The Wild Lass of Estmere, and other stories

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THE WILD LASS OF ESTAIERE AND OTHER STORIES THE Wild Lass of Estmere AND OTHER STORIES BY M. BRAMSTON Author of 'Apples of Sodom,' 'In Hiding,' etc. ' And men have hopes, which race the restless blood, That after many changes may succeed Life, which is Life indeed.' Tennvson. LONDON SEELEY AND CO. LIMITED ESSEX STREET, STRAND These tales of Past, Present, and Future have appeared during the last twenty years in the Christmas number of the same periodical, and are here offered to a reading public which seems of late to incline to look favourably upon short stories. M. B. CONTENTS PAGE the wild lass of estmere - - I the groom of the handkerchiefs - 52 touched and gone - - 94 master Roger's bride - - - 132 THE WOMEN'S REBELLION - - - l6l A MODERN GIRL - - - - 201 THE ISLAND OF PROGRESS A NEW VERSION OF AN OLD STORY ' I weird ye to be a fiery snake ; And borrowed sail ye never be Unless that Kempion, the King's own son, Come to the crag and thrice kiss thee, Until the world comes to an end, O borrowed sail ye never be !' My wife and I were paying a Christmas visit to a certain much-loved cousin of mine, by name Walter Kempe.

He is an invalid, and the ordinary amusements of society are beyond his powers; but, being anxious to entertain us, he brought out one evening a packet of ancient letters, in which the ink had turned brown with age and the paper yellow. 'Would you like,' said he, 'to hear the love-story of a collateral ancestor of mine, the Reverend Owen Kempe, curate of Nant y-Glas, in North Wales, something more than a hundred years ago ? It is described in letters from himself to my great-grandfather, Henry Kempe, the cloth merchant, who was afterwards alderman of London and purchaser of our family estate in Gloucestershire.' We both assured him that nothing would give us greater pleasure, and Walter, after settling his spectacles upon his short-sighted eyes, proceeded to unfasten the ribbon which held the letters together and began to read.

Letter I

' Now word has come to Kempion That siccan a beast was in the land. Merton College, Oxford, June, 1763. My Dear Brother, — You will ere this have heard from my sisters that I purpose to spend the ensuing Long Vacation in the North, and doubt I shall not have the pleasure of seeing my relatives in town this Summer. But as betwixt us, dear Harry, there hath always existed a confidence deeper than that of common brothers, I am about to confide to you the reason (stronger than that of visiting my Aunt Ardthorpe and my Cousin Crackenlaw), which drives me to this resolution. I had a few friends in my room t'other night to a modest feast, not of port and venison (which in my mind hardly becomes my Cloth), but of muffins and Bohea. As you know, I hold that a Clergyman, instead of going as nigh as he can to the fashionable vices of the day, should keep himself as far from them as possible, and cultivate, so far as in him lies, the contrary virtues.

Therefore I had only my pupil, Harrison, of Ashghyll, and two or three like-minded Youths ; and our conversation was of an ordinary character, avoiding such topics as might too deeply stir our minds and lead to difference of opinion. We spoke of Clarissa, and of the advantage of works of Fiction and the merit of the Author ; and then we fell to a subject much debated just now, namely, the comparative merits of the civilized Man and of the noble Savage, who is now so favourite a theme with our poets. One said that he would gladly go to the wilder nesses of America or New Holland to make acquaintance there with Man in his primeval virtue and natural simplicity; another compared the strong-armed laborious Squaw of the Red Indian with our artificial Beauties in stays and hoops. Young Harrison, who comes from the Cumberland fells, laughed and said he had no need to go so far to see a wild Woman ; there was one not far from his home, young and handsome, whom they called the Wild Lass of Estmere.

About this young Woman he rhapsodized somewhat, as young men will, for the mere pleasure of talking, but on being by me brought to sober fact, he said that about three miles from his home there is a lonely Cottage at the edge of the Lake of Estmere, and here, with an old woman who acts as keeper, duenna, or what you will, dwells a young Lady from Whitehaven, who affects the greatest Singularity. Some say she is crazy, but others hold that she is only cursed with a villainous bad temper and love of eccen tricity. She comes, said he, of a respectable family at Whitehaven, but so savage was her demeanour towards the children of her Stepmother there that she was sent to this cottage at Estdale to be out of harm's way, both for her own sake and theirs, where truly she lives the life of a female Recluse, for she knows none of the families near, neither are they acquainted with her.

Neither is she seen at the parish Church, four miles distant, at Holm ; nor doth she ever attend Wakes, or Fairs, as is natural for a young Woman to do, that she may show herself in her bravest finery and take notice of such as other Lasses wear. When I heard the name of Whitehaven, which is endeared to me by so many pleasing recollections of my good Grandmother who bred me up there, I asked Harrison if he could tell me the young Woman's name, as in former days I knew many of the families at that town. He answered that the young Woman was named Isabella, or, as in the barbarous Cumbrian language they clip the name, Isobel Drake. She is, said he, twenty two or twenty-three years of age, a handsome black-eyed Lass, with thick black brows, which frown too often when they should smile; and her father was a Ship broker at Whitehaven, who died some years since, leaving Isobel in charge of his second Wife.

From this description, brother Harry, I had little doubt that the young Woman spoken of was none other than an old acquaintance of my Childhood, my special friend and playmate, when I was a lad at Whitehaven under my Grandmother's care, of whom I now proceed to inform you more particularly. As you know, Harry, I went to Whitehaven when I was eight years of age, being a puny and weakly Child, lonesome and fretting for the loss of my twin Brother Tom, who had died of small-pox just before I left town. My Grandmother sent me out to the shore, soon after my arrival, to get fresh air, and withal to amuse myself with watching the Sailors and the fishing-smacks in the Haven ; but I, being sad and lonely, fell to thinking of my brother, sat down on a low rock, and wept. My tears were checked by the voice of a Child saying ' Puir laddie, dinna greet,' which, in the king's English, meaneth Do not weep.

I looked up and beheld a little Lass, brown-skinned and with curly black hair, holding out to me the half of a Bun to comfort my sorrow. The Bun and the Child's sympathy together comforted my grief; we ran off together and she showed me where to pick up shells, and how to catch Shrimps in the pools. Thence forward Isobel Drake and I were scarce ever apart. She was a motherless Child, and her Nurse, old Sue, was an ignorant though well-meaning woman. Her Father troubled himself little about her, and I know not how she would have fared had not my kind Grandmother, seeing her love to me, become her instructress and pro tectress. By her Isobel was taught to read her Horn book and to work her Sampler ; and, moreover, to say her prayers and to attend Divine Service on the Sabbath, my Grandmother taking the child into her Pew with me.

This was a weariness to both of us, we not liking the confinement nor the dulness, for we could neither see nor hear, and had to be solaced with peppermint Drops when the restraint of quietness became too irksome for us to endure. When I grew old enough for a tutor Isobel learnt her book with me ; indeed, she was so like a little Sister that when I said my prayers at night I always added her name to those of Priscilla and Mary. I will not say we never quarrelled, for Isobel had a sharp temper and was somewhat of a Vixen when angered. But a kind word, when the Passion was past, would ever bring her to Repentance; and she had a loving Heart, which made her loath to grieve those she loved, and eager to do all she could to give them Pleasure. Once in anger she struck me with a Stick which was in her hand and blacked my Eye, and when she saw what she had done, she went well-nigh frantic with Remorse, and I had to forget my pain to give her comfort and bring her to reason.

So we went on in close companionship for five or six years, when my good Grandmother died. I had to return to town to my Father, and I thought that Isobel would have fretted herself into a sickness when I told her I was to go. I gave her my Dog Prince to comfort her, and told her that I would never forget her, and would be a brother to her all my life. Alas ! childish vows are but brittle. I wrote once to Isobel, and she to me, but my father forbade me to write again, saying that he had no shillings to spare to fling away on a boy's Fantasy ; and since then I have heard nothing of my poor little Playmate until this mention made of her by Harrison. Now if Isobel Drake had become a happy and prosperous young Woman like Mary or Priscilla, I doubt that I should have accepted the Fate that has placed half the length of the land betwixt us, and made no attempt to see her again.

But hearing of her thus, apparently friendless and lonely, thrust away by those who should have tended her, to have become, as it were, a Savage and a mark for Scorn, instead of an honoured and respectable Woman, I feel it is my duty to redeem my boyish promise, and see if there is any means by which her Condition may be bettered. If she be crazy, she should be put under the care of a wise Physician, who might perchance amend the humours of her Brain ; and if she be wicked, she should be brought under the influence of godly Folk, who by example, as well as precept, should bring her to a better Mind. I intend, therefore, to pay a visit to Harrison, who has often invited me, and while there to seek out Isobel Drake, and see what can be done to help her. I beg you, however, good Harry, to mention nothing of all this to my Sisters.

For it is the way of Women, if a young Man show any interest in a Girl, forthwith to cackle abroad that he is making love to her ; and I have no thought of making love to a crazy young Woman, as I fear poor Isobel may be. I do not intend in any case to marry until some college Living (and that a fat one) shall fall vacant, finding my life at Merton congenial and suited to a Scholar with literary tastes. So it is with no thought of Matrimony that I go to see what I can do for Isobel Drake ; it is merely for old kindness' sake, and because my Grandmother loved the child, and would have grieved that she should turn out ill. For my Sisters, tell them that I am about to visit our Relations in the north, and ask if they have any message for my Aunt Ardthorpe, who is, I know, a notable Woman, and would like any fresh recipe, such as that for the Pie which brought Priscilla into so much favour in her last visit.

I have purchased for the journey a strong and quiet brown Cob. I should be glad if you would take down my pistols, have them oiled and cleaned, and send them here by Brown the Carrier. Whitehaven is at some distance from Oxford, and Harrison says there are many wild moors on the journey where Highwaymen are not unknown. I am, dear brother, thine, Owen Kempe.

Letter II

' Come hither, come hither, ye cannot choose, And lay your head low on my knee ; The heaviest weird I will you read That ever was redd to gay ladye. Mickle dolour sail ye dree When o'er the saut seas maun ye swim : And far mair dolour sail ye dree, When up to Estmere Crags ye climb.' Whitehaven, July, 1763. My Dear Henry,— I have, thank heaven, reached the goal of my journey, and am now lodging in the house of my good Cousin Crackenlaw, until Monday se'nnight, when I propose to pay a visit to Harrison at Ashghyll. I hope this will find you and all well, as it leaves me at present. I have been vastly entertained by the humours I have met with on my journey, and my Cob proved a good beast and true, never falling lame once nor other wise misbehaving. I thought, on reflection, that it would be best for me to come hither before my visit to Ashghyll, that I might learn from the good folks of Whitehaven what is the cause of Isobel Drake's Eccentricity.

Then I might be able to proceed accordingly, providing a Physician either for her body or soul, according to which is in need of succour. And, indeed, I am glad that such was my design, for I shall now be able to go to the poor young Woman with more knowledge of both her faults and her wrongs than I should otherwise have had. First of all I heard the common talk about the Girl, who had indeed given her neighbours cause to prattle of her. The Stepmother (who seems not to have been well spoke of) is now gone writh her Family to live at Carlisle, so that I could not see her nor hear her account of the matter, but the Neighbours were ready enough to speak. Isobel, said they, had grown up a handsome Lass, but fierce and unmanageable. There were perpetual feuds betwixt her and the young Cottendales (Mrs. Drake's Children by her former Husband).

True, the girl had her wrongs, for her Father at his death had not left her a penny ; but that was no reason why she should fall into unwomanly Habits, striking with her Fists when provoked, and using foul and violent language. A young man had once thought of making her his Wife, but overhearing her in one of her Rages he was so much shocked that he went away and never pursued the matter further. Indeed, it was said that the cause of her banishment to Estmere was the sudden death of one of the Cottendale lads, who had been dealt a blow on the temple by Isobel a day or two before, and that had the matter not been hushed up by the Family very shocking disclosures might have been made. The woman who was in charge of her at Estmere was, they say, one Moll Marshland, a worthy and careful Person, w7ho would be warrant that no harm came to the girl.

Indeed, she was well placed in the Fells where she could harm nobody. How7ever, I wished for more accurate information, and was fortunate in finding Isobel's former nurse, old Sue, now infirm and bedridden, who had lived with the Drakes until Isobel had been sent away, which had well-nigh broke her heart. She was both willing and ready to speak, and I now transcribe for you her account of the matter, turning her Cumbrian dialect (which would be unintel ligible to you) into King's English for your edification. ' Sir,' said the Crone, ' the Bairn was far more sinned against than sinning, as they say ; and they that made her what she is will have her blood on their Head. She had a loving Heart till they turned it to gall. Do you mind your Dog that you gave her ? Well, it seemed that her love for you and your Grandmother was all poured out on that Dog.

They were never apart. Prince slept on her bed at night, and waited by day for her to come out of the School (which she attended by your Grand mother's dying request). There was no harm in the Bairn till Ann Cottendale came into the house with her stinging Tongue and cruel Eyes, and brought to ruin all the peace of the Household. ' My Master gave neither Isobel nor me a word of Warning. He brought in the Widow Cottendale — she was a Penrith woman — with her boxes and her gray tabby Gown, and says he, " Sue, this is your new Mistress." I made my Curtsey, but I sat down and cried, for it was so sudden, neither did I like the woman's looks. I heard Isobel coming in singing, with Prince leaping and barking for joy at her Heels, but I could not say a word. She went into the parlour, and I crept after, and there I saw her stand dumb, staring at Mrs. Drake. ■ " Who is it, Father ?" said she.

" Why is she here ?" ' " Because I have married your Father, and have a right !" said the woman. ' Prince snuffed at her skirt and growled, and she kicked her Foot at him. ' " Nasty vicious Beast," said Mrs. Drake ; " I will not have him here." ' Isobel caught up the Dog and ran away, and cried here as if her very heart would break. As I live, Master Owen, that was all. She had never a kiss nor a kind word from her or from him ; they had quarrelled and so were in an ill humour together already, for my master had but just discovered that Ann had six Bairns ; he thought she had but two. He said he had been deceived and would not have them here, but she made him. She had her way at last, as she always did when she set her mind on a thing. No one could look into her cold green Eyes and say nay to her when she chose to say ay.

And oh, hers were terrible Children ! Big and strong, and rude and cruel ; they were never happy unless they were illtreating some thing ; and the thing most ready to hand was poor Isobel and her Dog Prince. ' Mistress Drake never tried to protect Isobel, but she was sharp to see any harm done to her own Bairns ; and the first time my poor Bairn's temper blazed up, and she struck young Ann Cottendale, the woman up with a stick, and laid it on to Isobel's Shoulders, the harder because she cried for mercy. Then Prince bit one of the Lads, who was tormenting him, and Isobel said she was glad of it, so the woman bid Dick to get a gun and shoot the Dog, for that he was old and vicious ; and the others held Isobel by force, and made her look on at the poor Creature's death. ' When it was over, Isobel went up to the Woman and said, " I hate you, and if I could kill you all, I would." ' And the Woman beat her again, and harder than before.

But Isobel did not cry or pray this time. She turned round, and curtsied to the woman with a mocking face : and after that it was as if a Devil entered into the Bairn. She never cried, nor prayed any more. Her Face grew hard and cruel ; she did not even care for me, or kiss me, or love me as she used to do. At last it came to this, that all that seemed to give her any pleasure in life was to do some ill turn to the Cottendales (who indeed were always tormenting her), or say some stinging and cruel thing. Mistress Drake kept her on bread and water, and locked her in her room and beat her till her poor Shoulders were black and blue ; but though she could master the Will of all the rest, and mine, and my master's, she could not master Isobel's ; she could only make her hard, and cruel, and cold, like herself. ' Sometimes I feared the Bairn would grow crazy ; and I could not bear to see her, that had been so gay and merry, grow so hard and silent, scarce ever opening her lips but to say some unkind Speech to some one ; and yet I could scarce wonder, knowing how she was put upon, and how there was no kind of petty Torment that the Cottendales did not use toward her, in body as well as in mind. ' Once she said to Dick Cottendale, " If Owen Kempe were here, you would not dare use me so," and thence forward your name, sir, was one of the things they used to persecute her withal.

" Call Owen Kempe, lass," they would say, tying her hands behind her, and then switching her on the Neck and Arms, not so as to draw blood, but to sting, and half madden her with the Tor ment. Ah well ! if she did swear at them, and utter words that ought not to have come out of a young Lass's throat, I doubt there was excuse for her, and she did not always know what she said, poor Bairn ! ' The master did not seem to care to interfere betwixt his Wife and his Bairn, nor to stand up for Isobel against the Cottendales. He was wholly mastered by his Wife, and did all she bid him, even to making a Will, and leaving his Property to her, away from Isobel. I know not whether a Curse fell upon him for wronging his motherless Bairn, or whether the Woman bewitched his life out of him with her cruel eyes ; or whether it was but the working of his own Conscience.

But he pined and dwined away till he was little more than an Anatomy ; and one day he came into my Kitchen with somewhat hid under the lapels of his coat. ' " Bolt the door, Sue," said he. And I turned the button. " I am going to burn my will," said he ; " it is unjust to Isobel." ' He put the parchment on the fire, which was then low, being but of smouldering Peats ; and just then came the Mistress after him, and banged at the door, calling to me to open. He turned white, and trembled all over, but went himself to the door and withdrew the button, having first caught up the Parchment from the fire ; and with it he went out to her without a word. A week later he was a Dead Man, and Isobel was left penniless. ' Now that he was gone, Isobel was in worse condition than ever. The Cottendales left her no peace ; not only did they treat her like a Dog, but they laid their pleasure in finding out means to stir up her Rage and Passion, till all the Strength that was in her seemed to run to hatred and the desire of Vengeance.

Once the Lads, thinking to play her a trick, went and dressed up one of them in a Hat and travelling Cloak, and knocked at the door ; and the rest all came running to Isobel to tell her Owen Kempe was in the parlour, asking for his little Sweet heart. The poor Bairn believed it, and went running into the parlour ; and there was none but Dick Cotten dale, girning and mocking. She up with her hand and caught up a three-legged Stool and threw it at him ; it knocked him over, and he fell with his head against the corner of the Table, and lay as if dead. There I saw him when I came in, with his temple bleeding, but open ing his eyes and coming to again ; and Mistress Drake was tending him, while Bill and Sam were laying on to my poor Bairn with their fists in no light fashion. But the most shocking sight of all was Isobel's face.

She looked more like a wild Beast than a Lass, poor dear, with her brows scowling, and her teeth clenched, and a wicked light in her eyes like a Snake's ; and when they grew tired of mauling her, she hissed out between her teeth— '"I wish I had killed him ! I wish I could kill you all !" ' She wras had to her room, and locked up supperless ; but I was feared lest in that Mood she should do a harm to herself, and I softly unbolted the door, and slipped in when the rest were at Supper, Dick and all, for his blow seemed to have harmed him but little. ' " Isobel !" I said ; and there was no answer. ' Then I looked, and there was the Bairn coiled up on the floor, still with that fearful look in her face. ' " Keep away, Sue," she said, as I came near, " or I shall do you a mischief. There is a Devil in me, and Ann Drake and her Bairns have put it there ; and I could sell my Soul this moment to have the chance of doing them a hurt !" ' My heart sank within me when I heard her. ' " O, my bairn !"

I said, " pray the Lord to have mercy on you, and think what Owen Kempe and his blessed Grandmother, as you loved so dearly, would think if they saw you this day !" I put my arms round her, and held her, not minding her struggles ; and then she went off into a fit of wild shrieking and laughter (what they call Hysterics), and when that was over I laid her down on her Bed and got her quiet at last. And then I said to my Mistress, when she blamed me for having gone to the Bairn : " This way you will drive her to Bedlam, or worse ; and if you do I will cry out all over Whitehaven how you and yours are not ashamed to treat a poor motherless lass that is in your power." ' Well, Mistress Drake kept Isobel locked up for three days ; and then word came that Dick, who had gone over to his Uncle's at Penrith, was took with a sickness of some sort.

Mistress Drake went over to see after him, but the lad grew worse and died ; and the Apothecary at Whitehaven (who had plastered up his cut) said it must have been from the Blow he had had before he went. So it was whispered all about the place that my Bairn had been the cause of Dick's death ; and the Cotten dales spared no pains to tell her of the Report, and to threat her that she should hang for it at Carlisle Gaol. Isobel seemed half stupid, as if she did not heed; but she followed me about in a scared way, and would not let me out of her sight. The day before the funeral in came Moll Marshland (her that used to be housekeeper to Ann Drake's Brother Cottendale), and saw Isobel sitting on the Ground, dull and hard, with the fury gone out of her eyes, but never a tear such as I shed a many of, looking at the poor young thing. ' " Mark my words, Sue," said Moll Marshland, eyeing her, " that lass is a lost Soul !" ' Isobel took no notice ; but I flew out against Moll for speaking in that way, and saying that sure the blessed Lord died for all, and would He have left out my poor Bairn ?

Moll looked mighty wise, but was not moved by aught I said. ' "It is wrote in the Scriptures," said she, "that we are all Clay in the hands of the Potter ; some are vessels meet for the Master's use ; and some are vessels of wrath fitted for Destruction. I've had a deal of Experience, and I know which is which. The Lord's curse is on that Lass, both in this world and the next." ' " Ann Drake's curse," I said ; " for all that is done she has done it." ' Well, the mistress came home, and had Isobel in her room for a good hour ; and what she had done to the Bairn I scarce can tell, unless she had overlooked her with her wicked eyes. Isobel was crouching and shaking all over, with a look like a hunted wild Beast in her eyes ; and Ann Drake said — "Miss Isobel is to go away to morrow with Moll Marshland.