The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth

by William Harrison Ainsworth

  “Who dares to summon Mother Demdike?”

  “A messenger from Mistress Nutter,” replied Richard. “I am come in her name to demand the restitution of Alizon Device, whom thou hast forcibly and wrongfully taken from her.”

  “Alizon Device is my grand-daughter, and, as such, belongs to me, and not to Mistress Nutter,” rejoined Mother Demdike.

  “Thou knowest thou speakest false, foul hag!” cried Richard. “Alizon is no blood of thine. Open the door and cast down the ladder, or I will find other means of entrance.”

  “Try them, then,” rejoined Mother Demdike. And she closed the casement sharply, and drew the curtains over it.

  After reconnoitring the building for a moment, Richard moved quickly to the left, and counting ten paces, as directed by Mistress Nutter, began to search among the thick grass growing near the base of the tower for the concealed entrance. It was too dark to distinguish any difference in the colour of the masonry, but he was sure he could not be far wrong, and presently his hand came in contact with a knob of iron. He pressed it, but it did not yield to the touch. Again more forcibly, but with like ill success. Could he be mistaken? He tried the next stone, and discovered another knob upon it, but this was as immovable as the first. He went on, and then found that each stone was alike, and that if amongst the number he had chanced upon the one worked by the secret spring, it had refused to act. On examining the structure so far as he was able to do in the gloom, he found he had described the whole circle of the tower, and was about to commence the search anew, when a creaking sound was heard above, and a light streamed suddenly down upon him. The door had been opened by the old witch, and she stood there with a lamp in her hand, its yellow flame illumining her hideous visage, and short, square, powerfully built frame. Her throat was like that of a bull; her hands of extraordinary size; and her arms, which were bare to the shoulder, brawny and muscular.

  “What, still outside?” she cried in a jeering tone, and with a wild discordant laugh. “Methought thou affirmedst thou couldst find a way into my dwelling.”

  “I do not yet despair of finding it,” replied Richard.

  “Fool!” screamed the hag. “I tell thee it is in vain to attempt it without my consent. With a word, I could make these walls one solid mass, without window or outlet from base to summit. With a word, I could shower stones upon thy head, and crush thee to dust. With a word, I could make the earth swallow thee up. With a word, I could whisk thee hence to the top of Pendle Hill. Ha! ha! Dost fear me now?”

  “No,” replied Richard, undauntedly. “And the word thou menacest me with shall never be uttered.”

  “Why not?” asked Mother Demdike, derisively.

  “Because thou wouldst not brave the resentment of one whose power is equal to thine own — if not greater,” replied the young man.

  “Greater it is not — neither equal,” rejoined the old hag, haughtily; “but I do not desire a quarrel with Alice Nutter. Only let her not meddle with me.”

  “Once more, art thou willing to admit me?” demanded Richard.

  “Ay, upon one condition,” replied Mother Demdike. “Thou shalt learn it anon. Stand aside while I let down the ladder.”

  Richard obeyed, and a pair of narrow wooden steps dropped to the ground.

  “Now mount, if thou hast the courage,” cried the hag.

  The young man was instantly beside her, but she stood in the doorway, and barred his further progress with her extended staff. Now that he was face to face with her, he wondered at his own temerity. There was nothing human in her countenance, and infernal light gleamed in her strangely-set eyes. Her personal strength, evidently unimpaired by age, or preserved by magical art, seemed equal to her malice; and she appeared as capable of executing any atrocity, as of conceiving it. She saw the effect produced upon him, and chuckled with malicious satisfaction.

  “Saw’st thou ever face like mine?” she cried. “No, I wot not. But I would rather inspire aversion and terror than love. Love! — foh! I would rather see men shrink from me, and shudder at my approach, than smile upon me and court me. I would rather freeze the blood in their veins, than set it boiling with passion. Ho! ho!”

  “Thou art a fearful being, indeed!” exclaimed Richard, appalled.

  “Fearful, am I?” ejaculated the old witch, with renewed laughter. “At last thou own’st it. Why, ay, I am fearful. It is my wish to be so. I live to plague mankind — to blight and blast them — to scare them with my looks — to work them mischief. Ho! ho! And now, let us look at thee,” she continued, holding the lamp over him. “Why, soh? — a comely youth! And the young maids doat upon thee, I doubt not, and praise thy blooming cheeks, thy bright eyes, thy flowing locks, and thy fine limbs. I hate thy beauty, boy, and would mar it! — would canker thy wholesome flesh, dim thy lustrous eyes, and strike thy vigorous limbs with palsy, till they should shake like mine! I am half-minded to do it,” she added, raising her staff, and glaring at him with inconceivable malignity.

  “Hold!” exclaimed Richard, taking the talisman from his breast, and displaying it to her. “I am armed against thy malice!”

  Mother Demdike’s staff fell from her grasp.

  “I knew thou wert in some way protected,” she cried furiously. “And so it is a piece of gold — with magic characters upon it, eh?” she added, suddenly changing her tone; “Let me look at it.”

  “Thou seest it plain enough,” rejoined Richard. “Now, stand aside and let me pass, for thou perceivest I have power to force an entrance.”

  “I see it — I see it,” replied Mother Demdike, with affected humility. “I see it is in vain to struggle with thee, or rather with the potent lady who sent thee. Tarry where thou art, and i will bring Alizon to thee.”

  “I almost mistrust thee,” said Richard— “but be speedy.”

  “I will be scarce a moment,” said the witch; “but I must warn thee that she is—”

  “What — what hast thou done to her, thou wicked hag?” cried Richard, in alarm.

  “She is distraught,” said Mother Demdike.

  “Distraught!” echoed Richard.

  “But thou canst easily cure her,” said the old hag, significantly.

  “Ay, so I can,” cried Richard with sudden joy— “the talisman! Bring her to me at once.”

  Mother Demdike departed, leaving him in a state of indescribable agitation. The walls of the tower were of immense thickness, and the entrance to the chamber towards which the arched doorway led was covered by a curtain of old arras, behind which the hag had disappeared. Scarcely had she entered the room when a scream was heard, and Richard heard his own name pronounced by a voice which, in spite of its agonised tones, he at once recognised. The cries were repeated, and he then heard Mother Demdike call out, “Come hither! come hither!”

  Instantly rushing forward and dashing aside the tapestry, he found himself in a mysterious-looking circular chamber, with a massive oak table in the midst of it. There were many strange objects in the room, but he saw only Alizon, who was struggling with the old witch, and clinging desperately to the table. He called to her by name as he advanced, but her bewildered looks proved that she did not know him.

  “Alizon — dear Alizon! I am come to free you,” he exclaimed.

  But in place of answering him she uttered a piercing scream.

  “The talisman, the talisman?” cried the hag. “I cannot undo my own work. Place the chain round her neck, and the gold near her heart, that she may experience its full virtue.”

  Richard unsuspectingly complied with the suggestion of the temptress; but the moment he had parted with the piece of gold the figure of Alizon vanished, the chamber was buried in gloom, and, amidst a hubbub of wild laughter, he was dragged by the powerful arm of the witch through the arched doorway, and flung from it to the ground, the shock of the fall producing immediate insensibility.

  * * *

  CHAPTER XII. — THE MYSTERIES OF MALKIN TOWER.

  It was a subterranean chamber; gloomy, an
d of vast extent; the roof low, and supported by nine ponderous stone columns, to which rings and rusty chains were attached, still retaining the mouldering bones of those they had held captive in life. Amongst others was a gigantic skeleton, quite entire, with an iron girdle round the middle. Fragments of mortality were elsewhere scattered about, showing the numbers who had perished in the place. On either side were cells closed by massive doors, secured by bolts and locks. At one end were three immense coffers made of oak, hooped with iron, and fastened by large padlocks. Near them stood a large armoury, likewise of oak, and sculptured with the ensigns of Whalley Abbey, proving it had once belonged to that establishment. Probably it had been carried off by some robber band. At the opposite end of the vault were two niches, each occupied by a rough-hewn statue — the one representing a warlike figure, with a visage of extraordinary ferocity, and the other an anchoress, in her hood and wimple, with a rosary in her hand. On the ground beneath lay a plain flag, covering the mortal remains of the wicked pair, and proclaiming them to be Isole de Heton and Blackburn, the freebooter. The pillars were ranged in three lines, so as to form, with the arches above them, a series of short passages, in the midst of which stood an altar, and near it a large caldron. In front, elevated on a block of granite, was a marvellous piece of sculpture, wrought in jet, and representing a demon seated on a throne. The visage was human, but the beard that of a goat, while the feet and lower limbs were like those of the same animal. Two curled horns grew behind the ears, and a third, shaped like a conch, sprang from the centre of the forehead, from which burst a blue flame, throwing a ghastly light on the objects surrounding it.

  The only discernible approach to the vault was a steep narrow stone staircase, closed at the top by a heavy trapdoor. Other outlet apparently there was none. Some little air was admitted to this foul abode through flues contrived in the walls, the entrances to which were grated, but the light of day never came there. The flame, however, issuing from the brow of the demon image, like the lamps in the sepulchres of the disciples of the Rosy Cross, was ever-burning. Behind the sable statue was a deep well, with water as black as ink, wherein swarmed snakes, and toads, and other noxious reptiles; and as the lurid light fell upon its surface it glittered like a dusky mirror, unless when broken by the horrible things that lurked beneath, or crawled about upon its slimy brim. But snakes and toads were not the only tenants of the vault. At the head of the steps squatted a monstrous and misshapen animal, bearing some resemblance to a cat, but as big as a tiger. Its skin was black and shaggy; its eyes glowed like those of the hyæna; and its cry was like that of the same treacherous beast. Among the gloomy colonnades other swart and bestial shapes could be indistinctly seen moving to and fro.

  In this abode of horror were two human beings — one, a young maiden of exquisite beauty; and the other, almost a child, and strangely deformed. The elder, overpowered by terror, was clinging to a pillar for support, while the younger, who might naturally be expected to exhibit the greatest alarm, appeared wholly unconcerned, and derided her companion’s fears.

  “Oh, Jennet!” exclaimed the elder of the two, “is there no means of escape?”

  “None whatever,” replied the other. “Yo mun stay here till Granny Demdike cums fo ye.”

  “Oh! that the earth would open and snatch me from these horrors,” cried Alizon. “My reason is forsaking me. Would I could kneel and pray for deliverance! But something prevents me.”

  “Reet!” replied Jennet. “It’s os mitch os yer loife’s worth to kneel an pray here, onless yo choose to ge an throw yersel at th’ feet o’ yon black image.”

  “Kneel to that idol — never!” exclaimed Alizon. And while striving to call upon heaven for aid, a sharp convulsion seized her, and deprived her of the power of utterance.

  “Ey towd yo how it wad be,” remarked Jennet, who watched her narrowly. “Yo ‘re neaw i’ a church here, an if yo want to warship, it mun be at yon altar. Dunna yo hear how angry the cats are — how they growl an spit? An see how their een gliss’n! They’ll tare yo i’ pieces, loike so many tigers, if yo offend em.”

  “Tell me why I am brought here, Jennet?” inquired Alizon, after a brief pause.

  “Granny Demdike will tell yo that,” replied the little girl; “boh to my belief,” she added, with a mocking laugh, “hoo means to may a witch o’ ye, loike aw the rest on us.”

  “She cannot do that without my consent,” cried Alizon, “and I would die a thousand deaths rather than yield it.”

  “That remains to be seen,” replied Jennet, tauntingly. “Yo ‘re obstinate enuff, nah doubt. Boh Granny Demdike is used to deal wi’ sich folk.”

  “Oh! why was I born?” cried Alizon, bitterly.

  “Yo may weel ask that,” responded Jennet, with a loud unfeeling laugh; “fo ey see neaw great use yo’re on, wi’ yer protty feace an bright een, onless it be to may one hate ye.”

  “Is it possible you can say this to me, Jennet?” cried Alizon. “What have I done to incur your hatred? I have ever loved you, and striven to please and serve you. I have always taken your part against others, even when you were in the wrong. Oh! Jennet, you cannot hate me.”

  “Boh ey do,” replied the little girl, spitefully. “Ey hate yo now warser than onny wan else. Ey hate yo because yo are neaw lunger my sister — becose yo ‘re a grand ledy’s dowter, an a grand ledy yersel. Ey hate yo becose yung Ruchot Assheton loves yo — an becose yo ha better luck i’ aw things than ey have, or con expect to have. That’s why I hate yo, Alizon. When yo are a witch ey shan love yo, for then we shan be equals once more.”

  “That will never be, Jennet,” said Alizon, sadly, but firmly. “Your grandmother may immure me in this dungeon, and scare away my senses; but she will never rob me of my hopes of salvation.”

  As the words were uttered, a clang like that produced by a stricken gong shook the vault; the beasts roared fiercely; the black waters of the fountain bubbled up, and were lashed into foam by the angry reptiles; and a larger jet of flame than before burst from the brow of the demon statue.

  “Ey ha’ warned ye, Alizon,” said Jennet, alarmed by these demonstrations; “boh since ye pay no heed to owt ey say, ey’st leave yo to yer fate.”

  “Oh! stay with me, stay with me, Jennet!” shrieked Alizon, “By our past sisterly affection I implore you to remain! You are some protection to me from these dreadful beings.”

  “Ey dunna want to protect yo onless yo do os yo’re bidd’n,” replied Jennet! “Whoy should yo be better than me?”

  “Ah! why, indeed?” cried Alizon. “Would I had the power to turn your heart — to open your eyes to evil — to save you, Jennet.”

  These words were followed by another clang, louder and more brattling than the first. The solid walls of the dungeon were shaken, and the heavy columns rocked; while, to Alizon’s affrighted gaze, it seemed as if the sable statue arose upon its ebon throne, and stretched out its arm menacingly towards her. The poor girl was saved from further terror by insensibility.

  How long she remained in this condition she could not tell, nor did it appear that any efforts were made to restore her; but when she recovered, she found herself stretched upon a rude pallet within an arched recess, the entrance to which was screened by a piece of tapestry. On lifting it aside she perceived she was no longer in the vault, but in an upper chamber, as she judged, and not incorrectly, of the tower. The room was lofty and circular, and the walls of enormous thickness, as shown by the deep embrasures of the windows; in one of which, the outlet having been built up, the pallet was placed. A massive oak table, two or three chairs of antique shape, and a wooden stool, constituted the furniture of the room. The stool was set near the fireplace, and beside it stood a strangely-fashioned spinning-wheel, which had apparently been recently used; but neither the old hag nor her grand-daughter were visible. Alizon could not tell whether it was night or day; but a lamp was burning upon the table, its feeble light only imperfectly illumining the chamber, and scarcely revealing several s
trange objects dangling from the huge beams that supported the roof. Faded arras were hung against the walls, representing in one compartment the last banquet of Isole de Heton and her lover, Blackburn; in another, the Saxon Ughtred hanging from the summit of Malkin Tower; and in a third, the execution of Abbot Paslew. The subjects were as large as life, admirably depicted, and evidently worked at wondrous looms. As they swayed to and fro in the gusts, that found entrance into the chamber through some unprotected loopholes, the figures had a grim and ghostly air.

  Weak, trembling, bewildered, Alizon stepped forth, and staggering towards the table sank upon a chair beside it. A fearful storm was raging without — thunder, lightning, deluging rain. Stunned and blinded, she covered her eyes, and remained thus till the fury of the tempest had in some degree abated. She was roused at length by a creaking sound not far from her, and found it proceeded from a trapdoor rising slowly on its hinges.

  A thrum cap first appeared above the level of the floor; then a broad, bloated face, the mouth and chin fringed with a white beard like the whiskers of a cat; then a thick, bull throat; then a pair of brawny shoulders; then a square, thick-set frame; and Mother Demdike stood before her. A malignant smile played upon her hideous countenance, and gleamed from her eyes — those eyes so strangely placed by nature, as if to intimate her doom, and that of her fated race, to whom the horrible blemish was transmitted. As the old witch leaped heavily upon the ground, the trapdoor closed behind her.