The Heritage of Langdale. A novel

Chapter I

A dull November afternoon was lowering over the wild open country and unsheltered coast-line of a southern shire nearly a hundred and sixty years ago. Long stretches of flat corn-fields, rich in the evidence of man's work and Nature's bounty, now beautify what were then wild marshy sands, with a melancholy growth of dull green bent towrards the sea, and a sprinkling of heather and wild flowers nearer terra-firma. At one point the land rose suddenly into a huge shapeless promontory — rugged, rocky, precipitous towards the sea ; but rounded and covered with thick green sward on the inner side. Behind the shelter of this promontory lay the only bit of woodland for miles around. It nestled in a sort of semicircular valley, and crept round the base of the pro montory to the west, where it grew, safe from nor' and sou' easters, with some luxuriance.

A small river took its course from the upper downs through this wood, widened as it approached the foot of the promontory, by the daily action of the tide. At low water you might safely ride across the sandy embouchure to a wild lonely park, sparsely dotted with trees and sloping gently upwards to where it met the last straggling outposts of the wood, and was crowned by a grey, weatherbeaten, melancholy pile known locally as " The Priory," more accurately as Langdale Priory. It had been long in the hands of mere caretakers, for its last lord was on the losing side in the game of politics, and had been an exile for some years before his death ; while the man who, under the Government, administered the estate, John Langley (half-brother on the left-hand of the late lord), only paid rare and unavoidable visits to the deserted residence.

Just now unwonted smoke-wreaths rose from one or two of the chimneys, for the present master had, a couple of months before, brought thither a lady — a young lady — and her maid or female attendant, respecting whom the few neighbours had had much talk. She was, they said, Langley's ward, the late lord's daughter ; and since her coming — although the Priory, instead of being, as now, within a little over a couple of hours by train from the Metropolis, was at the end of a toilsome, not to say danger ous journey — John Langley had visited it more than once, and was, with his son, at the opening of this tale, again an inmate of its sombre walls. In the middle of the valley above mentioned clustered the little rambling village which had, as usual in early times, gathered in the fostering neighbourhood of those " monks of old " to whom we owe so much, and bore the same name as the Priory, by the dependants of which it was originally peopled.

Its present rude lounging popu lation — half-husbandmen, half-smugglers — possessed more wealth and comfort than the inhabitants of similar villages farther inland. They were a slow surly race, and constantly found time to saunter up the Head, as it was familiarly termed, with battered glasses under their arms, to look out in a seemingly purposeless manner. This heavy November day then was glooming over the village green, on the edge of which stood the village inn — a low wide-spreading edifice of timber and rubble, with an irregular-tiled roof and narrow casements, a large and very dirty stableyard at one side, and in front a superb spreading oak, on a branch of which hung the sign, a "Crown and Sceptre." A convenient bench surrounded the tree, and on it sat two stout elderly men, one of whom wore a white apron ; before them, holding a tray on which was a foaming jug of home-brewed and a couple of horns, stood a buxom, red-cheeked, black-eyed woman in a gay chintz dress drawn through the pocket-holes over a grey woollen petticoat, while her hair was hidden under a high-crowned white linen cap, tied round with a red ribbon: These were mine host and hostess, with their neighbour, a farmer and owner of the village forge.

" Come, neighbour," said Mistress Merrick, the hostess, "another horn of malt, 'tis as warm and thirsty a day as though it were June." " Ay, thirstier," added her husband ; " and how my young sir from the Priory could have sat nigh a full hour in the sanded parlour without so much as a cup of claret, passes me." " How ? " asked the blacksmith, with open-mouthed curiosity. " Hast thee th' young Captain in there ? " with a backward motion of his thumb. " Ay, that we have," cried the hostess, " and a rare fine gentleman he is, with his long fair hair all over powder, and such a swoord by his side, not like old Pikeman's cutlash, but long and thin like a big skewer. Eh ! you could smell him right down the passage and oop the stair for sweet essences ! and a right scornful gentleman — ain't he, master?"

" Ay, he is," returned Merrick, who was diligently filling his pipe. " No matter ; I remember his grandmother, and she would have done better to have married my uncle fair and honest than turn to what she did." " I've heard tell as how th' ould lord was nigh marrying of her," said the blacksmith. " He was so ; my uncle used to tell that the day was fixed and the ring ready, when Captain Rupert, the ould lord's sailor brother (him as quit the country years and years ago), came back from sea, raging against such mad ness," continued Merrick, after sundry breaks to draw his pipe ; " and so, you see, the upshot was Master John Langley was born out o' wedlock, and his brother, our late noble lord, was his master." " Master Langley and the young Captain have been nigh ten days at the Priory this turn," put in the hostess.

" Ah ! 'tis sad to see the old place deserted like, and the young lady, my lord's only daughter, shut up as if she were in prison." " Hush, dame," said her husband. " What is that to us ? " " But what has brought the Captain here ? " asked the blacksmith. " Well, it's a queer business," said Merrick, puffing as he spoke. "You know that schooner that has been cruising backard and forrard ? Our folks call her the strange sail. The crew has been in and out our place a bit — honest open-handed chaps as you'd wish to see talking an odd sort of lingo." "What sort be they?" asked the blacksmith, in a confidential tone. " How should I know ? They takes their liquor and pays for it ; that's all I have to see to." " Never mind, neighbour," interrupted Mistress Merrick. " The master may be close if he chooses ; but I never see a craft like that with a grand lady aboord before."

" Hush, hush, wife ! " said her husband, cautiously. " Pooh ! " she returned. " I am not going to say more than will be the talk of the whole village. Late last night a grand lady came up with that funny man as gave master the rum you liked so much — a queer fellow with ringlets and earrings — my word, but she was a fine big woman ! I never was so took aback as when Gusuppy, as they call him, said she wanted a room for the night. Anyway, we got one ready, and she was no ways hard to please. Early this morning she had the master up (which I wonder she did not ask for me), and asked for a messenger imme diate, to take a note oop to the Captain — to the Priory. Sure enough, up he rode, over an hour and a half ago, at hot speed ; and this his wedding-day ! You know, he is to wed my lord's daughter this afternoon.

Now 'tis past three. and there he sits, still waiting for the lady. She went out to take the air just before he came, and has never come back. There's a strange tale for you ! She is a foreigner, the lady is, for little Gusuppy had to tell her every word we said in some queer tongue — he is gone with her." Mistress Merrick paused, out of breath. The blacksmith listened, open-mouthed, while the host smoked in placid silence. The former now broke into exclamations, and slapping his huge brown hand energetically on his knee, cried, " How d'ye know 'tis not the Chevalier himself? " " Too big," returned the host sententiously ; " and, neighbour Hartley, you needn't halloo as if you were hailing a boat." It may be here mentioned that this wild and lonely coast was a favourite landing-place for smugglers and Jaco bite emissaries, and that the population was rather disaffected, though in a sleepy indifferent fashion, to the House of Hanover, now feeling a trifle more secure in its new place after the recent fruitless attempt of Mar in the Pretender's cause.

Further conjecture was, however, stopped by the appearance, in the doorway of the inn, of an apparition unusual in that part of the country — viz., a fine gentleman. He was a tall slight man, dressed in a suit of fine blue cloth, laced with silver and decorated with silver filigree buttons. His own long fair hair, powdered and perfumed, lay upon his shoulders, crowned by a three-cornered hat, silver-laced and fringed with white feathers. His air and style was that of an exquisite of the period in a species of demi-toilette, if such an expression can be applied to male attire. Plain as was the suit, it was all in perfect keeping, from the silver-laced hat to the silver-edged cream-coloured gloves and silver-hilted rapier, save that his high riding boots were scarce in keeping with so much daintiness.

At sight of him, Merrick and the blacksmith rose, and the hostess laid her tray on the bench, the better to bob a curtsy. The gentleman held a large watch in his hand, on which he looked with an expression of cold displeasure in his handsome but contracted face ; then turning his pale-blue scornful eyes on the group opposite, said in slow discontented tones, " My horse at once — I can stay no longer. Tell the lady, if she returns, I shall be in London before the week is out. Now then, my horse." " Ay, sir. I'll warrant I'll hasten them," returned Merrick, laying down his pipe, and walking towards the stables more speedily than could have been expected from his size, shouting, " hallo — Joe, Nick, the Captain's horse ! Look alive, you lubbers ! his honour is waiting." Calling out as he went, he disappeared into the yard, while Captain Langley stood reading a small note, looking at it on every side, as though not quite sure of the writing ; then tearing it into the smallest fragments with sudden im patience, he scattered them in the heavy air, shouting as he did so, " What keeps those fellows with my horse ?

Am I to wait all day, you infernal lazy " He stopped short, for Merrick reappeared in a state of great excitement. He held Joe — a youth in shirt-sleeves, with a shock head — by the collar, and with his disengaged hand seemed to pommel him severely, while the victim cried for mercy ; two other young men in rough attire followed, gesticulating and shouting. " You careless good-for-nothing scamps," cried Merrick, letting go the first sufferer to seize another, " to go for to lose his honour's horse ! How dare you take your eyes off him ? " " What, what ! " cried Captain Langley, springing for ward. " What's this ! — my horse lost ? " " Ay, sir ! Somehow these varmints have let him slip his halter, and he has run off. I'll flog the life out of you — I'll " But the Captain here drew forth the riding whip, which he held under his arm, and cut viciously right and left with a concentrated fury, very different from the host's noisy demonstration.

" I have no time to punish the dogs now," exclaimed young Langley. " Come, saddle the best hack you have got in that beastly pigsty. By I'll make you pay for this day's work ! " " But, good sir, worshipful sir ! " cried the hostess, in visible trepidation, "we have ne'er a steed in the stable. Master's own bay mare is gone with his Reverence Parson Everard two hours agone. He was sore pressed to ride to Hythe, for Lord Dornton lies a-dying, and sent this morning at speed for the parson." " How ? " asked Langley, stepping back as if stunned. " The parson ridden away to Hythe ! there is something wrong here ! How did my horse get loose ? " he continued, in a high-pitched voice, his face again darkening ; whereupon several loud voices in disjointed exclamations explained how " the halter was a bit rotten," and " his honour would have his beast tied in the yard, not put in the stable " — so, when th' ould donkey brayed sudden like " " I suppose the brute has made his way home," inter rupted Captain Langley, " and I must follow on foot ; but," with a deep imprecation, "you shall suffer for it."

" Shall I send to the Priory for a horse, your honour ? " " Send to " retorted the fine gentleman fiercely. " I will get there sooner on foot ! And hark'ee, master, it's like enough there's some devilish scheme under all this — if so, look to yourself." So saying, and again striking the men nearest him with his riding-whip, he walked quickly away a few paces, then paused, and turning, requested in less angry tones, to be informed if the first path to the left, after leaving the village, did not lead by a shorter way into the park. " Ay, sir," answered Merrick, " after you pass the bridge. You couldn't cross the sands now, even on horseback ; the tide is at the full." "Ay, sir, about half a mile past my forge," said the blacksmith, " and I'll show " But his further utterance was checked by a sudden backward step on the part of Merrick, which brought the full weight of that ponderous person on his tenderest toe.

While the blacksmith held his foot, uttering strong expressions of agony, Captain Harold Langley, of His Majesty's Foot Guards, marched off at a rapid pace — away — down the straggling High Street, where the children gazed wonderingly, and the dogs barked angrily at him. Once he stopped at the forge aforesaid, attracted by a rough stout pony tethered there while the smith shod an old grey mare. The owner of both, however, a rugged red-headed countryman, stupid, but not uncivil, wanted his cattle for himself, and could not be tempted to part with either, even for half an hour. So with many a muttered curse, Harold Langley strode on. Now he glanced at his huge gold repeater ; now at the fast darkening sky. It was past three o'clock, and the hour fixed for the ceremony of his marriage, if so unceremonious an affair could be so termed.

Not that Harold Langley was an impatient bridegroom. No, a wife, according to the fine gentleman theory, was " a mill-stone about the neck," even though buoyed by rank and wealth ; but in the present instance the bride had neither. She was the daughter of an exiled despoiled malcontent, what was there to gain from such an alliance ? Harold could not fathom his father's motives for so peremptorily desiring the marriage. However, as it was only by consenting to it that he could get his debts paid, Captain Langley consented. " And she is such a strange little chit," he thought ; "heeds me no mope than if I were a boor ! and yet she has had some cultivation, too, in the French capital, and does not seem altogether without wit ! Well, I will take the conceit out of her by-and-by." Wherein the gallant guardsman reckoned without his host.

The conceit was never taken out of a woman by a man she does not love. The power to humble and to crush is vested in the hands of him who holds her heart ; and he is seldom averse to exercise it. While Harold Langley meditated and cursed the mis chance which occasioned his long walk, his ill-luck at play, his father, his bride-elect, and the fair dame whose billet of that morning had led to his present position, he advanced at good speed, having left all signs of habitation behind. He now approached the little river before mentioned, just where its steep shrubby banks opened to its embouchure. " Directly she is my wife I will quit this infernal den, and never return," was his mental resolution, as he passed the first outlying clump of trees and underwood ; and as he emerged from its shelter up rose behind him, from the thicket, three figures — three strange-looking men in sailor garb, with gold ear-rings, and silk sashes of bright colours and foreign texture.

The first — a short, powerful, broad shouldered man — held a mass of drapery on his left arm ; with a silent stealthy tread he darted after the fine gentleman who had just passed, and with one cast of the voluminous cloak he carried, enveloped him from head to foot. In vain the victim struggled and strove to cry out. Thick entangling folds of cloth prevented either effort ; and the two other desperadoes were quickly at hand to aid their leader. Yet no very desperate motive seemed to prompt their action. Their bronzed hard countenances wore an expression of broad amusement, and they called to each other in a strange mixed dialect, in which even a few English words were heard. " Your Excellency had better keep quiet," said the leader at last, as their prisoner made a sudden furious effort. "No harm is meant, so be quiet, Caramba !

I did not think there was so much force in so slim a chap ! Here, Nick, Antonio, take his feet ; leave his head to me : I am equal to the two of you, any day ! Now bear a hand ! — gently — all right ! Excellency, don't take so out of yourself ! Steady oh ! " Slowly the group approached the edge of the road where a footpath among the fern and brushwood led to the water's edge. Very carefully they lifted their burden over the rugged path, the leader loosening the cloak which wrapped their prisoner to admit air, informing him he might make as much noise as he liked, it would avail him nothing ; and so, though moving slowly, they were soon out of sight — silence settling down once more over the peaceful beauty of the scene.

Chapter II

Later in the evening of the same day a middle-sized, middle-aged, square-set man, dressed with studious sim plicity in a suit of black cloth relieved by cut-steel buttons, in black-silk stockings, with cut-steel shoe and knee buckles, the sole indication of costliness his lace ruffles and cravatte, stood, his hands crossed behind him, in the recess of one of three windows which lighted a large room, known to the dwellers in Langdale Priory as the " little dining-room," to distinguish it from a wide banqueting hall on which it opened. The outlook was not inspiriting. The dull daylight had almost faded, and the tide had receded sufficiently to leave bare in their unsightliness masses of wet seaweed, black and desolate-looking. The room itself looked desolate ; an island of carpet broke the surface of polished oak near the fireplace, where the remains of a wood fire glowed sullenly.

A heavy oaken table, a few high-backed chairs, and a large carved settle with a red cushion, made up the furniture, in addition to a worm-eaten buffet at one side of the projecting fireplace. The gentleman just described turned and paced the room, evidently in deep and uneasy thought. More than once he consulted his watch, frowning portentously as he did so. At length he approached the table, and laid his hand upon a bell which stood there. As he did so, a puritanical-looking man, in sad-coloured garments and hair cropped sullenly straight across his brow, entered, and advancing deliberately to the table with a short bow, or rather nod of the head, said in a harsh voice — " The clergyman has come." " Indeed ! whom have they got ?" asked the other, who. it is scarcely necessary to say, was Mr. John Langley.

"A gentleman from Thirlsmere, nigh eight miles off. He is somewhat shook with hard riding — shall I offer him a cup of ale?" " Wine, my good Simon, wine," returned Mr. Langley ; " and, Simon, it is strange my son has not yet returned. Send instantly to the inn — recall him ; some of our messen gers have surely now come back, and the tide is low enough to cross the sands — half an hour will bring him here. Meantime I will go speak with my niece. She must have well-nigh exhausted her patience ; it is full two hours past the time appointed. I must explain matters to her myself." Simon, Langley's local factotum, withdrew, and his master, or employer, paused uneasily, his hand resting on the table. " That mad boy," he thought, " to be drawn aside from so important an affair by a billet from some courtesan — some painted bit of villany.

Why will he not be guided by me ! AVhy does he not see things as I do ! With my brains and his manners, what might we not accomplish ! He is a fine lad, but a thoughtless." The father's grim square-jawed face relaxed as he thought of the son, round whom his all of human love was entwined. As he thought, the door opened, and two female figures entered, apparently to Mr. Langley's surprise. The elder was a tall, gaunt woman, not old, but quite past youth, with a quantity of rough grey hair, over which was tied a cap of thick white lace, which yet produced little effect towards softening her rugged face, with its wide mouth and sharp grey eyes. Her dress of lavender silk was looped up over a petticoat of some dark stuff, and her sinewy spare arms were covered with black lace mittens to where the ruffles of her sleeves met them.

On one of these strong arms leant a creature so widely different in aspect that, cold and unim pressionable as he was, John Langley paused a moment in silence, struck by the contrast, as they approached. A fair girl in earliest womanhood — a delicate, highbred looking woman, whose every movement suggested perfection of form, rather below middle height, her profuse nut-brown hair turned over a cushion in the regal fashion of the times, adding to her height. Her somewhat pallid face, wide across the brow, and tapering to the delicate chin, was lighted by a pair of blue eyes so fringed with long dark lashes, that their colour was not easily discernible ; her rosy mouth was perhaps larger than it ought to be for the strict rule of beauty, but so soft, so sensitively expressive, none could wish it altered ; while a nez retrousse saved the face from over sweetness.

She was clad in a long robe of white silk, the square-cut lace-edged corsage of which was orna mented with rosettes of violet and silver, and wrapping her self shiveringly in a large white lace shawl or veil, which partly covered her head. As she clung to her companion, a fairer picture of a mother's or a lover's delicate darling could scarce be seen. Not such, however, she seemed to the small, dark, restless eyes that gazed at her from under John Langley's heavy brows. The deer-like carriage of her head, the indescribable nobility of her air, were insults to him ; her whole bearing and aspect a silent protest on the side of that legitimacy which, according to his crooked theory, robbed him of his rights. For was not he her father's eldest brother — the rightful heir of the Langdale lands but for the leaving undone of a small ceremony, which his parents had omitted.

This deadly sense of wrong, this poison of envy, had warped him from boyhood. Not all the frank friendliness and active kindness of Reginald, the late lord, who had died in exile scarce a year previously, could soften his heart, or relax the determination which gradually formed itself in his mind to possess himself of the heritage of Langdale. The open-hearted Lord Langdale had little dreamed of this ; he looked on John as his mentor, his right hand. Nevertheless John's influence never kept him out of certain mischiefs — amongst them political plots, about which the good Baron cared little, though his unguarded participation in them led to his compulsory flight. Through all Lord Langdale believed in his brother, and to his care he bequeathed his only child, Maud, who now stopped opposite her uncle. ' " My fair niece," said he, taking her hand, and carefully softening his tones, " I grieve to tell you that your favourite parson, Everard, cannot attend you to-day — you must e'en allow a stranger to tie the knot.

An early patron and fast friend of the Rector lies on his deathbed, and sent craving the last consolations of religion from our good parson, who was compelled to obey the summons. Meantime my son, devoured with impatience, sent messengers in some directions, and rode forth himself to seek another clergyman, lest our plans should be defeated. The messenger has returned with a reverend gentleman, but my son, not knowing the country, has probably missed his way, for he has not yet returned." "And Parson Everard cannot come ! I am so sorry !" said the young lady, whose pleasant voice had a slightly foreign accent, while her eyes filled with tears. " He has ever been so kind to me ! Why did you send for a stranger? A day sooner or a day later would make no difference." " My dear young lady, to you, perhaps ; but you must make allowance for a lover's impatience."

To which Mistress Maud replied by a sweet saucy laugh, though her cheeks were pale and her lashes wet. " Harold a lover ! Harold impatient ! Ah, good uncle, you are a droll." The young lady often made use of French expressions. " Madam," returned Langley, frowning, " your mirth is unbecoming." " NTimporte," she rejoined. "Am I not going to fulfil my promise, and wed your son ? Will you not fulfil yours, and take me from this weary, dreary place ? I daresay we shall do well enough as man and wife. My poor dear father loved me so much. Surely, when he is used to me, Harold will love me a little ;" and turning her face quickly against the arm of her attendant, who had stood motionless while her young mistress spoke, she burst into tears. " There, uncle," she said, brokenly, yet defiantly ; " there ! which like you best — my laughter or my weeping ?

" " My young lady has been whimpersome all day," said the gaunt woman, in a rough staccato voice, " and faint like, which is but natural. A cup of mulled claret now." Mr. Langley rang the bell which lay on the table with half-suppressed impatience ; but while he rang it Simon re-entered, and announced that Captain Langley had arrived, and that he with the reverend gentleman were even now waiting the bride in the chapel. "It is well !" cried Langley, greatly relieved. " Come, dear niece, let me lead you to what will be the securing of your comfort for life." Maud, her bosom still heaving with sobs, and deadly pale, silently gave her hand. " Stay close to me, Dorothy, dear Dorothy," she whis pered to her grim attendant, whereat that individual nodded a sharp emphatic nod, and the trio left the dining-room.

Crossing the large hall, they entered the deserted chapel, which opened from it. Here had been lavished a wealth of decorations in the old monkish days, now neglected and dilapidated. A paltry cloth covered the communion-table, where once was the high altar. The darkness of the chapel was rendered painfully visible by the pale lustre of a pair of huge wax tapers placed upon the table ; their light fell upon the clergyman in a crumpled surplice, and on the long fair hair and blue and silver suit of Captain Langley, who had placed himself on one of the stone recess seats to the left of the altar. He rested his right elbow on his knee, and his head on his hand, as if lost in thought or absorbed in prayer, nor did he move till his bride came in a line with him, when he rose and took his place beside her.

John Langley fell back a step, while Dorothy pressed close. Simon Evans, the caretaker, Mistress Margery, the house keeper, old Nicholas, the general factotum, grouped them selves a few paces off ; while the lower servants, a reduced retinue, crowded as near as they might. Then the clergy man, a young, healthy, rosy-faced man, opened the book, and began, in a hasty, monotonous manner, to read the solemn, touching service. The bridegroom's responses were uttered in a deep undertone, which the echoes of the chapel blurred and rendered inarticulate ; while the bride's were inaudible, even to her faithful Dorothy. At the passage where the ring is put on, the bridegroom drew from his own finger, and placed upon the bride's, one of a rich yellow colour and of extreme thickness. Dorothy at this point thought she perceived a certain failing about her young lady, as though she would have fallen.