THE LOVE-CHASE.
Frederick Morley and Josiah met with very little success at Penzance. No
one had seen the Freemans, and no post-chaise from there had gone to St.
Just, except with pic-nic parties, for a considerable time. There was
not much difficulty in finding out this; for there were but few hackney
carriages in the town at that time.
Determined to discover the fugitives, the travellers went on to Truro,
by way of Hayle, and there they were more fortunate. A party, answering
their description as to number, had passed through that town about four
or five days before.
Morley bought a couple of horses at Truro, and on they went in pursuit;
for he found, by dint of the strictest enquiry, that a man and woman and
a young girl had gone on by Russell's waggon. These persons answered the
description pretty nearly in all but the dress; but they might have
changed their dresses; so Morley determined on following the waggon,
which was four days at least ahead of them. On they went, however, over
the great London road, tracing the waggon, which they were rapidly
gaining on, and changing their tired horses for fresh ones occasionally,
for which accommodation Morley had to pay very dearly sometimes. They
enquired continually at the wayside inns, where the waggon stopped to
change horses, or for refreshment, and at first the answers were
satisfactory. The fugitives had generally been seen by some one at the
refreshment-houses, either in the house or having refreshment taken to
them in the waggon. This was, so far, satisfactory; and on the two
pursuers went, and came up with the waggon at Bristol.
The great lumbering vehicle was standing at the door of one of the
second-class inns, to which they had been directed--the horses having
been taken out, and the waggon unloaded. Morley thought it strange that
it should be empty; for the same waggon generally went through to
London; and while Josiah saw the horses taken care of, his master
entered the inn and sought an interview with the driver, who informed
him that he had brought three such persons into Bristol, and they were
gone on in another waggon; for he had the misfortune to break his
axle-tree as he entered the city, and was obliged to shift his load into
another waggon, which was ten miles on the road by that time at least.
Fresh horses were procured, while the two travellers partook of a hasty
refreshment, and on they went again with renewed hope; for the fugitives
would not suspect pursuit, and would not, therefore, be prepared for
escape.
That Mr. Freeman knew something of the parties connected with that
document, Morley felt convinced now, having brooded over it so long, and
had it constantly dinned into his ear by Josiah, who had held the belief
from the first; but perhaps, after all, "the wish was father to the
thought" in Morley's case. Now that he was drawing near the objects of
their pursuit, a thousand reflections crowded into his mind; but,
although the hope of finding some clue to "his secret" was very
powerful, yet the hope of meeting Alrina once more, and rescuing her
from the bondage which seemed now to enthral her, was uppermost.
In the midst of these reflections, the sight of the heavy waggon
lumbering slowly up a hill, a little distance ahead of them, as they
turned a corner, sent a thrill through the frames of both. There they
were, and a brisk trot would bring the pursuers alongside of the waggon
in a few minutes.
They spurred on their horses in great excitement, as if they thought the
waggon would run away; but it still lumbered up the hill at its usual
snail's pace, drawn by its eight fine horses, with the bells over the
collars jingling at every step. The riders soon came up with them; and,
jumping off his horse, and throwing the reins to Josiah, Morley sprang
into the waggon, and was greeted by the hindmost driver, who was walking
by the side of his horses, with a hearty crack of the whip, which made
his back sting most unpleasantly, and brought him round to face his
assailant, before he had time scarcely to look into the waggon.
"What business have you in my waggon?" cried the principal driver; for
there were two.
"I came in search of the three passengers that you have here," replied
Morley, who was still feeling the effects of the crack of the whip,
although he thought it best not to resent it just then, as he saw at
once that the driver was in the right.
"I've got no passengers here now," replied the driver. "We brought three
coves along, as you say; but they left us about ten miles back, or so,
and turned down a narrow lane. They're a queer lot, I reckon; and that
young girl is afraid of her life of the old birds."
This was a terrible disappointment to Morley, after having his hopes
raised so high at the sight of the waggon, and thinking he was about to
reap the reward of all his trouble and fatigue.
"Did they say where they were going?" asked Morley.
"Not they," replied the driver; "he's as close as a box--that old
chap--and the old woman is upon the next stave of the ladder, I
b'lieve."
Morley gave the drivers a small piece of money for their information,
and the detention he had caused them, and held a consultation with his
faithful ally.
"We must follow them, my friend," said Morley, looking very much
disconcerted. "Alrina is persecuted and ill-used by her father and aunt,
according to that man's account. But why? There lies the mystery. She
must be rescued, at all risks, and that at once."
"Zackly like that," replied Josiah, thoughtfully; "but which lane ded
they go into, I wondar. I seed powers of lanes both sides."
"True," said Morley; "I forgot to ask which lane."
"'Twud ha' b'en all the same ef you had, I b'lieve," replied Josiah,
"for most of the lanes wor alike, so far I could see, as we came along."
"We are losing time. Mount, man, and follow me; we must find them." And,
suiting the action to the word, Morley vaulted into his saddle, and
Josiah followed his example.
They turned and rode back in silence for some miles, passing numerous
lanes on each side of the road; but the driver said the party left him
about ten miles back. The two travellers had not retraced their steps,
however, many miles, when they were accosted by a little beggar-boy, who
was coming out of rather a wide lane into the turnpike-road.
Morley gave the boy something, and asked him if he had seen three
travellers--a man and two females--pass up that lane.
"Yes, sir," replied the boy. "The man and the young woman turned down
another lane a little way on, and the old woman went up to the house."
"What is the name of the house, boy?" said Morley.
"Ashley Hall, sir," replied the boy.
"Indeed!" exclaimed Morley; "I had forgotten the locality. I never
approached it from this road before." And, setting spurs to his horse,
he rode on as if Old Nick was at his heels, instead of his faithful
friend and follower, Josiah. At the end of the lane, there was a neat
lodge, at which the impetuous gentleman was obliged to pull up.
"You ha' found a bra' keenly lode, I s'pose," said Josiah; "'tes looken'
brave an' keenly, I must say. The gozzan an' the indications do 'token
somethen' good furder in."
"Oh! I forgot to tell you," said Morley, "that this is my aunt, Mrs.
Courland's, place. I haven't seen her since my return; and this old
place I haven't seen since I was a boy,--for my aunt left it for a long
time, in order to be near my sister when she was at school. I meant to
have seen her much sooner, but that foolish accident at the Land's-End
frustrated all my plans. We will take up our abode here, Josiah, at
present, and go out scouring the country every day. We will make this
our head-quarters."
"Very good quarters to be had here, I'll be bound," returned Josiah.
"That's a grand house, sure nuf, that es," continued he, as they rode up
to the front door.
They were admitted at once, when the man saw the name on the card which
Morley gave him; and, desiring another servant to take care of Josiah,
he conducted Frederick into the drawing-room, where he found his sister,
alone, making delicious sounds on the pianoforte--which had just
superseded the harpsichord, and was then quite the rage among the
affluent. She was delighted to see her brother, although she scolded him
for not coming to see them before. When he told her the reason, however,
and recounted the scene of the accident, which he could not, even then,
look back upon without a shudder, she readily forgave him. She offered
him some refreshment, which he was very glad to have; for he had ridden
far, and had been harassed by anxious and exciting thoughts for several
days. They had dined long ago, Julia said, and immediately after dinner
her aunt was called out of the room on business, and had not yet
returned. "Some more buildings, or improvements, or alterations, going
on, I suppose," she continued, in a more subdued tone; "wealth has its
troubles, Frederick, as well as poverty."
"True," replied her brother; "and I really think wealth brings most
trouble very often. Aunt Courland has something of importance to settle
to-night, I should think."
"Oh! I never mind her absence," replied Julia; "she has often
engagements that occupy her a whole day, and I see nothing of her from
breakfast till tea-time. But I'll go and see where she is now; she will
be glad to know that you are here; and none of the servants would
disturb her, I'm sure."
Julia found her aunt, alone, in a little room looking out into her
private garden, from which there was a private communication with the
lane which branched off from the entrance-gate and skirted the gardens
of Ashley Hall. Mrs. Courland had evidently been weeping, and had gone
through some agitating scene; for she trembled still, as Julia felt when
she kissed her. She soon recovered, however, and accompanied her niece
into the drawing-room to welcome her nephew, who was a great favourite.
He, too, saw that something had agitated her, and he asked her what had
happened to upset her so.
"Nothing," she said; "it will be all over in a few minutes." And she did
get better; but still a cloud hung over her countenance, which she could
not altogether dispel, although it was evident she made a great effort
to do so.
The next morning, Morley and Josiah were on horseback before the ladies
were stirring. Josiah had gained some useful information from the
servants, as to the locality and the different lanes, and where they led
to, and how far they were from the sea.
They rode all day without success. Every lane they saw they explored as
far as they could, and enquired everywhere, but could gain no tidings of
the fugitives; and they returned late, weary and out of heart.
Day after day was passed in the same way, and with the same result. Mrs.
Courland requested that Frederick would use her horses to relieve his
own, so that he had always fresh horses at his command. One day they
rode along a narrow lane which seemed to lead to the sea. It was a
lonely road, skirted on each side by deep woods of tall forest-trees.
Not a house or human habitation was to be seen for miles. At length, as
they approached nearer the water, the trees appeared more stunted and
dwindled down to short coppice-wood. Still the road was lonely and
destitute of human habitation.
Suddenly they came upon a solitary cottage, surrounded by what had once
been a garden, but which was now filled with weeds and rank grass.
The entrance into the garden seemed to be at the end, through a little
wicket-gate, which had fallen off its hinges; but as the low wall of the
garden had fallen down in several places, Morley had no difficulty in
entering; so, leaving his horses to the care of Josiah, he made his way
through one of the gaps in the wall, and approached the front of the
cottage. The door was locked and the house seemed deserted. He looked in
at the windows, and, to his surprise, the house seemed furnished, and
everything in the rooms appeared as if they had been recently used. This
was very strange, Morley thought; so he went round the house, and, in
one end, he observed a window, rather larger than the front window; and,
looking into the room, he saw that it was a bedroom on the ground-floor,
which appeared as if it had been lately occupied. A sudden thought now
flashed across his mind, as he looked again in at that window; and,
returning to Josiah, he said,--
"We must make some enquiries about this house, Josiah; it seems to be
shut up,--and yet the interior has the appearance of having been lately
occupied."
"'Tes a whisht old house, sure nuf," replied Josiah; "a purty place for
pixies and ghostes, I reckon."
They mounted their horses again, and rode on about a mile further, when
they arrived at a farm-house. The farmer informed them that he had not
resided in that neighbourhood more than four or five years; but he had
heard that the house Morley was enquiring about, was haunted. A horrible
murder had been committed there many years ago, the farmer said, and no
one had resided there since.
"To whom does it belong?" asked Morley.
"I have heard that it belonged to the old man who was murdered there,"
replied the farmer. "The son and daughter lived there with him, I
believe; but after the murder they went off, no one could tell where,
and they have never been heard of since."
"Do you know the names of these people?" enquired Morley.
"Well, I have heard," replied the man; "but I have forgotten."
Morley's conjecture was confirmed. This was, no doubt, the very house in
which that dreadful murder was committed, of which his poor father had
been accused. The murderers had gone to some distant part of the
country, no doubt, or perhaps gone abroad, and left the house and its
contents just as they were, fearing to return lest they should be
discovered; and no one else would venture near the house, on account of
their superstitious fears of ghosts. The premises would not be worth
much, in that lonely district; indeed, no one would purchase them after
what had happened; and so the risk of returning was not worth incurring,
especially as the guilty parties must have taken away a considerable sum
with them; for the money which Mr. Morley had with him at the time, and
which he must have dropped in his agitation, at the time he slid down
from the bed, was, no doubt, picked up by the fugitives and carried off.
This was enough to enable them to live comfortably for a long time.
It was getting late; so Morley enquired the nearest way to Ashley Hall,
and returned by a short cut which the farmer pointed out, determined to
explore the interior of the house the next morning.
Julia ran down to meet her brother when she heard he had returned, and
begged him to have his dinner in the breakfast-parlour, if he didn't
mind, as her aunt was engaged with a stranger in the dining-room.
"What! more mysterious visitors, Julia?" said her brother, smiling;
"why, my aunt Courland must be worried out of her life."
"Yes. Now eat your dinner, like a good boy," replied Julia, leading her
brother to the table, which was already laid for dinner; "and then, if
you are very good, I will tell you a grand secret."
"Hallo!" exclaimed Frederick, eating at the same time--for he was very
hungry; "why, this place ought to be called 'The Castle of Mystery'
instead of 'Ashley Hall.' You seem to have more secrets here than were
contained in 'Blue Beard's' secret chamber. But the tables are turned
here, and the ladies hold the secrets, and the poor men have to guess."
"Heighho!" cried his sister, with a sigh; "I am sorry to say we haven't
many men here to hide secrets from. Their visits are 'like angels'
visits, few and far between.'"
"Now, one glass of wine," said Frederick, who had been going into the
substantials heartily while his sister had been talking;--"one glass of
wine, my little sister, and then for your secret."
"Two glasses, Frederick dear,--I must insist on your taking two glasses
at least; for I want to make you able to hear my terrible secret without
fainting outright." And she kissed him so kindly as she said this, that
he could not refuse his little sister's request.
"Two glasses, then," said he, "if it must be so."
When he had finished his two glasses of wine, she said she had such a
surprise for him in the dining-room, where perhaps he would have to take
another glass of wine.
"You little mysterious puss," said he, as he drew her arm within his,
and suffered her to lead him to the dining-room. "What can you have to
shew me?--it isn't a lover, is it?"
"Oh! no," replied she, sighing; "animals of that genus don't acclimatize
at Ashley Hall--the atmosphere here is too cold for them."
"You little satirical minx," said he, as his sister threw open the
dining-room door, and introduced him to their eldest brother, William,
from India.
It was a surprise indeed. The two brothers embraced most affectionately,
and then they looked at each other for some minutes. At last Frederick
said,--
"My recollection of our poor father is but faint--I was only ten years
of age when I last saw him; but it seems to me as if I saw him standing
before me now."
"Yes," replied his brother; "the likeness has been remarked by all our
friends in India."
"I was painfully struck with it," said Mrs. Courland, "when William
entered the room this morning. I felt as if my poor brother had come
back again, to bring to light that awful catastrophe. My thoughts went
back to that awful time, and I shuddered as he entered. I can scarcely
get over it now."
"It shall be discovered, my dear aunt," said the elder brother--whom in
future we will call Mr. Morley. "We will not return till the guilty
parties are brought to light."
A sudden change came over the countenance of Mrs. Courland as these
words were pronounced, in the solemn voice so like her poor brother's,
that alarmed her nephews. Julia had seen those fits on her before; and
she motioned to her two brothers to be quiet, while she held her aunt's
throbbing head to her bosom.
It soon passed away; and then she rose and begged her two nephews to sit
a little over their wine, as she knew they must have much to say to each
other.