The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth

by William Harrison Ainsworth

  Alizon did not venture to give utterance to the same sentiment, but her looks plainly expressed it.

  “I only wish you had punished that cruel James Device, as well as saved poor Nance,” added Dorothy.

  “Hush!” exclaimed Richard, glancing at Alizon.

  “You need not be afraid of hurting her feelings,” cried the young lady. “She does not mind him now.”

  “What do you mean, Dorothy?” cried Richard, in surprise.

  “Oh, nothing — nothing,” she replied, hastily.

  “Perhaps you will explain,” said Richard to Alizon.

  “Indeed I cannot,” she answered in confusion.

  “You would have laughed to see Potts creep out of the river,” said Nicholas, turning to Dorothy; “he looked just like a drowned rat — ha! — ha!”

  “You have made a bitter enemy of him, Nicholas,” observed Mistress Nutter; “so look well to yourself.”

  “I heed him not,” rejoined the squire; “he knows me now too well to meddle with me again, and I shall take good care how I put myself in his power. One thing I may mention, to show the impotent malice of the knave. Just as he was setting off, he said, ‘This is not the only discovery of witchcraft I have made to-day. I have another case nearer home.’ What could he mean?”

  “I know not,” replied Mistress Nutter, a shade of disquietude passing over her countenance. “But he is quite capable of bringing the charge against you or any of us.”

  “He is so,” said Nicholas. “After what has occurred, I wonder whether he will go over to Rough Lee to-morrow?”

  “Very likely not,” replied Mistress Nutter, “and in that case Master Roger Nowell must provide some other person competent to examine the boundary-line of the properties on his behalf.”

  “Then you are confident of the adjudication being in your favour?” said Nicholas.

  “Quite so,” replied Mistress Nutter, with a self-satisfied smile.

  “The result, I hope, may justify your expectation,” said Nicholas; “but it is right to tell you, that Sir Ralph, in consenting to postpone his decision, has only done so out of consideration to you. If the division of the properties be as represented by him, Master Nowell will unquestionably obtain an award in his favour.”

  “Under such circumstances he may,” said Mistress Nutter; “but you will find the contrary turn out to be the fact. I will show you a plan I have had lately prepared, and you can then judge for yourself.”

  While thus conversing, the party passed through a door in the high stone wall dividing the garden from the court, and proceeded towards the principal entrance of the mansion. Built out of the ruins of the Abbey, which had served as a very convenient quarry for the construction of this edifice, as well as for Portfield, the house was large and irregular, planned chiefly with the view of embodying part of the old abbot’s lodging, and consisting of a wide front, with two wings, one of which looked into the court, and the other, comprehending the long gallery, into the garden. The old north-east gate of the Abbey, with its lofty archway and embattled walls, served as an entrance to the great court-yard, and at its wicket ordinarily stood Ned Huddlestone, the porter, though he was absent on the present occasion, being occupied with the May-day festivities. Immediately opposite the gateway sprang a flight of stone steps, with a double landing-place and a broad balustrade of the same material, on the lowest pillar of which was placed a large escutcheon sculptured with the arms of the family — argent, a mullet sable — with a rebus on the name — an ash on a tun. The great door to which these steps conducted stood wide open, and before it, on the upper landing-place, were collected Lady Assheton, Mistress Braddyll, Mistress Nicholas Assheton, and some other dames, laughing and conversing together. Some long-eared spaniels, favourites of the lady of the house, were chasing each other up and down the steps, disturbing the slumbers of a couple of fine blood-hounds in the court-yard; or persecuting the proud peafowl that strutted about to display their gorgeous plumage to the spectators.

  On seeing the party approach, Lady Assheton came down to meet them.

  “You have been long absent,” she said to Dorothy; “but I suppose you have been exploring the ruins?”

  “Yes, we have not left a hole or corner unvisited,” was the reply.

  “That is right,” said Lady Assheton. “I knew you would make a good guide, Dorothy. Of course you have often seen the old conventual church before, Alizon?”

  “I am ashamed to say I have not, your ladyship,” she replied.

  “Indeed!” exclaimed Lady Assheton; “and yet you have lived all your life in the village?”

  “Quite true, your ladyship,” answered Alizon; “but these ruins have been prohibited to me.”

  “Not by us,” said Lady Assheton; “they are open to every one.”

  “I was forbidden to visit them by my mother,” said Alizon. And for the first time the word “mother” seemed strange to her.

  Lady Assheton looked surprised, but made no remark, and mounting the steps, led the way to a spacious though not very lofty chamber, with huge uncovered rafters, and a floor of polished oak. Over a great fireplace at one side, furnished with immense andirons, hung a noble pair of antlers, and similar trophies of the chase were affixed to other parts of the walls. Here and there were likewise hung rusty skull-caps, breastplates, two-handed and single-handed swords, maces, halberts, and arquebusses, with chain-shirts, buff-jerkins, matchlocks, and other warlike implements, amongst which were several shields painted with the arms of the Asshetons and their alliances. High-backed chairs of gilt leather were ranged against the walls, and ebony cabinets inlaid with ivory were set between them at intervals, supporting rare specimens of glass and earthenware. Opposite the fireplace, stood a large clock, curiously painted and decorated with emblematical devices, with the signs of the zodiac, and provided with movable figures to strike the hours on a bell; while from the centre of the roof hung a great chandelier of stag’s horn.

  Lady Assheton did not tarry long within the entrance hall, for such it was, but conducted her guests through an arched doorway on the right into the long gallery. One hundred and fifty feet in length, and proportionately wide and lofty, this vast chamber had undergone little change since its original construction by the old owners of the Abbey. Panelled and floored with lustrous oak, and hung in some parts with antique tapestry, representing scriptural subjects, one side was pierced with lofty pointed windows, looking out upon the garden, while the southern extremity boasted a magnificent window, with heavy stone mullions, though of more recent workmanship than the framework, commanding Whalley Nab and the river. The furniture of the apartment was grand but gloomy, and consisted of antique chairs and tables belonging to the Abbey. Some curious ecclesiastical sculptures, wood carvings, and saintly images, were placed at intervals near the walls, and on the upper panels were hung a row of family portraits.

  Quitting the rest of the company, and proceeding to the southern window, Dorothy invited Alizon and her brother to place themselves beside her on the cushioned seats of the deep embrasure. Little conversation, however, ensued; Alizon’s heart being too full for utterance, and recent occurrences engrossing Dorothy’s thoughts, to the exclusion of every thing else. Having made one or two unsuccessful efforts to engage them in talk, Richard likewise lapsed into silence, and gazed out on the lovely scenery before him. The evening has been described as beautiful; and the swift Calder, as it hurried by, was tinged with rays of the declining sun, whilst the woody heights of Whalley Nab were steeped in the same rosy light. But the view failed to interest Richard in his present mood, and after a brief survey, he stole a look at Alizon, and was surprised to find her in tears.

  “What saddening thoughts cross you, fair girl?” he inquired, with deep interest.

  “I can hardly account for my sudden despondency,” she replied; “but I have heard that great happiness is the precursor of dejection, and the saying I suppose must be true, for I have been happier to-day than I ever was before i
n my life. But the feeling of sadness is now past,” she added, smiling.

  “I am glad of it,” said Richard. “May I not know what has occurred to you?”

  “Not at present,” interposed Dorothy; “but I am sure you will be pleased when you are made acquainted with the circumstance. I would tell you now if I might.”

  “May I guess?” said Richard.

  “I don’t know,” rejoined Dorothy, who was dying to tell him. “May he?”

  “Oh no, no!” cried Alizon.

  “You are very perverse,” said Richard, with a look of disappointment. “There can be no harm in guessing; and you can please yourself as to giving an answer. I fancy, then, that Alizon has made some discovery.”

  Dorothy nodded.

  “Relative to her parentage?” pursued Richard.

  Another nod.

  “She has found out she is not Elizabeth Device’s daughter?” said Richard.

  “Some witch must have told you this,” exclaimed Dorothy.

  “Have I indeed guessed rightly?” cried Richard, with an eagerness that startled his sister. “Do not keep me in suspense. Speak plainly.”

  “How am I to answer him, Alizon?” said Dorothy.

  “Nay, do not appeal to me, dear young lady,” she answered, blushing.

  “I have gone too far to retreat,” rejoined Dorothy, “and therefore, despite Mistress Nutter’s interdiction, the truth shall out. You have guessed shrewdly, Richard. A discovery has been made — a very great discovery. Alizon is not the daughter of Elizabeth Device.”

  “The intelligence delights me, though it scarcely surprises me,” cried Richard, gazing with heartfelt pleasure at the blushing girl; “for I was sure of the fact from the first. Nothing so good and charming as Alizon could spring from so foul a source. How and by what means you have derived this information, as well as whose daughter you are, I shall wait patiently to learn. Enough for me you are not the sister of James Device — enough you are not the grandchild of Mother Demdike.”

  “You know all I know, in knowing thus much,” replied Alizon, timidly. “And secrecy has been enjoined by Mistress Nutter, in order that the rest may be found out. But oh! should the hopes I have — perhaps too hastily — indulged, prove fallacious—”

  “They cannot be fallacious, Alizon,” interrupted Richard, eagerly. “On that score rest easy. Your connexion with that wretched family is for ever broken. But I can see the necessity of caution, and shall observe it. And so Mistress Nutter takes an interest in you?”

  “The strongest,” replied Dorothy; “but see! she comes this way.”

  But we must now go back for a short space.

  While Mistress Nutter and Nicholas were seated at a table examining a plan of the Rough Lee estates, the latter was greatly astonished to see the door open and give admittance to Master Potts, who he fancied snugly lying between a couple of blankets, at the Dragon. The attorney was clad in a riding-dress, which he had exchanged for his wet habiliments, and was accompanied by Sir Ralph Assheton and Master Roger Nowell. On seeing Nicholas, he instantly stepped up to him.

  “Aha! squire,” he cried, “you did not expect to see me again so soon, eh! A pottle of hot sack put my blood into circulation, and having, luckily, a change of raiment in my valise, I am all right again. Not so easily got rid of, you see!”

  “So it appears,” replied Nicholas, laughing.

  “We have a trifling account to settle together, sir,” said the attorney, putting on a serious look.

  “Whenever you please, sir,” replied Nicholas, good-humouredly, tapping the hilt of his sword.

  “Not in that way,” cried Potts, darting quickly back. “I never fight with those weapons — never. Our dispute must be settled in a court of law, sir — in a court of law. You understand, Master Nicholas?”

  “There is a shrewd maxim, Master Potts, that he who is his own lawyer has a fool for his client,” observed Nicholas, drily. “Would it not be better to stick to the defence of others, rather than practise in your own behalf?”

  “You have expressed my opinion, Master Nicholas,” observed Roger Nowell; “and I hope Master Potts will not commence any action on his own account till he has finished my business.”

  “Assuredly not, sir, since you desire it,” replied the attorney, obsequiously. “But my motives must not be mistaken. I have a clear case of assault and battery against Master Nicholas Assheton, or I may proceed against him criminally for an attempt on my life.”

  “Have you given him no provocation, sir?” demanded Sir Ralph, sternly.

  “No provocation can justify the treatment I have experienced, Sir Ralph,” replied Potts. “However, to show I am a man of peace, and harbour no resentment, however just grounds I may have for such a feeling, I am willing to make up the matter with Master Nicholas, provided—”

  “He offers you a handsome consideration, eh?” said the squire.

  “Provided he offers me a handsome apology — such as a gentleman may accept,” rejoined Potts, consequentially.

  “And which he will not refuse, I am sure,” said Sir Ralph, glancing at his cousin.

  “I should certainly be sorry to have drowned you,” said the squire— “very sorry.”

  “Enough — enough — I am content,” cried Potts, holding out his hand, which Nicholas grasped with an energy that brought tears into the little man’s eyes.

  “I am glad the matter is amicably adjusted,” observed Roger Nowell, “for I suspect both parties have been to blame. And I must now request you, Master Potts, to forego your search, and inquiries after witches, till such time as you have settled this question of the boundary line for me. One matter at a time, my good sir.”

  “But, Master Nowell,” cried Potts, “my much esteemed and singular good client—”

  “I will have no nay,” interrupted Nowell, peremptorily.

  “Hum!” muttered Potts; “I shall lose the best chance of distinction ever thrown in my way.”

  “I care not,” said Nowell.

  “Just as you came up, Master Nowell,” observed Nicholas, “I was examining a plan of the disputed estates in Pendle Forest. It differs from yours, and, if correct, certainly substantiates Mistress Nutter’s claim.”

  “I have mine with me,” replied Nowell, producing a plan, and opening it. “We can compare the two, if you please. The line runs thus: — From the foot of Pendle Hill, beginning with Barley Booth, the boundary is marked by a stone wall, as far as certain fields in the occupation of John Ogden. Is it not so?”

  “It is,” replied Nicholas, comparing the statement with the other plan.

  “It then runs on in a northerly direction,” pursued Nowell, “towards Burst Clough, and here the landmarks are certain stones placed in the moor, one hundred yards apart, and giving me twenty acres of this land, and Mistress Nutter ten.”

  “On the contrary,” replied Nicholas. “This plan gives Mistress Nutter twenty acres, and you ten.”

  “Then the plan is wrong,” cried Nowell, sharply.

  “It has been carefully prepared,” said Mistress Nutter, who had approached the table.

  “No matter; it is wrong, I say,” cried Nowell, angrily.

  “You see where the landmarks are placed, Master Nowell,” said Nicholas, pointing to the measurement. “I merely go by them.”

  “The landmarks are improperly placed in that plan,” cried Nowell.

  “I will examine them myself to-morrow,” said Potts, taking out a large memorandum-hook; “there cannot be an error of ten acres — ten perches — or ten feet, possibly, but acres — pshaw!”

  “Laugh as you please; but go on,” said Mrs. Nutter.

  “Well, then,” pursued Nicholas, “the line approaches the bank of a rivulet, called Moss Brook — a rare place for woodcocks and snipes that Moss Brook, I may remark — the land on the left consisting of five acres of waste land, marked by a sheepfold, and two posts set up in a line with it, belonging to Mistress Nutter.”

  “To Mistres
s Nutter!” exclaimed Nowell, indignantly. “To me, you mean.”

  “It is here set down to Mistress Nutter,” said Nicholas.

  “Then it is set down wrongfully,” cried Nowell. “That plan is altogether incorrect.”

  “On which side of the field does the rivulet flow?” inquired Potts.

  “On the right,” replied Nicholas.

  “On the left,” cried Nowell.

  “There must be some extraordinary mistake,” said Potts. “I shall make a note of that, and examine it to-morrow. — N.B. Waste land — sheepfold — rivulet called Moss Brook, flowing on the left.”

  “On the right,” cried Mistress Nutter.

  “That remains to be seen,” rejoined Potts, “I have made the entry as on the left.”

  “Go on, Master Nicholas,” said Nowell, “I should like to see how many other errors that plan contains.”

  “Passing the rivulet,” pursued the squire, “we come to a footpath leading to the limestone quarry, about which there can be no mistake. Then by Cat Gallows Wood and Swallow Hole; and then by another path to Worston Moor, skirting a hut in the occupation of James Device — ha! ha! Master Jem, are you here? I thought you dwelt with your grandmother at Malkin Tower — excuse me, Master Nowell, but one must relieve the dulness of this plan by an exclamation or so — and here being waste land again, the landmarks are certain stones set at intervals towards Hook Cliff, and giving Mistress Nutter two-thirds of the whole moor, and Master Roger Nowell one-third.”

  “False again,” cried Nowell, furiously. “The two-thirds are mine, the one-third Mistress Nutter’s.”

  “Somebody must be very wrong,” cried Nicholas.

  “Very wrong indeed,” added Potts; “and I suspect that that somebody is—”

  “Master Nowell,” said Mistress Nutter.

  “Mistress Nutter,” cried Master Nowell.

  “Both are wrong and both right, according to your own showing,” said Nicholas, laughing.

  “To-morrow will decide the question,” said Potts.

  “Better wait till then,” interposed Sir Ralph. “Take both plans with you, and you will then ascertain which is correct.”