. Then, who so
constant at church or lecture as Squire Nicholas--though he did snore
sometimes during the long sermons of his cousin, the Rector of
Middleton? A great man was he at all weddings, christenings, churchings,
and funerals, and never neglected his bottle at these ceremonies, nor
any sport in doors or out of doors, meanwhile. In short, such a
roystering Puritan was never known. A good-looking young man was the
Squire of Downham, possessed of a very athletic frame, and a most
vigorous constitution, which helped him, together with the prodigious
exercise he took, through any excess. He had a sanguine complexion, with
a broad, good-natured visage, which he could lengthen at will in a
surprising manner. His hair was cropped close to his head, and the razor
did daily duty over his cheek and chin, giving him the roundhead look,
some years later, characteristic of the Puritanical party. Nicholas had
taken to wife Dorothy, daughter of Richard Greenacres of Worston, and
was most fortunate in his choice, which is more than can be said for his
lady, for I cannot uphold the squire as a model of conjugal fidelity.
Report affirmed that he loved more than one pretty girl under the rose.
Squire Nicholas was not particular as to the quality or make of his
clothes, provided they wore well and protected him against the weather,
and was generally to be seen in doublet and hose of stout fustian, which
had seen some service, with a broad-leaved hat, originally green, but of
late bleached to a much lighter colour; but he was clad on this
particular occasion in ash-coloured habiliments fresh from the tailor's
hands, with buff boots drawn up to the knee, and a new round hat from
York with a green feather in it. His legs were slightly embowed, and he
bore himself like a man rarely out of the saddle.

Downham, the residence of the squire, was a fine old house, very
charmingly situated to the north of Pendle Hill, of which it commanded a
magnificent view, and a few miles from Clithero. The grounds about it
were well-wooded and beautifully broken and diversified, watered by the
Ribble, and opening upon the lovely and extensive valley deriving its
name from that stream. The house was in good order and well maintained,
and the stables plentifully furnished with horses, while the hall was
adorned with various trophies and implements of the chase; but as I
propose paying its owner a visit, I shall defer any further description
of the place till an opportunity arrives for examining it in detail.

A third cousin of Sir Ralph's, though in the second degree, likewise
present on the May-day in question, was the Reverend Abdias Assheton,
Rector of Middleton, a very worthy man, who, though differing from his
kinsmen upon some religious points, and not altogether approving of the
conduct of one of them, was on good terms with both. The Rector of
Middleton was portly and middle-aged, fond of ease and reading, and by
no means indifferent to the good things of life. He was unmarried, and
passed much of his time at Middleton Hall, the seat of his near relative
Sir Richard Assheton, to whose family he was greatly attached, and whose
residence closely adjoined the rectory.

A fourth cousin, also present, was young Richard Assheton of Middleton,
eldest son and heir of the owner of that estate. Possessed of all the
good qualities largely distributed among his kinsmen, with none of their
drawbacks, this young man was as tolerant and bountiful as Sir Ralph,
without his austerity and sectarianism; as keen a sportsman and as bold
a rider as Nicholas, without his propensities to excess; as studious, at
times, and as well read as Abdias, without his laziness and
self-indulgence; and as courtly and well-bred as his father, Sir
Richard, who was esteemed one of the most perfect gentlemen in the
county, without his haughtiness. Then he was the handsomest of his race,
though the Asshetons were accounted the handsomest family in Lancashire,
and no one minded yielding the palm to young Richard, even if it could
be contested, he was so modest and unassuming. At this time, Richard
Assheton was about two-and-twenty, tall, gracefully and slightly formed,
but possessed of such remarkable vigour, that even his cousin Nicholas
could scarcely compete with him in athletic exercises. His features were
fine and regular, with an almost Phrygian precision of outline; his hair
was of a dark brown, and fell in clustering curls over his brow and
neck; and his complexion was fresh and blooming, and set off by a slight
beard and mustache, carefully trimmed and pointed. His dress consisted
of a dark-green doublet, with wide velvet hose, embroidered and fringed,
descending nearly to the knee, where they were tied with points and
ribands, met by dark stockings, and terminated by red velvet shoes with
roses in them. A white feather adorned his black broad-leaved hat, and
he had a rapier by his side.

Amongst Sir Ralph Assheton's guests were Richard Greenacres, of Worston,
Nicholas Assheton's father-in-law; Richard Sherborne of Dunnow, near
Sladeburne, who had married Dorothy, Nicholas's sister; Mistress
Robinson of Raydale House, aunt to the knight and the squire, and two of
her sons, both stout youths, with John Braddyll and his wife, of
Portfield. Besides these there was Master Roger Nowell, a justice of the
peace in the county, and a very active and busy one too, who had been
invited for an especial purpose, to be explained hereafter. Head of an
ancient Lancashire family, residing at Read, a fine old hall, some
little distance from Whalley, Roger Nowell, though a worthy,
well-meaning man, dealt hard measure from the bench, and seldom tempered
justice with mercy. He was sharp-featured, dry, and sarcastic, and being
adverse to country sports, his presence on the occasion was the only
thing likely to impose restraint on the revellers. Other guests there
were, but none of particular note.

The ladies of the party consisted of Lady Assheton, Mistress Nicholas
Assheton of Downham, Dorothy Assheton of Middleton, sister to Richard, a
lovely girl of eighteen, with light fleecy hair, summer blue eyes, and a
complexion of exquisite purity, Mistress Sherborne of Dunnow, Mistress
Robinson of Raydale, and Mistress Braddyll of Portfield, before
mentioned, together with the wives and daughters of some others of the
neighbouring gentry; most noticeable amongst whom was Mistress Alice
Nutter of Rough Lee, in Pendle Forest, a widow lady and a relative of
the Assheton family.

Mistress Nutter might be a year or two turned of forty, but she still
retained a very fine figure, and much beauty of feature, though of a
cold and disagreeable cast. She was dressed in mourning, though her
husband had been dead several years, and her rich dark habiliments well
became her pale complexion and raven hair. A proud poor gentleman was
Richard Nutter, her late husband, and his scanty means not enabling him
to keep up as large an establishment as he desired, or to be as
hospitable as his nature prompted, his temper became soured, and he
visited his ill humours upon his wife, who, devotedly attached to him,
to all outward appearance at least, never resented his ill treatment.
All at once, and without any previous symptoms of ailment, or apparent
cause, unless it might be over-fatigue in hunting the day before,
Richard Nutter was seized with a strange and violent illness, which,
after three or four days of acute suffering, brought him to the grave.
During his illness he was constantly and zealously tended by his wife,
but he displayed great aversion to her, declaring himself bewitched, and
that an old woman was ever in the corner of his room mumbling wicked
enchantments against him. But as no such old woman could be seen, these
assertions were treated as delirious ravings. They were not, however,
forgotten after his death, and some people said that he had certainly
been bewitched, and that a waxen image made in his likeness, and stuck
full of pins, had been picked up in his chamber by Mistress Alice and
cast into the fire, and as soon as it melted he had expired. Such tales
only obtained credence with the common folk; but as Pendle Forest was a
sort of weird region, many reputed witches dwelling in it, they were the
more readily believed, even by those who acquitted Mistress Nutter of
all share in the dark transaction.

Mistress Nutter gave the best proof that she respected her husband's
memory by not marrying again, and she continued to lead a very secluded
life at Rough Lee, a lonesome house in the heart of the forest. She
lived quite by herself, for she had no children, her only daughter
having perished somewhat strangely when quite an infant. Though a
relative of the Asshetons, she kept up little intimacy with them, and it
was a matter of surprise to all that she had been drawn from her
seclusion to attend the present revel. Her motive, however, in visiting
the Abbey, was to obtain the assistance of Sir Ralph Assheton, in
settling a dispute between her and Roger Nowell, relative to the
boundary line of part of their properties which came together; and this
was the reason why the magistrate had been invited to Whalley. After
hearing both sides of the question, and examining plans of the estates,
which he knew to be accurate, Sir Ralph, who had been appointed umpire,
pronounced a decision in favour of Roger Nowell, but Mistress Nutter
refusing to abide by it, the settlement of the matter was postponed till
the day but one following, between which time the landmarks were to be
investigated by a certain little lawyer named Potts, who attended on
behalf of Roger Nowell; together with Nicholas and Richard Assheton, on
behalf of Mistress Nutter. Upon their evidence it was agreed by both
parties that Sir Ralph should pronounce a final decision, to be accepted
by them, and to that effect they signed an agreement. The three persons
appointed to the investigation settled to start for Rough Lee early on
the following morning.

A word as to Master Thomas Potts. This worthy was an attorney from
London, who had officiated as clerk of the court at the assizes at
Lancaster, where his quickness had so much pleased Roger Nowell, that he
sent for him to Read to manage this particular business. A sharp-witted
fellow was Potts, and versed in all the quirks and tricks of a very
subtle profession--not over-scrupulous, provided a client would pay
well; prepared to resort to any expedient to gain his object, and quite
conversant enough with both practice and precedent to keep himself
straight. A bustling, consequential little personage was he, moreover;
very fond of delivering an opinion, even when unasked, and of a
meddling, make-mischief turn, constantly setting men by the ears. A suit
of rusty black, a parchment-coloured skin, small wizen features, a
turn-up nose, scant eyebrows, and a great yellow forehead, constituted
his external man. He partook of the hospitality at the Abbey, but had
his quarters at the Dragon. He it was who counselled Roger Nowell to
abide by the decision of Sir Ralph, confidently assuring him that he
must carry his point.

This dispute was not, however, the only one the knight had to adjust, or
in which Master Potts was concerned. A claim had recently been made by a
certain Sir Thomas Metcalfe of Nappay, in Wensleydale, near Bainbridge,
to the house and manor of Raydale, belonging to his neighbour, John
Robinson, whose lady, as has been shown, was a relative of the
Asshetons. Robinson himself had gone to London to obtain advice on the
subject, while Sir Thomas Metcalfe, who was a man of violent
disposition, had threatened to take forcible possession of Raydale, if
it were not delivered to him without delay, and to eject the Robinson
family. Having consulted Potts, however, on the subject, whom he had met
at Read, the latter strongly dissuaded him from the course, and
recommended him to call to his aid the strong arm of the law: but this
he rejected, though he ultimately agreed to refer the matter to Sir
Ralph Assheton, and for this purpose he had come over to Whalley, and
was at present a guest at the vicarage. Thus it will be seen that Sir
Ralph Assheton had his hands full, while the little London lawyer,
Master Potts, was tolerably well occupied. Besides Sir Thomas Metcalfe,
Sir Richard Molyneux, and Mr. Parker of Browsholme, were guests of Dr.
Ormerod at the vicarage.

Such was the large company assembled to witness the May-day revels at
Whalley, and if harmonious feelings did not exist amongst all of them,
little outward manifestation was made of enmity. The dresses and
appointments of the pageant having been provided by Sir Ralph Assheton,
who, Puritan as he was, encouraged all harmless country pastimes, it was
deemed necessary to pay him every respect, even if no other feeling
would have prompted the attention, and therefore the troop had stopped
on seeing him and his guests issue from the Abbey gate. At pretty nearly
the same time Doctor Ormerod and his party came from the vicarage
towards the green.

No order of march was observed, but Sir Ralph and his lady, with two of
his children by the former marriage, walked first. Then came some of the
other ladies, with the Rector of Middleton, John Braddyll, and the two
sons of Mistress Robinson. Next came Mistress Nutter, Roger Nowell and
Potts walking after her, eyeing her maliciously, as her proud figure
swept on before them. Even if she saw their looks or overheard their
jeers, she did not deign to notice them. Lastly came young Richard
Assheton, of Middleton, and Squire Nicholas, both in high spirits, and
laughing and chatting together.

"A brave day for the morris-dancers, cousin Dick," observed Nicholas
Assheton, as they approached the green, "and plenty of folk to witness
the sport. Half my lads from Downham are here, and I see a good many of
your Middleton chaps among them. How are you, Farmer Tetlow?" he added
to a stout, hale-looking man, with a blooming country woman by his
side--"brought your pretty young wife to the rush-bearing, I see."

"Yeigh, squoire," rejoined the farmer, "an mightily pleased hoo be wi'
it, too."

"Happy to hear if, Master Tetlow," replied Nicholas, "she'll be better
pleased before the day's over, I'll warrant her. I'll dance a round with
her myself in the hall at night."

"Theere now, Meg, whoy dunna ye may t' squoire a curtsy, wench, an thonk
him," said Tetlow, nudging his pretty wife, who had turned away, rather
embarrassed by the free gaze of the squire. Nicholas, however, did not
wait for the curtsy, but went away, laughing, to overtake Richard
Assheton, who had walked on.

"Ah, here's Frank Garside," he continued, espying another rustic
acquaintance. "Halloa, Frank, I'll come over one day next week, and try
for a fox in Easington Woods. We missed the last, you know. Tom
Brockholes, are you here? Just ridden over from Sladeburne, eh? When is
that shooting match at the bodkin to come off, eh? Mind, it is to be at
twenty-two roods' distance. Ride over to Downham on Thursday next, Tom.
We're to have a foot-race, and I'll show you good sport, and at night
we'll have a lusty drinking bout at the alehouse. On Friday, we'll take
out the great nets, and try for salmon in the Ribble. I took some fine
fish on Monday--one salmon of ten pounds' weight, the largest I've got
the whole season.--I brought it with me to-day to the Abbey. There's an
otter in the river, and I won't hunt him till you come, Tom. I shall see
you on Thursday, eh?"

Receiving an answer in the affirmative, squire Nicholas walked on,
nodding right and left, jesting with the farmers, and ogling their
pretty wives and daughters.

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We do not know the women's names, but their voices are quite distinct. All are pregnant. But while the first woman awaits the birth of her baby with a moon-like serenity, the other two are not so lucky. One, whose previous pregnancies have failed to go to term, is experiencing a heartbreaking late miscarriage; the other is a young student whose accidental pregnancy will end in her child being put up for adoption.

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.

It's been 20 years since there has been an attempt at a professional stage version and - in a theatre world that happily accepts the poetic offerings of Sarah Kane and Debbie Tucker Green, or the staged possibilities of The Waves, one of Plath's own inspirations for the piece, I see no reason why it shouldn't be brought to life. Sadly, it doesn't breathe here, in a production by Robert Shaw that is clearly a labour of love, but which never finds a way to give the internal a physical reality. Plath's poetry, like most babies, is more robust than it appears - and won't break if treated with a little less reverence and considerably more grit.

Instead, what we are offered is tinkling piano music, mournful mood lighting, an innocuous pale setting, as well as three perfectly good but indisputably ladylike performances that capture none of the wounded redness of Plath's poetry, and do her the disservice of making her sound bleached and somewhat prissy. It's a pity. What might have been a wonder ends up a mere curiosity.

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