After a slow progress of between two or three hours, along roads, which
in those days frequently tossed the heavy carriage wheels high in air
over some large unbroken stone, and still more frequently suffered them
to repose in deep beds of sand or mud, till the efforts of four strong
Flanders horses had dragged them forth--the vehicle which contained
Henry Langford gained the brow of Danemore Hill, and came within sight
of the building, which in that part of the country was known under the
name of the Castle.
This view was obtained from the side of the park which lay in front,
and which was separated from the road merely by a low park paling
crowned with open palisading at the top. A part of the park itself lay
between the mansion and the road, which were at the distance of about
three quarters of a mile from each other, the ground sloping with a
thousand fanciful undulations, and covered with short turf of a rich
bright green in all the dells and hollows, though becoming slightly
brown upon the tops of the knolls, where the fierce summer sun, like
the withering glare of the great world, had already taken off the
freshness of the vegetation.
Scattered here and there were groups of old hawthorns, contorted into
many a strange and rugged form; while on either hand appeared clumps of
fine old trees, the chestnut, the beech, and the oak. The latter were
seen gradually deepening and clustering together to the right and left
of the house till they joined a thick wood, through which every here
and there stood forth, dark and defined amidst the tender green of the
other plants, the sombre masses of the pine and fir; like some of those
stern memories of sorrow, of sin, or of privation, which are to be
found in almost every human heart, and which still make themselves
known in gloomy distinctness, amidst the freshest scenes and brightest
occupations of life.
In the midst, backed by that thick wood, stood the house, or Castle, as
it was called, and the name was not ill deserved. It was an irregular
pile of building, erected in different ages by its different lords, and
showing the taste of the various individuals who had possessed it, as
well as of the various ages in which it had been constructed. On the
left was an old unornamented tower, in the simplest style of the old
Norman architecture. It was like one of the plain towers of some of the
Kentish churches, with square cut windows, or rather loop-holes, under
a semicircular arch, which denoted the original form. It was crowned by
a plain parapet with a high conical roof.
Then came a long range of buildings in a much later style of
architecture, with oriel windows, and a good deal of rich stone carving
and ornamental work; then two massive towers, projecting considerably
before the rest of the fa├žade, and joined to it by two corridors,
through each of which was pierced a gateway, under a pointed arch; and
then again, as the building sunk into the wood, upon the right, were
more towers and masses of heavy masonry, united in general by long
lines of building of a lighter and more graceful character. On the
older parts the ivy had been suffered to grow, though not very
luxuriantly. The space in front, too, was kept clear of trees; and even
as the carriage passed along, at the distance of nearly a mile, the
wide esplanade on which the Castle stood, with a part of the barbican,
which had been suffered to remain, was distinctly visible.
The constables who sat with Langford in the carriage of Sir Thomas
Waller, gazed up, with feelings of awe and reverence, towards an
edifice, which the people of the country but seldom approached. The
eyes of Langford, too, were fixed upon it, but with sensations which
they little understood. All that they remarked was, that he kept his
eyes fixed upon the Castle steadfastly during the whole time that it
was visible as they passed along in front; that he looked at it calmly,
though gravely; and that, when he had done, he raised his head as if
waking from a reverie, and then suddenly turned and gazed from the
other window, where a wide and beautiful view was seen, spread out
below, reaching to the old Manor House, and the wooded banks and hills
beyond.
The carriage then rolled on, and, winding round under the park, entered
by a castellated lodge, and drove slowly up to the mansion, the
vehicles passing under the arches of the two large towers, which
projected from the centre of the building. A loud-tongued bell gave
notice of their coming, and three or four servants, fat, pampered, and
saucy, made their appearance to answer its noisy summons.
Sir Thomas Waller was the first to speak, and, with an air of
importance, he demanded immediately to see the Earl. One servant looked
at another, and he, who seemed to be the chief porter, replied shortly
that that was impossible, for the Earl had gone out.
"Gone out!" cried Sir Thomas, in surprise. "How? where?"
"He is gone out on horseback," replied the man, "that is how, sir; and
as to where, I fancy he is gone to the moor, where my young lord was
killed."
"But we must, at least we ought, to see my lord the Earl," said Sir
Matthew Scrope, "for we have brought up a prisoner for him to examine."
"I can't say anything about that," replied the man, with a sort of
sullen incivility; "my lord is out, but I will go and ask Mistress
Bertha, if you like."
"I do not know what Mistress Bertha can do in the matter," said Sir
Thomas Waller.
"Oh! she can do anything she likes," replied the man with a sneer, to
which he did not dare to give full expression.
"Well, ask her--ask her, then," said Sir Matthew; "you know who I am;
you know I was with the Earl three or four hours this morning. You know
I am a justice of the peace, and one of the quorum."
Sir Matthew did not seem by this announcement to raise his dignity
greatly in the eyes of the servant, who walked away, with slow and
measured steps, to make the proposed application. He returned in about
five minutes, saying, that Mistress Bertha's reply was, that, as it
might be a long time before the Earl returned, the magistrates had
better leave the prisoner locked up there, and come back in the evening
about the hour of his lordship's supper.
Sir Matthew Scrope and Sir Thomas Waller looked at each other. There
were some points in this suggestion which they did not much like; but
then, again, the magical words, "His lordship's supper," which were
coupled in their imagination with fine and exquisite wines from foreign
lands, fat haunches, rich sauces, and many another delicacy and luxury,
which rumour declared to be prevalent in Danemore Castle, rapidly
removed all objections from their minds; and after a few minutes'
consultation they determined to obey to the letter.
The next object of consideration was, how to secure their prisoner, and
in what room to place him; but their conference on that point was soon
cut short by the porter, who interrupted them by saying, "You had
better leave all that to Mistress Bertha; for, depend upon it she will
put him where she likes herself, and most likely has settled it
already. The best way will be to bring him in, and go to her. She is in
the long gallery."
Although the two magistrates did not at all approve of the whole
business being taken out of their hands by a woman, they nevertheless
yielded with some symptoms of displeasure; and Langford, being made to
descend from the carriage, was escorted by the two constables through a
long dim entrance passage, which led into a handsome vestibule beyond.
He offered no resistance to their will; he made no observation; he
asked no question; but with a calm and thoughtful dignity, which had
its effect even upon the pampered servants of the castle, he walked on,
looking casually at the different objects he passed, as if almost
indifferent to the part he was himself acting in the scene.
From the vestibule a handsome flight of stone stairs, lighted by a tall
painted window, led up to a gallery extending on either side for about
seventy yards; and up these stairs Langford was led, following the two
magistrates, who went on with slow steps, preparing to give Mistress
Bertha, the housekeeper, a just notion of their dignity and importance.
At the top of the stairs they were met by that personage herself,
dressed as we have before described her, except that her broad white
coif was no longer surmounted by the black veil with which she covered
her head when she went abroad. Her thin aquiline features might have
gained an additional degree of sharpness; her sallow skin was, if
anything, more sallow; and the cold severe expression, which always
reigned in her countenance, was now increased to a degree of stern
bitterness which somewhat humbled the tone of the two magistrates.
They approached her, however, with a very tolerable degree of
pomposity; and Sir Thomas Waller introduced himself and then presented
Sir Matthew Scrope, announcing to her that they were magistrates of the
county, and two of the quorum. As he spoke, the attention of the
housekeeper wandered beyond the two worshipful gentlemen altogether,
and was attracted to the prisoner, who followed them. There was
something in his good looks, his calm and dignified demeanour, his
apparel, or his expression of countenance, which made the thin eyelids
of Mistress Bertha's eyes expand from the bright dark orbs they covered
at the first moment they lighted on him, and she demanded, "Is that the
prisoner?"
Sir Thomas Waller replied that it was; and then recapitulated what he
had been saying in regard to the dignity of himself and Sir Matthew
Scrope.
"Yes, yes," replied Mistress Bertha, with her slight foreign accent, "I
know who you are, both of you; and now you have nothing to do but to
leave the prisoner here till the Earl comes home. You can return at his
supper hour. I do not know that he will eat with you himself, but if he
do not, meat shall be provided for you."
"There can be no reason, madam," said Sir Matthew Scrope, "why the Earl
should not sup with us; we have supped with men of as high rank, I
trow."
"When a man has lost his only son," said the housekeeper, sharply, "is
that no reason why he should not sup with two fat country knights, to
whom his sorrow and his presence would only bring gloom and stiffness?
Better sup by yourselves, and eat, and drink, and make merry, as you
are accustomed to do."
"Gadzooks!" said Sir Thomas Waller, in a low voice to his companion, "I
think the old lady is right; but madam," he added in a louder tone, "we
must be made sure of the safety of our prisoner."
"Leave that to me, leave that to me," replied the housekeeper, shortly.
"Follow me, Williams and Hanbury, to guard the prisoner; and you, John
Porter, come on too. Come with me, young gentleman," she added,
speaking to Langford in a more benign tone. "You do not look as if you
would commit a murder; but, God knows, looks are deceitful things. Come
with me."
"But, madam, we have no authority," interrupted Sir Matthew Scrope.
"Authority!" exclaimed the housekeeper, fiercely raising up her tall
thin person to its utmost height, "who talks of authority in this
house? You may well say you have no authority, for you lost it all the
moment you crossed that threshold. No one has authority here but the
Earl; and, when he is absent, myself--now that that poor boy is gone,"
she added, while a bright drop rose into her eyes, sparkled upon the
black lashes that fringed them, and then fell upon the sallow skin
beneath. "I trust in God you did not kill him, young gentleman; for if
you did, you committed a great crime."
"Indeed I did not, madam," replied Langford; "I should sooner have
thought of killing myself."
"I believe you, I believe you," replied the housekeeper; "but yet I
must have you as safely guarded as if you had. If you want to see where
I put him," she continued, speaking to the magistrates in a somewhat
gentler tone than she had hitherto used, "you may come with me: there
is a room which no one even enters but my lord and myself: it is
high up in the oldest tower; and even if he could get through the
windows--which he cannot--there is a fall of sixty feet below, clear
down. But come and see it if you will, and you shall have some
refreshment after."
Carrying a large key which she had held in her hand from the beginning
of the conversation, she led the way to the end of the gallery in which
they stood. Then, passing through another handsome corridor, she
ascended a staircase in the older part of the building, which brought
them to an ante-room, opening into a large bed-chamber, with windows on
each side; whilst through the western window, and close to it, might be
seen projecting the heavy mass of the large square tower that we have
mentioned in describing the building. A small low door was exactly
opposite to them as they entered, and to the lock of this Mistress
Bertha applied the key. It turned heavily, and with difficulty, as if
not often used; and the door moving back, gave entrance into a lofty
and cheerful chamber, lighted by four small windows.
The strength of the door and the height of the windows showed at once
that escape from that chamber was impossible; and the magistrates,
holding in remembrance the refreshments which their somewhat ungracious
companion had promised them, expressed themselves perfectly satisfied
with the security of their prisoner. Langford was accordingly desired
to enter the place of his confinement, and did so at once, merely
turning to address the housekeeper as he passed. "Madam," he said, "I
am sure you will be good enough to give my compliments to Lord Danemore
whenever he returns, and to inform him, first that I assert my perfect
innocence of the charge which these two worthy persons have somewhat
too hastily brought against me; and, secondly, that I beg he will take
the most prompt and immediate means for investigating the whole affair,
as it will be unpleasant for me to submit to this treatment long; and
there are plenty of persons in the neighbourhood who will see that
justice is done me."
The housekeeper made no other reply than bowing her head; but when
Langford had entered, and she had shut and locked the door, she turned
sharply and contemptuously upon the magistrates, saying, "He did not do
it! he never did it! you will make yourselves a laughing-stock in the
country."
Sir Thomas Waller was about to reply, but she silenced him at once by
ordering one of the servants who followed her to have the cold meats
laid out in the little hall, and find the butler for a stoup of
Burgundy. A proposal made by Sir Matthew Scrope to leave two of the
constables behind in the ante-room, she cut short, less pleasantly,
telling him that she would have no constables in her master's house
except such as were intended to be thrown out of the window.
By this time both magistrates began to find out that it was to no
purpose to contest matters in Danemore Castle with this imperious dame;
and they accordingly followed her in silence back to the head of the
great stairs. There she made them over to the care of one of the men
servants, who in turn led them to the lesser hall, where a collation
was set before them, which well repaid them for all their patient
endurance.
In the meanwhile, Langford had remained in the solitary chamber which
had been assigned to him. As soon as the door was closed, he took nine
or ten turns up and down the room, in a state of much agitation, then
gazed out for a moment from each of the windows by which it was
lighted, and then sat down at the table, and placed his hands for
several minutes before his eyes. It is not needful to enter into any
detailed account of his feelings; his situation was particularly
painful in every respect; and though he was not one of those who give
way to each transient emotion, something might well be allowed for
discomfort, anxiety, and indignation. When he had thus paused for a few
minutes, thinking over his fate? he lifted his eyes and gazed round the
chamber which served as his place of confinement, seeming to take
accurate note of all it contained.
The room itself was a cheerful and a pleasant room, with a vaulted
ceiling richly ornamented; while the thick walls of the tower were
lined with oak, very deep in hue, and finely carved with Gothic
tracery. The form of the chamber was perfectly square, and its extent
might be four-and-twenty feet each way. The furniture, too, was good
though ancient, and of the same carved oak as the panelling. It
consisted of a large table, and a smaller one, eight or nine large
high-backed chairs, and several curious carved cabinets. But the
objects which most attracted the attention of Langford were two small
panels, distinct from the rest of the wainscotting, and ornamented in
such a way as to show that they were not all intended to be concealed,
with a small pointed ogee canopy above each, similar to that which
surmounted the door by which he had entered, but only smaller in size.
In each of these panels was a key-hole surrounded by an intricate steel
guard; and it was evident that each covered the entrance of one of
those cupboards in the wall, in which our remote ancestors took so much
delight.
Besides the door by which he had entered, there was a smaller one on
the opposite side of the room, leading, as Langford conceived, to a
staircase in one of the large buttresses; and as he had been a prisoner
before, and had found it useful to know all the outlets of his
temporary abode, his first action, after gazing round the room, was to
approach that second door and try whether it was or was not locked. It
was firmly closed, however; and he took his way back towards his seat,
pausing by the way to examine the two small closets, and murmuring to
himself, as he did so, "This is very strange!"
As he spoke, he drew forth from his breast the key which had been given
him on the preceding night by Franklin Gray, and put it in the lock,
but did not turn it, though it fitted exactly. He withdrew it again
almost instantly, and replaced it in his bosom, then folded his arms
upon his chest, and took one or two turns up and down the room, pausing
at every second step, and gazing thoughtfully upon the floor.
By the time he had been half-an-hour in this state of confinement, he
heard a key placed in the lock of the door by which he had entered. In
another moment it opened, and the tall, stately figure of Mistress
Bertha appeared. In one hand she carried several books, and in the
other some writing paper, with a small inkhorn suspended on her finger.
She shut the door after her, but did not attempt to lock it; and then
laying down the books and implements for writing on the table, she
turned round and gazed fixedly in Langford's face.
"Have we ever met before?" she said at length, "Your face is familiar
to me. It comes back like something seen in a dream. Have we ever met
before?"
"If we have," replied Langford, "it must have been many years ago, when
the face of the child was very different from the face of the man."
She still gazed at him, and after a considerable pause said, "I have
brought you some books that you may read, and wherewithal to write if
you like it. In return for this write me down your name."
Langford smiled, and, taking up the pen, wrote down his name in a bold
free hand. The woman gazed at him as he did so, then carried her eye
rapidly to the writing. A bright and intelligent smile shone for a
moment upon her thin pale lip; and she said, "Enough! enough! that is
quite enough. You have been taught to believe that I have wronged you
more than I really have; and although I have given you much good
counsel and much true information, you have doubted and have not fully
trusted me. I tell you now, and I tell you truly, that I have not
wronged you, at least as far as my knowledge of right and wrong goes,
and therefore I am still willing to do all that I can to serve you. The
history of the past I may tell you at some future time, and I will show
you that I wronged others less than they thought I did. But there is
one whom I will not name, who has wronged you and yours deeply; and I
know his nature--I know human nature too well not to be sure that
implacable hatred and constant persecution is the offspring of such
acts, rather than sorrow, remorse, and atonement. It was on that
account that I bade you never come here. It was on that account that I
bade you fly his presence. Fate, however, has brought you here at a
moment when the mortal agony at losing the only creature he really
loved may yet tame his fierce heart and bend his iron will. I can do
but little for you, for I am bound by an oath--an oath which has bound
me for many years; but fate, which has brought you here, and has
wrought an extraordinary thing in your behalf, may yet do much. I will
leave it to its course. But with regard to your own conduct, beware! I
warn you to beware. Choose well your moment, and of all things be not
hasty. But hark, what is that I hear below? There are his horses' feet,
and I must leave you. Thank God, those idiot justices are gone."
"Yet one moment," said Langford, as she turned to depart: "I may have
thought that you wronged me and mine, but I have not doubted--I have
not suspected you, as you suppose. On the contrary, in many things, as
you may have seen, I have followed your advice--in others, that of one
whom I was more strictly bound to confide in."
"Ay, and it was she who taught you to believe--it was she who was weak
enough to believe herself, that I had been guilty of that which I would
scorn."
"No!" exclaimed Langford--"No! You mistake: she never did believe you
guilty. She owned, that once, in a moment of anger, she implied so; but
she did you justice in that respect through the whole of her life. She
told me more than once, too, that she had herself seen you, and assured
you, that she did not doubt you, as you imagined--that anger, having
passed away, justice and right judgment had returned."
"But all her words were cold," said Bertha, "and all her letters had
something of restraint in them."
"Consider her situation," said Langford in return; "and remember that
she had some cause to blame, as yourself acknowledged; though, in
regard to other things, she might have done you injustice."
"She did bitter injustice to herself," replied the woman, "and drove me
to attach myself to others, though I would fain have attached myself to
her; and, having done so, would have served her with my heart's
blood;--but I must not linger; I will see you again, ere
long--farewell!" and thus saying, she left him, locking the door
behind her.