"Quhere are ye boun, ye bold prior,
With that ladye on your knee?"
"I'm boun to the hills, I'm boun to the dales,
I'm boun to the grey priory."
_Old Ballad. M.S._
Of the once renowned priory of Burscough, only two pillars, belonging to
the centre arch of the church, are now remaining. It is situated about
two miles from Ormskirk, on the Preston road, in a level district of
great compass renowned for its fertility. The extensive manor and living
of Ormskirk formerly belonged to this priory. The charter of King Edward
II., "reciting and confirming the grants of the donors," with a
confirmation of the charter by which "the prior and convent of
Burscough, and their successors for ever, shall have one market every
week on Thursday, at their manor of Ormskirk, and likewise one fair
every year, of five days' continuance," is still preserved in the office
of the Duchy of Lancaster.
This religious house was founded for Black Canons by Robert Fitzhenry,
Lord of Latham of Lathom, in the reign of Richard I. It was formerly the
burial-place of the Earls of Derby; but many of the coffins have been
removed to their vault in the church at Ormskirk, built by Edward, the
third Earl, great grandson of Thomas, first Earl of Derby, who had the
honour of crowning Henry VII. at Bosworth Field with the coronet torn
from the brows of the slain tyrant.
The main fact of the following tradition may be found in the Calend.
Rotulo. Patents, fol. 155, art. 13, containing the free pardon granted
by Edward III. to the atrocious murderer of Michael de Poininges and
Thomas le Clarke, after the rape he had committed on Margaret de la
Bech.
At the Dissolution, this priory had a superior, five monks, and forty
servants. The last prior was John Barton, who surrendered the living,
and subscribed to the King's supremacy. He was surviving as late as the
year 1553.
[Illustration: BURSCOUGH ABBEY.
_Drawn by G. Pickering. Engraved by Edw^d Finden._]
That curious structure, the church at Ormskirk, having two steeples, a
tower and spire, contiguous to each other, is briefly glanced at in the
tradition. This circumstance, according to some accounts, was occasioned
by the removal of part of the bells from Burscough at the dissolution of
the monasteries, when the existing spire steeple was found to be not
sufficiently capacious. The tenor bell, said to have been the third
bell, at Burscough, bears some apparent proof of its translation. Round
the circle, below the ear, is the following inscription in black letter,
except the initials of the founder:--
"J.S. * de Burscough * Armig. * et * e * vr. * me fecerunt in honorem
Trinitatis * R.B. 1497."
About half-way down the bell is another date, 1576.
Where each asterisk is marked are the _rose, portcullis_, and _fleur de
lis_. Beneath the inscription a neat border is cast, filled up in the
centre with the _rose, portcullis_, and _fleur de lis_, repeated so as
to occupy the whole circumference of the bell. We have been thus
particular in our description, as it may not be uninteresting to pursue
this inquiry, connected as it is with some important historical facts,
not irrelevant to the subject.
The following remarks may preclude any further observations of our
own:--
"The _red rose_ is well known to have been the favourite emblem of the
house of Lancaster, from whom Henry VII. was descended, and through whom
he gloried in claiming his title to the throne.
"His mother, Margaret Countess of Richmond, then Countess of Derby, was
sole daughter and heiress of the Duke of Somerset,[10] who bore the
_portcullis_ as an heraldic distinction. This nobleman was descended
from John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, and Henry had a right to the
honourable bearings of his royal ancestors. Hence the '_rose and
portcullis_' were favourite badges of this monarch, as peculiarly
belonging to the house of Lancaster. The '_fleur de lis_' is the emblem
of France; and, independently of the arms of that kingdom being
quartered at that time, and till very lately, with the royal arms of
England, Henry had a right to assume this distinction also, as being the
grandson of Sir Owen Tudor and Catherine of France, relict of Henry V.
"The first date, also 1497, refers to a very important period in
history, as connected with the Derby family. Two short years before, the
great, the brave Sir William Stanley, who, of his own power and
interest, raised and brought 3000 horse and foot to the rescue of his
prince, when his life, his honour, and his hopes of a throne were at
stake; who contributed to his victory, and helped to crown him 'King' in
the field; had, by that very sovereign, been sent to the block, merely
on account of a doubtful and unguarded expression, reported by a rebel,
a traitor, and an ungenerous friend. The unhappy monarch, learning too
late the dire effects of groundless suspicion, paid a visit in the
following year to his deeply-wounded stepfather, the brother of the
dauntless hero whom he had so lately sacrificed.
"It is stated that the King arrived at Knowsley on or about the 24th
June 1496, and then went to Lathom; whence, after remaining a month with
his mother the Countess, and the Earl her husband, he returned to
London.
"This brings us within one year of the date on the tenor bell, and I
cannot help thinking that its emblems have some allusion to the royal
visit to Knowsley and Lathom. It becomes, however, necessary to attempt
to account for the second date, 1576, on the same bell. And here we can
again only conjecture. It is not improbable that the original bell was
injured; that, prior to breaking up, its inscription and emblems were
carefully moulded, and a new one cast, with the old metal, in the year
1576, care being taken that a copy of the inscription, &c., should fill
the same situation in the present bell, which the originals occupied in
the former."[11]
It may not be deemed irrelevant to mention here a tradition which exists
relative to the visit of King Henry VII. at Lathom, particularly as it
does not appear to be generally known.
After the execution of Sir William Stanley, when the King visited
Lathom, the Earl, when his royal guest had viewed the whole house,
conducted him up to the leads for a prospect of the country. The Earl's
fool, who was among the company, observing the King draw near to the
edge of the leads not guarded with a balustrade, stepped up to the Earl,
and pointing down to the precipice, said, "_Tom, remember Will_." The
King understood the meaning, and made all haste down stairs, and out of
the house; and the fool long after seemed mightily concerned that his
lord had not had courage to take that opportunity of avenging himself
for the death of his brother.--_Kennett's MSS_. 1033. fol. 47.
It was on a still and sultry evening, about the close of summer, in the
year of grace one thousand three hundred and forty-seven, that a
solitary traveller was seen hastily descending, by a woodland path, into
the gloomy thickets that surrounded the neighbouring priory of
Burscough. The rain-drops were just pattering on the dark leaves above
him, and the birds were fast hastening to some deeper shelter. The timid
rabbit, as the stranger passed by, darted into its burrow, and many a
quiet face gazed on him from beneath a pair of ragged antlers, peeping
over the fences that guarded the demesne. Here and there a narrow glade
opened beautifully into the woods, through which might be seen green
lawns and pastures, with herds of dappled deer stealing silently to
their covert. The low growl of the distant thunder seemed to come upon
each living thing like the voice of some invisible spirit, subduing
with its mysterious speech every power and faculty, with an authority
superior to all human control.
The traveller hastened on. The pinnacles and stately turrets of the
priory were just visible through the arched boughs, when, turning into a
more sequestered path, he observed a female of a wild and uncouth aspect
standing in the way. She showed no disposition to move as he approached,
nor did she seem to notice his presence. He stopped, but sufficiently
near to distinguish the motion of her lips. An unintelligible mutter
accompanied it. She looked darkly towards the south, beckoning to the
coming thunder, and pointing, as though she would guide its course,
towards the grey walls of the priory.
She was dressed in a dark-coloured corset fitting close to the body, and
a hood of the same materials. Her hair was a deep jet, and fantastically
twisted about her face. She was of low stature, but not bowed by
decrepitude or age. Her cheek was hollow, and her complexion swarthy,
but her eye grew unnaturally bright, blazing out with a fierceness,
intense as though the fire within were visible through these chinks and
crevices of the soul's tenement.
Though the storm was rapidly approaching she still kept her place,
unawed by the rude elements, and seeming to surfer but little
inconvenience from the shower, now descending with great vigour. The
path was narrow, and a thick underwood skirted the road, so that for the
stranger to pass was impossible, unless his opponent chose to take up a
more favourable position. But the sudden burst of a terrific
thunder-clap, which seemed to roll in a continuous peal above them, made
him less ceremonious on this head than the laws of gallantry might
warrant. He drew nearer to the female, with the intention of seeking a
passage on that side where the least disturbance would be given.
"Go not. 'Tis accursed!" said she, as if preparing to dispute the
attempt.
"I am a stranger, and hastening for shelter. In troth, 'tis a narrow
goit that will not let a drowning man through. Prythee, dame, let me
not, in some wise, seem uncourteous. Yet"----
Here he attempted to pass; but she seized him, and with so powerful a
grasp that for a moment his intention was foiled, so sudden and
unexpected was the attack. Though of a stout and muscular shape, yet
was he holden tightly, as if she were exulting in her strength. Either
malice or madness had given her a vigour of body beyond that of her sex.
"Michael de Poininges!"
The stranger started at this recognition.
"I warn thee! Thinkest thou yon fiend will forward thy mission. Wilt
thou tear the prey from the jaws of the famished and ravening wolf?
Beware!"
Some score of years had elapsed since De Poininges was a visitor in
these parts; and he was now upon some sacred mission to the Prior of
Burscough, Thomas de Litherland, whose great power and reckless
intrepidity of guilt had won for him a name of no common note, even in
those ages of privileged injustice and oppression. No bosom but his own,
at least in that neighbourhood, could have been privy to the business
which brought him hither; and yet he found a woman casually crossing his
path, whose knowledge of his errand was but too evident, and whose
appearance and deportment might well excuse the suspicions he
entertained as to her familiarity with the EVIL ONE.
"Go, poor beast! Thou art but fattened for the slaughter!" She said
this, apparently addressing a stout buck that was sheltering in the
thicket. De Poininges shuddered, as she looked on him askance, with some
dubious meaning.
"I'll meet thee at supper-time."
This was said with a slow and solemn enunciation, as though some
terrible warning was intended, yet durst he not question her further;
and ere he could reply she had disappeared in the recesses of the
forest.
The rain now poured down in torrents, and De Poininges was fain to
hasten with all possible expedition towards the porter's gate.
The priory of Burscough had been founded the century preceding, for a
brotherhood of Black Canons, by Robert Fitzhenry, Lord of Lathom. He
endowed it with considerable property, emoluments, and alms, and,
according to the weak superstition of the age, thought thereby to obtain
pardon and rest for the souls of Henry the Second, John, Earl of
Moreton, himself, his wife, and all his ancestors; at the same time
wishing the kingdom of heaven to all persons who would increase the
gifts, and consigning to the devil and his angels all who should
impiously infringe on his bequests.
It was dedicated to St Nicholas, and a rude effigy of the saint was
carved over the south porch of the chapel, with two or three naked
children at his feet. The building was not large, but the architecture
was chaste and beautiful, a noble specimen of the early Gothic, then
superseding the ponderous forms and proportions of the Norman, or rather
Saxon era. The arches were sharply pointed. The windows, narrow and
lancet-shaped, were deeply recessed; the slender shafts of the columns
were carried in clusters to a vast height, surmounted by pinnacles of
rich and elegant tracery; these gave a light and airy character to the
whole, highly significant of the buoyant feelings that accompanied so
wonderful an escape from the heavy trammels of their predecessors.
Craving shelter, De Poininges was admitted without any question, as all
travellers partook indiscriminately of the general bounty. The religious
houses in those days were the constituted almonries of the rich and
great; and through these overflowing channels, for the most part,
proceeded their liberality and beneficence.
He was ushered into one of the _locutories_, or parlours, where, his
business being with the prior, he was desired to wait until an audience
could be granted.
Prior Thomas, from some cause or other not assigned, held himself at
that season much estranged and secluded from his brethren. He had seldom
been seen from his lodgings, except when performing his accustomed
office in the church. He had not taken his place in the refectory of
late, the duties of the day being performed by one of the elder canons.
De Poininges, after a short space, was summoned to the prior's chamber.
In his progress, he passed the door of the refectory where the brethren
were at supper. It was large and wainscoted, and furnished with an ample
dresser. Cupboards were let into the wall, and windows opened into the
kitchen, through which their meal was served.
One of the monks was reading the appointed service from a low pulpit or
desk. The prior's seat was still vacant. Their way now led through the
cloisters, and at the opposite side of the quadrangle a portal
communicated by a long and dark passage with the prior's lodging. This
was a sort of inferior castellated mansion, with a spacious hall, and a
smaller dining-chamber immediately adjoining. At the end was a fair
chapel or oratory. Ascending a flight of stone steps, they came to a
low door. The conductor knocked, and De Poininges soon found himself in
the presence of the proud Prior of Burscough. He wore a square cap of
black stuff, after the fashion of his order. His cloak, or upper
garment, was of the same colour, trimmed round the bottom with a double
edging. He reposed on a couch, or oaken settle, and seemed, in some
measure, either indisposed or unwilling to notice the homage he
received. His figure was strong and muscular, his complexion dull, and
almost swarthy. His lips were full, and his aspect rather coarse than
sensual. His brows were high, and unusually arched; but his eyes were
downcast, and seldom raised towards the speaker. In speech he was brief
and interrogative, but impatient under a tardy or inefficient answer.
"Thy name, stranger?"
"Michael de Poininges."
"From whence?"
"My business concerns you in private. I await your reverence's
pleasure."
The prior motioned the attendants to withdraw.
"Proceed. Thy message?" He spoke this with precipitancy, at the same
time abruptly changing his position.
"Mine errand is touching one Margaret de la Bech," said De Poininges,
seating himself opposite to the prior; "and I am directed to crave your
help for the clearing away of some loose suspicions regarding her
concealment."
"Her concealment!" replied De Litherland, starting up angrily from the
couch. "Her concealment! They who hide may find. I know not aught of the
wench, save that she was mad, and drowned herself. But why not inquire
of Sir Thomas? The maiden was not in my keeping." He paced the chamber
haughtily, but with a disturbed and lurid aspect.
"Yet," replied the other, "it is well and currently reported, and
witnesses there be who have already testified as to a fact, that some of
your men were seen the night of her withdrawal lurking in her path, and
that screams and other manifestations of the outrage then perpetrated
were heard in this direction. Not that we deem any blemish can attach to
your reverence in this matter. Still"--
"Why dost thou hesitate in thy speech?" said the prior, in a voice
almost inarticulate with choler.
"I would say," answered De Poininges, "that it is our wish, and your
duty, to search into this dark question, without favour or prejudice;
and, further, we do reckon that the Prior of Burscough is not without
the means to discover, and the power to punish, his offending vassals."
"And whose evil star guided thee hither with this insolent message?"
inquired the prior, pale and trembling with rage.
"Those whom your reverence may not lightly contemn. I have here a
warrant from the Council to procure all fitting help and suppliance for
the bringing up the body of Margaret de la Bech, who is suspected of
being detained in this neighbourhood, by persons hitherto unknown,
against her own proper will and consent."
The prior paused for a space. A somewhat more placid expression and
demeanour was the result.
"I am no stranger," said he, "to this idle and mischievous rumour. Means
have been used to discover its likelihood or credibility, but we find it
to be utterly false and unworthy of our notice. The inventor of these
tales shall not long escape."
"Yet hath she been a-missing ever since," said De Poininges, warily;
"and in vain hath search been made for the body. And furthermore, we
have her own expressed apprehension, as it regards one she durst not
name, and a perilous foreboding of the evil that awaited her. It is to
this source, yet obscure, I must own, that our inquiries are to be
directed."
"Tarry here until the morning, and I will then give thee some further
discourse on the matter."
"Nay, Sir Prior," answered De Poininges. "I thank your grace's courtesy,
but this night I must away to the village or town hereabout, Ormschurch
I think it be, and there, in all likelihood, I may abide for some days."
The prior bit his lips, but sought not to oppose his intent, further
than by giving a hint that foul weather was abroad, and of the good
cheer and dry lodging the priory afforded. De Poininges, however, took
his way afoot, returning to the town, where his horse and two trusty
attendants awaited him at the tavern or hostel.
The evening was fair, and the sky clear, save a broad and mountainous
ridge of clouds piled up towards the north-east, from whence hung a
black and heavy curtain stretching behind the hills in that direction.
The sparkling of the sea was visible at intervals behind the low
sand-hills skirting the coast, giving out, in irregular flashes, the
rich and glowing radiance it received. A lucid brightness yet lingered
over the waves, which De Poininges stood for a moment to observe, as he
gained the brow of the hill near the church. To this edifice was then
appended a low spire, not exhibiting, as now, the strange anomaly of a
huge tower by its side, seated there apparently for no other purpose
than to excite wonder, and to afford the clerk an opportunity of
illustrating its origin by the following tradition:--
Long time ago, two maiden sisters of the name of Orme, the founders of
this church, disagreed as to the shape of this most important appendage.
Tower against spire was, in the end, likely to leave the parties without
a church in answer to their prayers, had not the happy suggestion
offered itself in the shape of a pair of these campanile structures
suited to the taste of each.
That the foregoing is an idle and impertinent invention there is little
need to show, inasmuch as both tower and spire might still have been
built to satisfy the whim of the old ladies, though placed in the usual
manner, one serving as a substratum to the other. A more probable
solution is the following, though it may be as far from the truth:--At
the dissolution of the priory of Burscough in the time of our great
reformer Henry the Eighth--who, like many modern pretenders to this
name, was more careful to reform the inaccuracies of others than his
own--the bells were removed to Ormskirk; but the small tower beneath the
spire not being sufficiently capacious, the present square steeple was
added, and the wonder perpetuated to this day.
De Poininges, on crossing the churchyard, met there a personage of no
less note than Thomas the Clerk, or Thomas le Clerke, retiring from some
official duties, arrayed in his white surplice and little quaint
skull-cap. He was a merry wight, and in great favour with the parish
wives. He could bleed and shave the sconce; draw out bonds and
quittances; thus uniting three of the professions in his own proper
person. He was prime mover in the May games, and the feast of fools.
Morris, Moriscoe, or Moorish dancers, there is good reason for
supposing, were not then introduced, though by some said to have been
brought into England in the sixth year of Edward III., when John of
Gaunt returned from Spain; but few traces of it are found earlier than
Henry VII., so that it is more probable we had them from our Gallic
neighbours, or even from the Flemings.
He could dance, too, and play on the rebeck and citerne, this being a
common amusement with the customers during the time they were in waiting
at the barbers' shops, as newspapers were not then at hand to sustain
this difficult office. He was of a dainty person; clad mostly in a
kirtle of light watchet-colour, thick set with loose points. His hosen
were grey, mingled with black, and his shoes were belayed with knots and
ornaments, of which, and his other stray gear, he was not a little
proud.
This Thomas was used to go about with a censer, on a Sunday, as Chaucer
hath it,--
"Censing the wives of the parish feast."
Absalom, that pink of clerkly portraiture, seemed but a fair prototype
of this individual, Geoffrey Chaucer at this time being a setter forth
of rhymes and other matters for the ticklish ears of sundry well-fed and
frolicksome idlers about the court of King Edward.
The merry knave of whom we speak was, however, in happy ignorance of all
courtly fashions. Provided he obtained his Sunday contributions, and his
Christmas loaf, and his eggs at Easter, little wot he how the world went
round. He was a frequent visitor at the tavern, and De Poininges had
already been distinguished by his especial notice.
From his character, and the means of information arising out of his
multifarious occupations, De Poininges expected that some of the
intelligence he was in search of might be gathered from this source.
The petty hostelry was now in sight, a projecting bush denoting the
vintner's residence. The house was but thinly attended, though clean
rushes and a blazing billet bespoke comfort and good cheer. De Poininges
and his companion turned aside into a smaller chamber, where mine host
was speedily summoned for a flagon of stout liquor. This being supplied,
they addressed themselves to the wooden utensil with right goodwill; and
as the draughts began to quicken, so did the clerk's tongue not fail to
wag the faster. De Poininges adroitly shifted the discourse upon the
business of which he was in quest, whenever there was a tendency to
diverge, no rare occurrence, Thomas being somewhat loth for a while to
converse on the subject. The liquor, however, and his own garrulous
propensities, soon slipped open the budget, and scraps of intelligence
tumbled out which De Poininges did not fail to lay hold of as hints for
another line of examination.
"I reckon so, at any rate, and so said Geoffrey," replied the clerk,
after a pause, subsequent to some close question.
"Sir Thomas, the Lord of Lathom, as you may have heard, he is a
good-hearted soul, and this Margaret de la Bech was companion to his
daughter Isabel. She was ever held as a dame of good family and descent,
though a stranger in these parts. Then she was passing fair, so that
both squire and gentleman, as they looked on her, were nigh devoured
with love. They say, too, her conditions were gentle and winsome as a
child; and"--
"Good," said De Poininges, who found he was slipping away from the main
subject. "But hath not Sir Thomas made some apparent search since her
disappearance from the hall?"
"Save the mark--she was drowned in the moat. So say the gossips," said
the clerk, looking askance. "Her hood and mantle were on the brink--but
her body! why, it never jumped out again to look for them--that's all."
"But did no one look for the body?" carelessly inquired De Poininges.
"The knight groped diligently in the castle ditch for many days; but
light fishes make light nets, as we say. There was no corpse to be
found, and many an Ave Maria has been said for her soul."
"What cause was then assigned for this fearful deed?"
"'Tis said she was in love, and went mad! I wot she was ever sighing and
rambling about the house, and would seldom venture out alone, looking as
though she were in jeopardy, and dreaded some hidden danger."
"Thinkest thou, friend, that some hidden danger might not be the cause;
and this show of her drowning but a feint or device that should turn
aside the current of their inquiry?"
The clerk looked anxious and uneasy, sore puzzled, as it might seem, to
shape out an answer. At length, finding that the question could not be
evaded, he proceeded with much hesitation as follows:--
"Safe as my Lord Cardinal at his prayers--she is dead though; for I
heard her wraith wailing and shrieking up the woods that night as I
stood in the priory close. It seemed like, as it were, making its way
through the air from Lathom, for the smell of consecration, I reckon."
"Go on," said De Poininges, whose wits were shrewdly beginning to gather
intelligence from these furtive attempts at concealment.
"Well-a-day," continued the clerk, draining an ample potation, "I've
heard strange noises thereabout; and the big building there, men say, is
haunted by the ghost."
"Where is the building thou speakest of?"
"The large granary beyond the postern leading from the prior's house
towards the mill. I have not passed thereby since St Mark's vigil, and
then it came." Here he looked round, stealing a whisper across the
bench--"I heard it: there was a moaning and a singing by turns; but the
wind was loud, so that I could scarcely hear, though when I spake of it
to old Geoffrey the gardener, he said the prior had laid a ghost, and it
was kept there upon prayer and penance for a long season. Now, stranger,
thou mayest guess it was no fault of mine if from this hour I passed the
granary after sunset. The ghost and I have ever kept ourselves pretty
far apart."
"Canst show me this same ghostly dungeon?"
"Ay, can I, in broad daylight; but"--.
"Peradventure thou canst show me the path, or the clue to it; and I
warrant me the right scent will lie at the end on't."
"And pray, good master, wherefore may your curious nose be so mightily
set upon this same adventure?" said the clerk, his little red and
ferrety eyes peering very provokingly into those of his opposite
neighbour. Now, De Poininges was not for the moment prepared to satisfy
this unexpected inquiry, but his presence of mind did not forsake him.
Rightly guessing his friend's character--a compound in universal esteem,
to wit, fool and knave--he drew from his pouch a couple of bright ship
nobles, then but newly coined, which effectually diverted the prying
looks of Thomas le Clerke.
"Why, look ye," said the latter, as the coin jingled in his bag, "I was
ever held in good repute as a guide, and can make my way blindfold over
the bogs and mosses hereabout; and I would pilot thee to the place
yonder, if my fealty to the prior--that is--if--I mean--though I was
never a groat the richer for his bounty; yet he may not like strangers
to pry into his garners and store-houses, especially in these evil
times, when every cur begins to yelp at the heels of our bountiful
mother; and every beast to bray out its reproaches at her great wealth
and possessions."
De Poininges was more and more convinced that his neighbour knew more of
the matter than he durst tell; but it seemed expedient to conceal his
suspicions for the present. In the end it was agreed that the cunning
clerk should accompany him so far as to point out the situation; but on
no account would he consent to keep watch during the absence of De
Poininges. The latter assented to this arrangement, secretly resolving
to dictate other terms where his will should both command and be obeyed.
They immediately set out on horseback, followed by the servants, to whom
De Poininges had given a private signal.
The moon had risen. One bright star hung like a "jewel in an Ethiop's
ear" in the dark sky above the sun's track, which at this season sweeps
like a lucid zone, dividing day from night, round the northern horizon.
Such a time of purity and brightness often succeeds the sultry and
oppressive languor of the day, especially when refreshed by the passing
storm; the air so clear that objects press, as it were, upon the
eyeballs, affecting the sight as though they were almost palpable to the
touch. The dews had not descended, but the leaves were still wet. Big
drops glittered in the moonlight, pouring a copious shower on the
travellers as they passed. The clerk began a low chant, humming and
whistling by turns: this gradually grew more audible, until the full
burst of the "_Miserere_" commenced, richly adorned with his own
original quavers. So enamoured was he of his qualifications in this
respect that he was fairly getting through high mass, when, midway in a
ravishing "_Benedictus_" he made a sudden halt.
"What is that creeping behind the bushes there?" inquired he, in a sort
of half-whisper to his companion. De Poininges looked in the direction
pointed out, and thought he saw something, dark and mysterious, moving
between the boughs on his left. He stopped, but the object, whatever its
nature, had disappeared.
Sore alarmed was the timid chorister; but though his melodies had
ceased, a plentiful supply of credos and paternosters were at hand to
supply their place. Crossing himself with a great show of sanctity, he
moved on with much caution, his deep hoarse voice having subsided into a
husky and abrupt whisper, often interrupted when objects the most
trivial arrested his glance and aroused his suspicions.
They arrived without molestation at an enclosure about a mile distant
from the priory. Here they alighted, leaving the horses to the care of
their attendants. Turning the angle made by a low wall, they observed a
footpath, which the clerk pointed out as the shortest and most
convenient course to their destination. Soon the east end of the priory
chapel was visible, basking in the broad light of the harvest moon, then
riding up full and unclouded towards her zenith. Buttress and oriel were
weltering in her beam, and the feathery pinnacles sprang out sharp and
clear into the blue sky. The shadows were thrown back in masses deep and
unbroken, more huge in proportion to the unknown depths through which
the eye could not penetrate.
"There--again! 'Tis a footstep on our track!" said the clerk, abruptly
breaking upon the reverie of his companion.
"'Tis but the tread of the roused deer; man's bolder footstep falls not
so lightly," was the reply; but this did not quiet the apprehensions of
the querist, whose terrors were again stealing upon him. Their path was
up a little glen, down which the mill-stream, now released from its
daily toil, brawled happily along, as if rejoicing in its freedom. Near
the mill, on a point of land formed by an abrupt bend of the stream,
stood the storehouse or grange. It was an ample structure, serving at
times for purposes not immediately connected with its original design. A
small chamber was devoted to the poorer sort of travellers, who craved a
night's lodging on their journey. Beneath was a place of confinement,
for the refractory vassals and serfs, when labouring under their
master's displeasure. It was here the garrulous clerk said he had been
scared by the ghost, and his reluctance to proceed evidently increased
as he drew nearer. He did not fail to point out the spot, but resolutely
refused to budge a step farther.
"We had best return," said he; "I have told thee what I know of the
matter."
"And what should scare thee so mightily, friend," said De Poininges,
"from out the prior's grange? Methinks, these ghosts of thine had a
provident eye to their bellies. These haunters to the granary had less
objection to the victuals than to a snuff of the wind before cock-crow."
"I know not," replied Amen, rather doggedly; "'tis all I heard, though
there be more that live hereabout than the prior and his monks, I trow."
"Thou hast been here ofttimes o' nights?" carelessly inquired the other.
"I have, upon some chance occasion it may be; but since that ugly noise
got wind, to which my own ears bear testimony, I was not over-curious to
pass within hearing, though it were only the rogues, some said, that
were mulcting the flour-sacks."
"But thou knowest there was a hint dropped a while ago at the hostel,
that the maiden, whom thou hast now forgotten, methinks, had some
connection with this marvellous tale of thine; and now, it seems, I am
to believe 'tis but the knaves or the rats purloining the prior's corn!
Hark thee, friend," said De Poininges, in a stern tone, "no more
evasion: no turn or equivocation shall serve thee: out with it, and lead
on, or"--
A bright flash from his falchion here revealed the peril that he
threatened.
"_Miserere mei_--Oh,--_Salve et!_"--
"Silence, knave, and pass quickly; but remember, if I catch thee
devising any sleight or shuffle, this sharp point shall quicken thee to
thy work. It may prove mighty efficacious, too, as a restorative for a
lapsed memory."
"I'll tell thee all!--but--hold that weapon a little back, I prithee.
Nay--nay, thou wouldest not compass a poor man's death in such haste."
"Lead on, then, but be discreet," said De Poininges, softly, at the same
time pushing him forward at his sword's point.
"Here is some help to mine errand, or my craft fails me this bout."
After many qualms and wry faces, De Poininges, by piecemeal, acquired
the following intelligence:--
One night, this honest clerk being with a friend on a predatory
excursion to the prior's storehouse, they heard a muffled shriek and a
sharp scuffle at some distance. Being outside the building, and fearing
detection, they ran to hide themselves under a detached shed, used as a
depository for firewood and stray lumber. Towards this spot, however,
the other parties were evidently approaching. Presently three or four
men, whom they judged to be the prior's servants, came nigh, bearing a
female. They entered into the shed, and proceeded to remove a large heap
of turf. Underneath seemed to be one of those subterraneous
communications generally contrived as a retreat in times of peril; at
any rate, they disappeared through the opening, and the clerk and his
worthy associate effected their escape unobserved.
Fear of detection, and of the terrible retribution that would follow,
hitherto kept the secret undivulged. There could be little doubt that
this female was Margaret de la Bech; and her person, whether living or
dead, had become a victim to the well-known lawless disposition of the
prior.
They were now at the entrance to a low gateway, from which a short path
to the left led them directly towards the spot. Entering the shed, they
commenced a diligent search; but the terror and confusion of the clerk
had prevented such accuracy of observation as could enable him to
discover the opening, which they in vain attempted to find, groping
their way suspiciously in the dark.
"Softly, softly!" said the clerk, listening. A low murmur came from the
opposite corner, like the muttering of one holding audible communion
with his own spirit. De Poininges listened too, and he fancied it was a
female voice. Presently he heard one of those wild and uncouth ditties,
a sort of chant or monotonous song, which, to the terrified
psalm-singer, sounded like the death-wail of some unfortunate ghost.