WINTER.
WE soon began to feel quite at home at Highbeck Hall, and knew all the
nooks and corners about the old place, which were accessible to us. We
were not a little curious about the shut up rooms, but of course we
asked no questions, though I for one associated them with the beautiful
lady in the saloon, and determined to get the story out of old Elsie
some day.
We prescribed to ourselves a regular routine of study, practise, and
work, beginning of course with about twice as much as we could do, and
coming by degrees down to a more reasonable plan, to which we adhered
as well as people generally do in such circumstances.
We read in our history which we had begun with Mrs. Cropsey, but at
last abandoned it, for my Lord Clarendon's history of the Rebellion,
at the request of Mrs. Deborah; who was determined to make us into as
thorough Jacobites as she was herself. Even as Lord Clarendon tells the
story, I must say, I did not acquire as greet an admiration for poor
King Charles as I could have wished. He seemed to me to be tyrannical
and timid both at once, and I could not forgive his abandonment of
Lord Strafford, and the way in which he deceived his friends. But it
may easily be guessed, that I no more hinted anything of this kind to
Aunt Deborah, than I should have dared to suggest to Mother Prudentia
a doubt of St. Agnes' prudence, in running away to St. Francis in the
middle of the night. *
* Which she did at the age of fourteen, and afterward persuaded
her Sister Clare, aged twelve, to do the same.—L. E. G.
We practised our music for two hours daily, during which time Aunt
Chloe usually sat with us. We learned to ride on horseback, and to take
long walks when the weather permitted, attended usually by one or other
of the bloodhounds to keep off stray cattle or intrusive gypsies. We
visited the poor people, and carried broth and medicines to the sick,
and spent a good deal of time in gossiping with the old men and women
in the alm-houses, and in reading to them. Only one or two of them
could read, but all liked to be read to, and took pleasure also in
telling their stories like other old people. We also made great friends
with old Elsie, and heard many stories from her of the past glories
of the Grahames, and their exploits on the border. In short, we were
as much at home in Highbeck Hall in two weeks, as though we had lived
there all our lives.
We had visitors from time to time, from among the gentry in the
neighborhood. These visits usually lasted from two to four days, and
were desperately dull, to my thinking. However, Aunt Chloe enjoyed
them, and they brightened her up amazingly. We used to be called upon
to play and sing for the edification of the visitors, and always
received great commendation.
When there were young people of our own age, they were of course
turned over to us for entertainment, and very much puzzled we were
at first to know what to do with them, not being used to the company
of girls of our own age. But we usually found we could amuse them by
tales of our convent life, especially with the story of the robbery,
which was always received with breathless interest. Then it was a
time when fancy-work of all sorts was greatly in vogue. Ladies used
to do cut-work, and lace-work, chenille-embroidery, and satin-stitch,
and cross-stitch, and dozens of other stitches, and various kinds of
knotting. *
* What is now called tatting. See Mrs. Delaney's memoirs.
Thanks to Mother Prudentia, we were proficient in all these pursuits,
and what we did not know, our visitors did. Miss Jenny Thicknesse, I
remember, was very enthusiastic over the shell-work, and cardboard work
in imitation of stucco, with which she and her sister were adorning the
gothic arches of an old chapel in her father's house. They were nice
homely ladylike girls, and we were great friends with them.
Doctor Brown was to go to his deanery in Durham after the holidays, and
Mr. Lethbridge from Berwick, was to come in his place.
What any one should have seen in Doctor Brown to merit such promotion
I cannot guess; but he had grand connections, and was a cousin of the
Bishop's lady, which might account for it. We young ones were not
displeased at the prospect of a change, though we liked the doctor
personally, well enough. He was a fat good-natured sort of man, ready
enough to do a kindness when it came in his way, but not likely to seek
such occasions, if they cost him any trouble. He used to read prayers
every other Sunday, and administer the sacrament once a quarter; but
he hardly ever preached, and as to any personal instruction, his
people might as well have lived in Grand Tartary. He gave liberally in
charity, and I suppose satisfied his conscience in that way. He was
very fond of cards, and considered a wonderful whist-player. Whenever
he came to the Hall, on a Sunday night, the card table was always set
out. Doctor Brown almost always won, and as regularly gave his winnings
to Mrs. Deborah for the poor people at the alm-houses. Sometimes Mrs.
Philippa would send for him to play piquet with her, and at last it
became a regular thing for him to do so. I don't think the other ladies
were very sorry to be released.
By degrees, I learned from Mrs. Chloe, who was not disinclined to a
little gossip, a good deal of the family history. I learned that each
of the ladies had small independent fortunes of their own, derived
from their mother's settlements—that she and Mrs. Deborah, used a good
deal of their incomes in keeping up the house, while Mrs. Philippa
saved hers, or laid it out for her own convenience; that Sir Julius had
never been near the estate since his second marriage, though he derived
a considerable revenue from it, and was very particular to have the
rents paid up to the day, and sometimes drew for more money than it was
convenient to spare—that his second wife had been very rich, and—
"A good sort of woman so far as I know, my dear—but of no family at
all—not an ancestor to bless herself with. Of course I was sorry for
the poor lady's death—very sorry!" said Mrs. Chloe. "And for the
poor little lad, though I had never seen him; but still it would be
much better for the estate to come to Amabel. Her mother was not a
Northumbrian woman to be sure, but she was of a very old Devonshire or
Cornish family."
"Perhaps Sir Julius may marry again," said I. "He is quite a young man
yet."
"Oh, my dear, I hope not," answered Mrs. Chloe, looking startled. "It
would be sad for poor Amabel to have a step-mother, though to be sure
her last one never did her any harm. But if he does take a third wife I
hope she may be a lady of quality."
Mrs. Chloe also had endless stories to tell of the families in the
neighborhood. She had been a belle and a beauty in her day, and
received many offers, none of which her brother had seen fit to let
her accept. Either there was not money enough, or family enough, or
something. So poor Chloe had gone on to thirty-five without being
married, and now the smallpox had spoiled her beauty, and she was not
like to marry at all. She was a good, gentle, little creature, not at
all strong in any way, and had been kept in such a state of tutelage
and dependence that she had no mind of her own about any subject
save one which she could not keep to herself. Poor Aunt Chloe was
desperately anxious to be married. She used to tell us, as she sat over
her embroidery frame, about the offers she had had, something in this
wise:
"There was Mr. Favor, my dears—such a fine young man—six feet high,
at least, and a perfect gentleman in manners, I am sure, and a
splendid horseman, but his grandfather had been in trade, it seems,
and Julius thought it would not do. Then there was the Reverend James
P. Thirlwall. He had no great fortune, to be sure, but a good living,
and would have settled all my fortune on myself and my children; but
then the Thirlwalls are all Whigs, and they say one of the family
was connected with the regicides," and so on and so on. I know these
stories left me with the strong impression that Sir Julius Leighton's
aim had all along been to keep Mrs. Chloe from marrying at all, that
her fortune might remain in the family. They did not make me augur well
for the success of Mr. Cheriton's suit. I think Amabel felt the same,
though she did not say a word.
It was from Mrs. Chloe that we heard Mrs. Philippa's story. It seems
she had been betrothed to a young man of good family, and the wedding
was near at hand, when Mrs. Deborah discovered that the bridegroom
was playing a double game—that he was also betrothed to a citizen's
daughter in Newcastle, and was only waiting till he could find out
which lady was like to have the better fortune of the two. She
acquainted her father with her discovery. Sir Thomas being a man of
spirit, looked into the matter, discovered the gentleman's double game,
and invited him to one of two courses—to marry Mrs. Philippa out of
hand, or to meet him with the sword, as the custom was in those days.
Mr. Philip Falconer did neither, but preferred to elope with his city
lady-love who, though neither young, handsome, nor well born like
Mrs. Philippa, had a much larger fortune all in her own power. One
would think Mrs. Philippa might have been glad to be free from such a
poltroon. Instead of that, she went into fits, took to her bed, and had
never spoken to Aunt Deborah since. There appeared no reason why she
should not be as active as any one, only that she did not choose, for
when she did take a fancy to come down stairs she walked as nimbly as
Aunt Deborah herself.
It seemed for a time, however, that my auguries were likely to prove
false, and that Amabel's course of true love was like to run smooth.
Just about Christmas time Mr. Cheriton paid us a visit, bringing
letters from Sir Julius to Mrs. Deborah and to Amabel herself. Sir
Julius wrote very kindly to his daughter. He said she was rather young
to marry, and must wait at least a year, but as Mr. Cheriton was a man
of good family, and had a competent fortune beside his living, and a
likelihood of church preferment, he should make no objection to his
paying his addresses to his daughter.
What he wrote to Mrs. Deborah I don't know, but she received Mr.
Cheriton very politely, even though he and his family were known for
steadfast adherents to the reigning dynasty, and hoped she should have
the pleasure of seeing his father and mother at Highbeck Hall during
the Christmas season.
They came accordingly—he, a venerable, kind old man, very sincerely
religious in his fashion, and though a little perplexed as to his son's
new-fangled ways, as he called them, yet quite willing to accept them,
and believe they must be good because Walter said so; she, the very
model of a Lady Bountiful, a perfect housekeeper, a famous concoctor
of syrups, draughts, and emulsions, of broth and brewis, the kind
if somewhat arbitrary friend of the poor. She had not been in the
house two hours, before she had propounded at least a dozen different
remedies for Aunt Chloe's cough, from bread jelly with lemon-peel and
raisins, to a couple of snails boiled in her tea-water. This last was
confided in a whisper to Aunt Deborah, as it was essential to the cure
that the patient should know nothing about it.
Both these good people took very kindly to Amabel, and invited us both
to visit them. Mrs. Cheriton presented Amabel with a pair of pearl
ear-rings which had been given herself on her wedding day, and promised
her some silver which had been in the family three hundred years at
least. (Did any one ever hear of an heirloom which had been in a family
for less than three hundred years?) The subject of politics was kept
out of sight by mutual consent, so we all parted excellent friends.
Mr. Cheriton returned to his parish in Newcastle, where, he told us,
matters were going very much to his satisfaction. He had succeeded in
establishing the weekly lecture on which he had set his heart; and
it was well attended. He had also set up classes for the young women
and elder girls, where they read good books and perfected themselves
in various useful works, and in these Mrs. Thorpe was giving him
very efficient help. He was on the best of terms with the rector of
St. Nicholas, an old gentleman who was nearly or quite blind, but an
excellent man and a good clergyman. This gentleman had been away during
the whole of our stay in Newcastle, and we had more than once heard
it said that on his return he would put a spoke in Mr. Cheriton's
wheel; so that it was a great pleasure to hear that though he did not
exactly approve of all Mr. Cheriton's doings, and thought him rather
over-zealous, he made no active opposition to him.
Mr. Cheriton also told us another thing which we found it hard to
believe—namely, that he was quite sure he had seen Father Brousseau at
one of Mr. Wesley's out-of-door preachings he had attended not long
before. He said he had not known how to believe his own eyes at first,
but he had watched him and was quite sure it was the same person he had
seen at Mrs. Thorpe's shop.
"How very strange!" said Amabel. "How did he look?"
"He seemed very much affected, I thought!" replied Mr. Cheriton. "At
first, he pulled his hat down and kept his cloak up as if he were
afraid of being seen, but toward the last he seemed too much interested
in the discourse to think about concealment. But I can tell you news of
another friend, which will surprise you yet more!" he added smiling.
"Mrs. Cropsey is married!"
"Married!" we both exclaimed not very civilly! "Not married already!
Why, her husband has not been dead a year, and she could never speak of
him without crying."
"Exactly!" replied Mr. Cheriton drily. "She did up all her grief at
once. She was married very privately by license more than two months
ago to old Mr. Arnott the great ship owner, but it is owned now, and
she presides over his fine house with great dignity."
"I hope she will not talk as much of poor dear Mr. Cropsey as she used
to do to us!" I remarked. "I have wished sometimes the good man had
either not died at all, or else had died before she ever saw him!"
"I have only heard her mention him once!" said Mr. Cheriton. "I had
some business with Mr. Arnott, and was asked to dine, and Mrs. Arnott
remarked as she dispensed the hare soup, how much poor dear Mr. Cropsey
would have enjoyed it. He was so fond of hare soup!"
We had no very grand doings at Christmas, as Mrs. Chloe continued
very unwell and there was no master at home. However, every cottager
received a good piece of beef and a pudding or materials for one; all
the old women in the alms houses had doles of tea and snuff, and those
who needed them had new gowns or red cloaks.
Amabel and I had a guinea apiece for a Christmas box from each of our
aunts, and Mrs. Philippa formally made over to Amabel her cat, which
had attached itself to her very much of late. I did not understand this
proceeding at the time, but I did afterward.
We had another present which made us feel sadly. Mrs. Chloe had for
a year and more, been embroidering a set of chairs, and a couch in
chenilles and silks. They were designed with a great deal of taste and
beautifully worked so far, but on Christmas morning, Aunt Chloe gave
them to Amabel and myself to finish, saying that it hurt her chest
to bend over the frame, and besides she was rather tired of them. We
could finish these against Amabel should have a room to furnish, and
she would begin a set for me in the spring, when her cough should be
better. Meantime, she would work at her knitted counterpane, which
really ought to be finished.
Mrs. Deborah approved of this motion of her sister's saying that she
was sure such close application was bad for Chloe, but she went out of
the room directly afterward, and we did not see her till church time.
Christmas was a very serious day to us in another way. It was the first
day that Amabel and I partook of the sacrament after the forms of the
Church of England. Mrs. Deborah had been anxious to have us do so: we
had talked the matter over with Mr. Cheriton, and had read the books
he had suggested to us. This is not the place to enlarge upon such
matters. I may just say, however, that we both found great comfort in
the ordinance and never afterward missed it willingly. Mr. Lethbridge
officiated for the first time, and his manner was very serious and
proper. Dr. Brown was present, and preached a short sermon, which was
as old Elsie used to say like chips in porridge, neither good nor bad.
Aunt Chloe went to church with us. It was the last time she ever went,
and she seemed to feel very deeply the solemnity of the occasion. There
was a fair congregation, a good many of whom I fear got very drunk
at the ale house afterward,—but nobody in those parts thought that a
matter of any consequence, or indeed expected anything else. It was
one of the serious charges brought against the Methodist preachers
as showing that they were not what they ought to be, that they drank
neither ale nor spirits, and discouraged the use of them among their
converts.
On twelfth day the whole family were invited to a dinner and ball at
Brayton, the house of the Thicknesse family. We had never been at a
ball, and Molly and Jenny Thicknesse were great friends of ours. We
promised ourselves much pleasure in the visit, and were specially
desirous of seeing the shell-work with which the girls had been
adorning their chapel and their own room. But fate was against us.
The very day we were to go, Amabel was taken with a violent rheum and
defluxion,* and it was clearly impossible for her to venture out.
* What we should call a cold in the head, then considered a matter
of more consequence than now.
Mrs. Deborah would have sent an excuse for the whole party, but Mrs.
Chloe looked so greatly disappointed, that we begged Mrs. Deborah to go
and leave me to nurse Amabel, with the help of old Elsie and Tupper to
depend upon in case of an emergency.
Amabel felt very uncomfortable all the morning, but she was better
at night, and able to sit up to tea in our own room. The housekeeper
sent us up all sorts of nice things, including a plate of short bread,
and we would have Elsie sit down and take tea with us. After we had
finished, we drew up to the fire, and coaxed Elsie to tell us tales
of the two families—and when we had drawn her into the full tide of
narration, I put into execution a scheme I had long had in mind.
"Elsie, do you know the story of the beautiful lady whose picture hangs
next the saloon door—the one who has a veil hanging over her picture?"
"Aye, do I, my lammie!" answered Elsie. "And a gruesome story it is;
they dinna like to speak o't in the family, but it's true for all that."
"Oh, tell it to us!" we both exclaimed; and Amabel added,—"I love to
hear ghost stories."
"It's no just a ghost story as you call't," said Elsie. "However, I do
not ken any harm the telling it will do, unless it makes you afraid
to go to bed. But you must not tell Mrs. Deborah, for I'm jealous she
would not wish it talked about."
"She told us we might ask you!" said I, as indeed she had.
"Aweel, then it is all right!" And as Elsie took up her distaff which
was as much a part of herself as Aunt Chloe's knitting, we settled
ourselves for the enjoyment of a story.
"Aweel, young ladies!" Elsie began, dismissing her spindle to twirl
upon the hearth-stone, and looking into the fire with her bright deep
blue eyes.
"You maun ken that there was once a Lord of Leighton, who was the last
heir in the direct line. It behooved him to marry, for the estate had
gone on from father to son, ever since before the Danes came into the
country. He would have had no fash at all in finding a mate, forby the
great estate which was far greater then as they say, and the fine house
and a'; he was a weal favored lad, and knew how to make the leddies
pleased wi' him."
"His mother was at him night and day to take a wife, but he would not
listen to her, and they say there used to be awful scenes betwixt
them, for she was a Percy and proud as Lucifer, and he was as dour and
obstinate as all the rest of the Leighton men—craving your pardon,
mem." This to Amabel.
"I don't think I am very dour—am I, Lucy?" said Amabel smiling.
"You are never obstinate about little matters!" I answered. "But I
think if you once made up your mind that a thing was right or wrong,
you would be torn with wild horses before you would give up."
"And so much the better for her!" said Elsie. "And so my dawties—I
beg your pardon—young leddies I should say—things got worse and worse
between the young lord and his mother. At last the auld leddy began
to have her suspicions, and she watched; and by and by she found sure
enough, that her son was secretly married to a young lass, the only
child of a poor old man who lived on the estate."
"Aweel it's a sad story, and hardly fit for young ears, only to show
what pride may lead weak and sinful mortals to do. The leddy went to
see the poor thing, who was no' weel at the time, and persuaded her to
take a medicine she brought her, which should make her well and strong.
She took it, fell into fits and in an hour was dead. Her father was
like one wild, and when the lord came that very evening to visit his
wife, the auld man up and tauld him the whole story, and showed him the
draught that was left—for she had na taken it all. The young lord gave
it to a dog that followed him, and the poor creature died directly."
"You may guess that the young lord and his mother did not meet on
friendly terms. He charged her with murder to her face, and she owned
it and gloried in it, and dared him to revenge it on her—the wicked
creature—and he swore an awful oath, that now he would never marry at
all, unless he married a she wolf—for that alone would be fit to mate
with his mother. And then he flung away, and rode like one possessed
through the mirk winter's night, and it was weeks before he returned.
They say, that as he spoke his rash words, the long mournful howl
of a wolf was heard in the woods so near the house that they both
started—for though there were wolves in plenty in the Cheviot hills in
those days, they did not often come near any dwelling."
"I hope there are none about here now?" said I, for I had heard stories
enough about these creatures in France, to make me dreadfully afraid of
them.
"Na, na! there's no wolf been seen in these parts for more than fifty
years—not since I was a young maid like you. I heard tell that auld
Lochiel killed one in Scotland not so long ago, but the Cameron's
country is far away from here in the Highlands.
"Aweel, to go on with the tale. It was toward spring when my lord came
home, and he was not alone; he had brought a wife with him, whom he had
married in Scotland. He gave out that she belonged to one of the clans
of the West Highlands, and that he had saved her from great danger, but
what he did not say. She was a beautiful creature as you may see by
her picture, and kind enough to her servants; but that was about her,
which made her more feared than loved. She had bright eyes of the kind
called hazel in these parts, but when she was angered or excited, they
glowed like balls of green fire, and the servants declared they even
shone in the dark. She was very civil to her mother-in-law, but soon
let her know that she meant to be mistress in her own house, and after
one trial the old lady never attempted to take the high hand again.
"Aweel, the time went on, and all through the summer there were
merry-makings of all sorts; but when cold weather came, the lady was na
weel, and kept her room, and nothing could make her stir out of doors,
though doctor and nurse thought it would be much better for her. The
wolves were very bold that winter, and came nearer the Hall than they
had ever done before. The lady was dreadfully afraid of them, and when
their long howls used to be heard, she would cling to her husband and
hide her face in his neck. Neither would she thole his joining any of
the hunting parties set out against the wolves, and it was a great
vex to him no doubt, for he was a keen hunter, but it behooved him to
pleasure his wife whatever it cost.
"Aweel, in the spring the leddy gave her husband a fine lad bairn, and
there were great rejoicings on the estate. The leddy seemed to get over
her fears, and went about with her husband and entertained company; but
there were those who said she was na quite herself. She had a watchful
look always about her, and any sudden noise in the night would make
her start and clasp her bairn to her breast. She seemed to worship the
child, and would not bear it out of her sight; but yet she would not
nurse it, and had a young woman from the village to suckle it. After
the babe was christened she seemed easier about it, but yet her face
never lost the apprehensive look.
"The summer went by and the cold weather came on, and again the wolves
began to come down from the hills. The lady showed the same terror of
them, and begged her husband not to hunt them. But one day when he was
away, some of his friends persuaded him, laughing at him, and telling,
he should be too much of a man to be afraid of his wife, and be tied to
her apron-string, handsome as she was. So away he went on the hunt, and
had the fortune to slay a great dog wolf, and ye shall not hinder him
from bringing the creature home to show to his wife.
"The poor leddy had been shut in her room all day, very low in her
spirits, as though she mistrusted where her lord had gone. The rooms
had all been new fitted for her with many beautiful ornaments and
pictures, but she found no comfort in any thing. She sat by the fire
with her babe hugged to her bosom till she heard her lord's horses in
the court. Then she gave the babe to its nurse and ran down to meet
him. He kissed her as she threw her arms round his neck, and bade his
man show the leddy what he had brought her. The man threw down on the
floor the carcass of a great gray wolf. The lady gave one scream—they
said it echoed through the house—and fled to her bedroom, bolting
herself in. She would na open to any one—not to her husband or her
child—but they heard her wailing and crying fit to break her heart.
"It was just midnight when those within the hall heard, as though close
at hand, the long-drawn, piercing howl of a wolf. It was answered so
near that the cry seemed within the very hall itself, and so dreadful
was the sound that it made every one's blood run cold. My lord, who
had come down stairs, ran up to his lady's room, thinking she would be
terrified to death. He found the nurse, who watched by the sleeping
babe, in the outer room stretched on the floor in a faint, but there
was no sound from within. Reckless in his dread, he ordered the door to
be broken in. The room was empty. The leddy's clothes that she had worn
all day lay in a heap on the floor. The door to a little turnpike stair
that led down to the garden was open, but, alive or dead, the poor
leddy was never seen mair.
"The babe seemed to pine for his mither, though she had never nursed
him, and in a week, he too died, and was buried. The lord had the rooms
which had been his wife's closed and locked just as she left them, and
he went to the Holy Wars, as they called them, against the Turks, and
never came home. The estate went to a cousin after all; but they say
that when some great misfortune is about to happen to the family, the
long howl of a wolf is heard at night in Highbeck Woods."
Elsie ended her story and we sat a few moments in silence. Then Amabel
remarked quietly—
"I suppose those are the shut up rooms between this chamber and the
king's room."
"Aye, they have never been opened since, or sae they say, and a veil
hangs always over the poor leddy's picture, though Mrs. Deborah's
mother used think it was only a fancy piece, since nobody knew how to
paint such pictures in those days. She was a very well-educated young
leddy, was my young mistress, and had been at school at a convent in
France."
And here Elsie diverged into an account of her young mistress, who had
been Amabel's grandmother. I was not sorry, for the tale had "garred me
grew," as Elsie said, and I was glad that the poor wolf-lady, if such
she was, could claim no kin with me. I have since learned that there
are plenty of ghost stories in my own family. Indeed, the Corbet ghosts
have made themselves so cheap that they are very little regarded. I
cannot say that either Amabel or myself slept any the worse for Elsie's
story, though I must confess to starting sometimes when the bloodhounds
would give vent to their long melancholy bay, worshipping the moon
after the fashion of their race.
Mrs. Deborah and Mrs. Chloe came home the next day but one, Mrs.
Chloe seeming much revived by her visit. The ball had been a great
success, and Mrs. Chloe had danced one dance with a very fine gentleman
indeed—some officer or other—who had given her a fine copy of verses
next morning, as the fashion was then. *
* Those who are curious may find plenty of such copies of verses
in old collections. They might mostly be made on a machine.
Molly and Jenny had greatly regretted our absence, and had sent us a
box of shells, and a needle-book and work-bag of their own manufacture.
Mine was made of flowers cut out in satin and paper, and placed between
two thicknesses of transparent catgut, † and was really very pretty and
ingenious.
† A thin, transparent, but rather stiff material, much used for
ornamental works. I have seen an old work-bag made of it.
Aunt Chloe had learned several new stitches, and the teaching of these
and describing the dresses at the ball afforded her amusement, till
something happened which drove General B., his sword-knot, and copies
of verses, effectually out of her head. This event, however, must be
reserved for another chapter.
[Illustration]