distant from the former and seven from the latter, lies the village
of Calverley, the seat of a knightly family of that name for some
600 years. They occupied a stately mansion, which was converted into
workmen's tenements early in the present century, and the chapel
transformed into a wheelwright's shop.
Near by is a lane, a weird and lonesome road a couple of centuries ago,
overshadowed as it was by trees, which cast a ghostly gloom over it
after the setting of the sun. It was not much frequented excepting in
broad daylight, and even then only by the bolder and more stout-hearted
of the village rustics, whilst the majority would as soon have dared
to sleep in the charnel-house under the church as have passed down it
by night, or even in the gloaming. Instances were known of strangers
having unwittingly gone through it, all of whom, however, came forth
with trembling limbs and scared faces, their hair erect on their
heads, and the perspiration streaming down from their foreheads.
When questioned as to what they had seen, the reply was always the
same, a cloudlike apparition, thin, transparent, and unsubstantial,
bearing the semblance of a human figure, with no seeming clothing, but
simply a misty, impalpable shape; the features frenzied with rage and
madness, and in the right hand the appearance of a bloody dagger. The
apparition, they averred, seemed to consolidate into form out of a
mist which environed them soon after entering the lane, and continued
to accompany them, but without sound, sign, or motion, save that of
gliding along, accommodating itself to the pace of the terrified
passenger, which was usually that of a full run, until the other end of
the lane was reached, when it melted again into a mere shapeless mass
of vapour.
The apparition was that of the disquieted soul of a certain Walter
Calverley, which was denied the calm repose of death, and condemned
to flit about this lane, as a penance for a great and unnatural crime
of which he had been guilty. Various attempts were made to exorcise
the restless spirit, but all were ineffectual until some very potent
spiritual agencies were employed, which were successful in "laying
the ghost," but only for a time, as they operate only so long as a
certain holly tree, planted by the hand of the delinquent, continues to
flourish, when that decays the ghost may again be looked for.
The Calverleys (originally Scott) were a family of distinction in
Yorkshire from the time of Henry I. to the period of the great Civil
War, intermarrying with some of the best families, and producing a
succession of notable men.
John Scott was steward to Maud, daughter of Malcolm Canmore, King of
Scotland, and niece of Edgar the Atheling, the last scion of the Saxon
race of English Kings; he accompanied her to England on the occasion
of her alliance with King Henry I., and married Larderina, daughter of
Alphonsus Gospatrick, Lord of Calverley and other Yorkshire manors,
who was descended from Gospatrick, Earl of Northumbria, who so stoutly
supported the claims of Edgar the Atheling to the crown of England in
opposition to that of the usurping conqueror, William the Norman. By
this marriage, John Scott became _j.u._ Lord of Calverley.
William, his grandson, gave the vicarage of Calverley to the chantry of
the Blessed Virgin, York Cathedral, _temp._ Henry III.
John, his descendant, in the fourteenth century, assumed the name of de
Calverley in lieu of Scott.
Sir John, Knight, his son, had issue three sons and a daughter, Isabel,
who became Prioress of Esholt.
John, his son, was one of the squires to Anne, Queen of Richard II. He
fought in the French wars, was captured there, and beheaded for some
"horrible crime, the particulars of which are not known," and dying
_cæl_, was succeeded by his brother, Walter, whose second son, Sir
Walter, was instrumental in the rebuilding of the church of Calverley,
and caused his arms--six owls--to be carved on the woodwork.
Sir John, Knight, his son, was created a Knight-Banneret, and slain at
Shrewsbury, 1403, fighting under the banner of Henry IV. against the
Percies. Dying _s.p._, his brother Walter succeeded, whose second son,
Thomas, was ancestor, by his wife, Agnes Scargill, of the Calverleys
of Morley and of county Cumberland.
Sir William, his grandson, was created a Knight-Banneret for valour in
the Scottish wars, by the Earl of Surrey; his grandson, Sir William
Knight, was Sheriff of Yorkshire, and died 1571; Thomas, his second
son, was ancestor of the Calverleys of county Durham. Sir Walter, his
son, had issue three sons, of whom Edmund, the third, was ancestor of
the Calverleys of counties Sussex and Surrey.
William, the eldest son of Sir Walter, whose portrait was exhibited
at York in 1868, married Catherine, daughter of Sir John Thornholm,
Knight, of Haysthorpe, near Bridlington. This lady was a devoted
Catholic, and suffered much persecution for adhering to her faith and
giving refuge to proscribed priests, the estates being sequestered and
some manors sold to pay the fine for recusancy. They had issue Walter,
the subject of this tradition.
Walter Calverley was born in the reign of Elizabeth, and in his youth
witnessed the relentless persecutions which his family, being adherents
of the old faith, had to endure from the ascendant Protestantism, which
held the reins of government. Those of the reformed religion were wont
to style Mary the "Bloody Queen," for the number of executions and
barbarities which, in the name of religion, stained the annals of her
reign; but it was a notable instance of the pot-and-kettle style of
vituperation, as the burning and hanging and quartering and pressing
to death of Jesuits and seminary priests, and of lay men and women who
afforded them refuge, went on as merrily during the reigns of her two
following successors, as did the roasting of heretics at Smithfield and
elsewhere under Bonner and Gardiner. He was witness, when a boy, of the
barbarous treatment to which his mother was subjected for worshipping
God according to the dictates of her conscience and for daring to
shelter priests of her persuasion.
Walter was a lad of strong passions and vehement spirit, and the sight
of the sufferings endured by the friends and co-religionists of his
family drove him almost to madness. He would stamp his foot, clench
his fist, and vow vengeance upon the perpetrators, and it is highly
probable that he consorted and plotted with Guy Fawkes and others
of the gunpowder conspirators at Scotton, near Knaresborough, and
might have had a hand in the great plot itself, which culminated and
collapsed in the same year that he committed the crime which cost him
his life.
He married Philippa, daughter of the Hon. Henry Brooke, fifth son of
George, fourth Baron Cobham, and sister of John, first Baron of the
second creation, and by her had issue three sons, the third of whom,
Henry, succeeded to the estates, whose son, Sir Walter, was a great
sufferer in person and estate for his loyalty during the Civil War,
and who was father of Sir Walter, who was created a baronet by Queen
Anne in 1711, the title becoming extinct in 1777, on the death, without
surviving issue, of his son, Sir Walter Calverley-Blackett.
For a few years the newly-married couple lived in tolerable harmony
and happiness, such as falls to the lot of most married people. They
looked forward to giving an heir to the family estates who should
perpetuate the name in lineal descent; but the months and years passed
by, and they began to experience the truth that "hope deferred maketh
the heart sick," as no heir made his appearance, which was an especial
disappointment to the Lord of the Calverley domain, and gave rise to
the idea that he had married one who was barren, and incapable of
giving him an heir. Brooding over this impediment to his hopes, he
grew moody and discontented; treated his wife not only with neglect,
but upbraided her with opprobrious epithets, treated her with cold and
cruel disfavour, and in his occasional violent outbursts of passion
would wish her dead, that he might marry again to a more fruitful wife.
Moreover he gave way to over-indulgence in deep potations of ale, sack,
and "distilled waters," which added fire and force to his naturally
fierce temperament, and rendered him almost maniacal in his acts. He
was profuse in his hospitality to his neighbours, frequently giving
dinner parties to his roystering friends, with whom he would sit until
late in the night, or rather until early in the morning carousing over
their cups.
Amongst the friends who thus visited him was a certain country squire
of the name of Leventhorpe, a young fellow of handsome figure and
insinuating address, who would drink his bottle with the veriest
toper, and yet would conduct himself in the company of ladies with the
utmost decorum and most fascinating demeanour, would converse with
them on flowers and birds and tapestry work, and quote with admirable
accentuation and feeling passages from the writings of the popular
poets, or recite with pathos and humour the novelettes of the Italian
romancists, which then were the delight of every lady's boudoir. He
was introduced by Calverley to his wife, and she being naturally of a
lively, vivacious disposition, and, like ladies of the present age,
a passionate admirer of works of fiction and imagination, she took
great pleasure in his society, as, indeed, he did in hers, and he was
consequently a constant visitor at Calverley Hall, whether invited or
not, and whether the lady's husband was at home or not; but always
was he gladly welcome, and in pure innocence and without any idea
of impropriety, by the lady. On his side, too, he went to the house
as a man might do to that of a sister, without any sentiment save
that of friendship, or, at the utmost, a feeling of platonic love.
Not so, however, the lady's husband. He began to feel annoyed and
disquieted at witnessing their growing intimacy, but hitherto saw no
reason to doubt the fidelity of his wife. Some twelve months after
the introduction of Leventhorpe to the Hall, symptoms became evident
of the probable birth of a child, and Calverley at first hailed the
prospect with satisfaction, praying and hoping that it might prove to
be the long-wished-for son and heir. In due course the child was born,
and of the desired sex, and great were the rejoicings and splendid the
banqueting at the christening. The next year a second son made his
appearance, and then dark thoughts and suspicions began to flit across
Calverley's mind. He considered it strange that no child should have
been born during the early years of his marriage, but that immediately
after Leventhorpe's introduction to the house his wife began to prove
fruitful, and had borne two children, with the prospect of a third.
He brooded over these dark thoughts by night and day until they
ripened into positive jealousy and the belief that the children were
Leventhorpe's, and not his own.
Influenced by these sentiments, he drank still more deeply, and
was frequently subjected to _delirium tremens_ and maniacal fits
of passion, which rendered him the terror of all by whom he was
surrounded. He could not openly accuse Leventhorpe of a breach of the
seventh commandment, of which he believed him guilty, as he had no
basis of fact upon which to ground the charge; but he found means
to quarrel with him on some frivolous point, and made use of such
expressions of vituperation as he thought would impel him to demand
satisfaction at the sword's point; but Leventhorpe was a quiet,
peaceable man, who swallowed the affront, attributing it to the
deranged state of his friend's mind, induced by too free application to
the bottle; and he simply abstained from visiting the house.
"He is a coward as well as a knave," said Calverley to himself. "No
gentleman would listen to such language as I have used and submit to it
patiently like a beaten cur, without resenting it with his sword, and
this circumstance proves his guilt, and the certainty of my suspicions;
but I will be amply revenged on both him and his paramour and their
progeny;" and he drank and drank day after day, and more and more
deeply, until he at length brought himself to a state fitting him for a
madhouse and personal restraint. Many a time he sought for Leventhorpe,
with the hope of provoking him to fight, but was not able to accomplish
his purpose, as circumstances had called Leventhorpe to London, where
he remained some months.
In the meantime the third child was born, and as the mother's health
was delicate, it was sent out to nurse at a farm-house some two or
three miles distant, and it was then that Calverley charged his wife,
to her face, with adultery, adding that he felt positively assured
that the children were Leventhorpe's. She indignantly repelled the
charge, assuring him, with an appeal to the Virgin Mary as to the
truth of what she was saying, that the children were his and nobody
else's; but he would not listen to her denials--called her tears,
which were flowing profusely, the hypocritical tears of a strumpet,
and cursed and swore at her, threatening a dire vengeance on her and
her seducer, and finally left her in a fit of hysterics in the hands
of her women, who had rushed in on hearing her screams. He then went
downstairs to his dining room and sat down to dinner, but could not
eat much, each mouthful as he swallowed it seeming as if it would
choke him. "Take these things away," he exclaimed in a furious tone
to his servants, "and bring me sack, and plenty of it." The terrified
menials saw that he was in one of his maniacal moods, and knew that
it would be aggravated by drinking, but dared not disobey him. The
sack was placed on the table, and he dismissed the attendants with a
curse. Flagon after flagon he poured out and drank in rapid succession,
which soon produced its natural effect. "Ah, demon!" said he, "have
you come again to torment me? Why sit you there, opposite me, grinning
and gesticulating? You are an ugly devil, sure enough, with your fiery
eyes, your pointed horns, and your barbed tail. You tell me that it
were but just to murder my wife, Leventhorpe, and their brats, and I
don't know but what the advice is good. Aye, twirl your tail as a dog
does when he is pleased; you think you have got another recruit for
your nether kingdom, and you are right. I live here a hell upon earth,
and I do not see that I shall be much the worse off with you below;
besides I shall have the satisfaction of vengeance, and that will repay
me amply for any after-death punishment. Aye, grin on, but leave me now
to finish this bottle in quietness, for I cannot drink with comfort
whilst you are grimacing and jibing at me there." He spoke this in a
loud tone of voice, to which the scared servants were listening at the
door, after which he continued to drain goblet after goblet, giving
forth utterances more and more incoherent, until at length he fell
from his chair with a heavy thump on the floor. Hearing this, the
servants entered, and found him, as they had often found him before, in
a state of senseless intoxication, and carried him up to bed.
Having slept off his debauch, he awoke late the following morning with
a raging thirst, which he endeavoured to assuage by deep draughts of
ale. Breakfast he could eat none, but continued drinking until his
familiar demon again made his appearance, and seemed to incite him
to the fulfilment of his vow of revenge. Leventhorpe was out of his
reach, but the other destined victims were at hand, and what more
fitting time than the present for the execution of his purpose? He
selected a dagger from his store of weapons, and carefully sharpened
it to a fine point; then gave directions to have his horse saddled
and brought to the door of the hall to await his pleasure. As he had
three or four men-servants, who might hinder him in his intent, he sent
them on several errands about the estate, and when they had departed,
leaving only the female domestics in the house, he went, dagger in
hand, into the hall, where he found his eldest son playing. Seizing
him by the hair of his head, he stabbed him in three or four places,
and, taking him in his arms, carried him bleeding to his mother's
apartment. "There," said he, throwing the body down, "is one of the
fruits of your illicit intercourse, and the others must share the same
fate." So saying, he laid hold of his second son, who was in the room,
and stabbed him to the heart. The mother, shrieking with terror and
agony, rushed forward to save the child, but was too late, and herself
received three or four blows from the dagger, and fell senseless to the
floor, but more from horror and fright than from her wounds, which were
but slight, thanks to a steel stomacher which she wore. Imagining that
he had killed her as well as the children, he mounted his horse and
rode towards the village, where his youngest child was at nurse, with
the intention of killing it also, but on the road he was thrown from
his horse, and before he could re-mount was secured by his servants,
who had gone in pursuit of him.
He was taken before the nearest magistrate--Sir John Bland, of
Kippax--and in the course of his examination stated that he had
meditated the deed for four years, and that he was fully convinced that
the children were not his. He was committed to York Castle and brought
to trial, but refusing to plead, was subjected to _peine forte et
dure_. He was taken to the press-yard, stripped to his shirt, and laid
on a board with a stone under his back; his arms were stretched out and
secured by cords; another board was placed over his body, upon which
were laid heavy weights one by one, he being asked in the intervals if
he still refused. He bore the agony with firmness and endurance, even
when the great pressure broke his ribs and caused them to protrude from
the sides. As weight after weight was added, nothing could be extorted
from him save groans caused by the intensity of the pain, which at
length ceased and the weights were removed, revealing a mere mass of
crushed bloody flesh and mangled bones.
The two children died, and the third lived to succeed to the estates.
The mother also recovered, and married for her second husband Sir
Thomas Burton, Knight.
"Two Most Unnatural and Bloodie Murthers, by Master Calverley, a
Yorkshire gentleman, upon his wife and two children, 1605." Edited by
J. Payne Collier, 1863.
"A Yorkshire Tragedy, not so new as lamentable, by Mr. Shakespeare;
acted at the Globe, 1608. London 1619. With a portrait of the brat at
nurse." Attributed to Shakespeare (without proof) by Stevens and others.
"The Fatal Extravagance. By Joseph Mitchell, 1720." A play based on the
same subject, and performed at the Lincoln's Inn Theatre.
The incident is also introduced by Harrison Ainsworth in his romance of
"Rookwood."
The Bewitched House of Wakefield.
In the earlier half of the seventeenth century, and during the
Commonwealth, there dwelt in a mud-walled and thatched cottage, in
the environs of Wakefield, a "wise woman," as she was styled, named
Jennet Benton, with her son, George Benton. He had been a soldier in
the Parliamentarian army, but, since its disbandment, had loafed about
Wakefield without any ostensible occupation, living, as it appeared,
on his mother's earnings in her profession. As a "wise woman," she
was resorted to by great numbers of people--by persons who had lost
property, to gain a clue to the discovery of the pilferers--by men
to learn the most propitious times for harvesting, sheepshearing,
etc.--by matrons to obtain charms for winning back their dissipated
or unfaithful husbands to domestic life, as it existed the first few
months after marriage--and by young men and maidens for consultation
with her on matters of love; and, as no advice was given without its
equivalent in the coin of the realm, she made a very fair living, and
was enabled to maintain her son in idleness, who was wont to spend a
great part of his time in pot houses, with other quondam troopers,
their chief topics of discourse being disputed points of controversy
between the Independents and Presbyterians, and revilings of the
Popish whore of Babylon and her progeny, the Church of England.
Although not imbued with much of the spirit of piety, Benton, in his
campaigning career, had imbibed much of the fanaticism, superstition,
and phraseology of the lower class of the Puritans, such of them as
assumed the hypocritical garb of Puritanism to curry favour with their
superiors, who were, as a rule, men of sincere piety, and, in so doing,
somewhat overdid the part by altogether out-Puritaning them in the
extravagance of their outbursts of zeal, and in the almost blasphemous
use of Scriptural expressions. Such was Benton amongst his companions,
and he passed for a fairly godly man. With his mother, however, he cast
off all this assumption of religion and the use of Bible phrases, for
she was a woman who despised all religions alike, and sneered equally
at the "snivelling cant" of the Puritans, the proud arrogance of the
Bishops of the Church, and the "absurd drivellings" of the Separatists;
but these ideas she was sufficiently wise to keep to herself, or
confide them to her son alone. She even went occasionally to church and
conventicle, that she might stand well with her customers, who were of
all sects. She had, besides, a voluble tongue, and was not deficient
in intelligence, so that she was able to converse with all, each one
according to his doctrinal bias, so as to leave an impression that she
was not opposed but rather inclined to the particular theological dogma
then under discussion.
There was, however, a vague idea prevalent in Wakefield that Mother
Benton was a witch, had intercourse with the Devil, and was a dangerous
person to deal with otherwise than on friendly terms. She was old,
wrinkled, and ungainly in features; unmistakable characteristics of the
sisterhood. She was possessed of wisdom in occult matters seemingly
superhuman, which could only be derived from a compact with Satan.
She had a huge black cat, presumably an imp, her familiar, who would
bristle up his hair and spit viciously at the old woman's visitors
until restrained by her command. On one occasion, however, a handsome
young man came from her cottage followed by the cat, which was observed
to purr and rub himself affectionately against his legs, who, it was
assumed, could be none other than the Father of Evil himself, who had
assumed that guise to pay a friendly visit to his servant and disciple.
She was also sometimes away from her cottage for a night, and the
inquiry arose--for what purpose, excepting to attend a Sabbath of the
witches. It is true she had never been seen passing through the air
astride of her broom, but it was noticed that whenever she was absent
on such occasions her broom, which usually stood outside her cottage
door, disappeared also, and was found in its place again on her return.