Eastwood Old Hall. A tale of Derbyshire life in the XVIth century

Preface

A FEW words of explanation seem needful, and will, perchance, make this tale somewhat more in teresting. It has been written with the earnest desire of stirring up our children " to contend for the faith once delivered to the saints," and if it only arouses in one heart a more steadfast determination to hold fast to the glorious truths regained for us at such tremendous cost more than three centuries ago, the Author will be fully satisfied. The village of Ashover, situated midway between Matlock and Clay Cross, is the Eastwood of my tale, and in this village the Reresbys lived from 1302 to 1623. One brother usually dwelt at the Old Hall (of which only a ruin now remains, for it suffered severely during the Commonwealth) ; while another was generally the parish priest. A certain John Reresby was Rector of Ashover in 1510.

Equally true is it that during the same century Margaret Babington, daughter of Sir Anthony Babington, of Dethick, married Thomas Reresby, of Eastwood Old Hall and of Thriberg, Yorkshire. The Manor of Edelstow, now a farmhouse, was, in the fifteenth century, the property of the Wynfields, one of whom married a Rolleston, of Lea. This family had also intermarried with the Babingtons, and in the parish church of Ashover there is a brass to the memory of James Rolleston, of Lea, and his wife Anna, the daughter of John Babington, of Dethick. Below the effigies of the knight and his lady are the representations of their nine daughters and four sons. The family of Rolleston came from Rolleston in Staffordshire. In the fourteenth century vir

PREFACE.

a younger son of Sh Ralph Rolleston purchased the Manor of Lea from the Frechevilles. Shortly afterwards William Rolleston married a daughter of Roger de Wynfield, of Edelstow Hall. " Besides the Rolleston monuments, there was also in this aisle an alabaster slab to the memory of Thomas Babington and his wife Isabella, and at the east end of the south aisle, was the ' Babington Quire,' founded in 1511 by Thomas Babington (son of the above), when he also erected the rood screen and the singing gallery over it. . . . Thomas Babington, on the death of his wife, Editha, erected a magnificent monument to the joint memories of himself and his wife within this chantry. This monument still remains. Sir Anthony was Thomas' eldest son. He died in 1554, aged 69." Notwithstanding the wholesale destruction of both glass and stone in the seventeenth century, yet we find from more recent accounts that all was not demolished.

The church at Ashover was extensively repaired in 1799, and the gravestones, painted glass in the windows and carved arms on the pew doors, were carefully preserved. The Reresbys naturally had their pew-s in the chancel, and on one of these were the initials T. R., M. R., and Reresby impaling Babington. On another pew was a quartering, 1st, Reresby; 2nd, arg, three pair of gemelles, gu. ; on a canton, gu., three fusils conjoined in fesse ; 3rd, arg, on a fesse double cotised, gu., three fleurs-de-lis, or (Norman vile) ; 4th, gu., three goats, arg (Gotham). Over the coat the crest of a goat passant, and on another part of the pew the word " Reresbu." Ralph Reresby married Margaret, daughter and heiress of Ralph Normanvile, and their great-grandson, Thomas Reresby, married Cecilia, daughter and co-heiress of Richard Gotham, of Gotham. In the nave of the church there is a mural monument to

PREFACE.

IX the memory of the Dakeyn family. They owned Stubbin Edge. Richard is the only one mentioned in this tale. He was born 1500, and died 1581. The Leeches were a Chesterfield family, but the union of their name with that of Babington in one of the cleres tory windows proves an alliance at some time with that ancient house. CONTENTS

Chapter I

Eleanor's home " The house so mossy and brown, With its cumbrous old stone chimneys, And the grey roof sloping down. '• The trees fold their green arms around it, The trees a century old ; And the winds go chanting through them, And the sunbeams drop their gold." — Anon, " "VTELL, where art thou, lass? " And the rich tones J_\ of Father Reresby's voice echoed through the stillness of the village rectory. " Methinks it won't be long till she returns," answered Dame Dorothy from the kitchen. " Nearly two hours have passed since I sent her to Raven's Nest with a confection for old Ruth. Dost want anything, brother? " for the portly priest, guided byher voice, was now standing at her side, apparently watching the ready fingers which were pulling out and arranging on the heavy wooden table some delicate lace she had just washed.

There was a wench named Kate, to whose lot fell most of the rough work of the house, but Dame Dorothy, with the assistance of her young niece, generally found her time fully occupied, for the priest was of a jovial disposi tion, and was never happier than when one of his parishioners dropped in to supper and cards. He was always well pleased to have the guest chambers occupied, and so long as the stranger was of a cheerful tempera ment, little mattered it at the rectory whether his birth was high or low, and his creed orthodox or the reverse. Truly " hail-fellow well met " was the kind-hearted priest, and much beloved by his people, among whom he had now lived for nearly twenty -five years in his present capacity. Bat even when newly appointed to the living in 1510, he came not to it as a stranger, the old family of the Reresbys having long owned both the Hall and the living of Eastwood.

At the time our story opens, the Old Hall was occupied by Squire Thomas Reresby and his lady-. Many people thought these two brothers had somehow been misplaced as the tide of time rolled on, the elder brother being naturally of a taciturn, austere temper, and exceedingly precise and devout in the performance of his religious duties, whilst the younger one, on the contrary, though strictly orthodox himself, was very lenient in impos ing penances, and not over particular in making his parishioners attend confession, simply because he grudged the time which might otherwise be more cheerfully em ployed. How and where may perhaps startle the reader not a little. Father Reresby was a sober man — which was saying something in those days — but much of his spare time was, to his mimi, spent most pleasantly and satis factorily at the village, hostelry, either chatting over events political and social, or playing games, generally cards or dominoes.

On the day this story begins he had been thus amus ing himself, and whilst there a horseman had ridden up. It was a rare occurrence for the quiet villagers, whose knowledge of the world was limited bythe grand old hills encircling their beautiful valley. Little knew they what lay beyond, but in their simple-hearted ignorance they regarded with great interest and veneration any like Father Reresby, who himself had once actually travelled as far as Derby (distant from Eastwood some twenty miles). " Hast come far? " inquired the priest, ever read}' with his tongue, and, laying one broad hand on the neck of the steed, he gazed into the horseman's face, and, without ELEANOR'S HOME 3 waiting for an answer, continued : " Thou art weary, man. Come in and have some supper." " 'Tis but from Derby I came this day, but I missed my road, and thus adder! many a long mile to my journey.

I have here a letter for the priest of this parish " ; and he handed John Reresby a missive, very different from the epistles of our day. " Thanks, my friend," said the priest, gazing at the clumsy-looking packet with almost childish surprise and delight. " Wilt come and sup with me ? " The traveller shook his head. " I must reach Chester field before sunset." Father John slipped a piece of silver into his hand in payment for the conveyance of the letter, and, wishing him God-speed on his farther journey, quickly turned his steps towards the rectory. He guessed rightly that the packet came from his dearly loved youngest brother, Ralph, a soldier in the king's army, and who had been constantly employed on foreign service. At a very early age he had entered the service of Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, first as a page, then as an esquire, and finally the honour of knight hood was bestowed upon him by the beautiful Mary Tudor, whom he reverenced with a loyal devotion second only to that of her husband.

Ralph's last expedition with Suffolk had been in August, 1523, when the duke headed a brave little army in a war against France. The approach of winter caused great distress among the troops, so much so that Suffolk was compelled to disband his forces. Henry VIII. was so greatly displeased at this that the gallant soldier was not allowed to return to England until the following spring. A dangerous illness prevented Ralph Reresby from returning with his commander, but through it he was carefully tended by one Francois Lambert, a Franciscan monk, whose long journeys hither and thither as " preacher apostolical " had enlarged his sympathies, and made him ever on the alert to soothe and cheer the many suffering and sad ones he so constantly met with. His heart went out warmly towards the sick soldier, a stranger in a strange land ; especially when he found that the suffering was almost as much of mind as of body.

Hither to Ralph's spiritual life had been a very careless one, but brought now so near the unseen world, he trembled to realize his unpreparedness to meet his God. The Franciscan counselled him kindly and well, but, alas ! it was but the blind leading the blind, for he confessed himself to the unsatisfyingness of his own religion. Nevertheless, as his patient's strength returned, he proposed that Ralph should accompany him in some of his journeys, and per haps eventually join the Order. Nearly twelve years had now elapsed, during which time only two letters from the knight had reached East wood. What wonder, then, if there was some small excitement on the arrival of the third. The art of writing was not much cultivated in those days, and the little the worthy priest had ever learnt was forgotten long ago, and so it came to pass that he had hurried up the village street with one idea in his mind — that of mastering the contents of his letter.

He was somewhat disappointed to find his niece had not returned from her errand of mercy, for to Dame Dorothy, as to himself, the missive appeared filled with unmeaning hieroglyphics. Eleanor was Ralph's only child ; on her mother's death she had been confided by her father to the care of her Aunt Dorothy, then the wife of Sir Roger Gaston, knight in the county of Wiltshire. The Gastons had no children, and gladly received their motherless little niece. At Sir Roger's death his property went to a nephew, with the exception of a small sum of money left to his widow, and thus she thankfully accepted her brother's offer of returning to her native place, and sharing with him the quaint old rectory. This suggestion was quite as acceptable to himself as to Dame Dorothy, for lately the equanimity of the jovial priest had been sadly ruffled by the marriage of his house keeper to a neighbouring farmer.

He w-as unused to pon dering over ways and means, and with all his meditating failed to solve any domestic problems. Day by day his perplexities increased, until at last he could bear them no longer ; so mounting his steed, he rode to a neighbouring parish, where his brother priest could write, and soon ELEANOR'S HOME 5 dispatched the kind, brotherly epistle which had so cheered the heart of his widowed sister. The garb of mourning well suited the pale, calm face and stately figure of the priest's sister, and awoke in the hearts of the sympathising villagers such feelings of love and reverence as had but deepened, as the years passed by, towards herself and the sweet fair-haired child whom she had brought with her. Nigh upon twenty-six summers had passed since the beautiful daughter of Eastwood had plighted her troth to Sir Roger Gaston.

He had proved a fairly kind husband to her, but many a time during those long years had hours of loneliness and want of sympathy caused tears to dim the dark eyes, which sparkled so brightly on the wedding morning, and whose merry glances brought joy wherever she went. Silver threads, too, were visible among the raven tresses of which she had once been so proud. Little Eleanor had barely escaped being spoilt by her over in dulgent aunt, and the change to Eastwood and contact with her cousins at the Hall had in many ways been very beneficial. But to return to the priest, who is so anxiously awaiting her. Having paced round the kitchen he finally settled himself in the chimney corner until his sister and the wench had prepared the evening meal, for it was now after four of the clock. The serving-man, too, having milked the cows, came in and took his place at the lower end of the board.

In a few minutes Eleanor's light step was heard, and she entered almost breathless. " Am I very late, Aunt Dolly ? " she asked, throwing off her hood as she spoke. " I am so sorry." " A letter from thy father, child," said the priest. " When we have supped thou shalt spell it out to us." And truly a spelling out it was, when, the meal being concluded, Aunt Dorothy and Eleanor followed the priest into another room, leaving Kate and Sam to clear up the kitchen. Sir Ralph's letter told of another sore sickness which had laid him very low, and made him think seriously of a return to his native home, perhaps by Christmas-tide. F. He also suggested that Eleanor should not be betrothed until his return, as he had some interest at Court, and would next spring take her with him to London, where, while waiting upon some noble lady, a suitor might be found worthy of his sweet Nell.

" I cannot leave thee, aunt ! Oh, uncle ! say not so ! " exclaimed Eleanor, breaking off from her slow task of deciphering the badly spelt, strangely written epistle. Her uncle laughed. " Hast chosen thy sweetheart, my lass ? " Eleanor coloured, for any allusion to this subject was a vexation to her, though an endless amusement and in terest to the priest and Dorothy. In fact for some time past Eleanor had practically been betrothed to Humphrey, a younger son of Sir Anthony Babington, of Dethick. Margaret, an elder daughter of the same house, was engaged to young Thomas Reresby, the heir of Eastwood, and as Dethick was only distant some five miles, there was constant intercourse between the families ; and though in a previous letter Sir Ralph had expressed a wish himself to choose his daughter's future husband, yet as the years passed by, and his return was delayed, both Squire Thomas and Father John con sidered the matter all but settled, and were quite sure their brother would willingly give his consent to so desir able a match.

But what thought Eleanor ? the reader will ask. In those days it mattered little, every one else being con sulted except the one most concerned in such an important subject. The fact was Eleanor's undefined dislike to her suitor increased yet more and more, while his admiration for, and attention to, her were most undisguised, and to her often most oppressive. The news in her father's letter of leaving the dear old rectory filled her heart with sorrow, for it never struck her that he might not care for young Babington. She was sure his return would be followed by her betrothal, and Eleanor that night cried herself to sleep, and dreamt she was saying good-bye to all her relations, and turning her back for ever on the beautiful village. Ruth, of whom Dame Dorothy spoke, wns one of the ELEANOR'S HOME 7 oldest inhabitants of Eastwood, and certainly the one most beloved and respected by the Reresbys, having for many years been nurse at the Old Hall.

On Dorothy's marriage she accompanied the young wife to her southern home, and ofttimes would mistress and maid talk earnestiy of the happy days which were passed, and sigh for the grand old hills which surrounded the peaceful valley. Ruth found a husband in that distant county, but, like Dame Gaston, enjoyed only a few years of wedded happi ness ; so on the return of Dorothy to Eastwood she thank fully followed the advice of her mistress and came back to the old home. Sorrow had told on her though, and soon it was evident that she was physically unfit for ser vice, though faithful and true as ever ; so she retired with her young son to a little cottage at Raven's Nest, distant about two miles from the rectory. Between Ruth and Eleanor there existed a strong friendship, for the old woman almost lived iu the past, and loved to dwell on the sayings and doings of " her dear children," by whom she meant Squire Thomas, Father John, Dame Dorothy, and Sir Ralph.

The latter was quite her Benjamin, her best beloved, and little as Elea nor knew of her father, yet she never tired of the old nursery tales, and felt sure from Ruth's account that when he did return she would not meet him as a stranger.

Chapter II

the old hall " I pray you bide some little space In this poor tower with me." — Sir Walter Scott. THE Old Hall of Eastwood was distant from the rectory about half a mile. For some centuries it had been in the possession of the Reresbys, and very proud was its present owner of the stately home of his fathers. It was well placed, being sheltered from the north winds by the hills which rose immediately behind, whilst before it lay the beautiful valley. Wild moorland scenery prevailed, intermingled with stunted trees and fierce-looking rocks in the distance, where another ridge bounded the valley on the south. A terrace ran round two sides of the Old Hall, upon which a peacock was sunning himself, ever and anon uttering most discordant sounds while leisurely pacing up and down, with one eye intently fixed on the house, from which he doubtless expected some crumbs from the hand of his fair mistress.

Like the generality of country mansions, the home of the Reresbys of course possessed a large banqueting hall, down the centre of which was a long oaken table, whilst another was placed across one end on a kind of platform. This was the high table at which the squire and his lady, their children, and also the most distinguished guests, always sat ; while at the lower table were gathered all those of inferior rank. From its southern window overlooking the terrace a magnificent view could be obtained, but from the two on its eastern side nothing was seen beyond the high wall of the courtyard. Behind the dining-hall lay the kitchen, larder, pantry, bakehouse, dairy, buttery, and cellar ; on the farther side was the drawing-room, with two windows to the south, and another room beyond, which had a western aspect.

The rough fire-places with their capacious chimneys, large as they would seem to our modern eyes, were none too wide for the huge logs of wood usually burned by our ancestors ; and the dimensions of the kitchen range and chopping-block suggested that not simply large joints, but frequently whole animals, were served up from thence. One staircase was behind the drawing-room, and by it four or five rooms were reached ; but there was also a narrow and steep flight of steps leading to a couple of rooms in the square turret, which rose above the front door. The upper of these little chambers was occupied by Janet, the youngest daughter, and the lower by Euphemia, the eldest. One more staircase was there, from the kitchen premises to the bedrooms of the poorer guests, serving-men and wenches. Turn we now this bright October morning to the room overlooking the west terrace, and there we shall find Dame Reresby and her damsels all busily working.

Few would have guessed that under the cold exterior there had grown in her heart a real love for the home of her hus band ; for did not the heather, the rocks and the fir-trees remind her of the mountains of her native land. As a very young man Thomas Reresby had accompanied the Earl of Surrey, afterwards Duke of Norfolk, to Scot land, whither he had been sent by Henry VII. to arrange with King James for his marriage with the Princess Margaret. Then, in the following year, he formed part of the royal bride's retinue, when, at his sovereign's com mand, Surrey escorted the king's daughter to her home in the far north. Thus young Reresby had another opportunity of becoming acquainted with his future wife ; but had no small difficulty in persuading her to leave her own country, for she had been brought up with the sincerest hatred of everything English, and at first took little pains to conceal it.

At the Battle of Flodden in 1513 many of her kinsfolk perished by the hands of her husband's countrymen, if not by his own, and well for him was it that his constant attendance on Lord Surrey gave her but little of his company, for her anguish and bitterness of spirit knew no bounds, and but for her two little sons she would gladly have left him for ever. The death of the eldest when about ten years old healed the breach, and drew the stricken hearts together as only sorrow can. It was a most bitter grief to the parents, and most thankful was the dame to have her husband at hand to share it with her, for her un-English ways and Scottish reserve had made her rather unpopular, and consequently her position was one of great isolation. With her niece Eleanor she unbent more than with any one else ; for had she not Scotch blood in her veins from her grandmother on her mother's side ?

Eleanor guessed not the reason, but had no objection to be made much of, and infinitely preferred her aunt to her uncle, who rarely bestowed a smile on any save his faithful hound. The damsels spoke little except regarding their work, and the time sped slowly as usual, when the door opened and Father Reresby entered with his niece. " A fair day to you, ladies," said the priest, while Eleanor kissed her aunt's hand. "Yestereve," he con tinued, " the courier brought us a letter from Ralph, and methought thou wouldest like to read it. Is Thomas with in ? " and he seated himself near his sister-in-law. " Methinks not," she answered in reply to his question, and, taking the packet, she unfolded and perused the con tents, while Eleanor asked, — " Where's Janet ? " " Not risen yet," answered Euphemia, " and a good thing too, for she is always as cross as two sticks.

She says she is ill, but the apothecary who came from Chesterfield last Tuesday se'nnight says there is nothing the matter, for she sleeps as sound as a top, and eats as fast as our great tom-cat. I told him her temper sorely needed a pomade to smooth it down, as the rough hairs are fastened down beneath my mother's cap, but he only laughed." Father John laughed too ; but Dame Reresby looked up, saying sharply, — " Finish thy work, child, and talk not so fast." So Mistress Phemie, with a merry look at her cousin, and then at her future sister-in-law, Margaret Babington, was constrained silently to proceed with her spinning, while her mother continued, — " Thou mayest see Janet if thou wilt, Eleanor. She is still in her own room, where I should wish her to remain, unless she can comport herself more agreeably than heretofore.

Tell her your uncle is here, and that I shall have to request him to inflict some penance." Eleanor rose, and curtseying respectfully to her aunt, left the room, inwardly vexed at being sent to amuse the usually fretful Janet, and who, from all accounts, seemed lately to have become more peevish than ever. She was the youngest of the squire's children and had scarcely completed her fifteenth year. From childhood she had ever been frail, and thus was left out of most of the occupations and amusements of her elder sister, whose strength both of mind and body and steady flow of high spirits were a constant irritation to the sickly child ; but the whole household were so accustomed to her outbursts of anger and incessant grumbles and groans over her aches and pains, that they heeded them but little, and daily left her more to herself with the comfortable persuasion that it was the best thing for her.

Even Eleanor, though naturally kind-hearted, had lately rather avoided her, and now most reluctantly climbed up the steep, narrow stone stairs in the tower. " Bet," called out Janet, in a thin, querulous voice, " come and help me dress ! " Then as Eleanor appeared she slightly started and continued, in the same tone : " O Cousin Nell ! why art thou come ? I thought it was one of the wenches, and I wanted to get up, but dressing does tire me so, and mother and Phemie have told them not to help me because it encourages my laziness, and no one is to bring me any food up here." " Dost mean thou hast not yet broken thy fast ? " in quired Eleanor, struck more than ever before with the attenuated figure of her cousin, especially with the poor little arm, literally nothing but skin and bone, which moved restlessly over the bed.

Janet smiled grimly. " I wasn't meant to, and thou must not tell, but old Bridget did bring me a posset. They say I'm fanciful, Cousin Nell, but when I do rise betimes I cannot eat the food they enjoy. I feel too ill to swallow the beef and cabbage, so I would rather stay up here even if mother is angry, and yet it's so gruesome alone, for by night I have such dreadful dreams. Do dreams come true, cousin ? " " Yes," said Eleanor ; some of her own dreams imme diately recurring to her. A wild look crossed the sick girl's face : she half raised herself on her elbow and spoke rapidly, — " I dreamt two nights since I was dying, and I'm sure it's true ; and oh, I'm so wretched, I'm afraid to die, Cousin Nell ; what shall I do ? They say the Holy Mother only protects the good and takes them to heaven, and Phemie says I am so bad that our Lady wouldn't listen to me if I prayed to her."

Eleanor crossed herself, and said reverently : " The Holy Mother is very good and kind ; I am sure if we ask her that she will take care of us." " But why must I die ? Why can't I be strong and well like Phemie ? " "I don't know," replied Eleanor; and her heart ached at the sad, wistful look in Janet's grey eyes ; then taking the tinywasted hand within her own, she said soothingly, " I am so sorry for thee, dear love ; thy sufferings must often be very bad. Dost ever ask the Holy Mother to give thee patience to bear them ? " " Art really sorry for me ? " inquired Janet eagerly. " None ever said that to me before. I will try to be less cross if thou wilt stay awhile and help me to attire mv self." Eleanor gently assisted her to rise, and the process of dressing was slowly proceeding, when Father John's voice was heard at the foot of the narrow staircase, calling, — "Nell!

Nell!" Eleanor ran down in answer to her uncle's call, and he continued, — "Thy aunt has kindly asked thee to remain to dine and sup. She says thy influence over yon contrary maid is good, and as Humphrey Babington is here, thoit wilt doubtless prefer his escort home, rather than Sam's." And the merry priest chuckled cheerily and smoothed his broad chest. To spend several hours at the Hall for the special pur pose of entertaining two people she cared little for sounded rather uninviting to Eleanor ; but girls of the sixteenth century were trained to obedience, if not to writing letters, so she meekly replied, — "Yes, uncle ; thou wilt tell Aunt Dolly that I am here." " Certes, stay not too late, child;" and the burly priest turned towards the door leading into the courtyard, whilst Eleanor returned to her cousin's room.

" I may stay with thee awhile if thou likest my company." Janet looked grateful, but the exertion of. dressing had sorely taxed her strength, and she cared not to speak unnecessarily. " Canst keep a secret ? " asked Eleanor. Janet nodded. " Promise solemnly thou wilt not to a living soul breathe what I shall tell thee now, for if thou shouldest break thy word, I dare not say what ill might befall thee or me." " I promise," said Janet eagerly, anxious to hear what Eleanor had to say and not a little pleased to be trusted with anything important. Eleanor opened the door very wide to prevent the possi bility of any one listening behind unperceived, and then drawing near to the sick girl began iu a low, soft voice, — "Hast ever heard of the Holy Mother's Son, the Lord Jesus Christ who died on the cross to save us ?