“His reverence has gone to Newton, and won’t return to-night,” replied the butler.
The magistrate looked very hard at him, but Markland bore the scrutiny well.
“I think you could find him if you chose,” remarked Mr. Fowden.
“I must go to Newton, then, to do it, sir. I’ll take you to his room, if you please.”
“Nay, I don’t doubt what you tell me, but ’tis strange he should have gone out. However, I must make a perquisition of the house.”
“Markland will attend you, Mr. Fowden, and show you into the rooms,” said Constance, who had become far less uneasy since her conversation with the good-natured magistrate. “Before you commence your investigations, perhaps you will satisfy yourself that no one is concealed in this room. There is a screen — pray look behind it!”
“I will take your word, Miss Rawcliffe, that no one is here,” replied the magistrate, bowing.
“I won’t bid you good-night, Mr. Fowden,” said Constance, “because I hope when you have completed your search you will take supper with us.”
The magistrate again bowed and quitted the room.
Attended by Markland, bearing a light, Mr. Fowden then began his survey, but it soon became evident to the butler that he did not mean the search to be very strict. Ascending the great oak staircase, he looked into the different rooms in the corridor, as they passed them. On being told that one of these rooms belonged to Miss Rawcliffe, the magistrate declined to enter it, and so in the case of another, which he learnt was occupied by Monica. In the adjoining chamber they found Mrs. Butler kneeling before a crucifix, and Mr. Fowden immediately retired without disturbing her.
CHAPTER IX.
WHO WAS FOUND IN THE DISMANTLED ROOMS.
After opening the doors of several other rooms, and casting a hasty glance inside, the magistrate said:
“I understand there is a portion of the house which for some time has been shut up. Take me to it.”
Markland obeyed rather reluctantly, and when he came to a door at the end of the corridor, communicating, as he said, with the dismantled apartments, it took him some time to unlock it.
“I ought to tell you, sir,” he said, assuming a very mysterious manner, calculated to impress his hearer, “that these rooms are said to be haunted, and none of the servants like to enter them, even in the daytime. I don’t share their superstitious fears, but I certainly have heard strange noises — —”
“There! what was that?” exclaimed Mr. Fowden. “I thought I saw a dark figure glide past, but I could not detect the sound of footsteps.”
“Turn back, if you’re at all afraid, sir,” suggested Markland.
“I’m not afraid of ghosts,” rejoined the magistrate; “and as to human beings I don’t fear them, because I have pistols in my pockets. Go on.”
Markland said nothing more, but opened the first door on the left, and led his companion into a room which was almost destitute of furniture, and had a most melancholy air; but it did not look so dreary as the next room they entered. Here the atmosphere was so damp that the butler was seized with a fit of coughing which lasted for more than a minute, and Mr. Fowden declared there must be echoes in the rooms, for he had certainly heard sounds at a distance.
“No doubt there are echoes, sir,” said the butler.
“But these must be peculiar to the place,” observed the magistrate; “for they sounded uncommonly like footsteps. Give me the light.”
And taking the candle from the butler, and drawing a pistol from his pocket, he marched quickly into the next room. No one was there, but as he hastened on he caught sight of a retreating figure, and called out:
“Stand! or I fire.”
Heedless of the injunction, the person made a rapid exit through the side door, but was prevented from fastening it by the magistrate, who followed him so quickly that he had no time to hide himself, and stood revealed to his pursuer.
“What do I see?” exclaimed Mr. Fowden, in astonishment, “Father Jerome here! Why I was told you were in Newton.”
“His reverence ought to be there,” said Markland, who had now come up.
“I must have an explanation of your strange conduct, sir,” said the magistrate.
“His reverence had better be careful what he says,” observed Markland.
“Answer one question, and answer it truly, as you value your own safety,” pursued Mr. Fowden. “Are you alone in these rooms?”
The priest looked greatly embarrassed. Markland made a gesture to him behind the magistrate’s back.
“Are you alone here, I repeat?” demanded Mr. Fowden.
“I have no one with me now, sir, if that is what you would learn,” replied the priest.
“Then you have had a companion. Where is he? He cannot have left the house. The drawbridge is guarded.”
“He is not in this part of the house,” replied the priest. “I will give you further explanation anon,” he added, in a lower tone. “All I need now say is, that I am here on compulsion.”
Mr. Fowden forbore to interrogate him further, and after examining the room, which was that wherein Atherton had passed the two previous nights as related, and discovering nothing to reward his scrutiny, he expressed his intention of going down-stairs.
“I don’t think I shall make any capture here,” he remarked.
“I am sure you won’t,” replied the priest.
Very much to Markland’s relief, the magistrate then quitted the disused rooms, and taking Father Jerome with him, descended to the hall.
After a little private conversation with the priest, he made a fresh investigation of the lower apartments, but with no better success than heretofore, and he was by no means sorry when Miss Rawcliffe sent a message to him begging his company at supper. The servant who brought the message likewise informed him that the constables in the court-yard had been well supplied with ale.
“I hope they haven’t drunk too much,” said the magistrate. “Don’t let them have any more, and tell them I shall come out presently.”
CHAPTER X.
A SUCCESSFUL STRATAGEM.
Accompanied by the priest, he then proceeded to the dining-room, where he found Constance and Monica. A very nice supper had been prepared, and he did ample justice to the good things set before him. Markland, who had been absent for a short time, appeared with a bottle of old madeira, and a look passed between him and the young ladies, which did not escape the quick eyes of the priest.
The magistrate could not fail to be struck by the splendid wine brought him, and the butler took care to replenish his glass whenever it chanced to be empty.
Altogether the supper passed off more agreeably than could have been expected under such circumstances, for the young ladies had recovered their spirits, and the only person who seemed ill at ease was Father Jerome.
Towards the close of the repast, Mr. Fowden said:
“I fear I shall be obliged to trespass a little further on your hospitality, Miss Rawcliffe. I hope I shall not put you to inconvenience if I take up my quarters here to-night. I care not how you lodge me — put me in a haunted room if you think proper.”
“You are quite welcome to remain here as long as you please, Mr. Fowden,” said Constance— “the rather that I feel certain you will make no discovery. Markland will find you a chamber, where I hope you may rest comfortably.”
“I will order a room to be got ready at once for his honour,” said Markland.
“In the locked-up corridor?” observed the magistrate, with a laugh.
“No, not there, sir,” said the butler.
“With your permission, Miss Rawcliffe, my men must also be quartered in the house,” said Mr. Fowden.
“You hear, Markland,” observed Constance.
“I will give directions accordingly,” replied the butler.
And he quitted the room.
“I shall be blamed for neglect of duty if I do not make a thorough search,” said the magistrate. “But I fancy th
e bird has flown,” he added, with a glance at the priest.
Father Jerome made no reply, but Constance remarked, with apparent indifference:
“No one can have left the house without crossing the drawbridge, and that has been guarded. You will be able to state that you took all necessary precautions to prevent an escape.”
“Yes, I shall be able to state that — and something besides,” replied the magistrate, again glancing at the priest.
Just then, a noise was heard like the trampling of horses. Mr. Fowden uttered an exclamation of surprise, and a smile passed over the countenances of the two young ladies.
“I should have thought the men were crossing the drawbridge if I had not felt quite sure they would not depart without me,” said Mr. Fowden.
“They have crossed the drawbridge — that’s quite certain,” observed the priest.
At this moment Markland entered the room.
“What have you been about?” cried the magistrate, angrily. “Have you dared to send my men away?”
“No, sir,” replied the butler, vainly endeavouring to maintain a grave countenance; “but it seems that a trick has been played upon them.”
“A trick!” exclaimed the magistrate.
“Yes, and it has proved highly successful. Some one has taken your honour’s hat and cloak from the hall, and thus disguised, has ridden off with the men, who didn’t find out their mistake in the darkness.”
The two girls could not control their laughter.
“This may appear a good joke to you, sir,” cried the magistrate, who was highly incensed, addressing the butler; “but you’ll pay dearly for it, I can promise you. You have aided and abetted the escape of a rebel and a traitor, and will be transported, if not hanged.”
“I have aided no escape, sir,” replied the butler. “All I know is, that some one wrapped in a cloak, whom I took to be you, came out of the house, sprang on a horse, and bidding the men follow him, rode off.”
“He has prevented pursuit by taking my horse,” cried Mr. Fowden; “and the worst of it is he is so much better mounted than the men that he can ride away from them at any moment. No chance now of his capture. Well, I shall be laughed at as an egregious dupe, but I must own I have been very cleverly outwitted.”
“You are too kind-hearted, I am sure, Mr. Fowden,” said Constance, “not to be better pleased that things have turned out thus, than if you had carried back a prisoner. And pray don’t trouble yourself about the loss of your horse. You shall have the best in the stable. But you won’t think of returning to Manchester to-night.”
“Well — no,” he replied, after a few moments’ deliberation. “I am very comfortable here, and don’t feel inclined to stir. I shouldn’t be surprised if we had some intelligence before morning.”
“Very likely,” replied Constance; “and I think you have decided wisely to remain. It’s a long ride at this time of night.”
Mr. Fowden, as we have shown, was very good-tempered, and disposed to take things easily.
He was secretly not sorry that Atherton had eluded him, though he would rather the escape had been managed differently.
However it was quite clear it could not have been accomplished by his connivance. That was something.
Consoled by this reflection, he finished his supper as quietly as if nothing had occurred to interrupt it.
Immediately after supper Constance and her cousin retired, and left him to enjoy a bottle of claret with the priest.
They were still discussing it when a great bustle in the court-yard announced that the constables had come back.
“Here they are!” cried the magistrate, springing to his feet. “I must go and see what has happened.”
And he hurried out of the room, followed by Father Jerome.
By the time they reached the court-yard the constables had dismounted, and were talking to Markland and the gate-porter. Two other men-servants were standing by, bearing torches.
No sooner did Mr. Fowden make his appearance than one of the constables came up.
“Here’s a pretty business, sir,” said the man in an apologetic tone. “We’ve been nicely taken in. We thought we had you with us, and never suspected anything wrong till we got out of the park, when the gentleman at our head suddenly dashed off at full speed, and disappeared in the darkness. We were so confounded at first that we didn’t know what to do, but the truth soon flashed upon us, and we galloped after him as hard as we could. Though we could see nothing of him, the clatter of his horse’s hoofs guided us for a time, but by-and-by this ceased, and we fancied he must have quitted the road and taken to the open. We were quite certain he hadn’t forded the Mersey, or we must have heard him.”
“No — no — he wouldn’t do that, Glossop,” remarked the magistrate.
“Well, we rode on till we got to a lane,” pursued the constable, “and two of our party went down it, while the rest kept to the high road. About a mile further we encountered a waggon, and questioned the driver, but no one had passed him; so we turned back, and were soon afterwards joined by our mates, who had been equally unsuccessful. Feeling now quite nonplussed, we deemed it best to return to the hall — and here we are, ready to attend to your honour’s orders.”
“’Twould be useless to attempt further pursuit to-night, Glossop,” rejoined the magistrate. “Captain Legh has got off by a very clever stratagem, and will take good care you don’t come near him. By this time, he’s far enough off, you may depend upon it.”
“Exactly my opinion, sir,” observed Glossop. “We’ve lost him for the present, that’s quite certain.”
“Well, we’ll consider what is best to be done in the morning,” said Mr. Fowden. “Meantime you can take up your quarters here for the night. Stable your horses, and then go to bed.”
“Not without supper, your honour,” pleaded Glossop. “We’re desperately hungry.”
“Why you’re never satisfied,” cried the magistrate. “But perhaps Mr. Markland will find something for you.”
Leaving the constables to shift for themselves, which he knew they were very well able to do, Mr. Fowden then returned to the dining-room, and finished the bottle of claret with the priest. Though his plans had been frustrated, and he had lost both his horse and his expected prisoner, he could not help laughing very heartily at the occurrence of the evening.
Later on, he was conducted to a comfortable bed-chamber by the butler.
CHAPTER XI.
ATHERTON MEETS WITH DR. DEACON AT ROSTHERN.
Having distanced his pursuers as related, Atherton speeded across the country till he reached Bucklow Hill, where a solitary roadside inn was then to be found, and thinking he should be safe there, he resolved to stop at the house for the night.
Accordingly, he roused up the host and soon procured accommodation for himself and his steed.
The chamber in which he was lodged was small, with a low ceiling, encumbered by a large rafter, but it was scrupulously clean and tidy, and the bed-linen was white as snow, and smelt of lavender.
Next morning, he was up betimes, and his first business was to hire a man to take back Mr. Fowden’s horse. The ostler readily undertook the job, and set out for Manchester, charged with a letter of explanation, while Atherton, having breakfasted and paid his score, proceeded on foot along the road to Knutsford.
Before leaving the inn he informed the landlord that he was going to Northwich, and thence to Chester; but, in reality, he had no fixed plan, and meant to be guided by circumstances. If the risk had not been so great, he would gladly have availed himself of Dr. Byrom’s offer, conveyed by Beppy to Constance, of a temporary asylum in the doctor’s house at Manchester — but he did not dare to venture thither.
After revolving several plans, all of which were fraught with difficulties and dangers, he came to the conclusion that it would be best to proceed to London, where he would be safer than elsewhere, and might possibly find an opportunity of embarking for Flanders or Holland. Moreover, he mi
ght be able to render some assistance to his unfortunate friends. But, as we have said, he had no decided plans; and it is quite certain that nothing but the apprehension of further treachery on the part of Father Jerome prevented him from secretly returning to Rawcliffe Hall.
He walked on briskly for about a mile, and then struck into a path on the left, which he thought would lead him through the fields to Tatton Park, but it brought him to a height from which he obtained a charming view of Rosthern Mere — the whole expanse of this lovely lake being spread out before him. On the summit of a high bank, at the southern extremity of the mere, stood the ancient church, embosomed in trees, and near it were the few scattered farm-houses and cottages that constituted the village.
The morning being very bright and clear, the prospect was seen to the greatest advantage, and, after contemplating it for a few minutes, he descended the woody slopes, and on reaching the valley shaped his course along the margin of the lake towards the village, which was not very far distant.
As he proceeded fresh beauties were disclosed, and he more than once stopped to gaze at them. Presently he drew near a delightful spot, where a babbling brook, issuing from the mere, crossed the road, and disappeared amid an adjoining grove. Leaning against the rail of a little wooden bridge, and listening to the murmuring brooklet, stood an elderly personage. His features were stamped with melancholy, and his general appearance seemed much changed, but Atherton at once recognised Dr. Deacon.
Surprised at seeing him there, the young man hastened on, and as he advanced the doctor raised his head and looked at him.
After a moment’s scrutiny, he exclaimed:
“Do my eyes deceive me, or is it Atherton Legh?” And when the other replied in the affirmative, he said: “What are you doing here? Are you aware that a reward has been offered for your apprehension? You are running into danger.”
“I have just had a very narrow escape of arrest,” replied Atherton; “and am in search of a place of concealment. If I could be safe anywhere, I should think it must be in this secluded village.”
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 717