DAME DURDEN'S ORDEAL.
Fear fell on me and I fled.
* * * * *
I took the least frequented road,
But even there arose a hum;
Lights showed in every vile abode,
And far away I heard the drum.
Roused with the city, late so still;
Burghers, half-clad, ran hurrying by,
Old crones came forth, and scolded shrill,
Then shouted challenge and reply.
AYTOUN.
Next morning the Hall was early astir. The news of the murder had
spread far and wide, and had caused a feeling of consternation in the
neighbourhood, which was intensified by the mystery in which it was
enshrouded.
De la Zouch had grown worse during the night, and soon after the break
of day had departed, with Eustace, for Ashby Castle, declaring that
in spite of the good intentions of Sir Benedict his case was not
understood, and that it had been aggravated rather than improved by
the attentions he had received from his friend.
Sir George, as magistrate of the district, had caused the body to be
dressed, and for a long time he sat in his dressing-room pondering
what steps he had better take next. There was absolutely no clue, yet
the baron was determined not only to discover the culprit, but to make
such an example of him as should effectually deter a repetition of
such a crime in the neighbourhood of Haddon, at least for some time to
come.
At length he issued from his room, and, passing along the corridor, he
ascended a short flight of stairs, and stopped at the door of the
room in which Dorothy was busily engaged in making some new tapestry
hangings. He paused, uncertain whether to turn back or to enter.
"Yes, I will," he muttered; "she has the clearest head of them all,"
and suiting the action to the word he gently turned the handle and
went in.
Dorothy had dropped her work, and so intently was she gazing through
the open lattice window that she did not notice the arrival of her
father.
The knight stood still for a moment or two, and involuntarily admired
the graceful figure of his daughter, and stepping gently forward, he
tapped her lightly upon the shoulder.
Dorothy turned hastily round, and as she did so he caught her deftly
in his arms and printed a loud, smacking kiss upon the fair girl's
cheek.
"There," said he, "I'll warrant me thou wert longing for it; come now,
confess."
Dorothy disdained any such idea.
"Nay," she replied, "I was but thinking of the poor pedlar. I had
bought these from him only the day before," and she pointed to a
little heap of silks which lay upon the table.
"I had come to talk it over with thee, Doll," replied the baron as he
sat himself comfortably down upon a chair. "I think it was a robbery,
eh?"
"Yes," slowly replied the maiden, "I should think so, too. Meg and I
paid him six nobles."
"And only two were found."
"Only two?" asked Dorothy.
"That is all," replied the knight. "The knaves must have made off with
the rest. That ill-favoured locksmith would be as likely a rascal as
any; I must examine him."
"Nay, that cannot be, he was all day in the stocks."
Sir George scratched his head in despair. He had privately determined
that the locksmith was the guilty one, but now that his idea was
entirely disproved he felt sorely at a loss how to proceed.
Dorothy watched him in silence; she was as helpless as the baron.
"Was the packman staying in the village?" asked Sir George, lifting up
his head after a long pause, during which he had kept his glance upon
his foot, as if seeking inspiration there.
"He stayed at Dame Durden's, I believe."
"What, the witch?"
"Yes."
"I have it, then," he exclaimed as he struck his hand heavily upon the
table. "I have it!" and without saying another word he hastened out of
the room.
Although the knight had thus decisively declared that he "had it," yet
whatever it was that he had got, he did not feel equal to proceeding
in the matter alone, and before he had proceeded many steps he turned
back again.
"Come, Doll," he said, as he opened the door again, "we will go
together," and the two went off in company to consult the rest of the
family.
The Lady Maude was seated in a low, easy chair, And with an air of
languor upon every feature of her countenance was listening to Sir
John de Lacey, who was reading to her out of Roger Ascham's treatise
on Archery. As the knight stepped into the room the remembrance of the
previous day's mishap was strongly brought back to his memory.
"What ho! sir knight," he exclaimed; "better, eh!"
"A little stiff about the joints, mine host," he replied, "for which I
have thee to thank."
"Tush, man, don't mention it," laughingly returned the baron. "There's
no question of thanks betwixt me and thee."
"They gave me some hot sack, and then rolled me in the river," whined
De Lacey, "and the pity of it is I cannot remember which of them it
was, or else I'd--I'd--"
Sir John de Lacey paused to consider what course of action he would
have taken, but ere he had resolved, the door opened, and Sir Thomas
Stanley entered, bringing in with him the Lady Margaret.
"Well, well," returned Sir George, "since it baffles thy wits to
discover whom it was, thou hadst best have the grace of forgiveness,
it will become thee well. But a truce to this. I came to counsel with
you of the murder. Any more news, Sir Thomas?"
"I hear that the old hag, Durden, had a quarrel with the pedlar the
day before his death," answered Stanley, "and she told him to his face
that he would come to no gentle end."
"They have often quarrelled," added Margaret, who felt bound to add
something to her lover's statement.
"Yes, then," said Sir George, "I have it now. I guessed it was her
from the very beginning."
"Nay, nay," interrupted Dorothy, "you suspected the smith at first."
"Well, Doll, it makes no matter of difference if I did. 'Tis the
old witch, sure enough, and she will either hang or drown for it, I
swear."
"Not so fast, either though, worthy knight," interrupted Stanley. "I
am not yet satisfied that it really was the witch, for she seems to
have been at home all day, except when she was by the side of the
stocks."
"Courting the proud smith," added Lady Vernon, referring to a rumour
in the neighbourhood.
"But he was killed in the woods," said Dorothy.
"Tut, there's not a doubt about the matter," pursued Sir George, "not
the shadow of a doubt."
"Nevertheless there is something in what Dorothy urges, and we
had better make some sort of inquiry," suggested the more cautious
Stanley; "for thou hast many jealous enemies, Sir George, who would
gladly score a triumph over thee an they had but half a chance."
"Sir Ronald Bury, for instance," added Margaret.
"But why Sir Ronald?" asked De Lacey. "He is a simple enough knight, I
trow."
"Pooh, I care naught for him," replied Sir George Vernon; "he is
jealous of the beauty of my daughters."
"And wants a husband for his child," added Lady Maude.
"Let him want, then," testily returned the baron. "He may turn green
with envy for aught I care. I'll do it to his face, I will."
But in the end wiser counsels prevailed, and the knight gave way so
far as to order a trial of touch--a superstitious form of trial much
relied upon in the times when witchcraft was commonly believed in.
The witching hour of twilight was chosen for this crude but solemn
trial, and at the time appointed a large crowd was gathered in the
great courtyard of Haddon in obedience to a mandate of the King of the
Peak, which they dared not disobey.
As the crowd swayed to and fro it was in marked contrast to the usual
way in which they were wont to assemble within the great walls of
Haddon. No loud laugh or sound of boisterous merriment broke the
stillness of this solemn eventide; no tricks were attempted now upon
unconscious friends, and even the almost invariable little groups of
admirers listening to the marvellously strange tales of those who
had crossed the seas were not to be found. All was silent save the
screeching of the owls every now and again, and the subdued hum
of conversation which rose up from the awestruck assembly as they
patiently awaited the test which was to bring home the guilt of the
murderer.
They had a long time to wait, and the moon had long been out before
the proceedings were properly commenced.
A loud blast from the trumpets of the sentries gave the first
intimation of the approach of the head of the house of Vernon. The
great gates swung open and Sir George slowly advanced through the
throng, which respectfully fell back on either side and made an open
passage for him. A few yards behind followed a bare-headed priest,
chanting prayers for the departed, and heading a diminutive
procession, in the midst of which the body of the unfortunate pedlar
was carried on a bier. They stopped at the foot of the steps which
stretch across the courtyard; the doleful chant ceased, and an
impressive hush fell upon the assembly, as with bated breath they
awaited the next scene in the awful drama.
Sir George did not hurry himself, for it was necessary to the success
of the ordeal that the culprit, whoever that was, should be duly
impressed with a sense befitting the character of the moment, and a
little suspense, he shrewdly guessed, would tend to make the guilty
one tremble and offer signs which would make detection the easier.
At last he spoke.
"Mary Durden, Joel Cobbe, Henry Bridge, and Nathan Grene, step out,"
he said, "take the oath; touch the body in our presence, and prove
your innocence if you are able."
Every whisper was smothered into silence as they watched to see the
individuals named perform the test. No one stirred, however, and the
order had to be repeated.
"Mary Burden, Joel Cobbe, Henry Bridge, and Nathan Grene," thundered
the baron, "I command you to answer to your names, or by your silence
shall you be condemned."
Joel Cobbe and Henry Bridge, two of the most disreputable men in the
whole district, went forward in company, and succeeded in touching the
body without a rupture of blood taking place or the body moving its
position one iota.
"Mary Durden, spinster, Nathan Grene, locksmith," repeated Sir George,
"answer to this third, last challenge, or thy last hope of escape is
gone."
Nathan Grene, fuming with ill-concealed rage, stepped out, and a loud
shriek announced the presence of Mary Durden, who was unwillingly
pushed into view by those around her. As soon as she had gained the
little open space that was yet left she fell upon the ground and
swooned away.
"See," said one, "the witch is guilty, she dare not touch the body."
"Drown her," shouted another. "Drown her or burn her."
The clouds which for some time had been gathering together, and
which by this time had completely obscured the moon, now burst with a
torrent of rain. A flash of lightning for a brief moment illuminated
the scene, and then died away again, leaving it more weird even than
it had been before. A faint roll of thunder broke upon the unpleasant
reverie into which the company had fallen, and Sir George's voice
ordering the oil lamps to be lighted, somewhat reassured the more
fearful among the spectators. A long five minutes elapsed before the
lights appeared, minutes of darkness and suspense, disturbed only
by the flashes of lightning and peals of thunder, which rapidly grew
louder in sound.
Nathan Grene had touched the body, and the trial had proclaimed him
innocent. Indeed, Sir George fully expected it would do so, seeing
that Nathan had been fast bound in the stocks at the time the crime
was perpetrated. His name had only been called out because the baron
had a standing dislike to the man. But the woman still lay on the
rough stones without offering a sign of life.
"Sir George, is that the witch?" asked De Lacey.
"It is."
"Then she is praying to her master the devil. Listen!"
In the dread stillness of those awful minutes it was not difficult to
discover that she was moaning. The crowd was stricken with terror, and
catching up the words which Sir John had let fall, reiterated the cry
which even yet added to the dismal terror of the scene.
"This cannot long endure," said Sir George, as a vivid flash of
lightning almost, for the moment, blinded him.
A long, loud roll of thunder, which terminated in a crashing peal, was
the only answer he received, and while the noise was at its loudest,
Mary Durden started to her feet and dashed forward to touch the body.
She just reached the bottom of the steps when, catching her foot
on the uneven pavement of the yard, she over-balanced herself, and
tumbled heavily upon the bier, almost knocking the body off as she
fell.
"Guilty!" eagerly shouted Sir George; "she is guilty; seize her."
But before he had finished the sentence, Mary had turned and fled,
and far from attempting to hinder her in her headlong flight, the
awe-struck people, one and all, shrunk eagerly back to escape being
brought into contact with one who had just given such unmistakable
proofs of witchcraft, and who had been condemned a murderess by the
almost infallible ordeal of the bier.