Baronscliffe; or, the deeds of other days

Front matter

BARONSCLIFFE. LONDON: Strangeways and "Walden, Printers, 28 Castle St. Leicester Sq. BARONSCLIFFE; OB, THE DEED OF OTHER DAYS. r.\ MRS. P. M. LATHAM, AUTHOR OF "THE WAYFARERS." " There is One great society alone on earth : The noble Living and the noble Dead." Wordsworth. LONDON: BELL AND DALDY, 186 FLEET STREET. 1869. CONTENTS. CHAPTER pA0E s. A FIRST ARRIVAL ...... 1 II. THE GOOD OLD TIMES ..... 4 III. GAIN AND LOSS ...... 9 IV. SOLITUDE . . . . . . .12 V. FRESH ACQUAINTANCE . . . . .15 VI. THE RANDOM HIT ...... Of) VII. UNEXPECTED CONSEQUENCES .... 25 VIII. FAMILY PORTRAITS . . . . . .30 IX. LADY ALICIA ....... 38 X. BENEATH THE SURFACE ..... 46 XI. MOODS AND MUSINGS ..... 50 XII. HIGH-WATER MARK . . . . . .55 XIII. FORTY YEARS AGO ...... 60 XIV. THE MANOR-HOUSE . . . . . .07 XV. will's SENTENCE . . . . . .71 XVI.

NEIGHBOUR JEREMIAH ..... 75 XVII. BROUGHT TO A STANDSTILL .... 80 XVIII. CRAYFORD . . . . . . .87 XIX. WHERE THE SHOE PINCHES .... 94 XX. AN UGLY CUSTOMER . . . . . .104 XXI. WHEREBY HANGS A TALE . . . . .115 XXII. STORM AND CALM ... . . 126 XXIII. NEWS FROM A FAR COUNTRY . . . .138 XXIV. A DILEMMA ....... VI CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGE XXV. SABBATH HOURS ...... 151 XXVI. SEEKING THE LOST THREAD . . . .155 XXVII. WHO WILL UNDO THE DOOR? .... 165 XXVIII. OAKWOOD . . . . . .172 XXIX. REPRISALS ....... 182 XXX. DO YOU WISH THE DOOR UNLOCKED? . . 192 XXXI. ELECTION TIME ...... 201 XXXII. A LIGHT IN A DARK PLACE .... 209 XXXIII. MAKING READY FOR A STABT . . . .217 XXXrV. THE GHOST LAID ...... 227 xxxv. gossips . . . . . . . 232 XXXVI. COLONEL LESTRANGE . . . . .236 XXXVII. THE MINIATURE . . . . . . 244 XXXVIII.

GLIMPSES OF THE PAST ..... 254 XXXIX. THE WORD SPOKEN . . . . .258 XL. "WATCHMAN! WHAT OF THE NIGHT?" . . 268 XLI. TELL-TALE ....... 277 XL1T. THE DESIRE ACCOMPLISHED .... 286 XLIII. HOME POLITICS ...... 290 XLIV. WHITHER AWAY ? . ... . . 298 XLV. COME, FOLLOW ME ! . . . . . 306 XLVI. WELL MET ....... 314 XLVII. HOME AT LAST ...... 323 XLVIII. LOVE ITS OWN REWARD .... BARONSCLIFFE ; OB, THE DEED OF OTHER DAYS.

Chapter I

A FIRST ARRIVAL. " A fresh glance into a new land has the peculiarity, both pleasant and foreboding, that the whole lies before us like an unwritten tablet." — Goethe. DINNER had been announced at Baronscliffe. Mary Pircy stood by the window of a small room waiting for her husband, who was more than usually unpunctual. He had just returned with his wife, then nineteen years of age, from the Continent. They had spent the first year of their marriage abroad, and this was the first evening of their arrival at home. A younger son of the Earl of Darrington, Baronscliffe had been assigned to him and his bride as a residence, being one of those appendages to a princely house which serve for the use of the junior members of the family, acquired in days of yore by marriage with some heiress, whose property is thus alienated from its original possessors.

There is something chilling in the aspect of a new home, when not even a chair or a sofa wears a face of welcome, as if it said, " You know me of old ! " and it was a cold evening in early spring. No wonder, then, that Mrs. Pircy BARONSCLIFFE. felt uncomfortable as she waited. The room in which she found herself was low and vaulted, with a stone floor, thickly carpeted, and a large, old-fashioned fire-place. The furniture corresponded, as a matter of taste, perhaps, with the ancient character of the apartment. The inlaid wooden cabinets and high-backed chairs had a dead, unpolished ap pearance, and the large purple china jars, and faded crimson curtains, looked dark and dingy in the growing twilight ; while the rather small windows facing the north did not admit sufficient light to relieve the sombre effect of this deep colouring.

The time and the place were certainly not favourable for first impressions. Mrs. Pircy could not help contrasting the gloominess of the room with the bright home she had early known, and turned to look out upon the scene below. The greater portion of the castle was in ruins, and the most habitable part — a high tower, in which the vaulted room was situated — had been built at a more recent period than the rest. At its base was a deep fosse, filled with dwarf trees and underwood ; and beyond the earth-mound surmounting the ditch a steep declivity, at the bottom of which a few cottages had been built, on ground reclaimed from the wild waste. The road which wound round the castle made a bend at this point, and descended to the little village. Mrs. Pircy had been inclined, at first sight, to liken it, from its elevated position and peculiar character, to the noble ruin of Heidelberg she had so lately quitted.

But her dream was now dispelled. For if the castle itself was worthy of such a comparison, the Neckar, the distant plains, and the mountains beyond, were wanting to complete the picture. Instead of these, her eye caught sight of chimneys in various directions, betokening a manufacturing district, and flaring furnaces, telling of the coal and the iron with which it abounded. Baronscliffe, indeed, was one of those relics of a less civilised age, of which we possess so many, remaining as if to remind Englishmen that England was once less mercantile, less rich, less prosperous ; that there was a time when coal and the power of steam, her great coadjutors were unknown, or their resources undeveloped; and when an engine, moving of its own free-will, as steam-engines seem to do, would have been deemed preposterous, nay A FIRST ARRIVAL. 3 even demon-like, and the man who invented it an impostor.

But with such thoughts as these Mrs. Pircy's mind was not occupied. Presently her husband, a man verging on thirty, entered the room, and they exchanged it for one, scarcely less gloomy, in another quarter of the mansion. Dinner passed almost in silence. Mrs. Pircy was tired, and her husband apparently too intent upon his meal to say much. A large wood fire burned upon the hearth in a wide chimney, and he soon turned towards it to discuss port wine and dessert at his leisure, while Mrs. Pircy, ere long, sought repose in her own room. She was a gentle, delicate creature, small, and very pretty — very quiet, too — but with more firmness than a stranger would have given her credit for. The daughter of Colonel l'Estrange, a retired officer of good family, Mr. Pircy had first seen her during one of his restless fits, in his wanderings amongst the Channel Islands.

As she lay upon her sofa, her thoughts turned involuntarily to the pretty villa her father occupied on the sloping heights above St. Helier ; to the garden filled with myrtles, hya cinths, jonquils, and many other sweet-flowering plants ; to the fresh sea-breeze, as it used to blow roughly on her face, when she climbed the hills and looked out upon the rock bound coast of the Bay of St. Aubin ; and, above all, to the tenderness of a father for his only child, a love like a mother's, since Mary Pircy's mother was in heaven. And, looking up, she wondered if she could ever become accus tomed to another home, as her eye glanced upon the tall overhanging mantelpiece of the days of Queen Elizabeth, reaching almost to the ceiling of the low, square room, and the four-post bedstead with its many folded curtains of red chintz.

It was so unlike her own room of old, with its little French bed, and the white dimity curtains flapping in the wind from the ever-open window, that she could not help thinking of the contrast, until the chintz hangings seemed to move backwards and forwards too, and the large red leaves upon them to dance before her eyes, and she fell asleep. The fire had almost burned out when she awoke. How long she had slept she could not tell, but getting up hastily and going down-stairs she was surprised to find it was only half past eight, and that it wanted yet half-an-hour to tea-time. BARONSCLIFFE.

Chapter II. The Good Old Times

" If thou art beautiful, and youth And thought endue thee with all truth, Be strong, be worthy of the grace Of God, and fill thy destined place." — Wordsworth. WHAT a difference a southern aspect makes in the cheerfulness of a morning room ! The sun was creeping round and in at the large oriel window as Mrs. Pircy sat at the breakfast-table the next morning at nine o'clock. She looked quite composed. Her dark hair was braided across her smooth forehead, save one massive curl on each side her throat, and her small features were un ruffled, the slight disturbance of the previous evening having left no trace behind. Her soft violet silk gown fell in ample folds around her delicately moulded limbs ; and sit ting back in her chair, with her head slightly bent forward, and one hand supporting it while the other rested on her lap, she would have made a beautiful subject at the moment for an artist's pencil.

But, like most graceful beings that change with the ever-changing forms of beauty that flit before their eyes, she did not long remain in this meditative attitude. The empty bookcases which were ranged round the rather large and lofty room, larger and loftier than the rest, attracted her notice, and challenged her ingenuity as to how so great a space could be filled with the small library and few ornaments of china and foreign earthenware which were amongst some unlucky articles still on the road, and uncertain of their destination. Our predecessor must have had a very literary taste, she thought, as she cast rather an anxious look at the length and breadth of the vacant shelves. And these niches ; we want Gibson and Marochetti to fill them. But what has this old castle to do with modern art ?

In truth, Mrs. Pircy herself looked quite out of place in such a decayed and antiquated abode. She got up to open THE GOOD OLD TIMES. 5 the window, for the room had an odd musty smell, as old rooms have. The garden in front of it was laid out in fancifully shaped beds, bordered with box, but they were quite destitute of flowers. It occupied what had once been a court for the retainers in the service of the liege lord of Baronscliffe, and had a low wall running round it, with a gateway in the centre at the opposite side. On the right and on the left of this court, the remains of what might have been formerly the two wings of the castle were partly visible, built in an irregular manner and at different periods. It was impossible to form any idea of the whole structure from this glimpse of it.

Indeed Mrs. Pircy scarcely knew how she had entered the building the day before ; except, that she had some notion of a road by the ruins on the right side as she now stood, then a flight of steps, a hall with pillars and men in ancient armour, some ins-and-outs, a passage leading one way and a staircase another, until she reached the room where she had awaited her husband's coming before dinner. Her curiosity was therefore awak ened to see something more of this strange place. "Algernon," she said, as he made his appearance, "you must make me better acquainted with this old castle. Shall we do as you do sometimes when you are in a hurry — get rid of breakfast quickly, and to work at once?" " Starve one's self for pleasure ? Not to-day ; I have a wretched headache!" Mrs. Pircy felt it an inopportune moment to press her wishes further.

The newspaper was opened. There were no letters that morning. She rose from her seat as soon as breakfast was finished. " I shall ride to Elmover, and inquire after our missing boxes," he said, as she was leaving the room. The housekeeper met her as she turned to go up-stairs, and with many apologies desired to know her com mands. But she was so unaccustomed to give any, that she could only beg Mrs. Matthews to arrange things her own way until she could consult her husband's wishes. It was a pleasant surprise to her, on opening a door at the head of the staircase, to find a room, prettily furnished, appropriated to her own use. Here, at least, she could do what she liked ; write or read, dream, work, or do nothing, as it suited her. Putting her elbows on the window-sill, and supporting BARONSCLIFFE. her head with her hands, she stood for some minutes — it might have been longer, until roused from her reverie by the sound of horse-hoofs on the pavement below.

Looking down, she saw her husband descend the flight of steps at the entrance, and mount a beautiful chestnut mare, sleek, glossy, and well-bred; its eye full of spirit, and its paces, as he rode away, displaying courage and activity. He passed out of sight immediately. And then her eye lighted upon a high-crowned hill, that stood up from the valley beneath, reminding her of a cliff in her island home ; but it wanted the ruined castle with its mantle of ivy at the top, and the sea rolling at its foot, to make the likeness complete. " Never theless, I will go and look at it," she said to herself, as she hastily sought her bonnet and shawl. It was a longer walk than she anticipated ; and this was evident as soon as she put her foot outside the door, and stood on the steps debat ing in her own mind which way she should proceed.

Step ping across the gravel road, determined to fulfil her purpose if possible, and opening a wicket gate, she came upon a terrace walk, having on one side the remains of a long suite of apartments, and on the other a deep descent, well wooded, in which a succession of terraces had been made to afford a sheltered walk in winter. Being soon lost amongst the winding paths, and finding herself no nearer to the hill in question, she retraced her steps, and entered within the ruined walls, wandering up and down the long roofless rooms, and thinking as she did so how pleasant it would be to make these rooms once more the scene of mirth and revelry that were now so tenantless ; and, possessed with the idea of her absolute loneliness, she almost started as she perceived an old man with a hoe in his hand, standing at the further end of the building.

He was resting an instant from his work, and as she approached him he took his hat from his head and bowed humbly to her. " You are the gardener, I suppose ? " she said, thinking it would be right to speak to him. " There's not much work for a gardener here," he re plied. " I'm Thorn — John Thorn — if you please ; I milk the cows, fetch wood, an' do what's wanted." " You are a very useful person, I dare say." "I've been so in my day, maybe." THE GOOD OLD TIMES. " You can tell me a great deal about this place, no doubt. What were these rooms formerly ? " " This were th' banqueting-hall, where King Charles and his queen Henrietta were entertained by th'Earl o' Bolton afore th' Civil Wars ; and th' two rooms at t'other end were th' Queen's drawing-rooms. An' I've heard, but I don't know th' truth on't, that there were thousands o' pounds spent in those days upon feasting and bearbaiting, and what-not.

Very unlike the present day, to my mind, as to what is or what should be." "What do you mean, John Thorn?" inquired Mrs. Pircy, who was beginning to feel an interest in the old man's story. " Why, what I mean is, it's a pity great folk ha' so many houses that they scarce know what to do wi' em. We never see th' Lord o'Baronscliffe now. I beg pardon, I hope no offence." " You have a long task before you," she said, as the old man took up his hoe once more, and began to strike at the docks and thistles that grew in great abundance every where. He laughed and chuckled ere he replied, " I'm making the path straight. Yo'll find it pleasant enough walking here when th' sun's hot, and when th' wind's cold these walls will shelter yo'." " I should like to know something more about them." " They've seen a deal o'company times afore now.

Lor', how strange it seems to think o'the many that be dead an' gone ! " Mrs. Pircy thought the old man very strange. " This castle did not belong to the Pircys centuries ago," she said. " It came to 'em by a female, the Earl o'Bolton's daughter. She that lies buried i'th'church yonder. There's a great monument to her memory, that's all we know about her. And there's the poor lady that walks o'nights ; we know more o' her than many another. She could na' keep in her grave — no, not even if there was a monument at top ; which there's not, they say, for no one knows where she was buried." Mrs. Pircy looked a little shocked. "Yo'll not be long believing it; it's th'unhappy ones BARONSCLIFFE. that walk. But never fear if yo' be good an' true. She married one man when she loved another," he continued, coming close up to her; '-but she rued it — ay, she rued it!"

Mrs. Pircy was about to turn away, when she remembered the object of her walk. " What is the name of the hill on the other side of the valley ? " she said. " What's th' name ?" repeated John Thorn ; " why it has no name that I know." " Every place has a name in my little country," she replied. " Yo' come fro' over the water ; things be different there, I reckon. That hill belongs to Sir George Danby. They say it's to be the saving on him, body and soul. His family's well-nigh ruined ; and when a man's ruined it goes hard wi' him every way. But there's iron there, and coal not far off. Yo'll not see it stand there much longer ; leastways, it will ha' a very different look about it." "What a pity!" " Time ago there weren't a chimney nor a furnace to be seen from Baronscliffe, but now there's scarce an acre o' ground wi' none."

"You must plant me some flowers, that I may have something else to look at," replied Mrs. Pircy ; " some nar cissus, a few hyacinths " "Bless yo', ma'am ! Do yo' think such flowers grow out o'doors in this cold place ? But I'll put some mignonette in the borders by-and-by, an' geraniums that I ha' in the old riding-house yonder." Mrs. Pircy felt chilled by the idea that it was too cold a spot for flowers. But she scarcely believed what he said, for she thought of all the spring flowers she had been accustomed to see — wallflower, polyanthus, double-stock, woodbine, and many more, the growth of a warmer climate, that were as common in her island as the wild-flowers by the wayside in ours ; and she left the old gardener, so little worthy of the name as she thought, and returned to the house. GAIN AND LOSS.

Chapter III. Gain And Loss

11 Leave the vain low strife That makes men mad, the tug for wealth and power, The passions and the cares that wither life, And waste its little hour." — Bryant. A RIDE upon a fleet horse on a fine spring morning is a good specific against most of the minor evils that flesh is heir to ; and Mr. Pircy returned to Baronscliffe relieved of his headache and in better humour than when he left it. He was much indebted for this happy result to the excellent qualities of his mare Maggy ; Maggy the fearless, Maggy the sure-footed, Maggy the never-failing, in spirit and docility, and who possessed the further recom mendation of having been bred in Barebrow Park, the family seat of the Earls of Darrington. Giving her over to the care of his favourite groom Quickset, he proceeded to his wife's boudoir.

" I want to know what they are doing at Deepwell," he said. " Do you think you could walk so far this afternoon ? It seems scarcely worth while to have the pony carriage, and besides, it is much further round by the road." " How far is it to Deepwell ? " she inquired. " Only a mile the shorter way. You can have the carriage to meet you there, if you please." Not liking to thwart her husband, she acquiesced. " You will be ready after luncheon," he added, as he left the room. Mrs. Pircy resumed her reading, which had been inter rupted by her husband's entrance. She read on until the luncheon bell obliged her reluctantly to put the book aside. " We had better set out immediately," said Mr. Pircy, as soon as it was finished. He turned to the right as soon as they had passed the outer gate, and strode on, seemingly forgetful of his companion, who toiled after him as well as she could.

She soon BARONSCLIFFE. perceived that they were going in the direction of the hill which she had attempted to reach in the morning. The road lay between fields, and low hedgerows still in their brown winter suit. After passing the projecting point of land upon which Baronscliffe was situated, it skirted the valley, and by a rather circuitous route led to a more level tract of ground on the opposite side. Mrs. Pircy was doubting, as she saw the road winding at a distance before her, whether her strength would allow her to follow her husband so far, when he suddenly stopped, and seating him self upon a stile, waited her approach. "How much further is it to Deepwell?" she asked, looking very pale and tired. "You see that hill?" ho replied. " Yes ; I have been wishing to get to the top of it ever since I saw it from my window, when you were starting for Elmover, but I had no idea it was so far off."

"It is not far off now ; we shall be across the valley in a few minutes, and Deepwell is just beyond." He assisted her over the low stile as he spoke, and walked down the path ; at the foot of the ascent to Deep well he stopped again and offered her his arm. Having reached the summit, an entirely different scene presented itself. At the bottom of the ridge upon which they were standing, and at a short distance only, a group of men were busily engaged in boring for coal. Similar groups of men, at several intervals, were also searching for the seam along the ridge ; a tall frame or triangle of wood, essential to the process, and some 20 or 30 feet high, marking the spot at which they expected to find it. Mr. Pircy went forward and entered into conversation with one of the workmen, and his wife sat down to rest upon the green bank.

Presently she got up and approached the place where her husband stood. The man he was talking to was very earnest in what he said, and the words, "win ning the seam," and the animation of his countenance, struck her forcibly. It was as if he were going to put a thousand pounds into his pocket on the spot. Mr. Pircy, too, was a good deal excited. "Have you found the coal?" she said to one of the workmen more purpose-like than the rest. GAIN AND LOSS. 11 " Ay, to be sure," he answered ; his grave, thoughtful countenance lighting up as the words came slowly forth. "We shall ha' a shaft sunk hereabouts 'most directly, and an iron forge not far off. There's plenty o' ironstone at the foot o' the hill." Mrs. Pircy thought of what John Thorn had told her. " It will be a long time before you get through it, per haps ?

" " Not so long, maybe. It lies in a loose bed, and the working will get dangerous after a while." " But the hill, I hope, may stand there many a year. It is a pretty object from Baronscliffe." " We'll do naught but spoil its shape a bit. It's millstone gist and shale above. But the ironstone be worth a deal more." Mrs. Pircy could not dispute the superiority of metal, in point of value, to the picturesque ; and the relative qualities of millstone-grit, shale, and ironstone, she did not under stand. " This land belongs to Sir George Danby, does it not?" she said. " It belongs to him, and it does not belong to him ; for it's very heavily mortgaged. They say Sir George cannot pay th' interest o' the money lent upon it." " But the coal will help him to do so." " If the seam be as good as it's like to be.

Sir George cannot work th' coal himself, and there's profit and loss to be counted to many a man afore his turn comes. But you should know, I'm thinken, better than I do." Mrs. Pircy felt in her ignorance that she was treading upon dangerous ground. Had Algernon, she wondered, any money at stake, since he seemed so deeply interested ? She quickly turned the conversation, and was soon discoursing upon the various instruments she saw scattered about — rods, cross-rods, and chisels, the use of which, as the implements of his art, the man was very proud of explaining to her. She even felt that she was becoming an enthusiast in the monotonous employment of boring since it led to such grand results, when her husband beckoned her to set out on their way home. He became once more absorbed in thought as they walked slowly along ; and though she would gladly BARONSCLIFFE. have pursued her inquiries as to the certainty of finding the coal, the depth at which it lay imbedded, and the strata be neath which it is usually found — mysteries to her, whatever they might be to the initiated — she forbore to ask him a single question.

Chapter IV. Solitude

" Meek souls there are, who little deem Their daily strife an angel's theme." — Keble. THE last inhabitant of Baronscliffe had been a distant cousin of the Earl of Darrington. A bachelor, and disappointed with the world in general, he had come there, if possible, to get beyond its reach. And certainly he could not have chosen a better place for the purpose. At that time there was not even a resident clergyman in the parish. Literary in his taste, as the book-shelves in the breakfast room could testify, though they were now emptied of their valuable contents, he spent his time in poring over their pages, falling asleep in his arm-chair, and ministering to his own ease in a thousand ways. A misanthrope by nature, he became one habitually ; and closed his heart, at last, as he did his doors, to all comers.

But he died before the ecclesi astical rule forbade non-residence to the clergy without law ful reason ; and when a new incumbent took possession of the Vicarage, he found the castle tenantless. It remained so for some years, and meanwhile the population around Baronscliffe was gradually increasing, as new coal-pits were opened and fresh furnaces established in the neighbouring hamlets. Mrs. Pircy was arranging some china ornaments in the breakfast-room, the arttreasures so long missing having at length arrived, when the servant announced Mr. Scott. The Vicar was not usually a man of many words out of the pulpit, but on this occasion the wants of the parish made him eloquent, and he enlarged to such effect upon the necessity of a church at Deepwell, and a school-house to rise at SOLITUDE. 13 the same time with the rows of pit-houses building there, that Mrs. Pircy, ere she was aware, had taken upon herself the task of enlisting her husband's sympathy in the cause.

She was not without personal religion herself ; for though her father had not considered much instruction in this respect necessary, the pastor of the old grey church at St. Helier had taken great pains with her at her confirmation. Her mother, too, was enshrined in her memory as a saint whose steps she must strive to follow on earth, if she hoped to meet her hereafter in heaven. But with the contract of marriage between Algernon Pircy and Mary l'Estrange, similarity of taste and sentiment had had nothing to do. No wonder, then, that she felt embarrassed with the responsibility Mr. Scott had laid upon her. She stood thinking how easy it would be if it were her father she had to con sult when her husband came into the room. " I have had a visit from Mr. Scott," she said, thinking to face the subject at once ; " he has but this instant left the house."