Ralf Skirlaugh, the Lincolnshire squire : a novel

Front matter

THE LINCOLNSHIRE SQUIRE. & lofafl. BY EDWARD PEACOCK, F.S.A. IN THKEE VOLUMES. VOL. III. LONDON : CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193, PICCADILLY. 1S70. [Thc right of Translation is reserved by the Author.] LONDON : BRADBURY, EVANS, AND CO., PRINTERS, WH1TEFRIARS. CHAPTEE I. " The renegade, On whose base, brutal nature, unredeemed, Even black apostacy itself could stamp No deeper reprobation." Southey, Roderick III. Hopeless grief is neither a pleasant nor a whole some subject of contemplation. The house of mourn ing may be better than the house of feasting, inasmuch as our sympathies may arise from purer sources, but it is surely an unhealthy taste, like that which delights in animal suffering, to seek to dwell on the sorrows ofthe past that are buried in forgotten graves, because the tale-teller has the knack of putting the tears into orna mental phials.

If we have any skill in that art we shall certainly not use it here or elsewhere, when the sentimental pleasure gained by dwelling on sorrow is the only end to be attained. VOL. III. E A few words will explain the position of the persons in whom we take an interest. The evening of Morley's arrest he was lodged in Lincoln Castle, preparatory to his being sent to London to meet his doom. The intelligence of his capture did not reach Skirlaugh till late in the evening, for Drury had felt it to be his duty to dog the footsteps of the prisoner as long as there was the most remote chance of his being able to effect a rescue. Far gone as the day was, Mr. Skirlaugh and Ralf at once galloped over to Brackenthwaite in the hope of finding that Lord Burworth had returned. They were disappointed. The peer was still in London or on his way home.

Very early in the morning every member of the family except Mrs. Skirlaugh departed for Lincoln. Bob had received his orders the night before, and long ere the sun rose the carriage for the ladies and Mr. Callis, and the horses for the other gentlemen, were ready. The groom, like the rest of the household, had passed a sleepless night. Experience had of late taught him that it was very dangerous to leave the house with out some ready witted custodian, and as it was an absolute necessity at a time like this that he should be in attendance on his master, he had suggested to Mrs. Skirlaugh — the only one of the family to whom he could gain access — that a substitute for himself should be provided. Though he had been on horseback nearly all the day, and had hard work in prospect on the morrow, he departed at once into the Isle of Ax holme, and engaged our friend Stephen and one of his converted brethren to come as guardians during his absence.

Chapter II

' ' Now bide at home, my eldest son ; Thou art the heir of all my land. If I stay at home for land or fee, May I be branded in forehead and hand." Claxton's Lament. Mr. Skirlaugh was not disappointed that he had missed seeing Lord Burworth. He felt, now that he was sure of his doing all he could for the captive, that it was better they had not met. High words or threats might have passed between them, the scars of which time would not heal. The squire had fully made up his mind that the peer should be compelled at any sacrifice to himself to use his utmost endeavours to save the prisoner's life. For doing this effectively, there were several things that Lord Burworth ought to know. First, there was the absolute certainty that Marmaduke had come to England, not for any political purpose whatever, but simply to see his daughter.

Then there was the fact that he had been the chief means of hindering Lord Carlson's villanous designs against Isabell being carried to their completion ; a piece of good service for which no one, not a member of the family, could be more thankful than his lordship ; and, lastly, it was important for him to know that it was pretty certain the chief actor in the former plot was the person who would claim the blood money now. Admission to gaols was in those days a very easy matter if the prisoner were confined for any ordinary crime. In Marmaduke Morley's case, his friends might have had considerable difficulties to encounter, had not Mr. Skirlaugh been well known to the high sheriff, and many of the neighbouring magistrates. On his application, an order was at once issued that the prisoner's friends should have access to him at all reasonable times, but as if the authorities feared this indulgence might be construed into evidence of laxity, four additional persons were appointed as temporary guards to the castle precincts.

If a storming party could have been extemporised by the Squire, these weak old men who loitered about with halberts in their hands would have been of little avail, and if any other means of rescue had been contemplated, he must have been a very unwary person who could not have lulled their suspicions, or baffled their intelligence. They seemed to be, and really were, of no use whatever, except as outward and visible signs of the zeal for — "The house of Hanover, And the Protestant succession," which burned in the breasts of the magistracy. All the many different plans of action that had passed through the heads of the male members of the Skirlaugh family during their journey to Lincoln, were more or less disconcerted by Lord Burworth's note. "Everything depends on dispatch," said the Squire, towards the end of a long conference with his son and William ; " one of us must go to London."

" Lord Burworth is really our only hope ; one of us must see him as soon as possible. He is evidently in a state of horrible terror. His fears must be worked on to the uttermost. Will you go, father? You know the details of the forty-five business better than I do," said Ralf. " And am therefore the less likely to cause the needful amount of fright. The case with him is just this. He would like to do a kindness if he could, but he would very much rather Mary's father swung on a gibbet than lose the pleasure of dangling that bit of dark blue ribbon he craves for, around his own neck, and if he saw the way to continued prosperity, would not endanger his popularity with the king he serves for the sake of any neck in Christendom. But I could ruin him. Now I can't tell him that I will, for we have been friends, good friends, all our lives, and if I did he would not believe me, but one of you might describe my feelings, without seeming to know anything definite yourselves, in such a way as to make him thoroughly aware of the crumbling precipice on which he stands."

" Will you go, William ? " said Ralf, who was naturally veiy unwilling to be separated from Mary at such a time. " You have met him, and your words might have more effect than mine who have so very deep a personal interest." " Certainly, if you and Mr. Skirlaugh wish me," William said ; " but if I might judge from what I have seen of him, you, who have known him from childhood, would have more influence than I who can only speak in the measured tones of a man of business." Ralf did not reply. He was anxious for his cousin to go, and yet felt somehow that he was the fittest person to undertake the task. There was silence for some time, while each was busy with his own sorrowful thoughts. Soon the Squire broke out — " Gad ! why should we plot, and contrive, and hang at the heels of that upstart peer ?

Why not do as our fathers would have done ? Raise the tenants, and let Marmaduke out by force. Don't you know what Sir Ingram Skirlaugh, Robin-the-Devil, and a few more brave fellows, did the year King Charles was mur dered ? * How they stormed this very place, when it * In one of the latter days of June, 1618, about four hundred horse, under the command of Sir Philip Monkton, swept over the Isle of Ax holme, marched to Lincoln, where they took the castle and palace, and liberated all the prisoners. One of the chief instigators of this wild rising was Robert Portington, of Barnby Don, whom men called Kobin the Devil, for his dashing valour and wild exploits. They were utterly routed, and many of the leaders captured, a few days after, in a bean-field at Willoughby, near Newark. The Sir Ingram Skirlaugh of the text is of course a purely imaginary personage. had a garrison in it.

Now there are only four or five old fellows with pruning-hooks in their hands." Ralf's face flushed for a moment. It was only for a moment that the idea seemed practical. " Suppose we do it, father, we should free him, but at certain destruction to ourselves," said he, sadly. " Nonsense, boy, you don't understand," said the Squire, warming with the congenial idea. " The estate's settled on you as tight as 3'our London cousin could make it. You and William must not have any thing to do with it, but just keep out of the way. I'll raise my people, storm the place, let him out, and step over to France, where I can stay till the Restoration comes. It won't be long now, and I know the language." " You may die in a French garret first, father ; and think of the poor fellows who followed you, who would go anywhere at your bidding.

They couldn't go to France. How many of them would be hanged or transported to America ? " " I think I shall try, my boy — by Jove I do ; I won't make up my mind to-night, but, gad, if I don't think I shall go home to-morrow morning and bring plenty of people back with me to carry him off at all hazards. They could but hang me." " If you do, I shall certainly join the enterprise, father. Wild as I think it, your gray hairs shall not run a risk for my Mary's father that I shrink from." "No, no, on no account; think of Mary, of your sister, and, more than all, of your poor mother. I will turn it over and let you know what I shall do before night," said the Squire, leaving the room. " It will be ruin to all of us if Mr. Skirlaugh perse veres. He cannot see that the time is different now to that of the Long Parliament," said William.

" Not at least you, cousin ; you would never dream of running so mad a risk." " I will not be separated from the rest, come what may : but it is madness." The two young men had perhaps remained an hour by themselves, when Mr. Skirlaugh came back to them. " I have considered more of this ; we must not be madmen," he said. " Burworth may succeed. You, Ralf, go to London at once — this evening — you will be there as soon as he is, or perhaps catch him on the road. Remember, you get him to delay the despatch of the officers who are to be sent down to carry Morley to the Tower as long as possible. This I know he can do, at least for a few hours, and will on some pretence or other if you press it. I'll do nothing rashly ; but, by Heaven, your Mary's father shall not hang if I can hinder it." The morning of the next day dawned gloomily.

Heavy clouds hung overhead, so near the earth that the spires which then crowned the western towers of the Minster seemed almost to pierce them. The weather wise folk gazed upwards and said there would soon be "downfall;" but no rain came. Mr. Skirlaugh and William were about setting off in different directions ; VOL. III. the one to have an interview with the high-sheriff, the other with one of the county members, in the hope of enlisting their influence as a supplement to Lord Bur worth's. An order had been issued that the prisoner's friends were to be admitted at ten o'clock. At a few minutes before that hour Isabell, with Mary leaning on her arm, attended by a maid, entered the cathedral close. That precinct was as quiet and silent as the park at Skirlaugh. On the south of the Minster the road narrows ; to the east it is a large grassy enclosure, but here it is but a lane separating the church from the ruins of the Episcopal palace.

As they passed the Galilee porch sounds of noisy laughter smote upon their ears. It was evident that several idlers were loitering within the passage between the Exchequer gate which faces the west front of the Minster and the other now demolished archway which fronted the Castle hill. This passage was wide enough for carriages to pass through, and had on each side a series of seats of stone, where, it is said, market people and pedlars used to sit in former times for the purpose of vending their wares to the clerics who lived within ; now they were disused for any good purpose, and the passage between the gates had become a place where, on account of the conveniences for sitting, idle people of all classes were wont to gather together, like' the Athe nians and strangers who " spent their time in nothing else but either to tell or to hear some new thing ;" so the country folk and the city folk would assemble here for the purpose of hearing and telling the latest local gossip.

The merriment grated harshly on ears httle fitted to enjoy such sounds. " Is there no way by which we can avoid the people in the passage ? " inquired Miss Skirlaugh of her maid. " No, miss, except by going back past the Place, and then a long way round." " Do let us go the nearest way we can," whispered Mary, whose whole soul was absorbed in one contem plation. The two girls entered the passage together. No sooner was Isabell within the arch than she recognised Mackenzie sitting on one of the benches of the north side, amusing several bystanders, among whom were Smyley and Brotherton, by an account of the clever way in which he had managed the capture. Isabell could not catch the words, but, as they hurried on, she heard sufficient to make her quite sure that the speaker was Mackenzie, and that he was boasting of his last exploit.

Mary saw nothing, her eyes were fixed on the ground, her heart too much moved to have her attention distracted by the sights and sounds around her. " Hush ! hush ! here come the ladies," said Brother ton, endeavouring to stop the tale-teller. Mackenzie was in a high state of excitement, caused by his good success and the flatteries of the little knot of people he had been amusing. "By C George ! so they do. I'll speak to the papist girl," said he. " Don't be a brute," exclaimed the artist, grasping his arm. Poor Smyley was a low fellow certainly, but he would never have wantonly insulted a woman. The ladies had now passed beneath the Exchequer gate and were nearly opposite the Highlander. He took off his hat and made a low bow, saying, as he did so, " Good morning, Miss Mary ; glad to meet an old friend once more.

Have a nice cottage on Kenning ton Common with a good view. Shall be glad to see you there to witness the sights. Window panes were two guineas a-piece when Corbet was hanged." The beginning of the sentence was not intelligible to Mary. When she raised her eyes she at once recog nised one whom she knew but too well, and then com prehended the full atrocity of its meaning. Wisely she spoke not, but clung to Isabell. " Jenny, have my father and Mr. William both gone out ? " said Miss Skirlaugh, when she could sufficiently command herself to speak. " I don't know, Miss," was the Abigail's answer. " Go back then, but not past those men, they will insult you, and tell either or both I wish them to come to me at the Castle." " No, no," said Mary ; " if you tell them, there will be a duel or something worse."

" As there ought to be, and must be. Weak woman that I was to ask William to spare his life." Brotherton and the artist were more deeply offended by this last piece of wantonness than the Highlander had expected. " Dem it, I can stand a good deal, but not this, Mac," said Smyley, turning away in disgust. Bro therton followed him. " If there be a devil on earth it's that man. I'll never help him any more, Smyley," said he ; "I don't care about catching the traitor — that's in the way of law, but I wouldn't have said what he did to hurt the poor sorrowing lassie for the thousand pounds he'll get for the job." And he spoke truth. The agent had little about him to win respect, but his natural feelings were at least so far uncorrupted that he could not have done an unnaturally cruel thing like that without much preparatory schooling, nor would he have done it at all in the mere wantonness of high spirits.

Jenny did not find either her master or William at the Place when she arrived there. She had under stood the full meaning of Mackenzie's words, and was almost beside herself with rage. Bob was the first person she saw, and to him she unbosomed herself. "It's a strange good thing they arn't at home, there'd ha' been blood spilt as sure as my name's Bob Drury," remarked that philosophic person. " He wants summuts doin' to him, but not by a gentleman, Jenny. Where is there a good heavy stick ? " An implement such as Bob required was soon found, and he departed as fast as his legs could carry him over the Minster green and down the Greetstone* stairs to the Saracen's Head. Ostlers and stable-boys were in the yard. " I've a message for Mr. Mackenzie ; where is he ? " said Bob. " Just gone to London.

He rode off not five minnits sin," was the reply. * This flight of steps, corruptly called the Greetstone, or still worse, the Grecian stairs, takes its name from the old word gryce or grece, a step. The Norfolk peasantry still sometimes talk of the grissens, when they mean stairs.

Chapter III

" Religion, in a large sence, doth signifie the whole duty of man, com prehending in it Justice, Charity, and Sobriety." B. Jer. Taylor, Holy Living, iv. On the evening of the day of Morley's arrest, John Stuffing was at Wivilby. Doctor Chubb had pro nounced his daughter out of danger when Mary left, but she was stdl very weak ; and John, notwithstanding his fatalism, was so nervously anxious about her that he could seldom summon resolution to leave the imme diate neighbourhood of his tan-yard. On the present occasion business of importance took him to the little town, and he had not been a quarter of an hour there before he heard from many lips various and conflicting accounts of the arrest of the prisoner. The subject was interesting to him, and, as he was pretty sure all was going on well at home, he determined to spend an hour at the one place in Wivilby where he was certain of gaining accurate information.

In the bar of the Red Lion, where we have on a former occasion conducted our readers, he found as sembled much such a party as that of the former evening. One or two of the faces which might have been noticed then, were absent now, but other very similar ones supplied their places. The one note worthy addition was Mr. Earl, the Vicar. He came frequently to Mr. Robinson Rudd's synod, and was always allowed a seat by the fire, but one degree less honourable than that of the august Robinson himself. Small, almost diminutive in stature, with muscular arms and a red weather-beaten face, the parson had much more the appearance of one whose occupations familiarised him with sun and wind, than of a writer of sermons or a spiritual adviser. It is not wise for most persons to judge of the characters of people they see for the first time by the marks which time and circum stance have written on their bodies, but in Mr. Earl's case it would have been quite safe to guess that the life of a country clergyman was not one for which he had originally any strong vocation.

The Vicar had been brought up by his parents for the Church, as a means of providing for him, without his having the least taste for the duties of that sacred profession. The most that could be said in his favour was that he had shown little repugnance when the idea was suggested. He determined from the first to make the duties of a pastor as little onerous as possible. As soon as he had taken priest's orders and was his own master, he looked out for a post which should require the exercise of but few clerical graces, and through the influence of an uncle who was an officer in the army, had been gratified to his heart's content by promotion to an army chaplaincy. As an army chaplain he lived for many years, and saw much of the world that he would have been as well without seeing ; as an army chaplain he would in all likelihood have ended his days, had not the Fates, when he was about fifty, thrown him in the way of a lady with three up-grown daughters, and an annuity of two hundred and fifty pounds a year.

This lady soon became Mrs. Earl, and as she hated the army as much as her husband loved it, he shortly found it convenient to accept the Crown living he now held. As the times then Mr. Earl made a very fair pastor. He was a quiet, easy man, with strong prejudices certainly, but without a particle of religious sectarianism in his nature. Calvinist, Methodist, and Papist, the wise and the simple, the drunken and the sober, must all have admitted that he never teased them by attempts at conversion or instruction. It is true he only gave one service on a Sunday, and never preached his own sermons, but then that service was remarkably short, and there was no imposture about his preaching. He always took the printed volume which he used into the pulpit, and would tell any of his flock, without a moment's hesitation, with whose divinity their souls had been refreshed.

Even the musicians, who sate in the loft, and delighted the congregation with the sweet tones of the fiddle, bassoon, and fife, said they had nothing to complain of, " he was a very quiet gentle man, and always let them pick the psalms as well as the tunes." Some few of the neighbouring clergy had been heard to whisper that he was negligent in his pastoral visits; but such an accusation was pure calumny, for it never once occurred to him that it was his duty to make any. But then, if he did not visit his people in his priestly character, thej' had no lack of his society. He was a capital companion; could sing a good song, tell highly -flavoured anecdotes without end, and had not a bit of pride about him ; but was quite ready to go to the houses of any of his parishioners who invited him. If he never asked them back, Mrs. Earl's weak health passed as a sufficient excuse for him, though it brought many ill-natured remarks upon the heads of the mother and daughters.

It would be going too far to assert that the Vicar of Wivilby was a gentleman in his manners ; but we are within the mark when we say that he had picked up in his marches quite sufficient of the small change of gentility to make him a pleasant and amusing com panion. On one point alone was there a chance of having any unpleasant difference with him. He was a vehement Whig, an intense, thoroughgoing admirer of the reigning family. Not from any feelings of patriotism — no shallow talk about public good ever passed his lips — but simply because he had been taught in the army to love King George and hate his enemies. On the present evening Mr. Howell was in full force. He had made a sacrifice, if not for conscience sake — though we are by no means sure it was not — at least for the sake of honour, and kindly human seeling.

He felt keenly the temptations which every ambitious and rising man has to encounter, and was therefore able to appreciate at its full value his own magnanimity in quarrelling with a good client for a point of decency. Mr. Howell was not one of those men who shrink from saying the truth about people with whom he had quarrelled, because they had once been friends. He was very much irritated by the conduct of Mr. Woorme, and had not the least desire to hide his feelings. As he was a good talker, and entered into the fullest details as to the events of the day, he afforded the assembled guests no little amusement. " You'll lose his business, that's sartan, Mr. Howl," said Foster, with a tone of triumph, as he called to mind the many times he had heard the lawyer make excuses for his quondam friend.

" And the clerkship," said Standish. " And the friendship of a very agreeable person," interposed Mr. Earl. As this was not meant as a sarcasm, a loud laugh followed. " Very agreeable, indeed ! I think I ought to know its value as well as anybody. I've certainly had as much of it. As you say, it is extremely pleasant, or I should not have had the honour of meeting you, Mr. Earl, and so many of your cloth there." All laughed again, the Vicar louder than any one. " Well, well," said he, " I go to his house because I like it. He's got a good cellar, keeps a good table, and is, when all's said and done, a mighty agreeable fellow. But you must not judge my brethren of the black gown by me. I'm as much of a soldier as a parson, and I don't deny that I can put up with a little want of polish of the board, if the punch bowl that stands on it is well filled."

" Now I call that straight for'ad," remarked Foster. "I don't see that Mr. Earl's any different to you, Mr. Howl. You wouldn't have gone near him, I reckon, if it hadn't been for his brass." The worthy yeoman had no great liking for ministers of the Established Church ; but he could not bear the thought of missing so good a hit at the lawyer, who had on many former occasions given him shrewd blows in their frequent word combats. "There's just this difference, Mr. Foster. I've my living to work for, and those gentlemen haven't ; and moreover, I won't deny, just because we've quarrelled, that, notwithstanding his vulgarity and impudence, I liked the fellow. I don't mind for a little rudeness, as you must have found out, Mr. Foster, when it is natural to a man ; but the pig-headed obstinacy, folly, and cruelty of his conduct to-day, in giving way to that Scotchman's brutal design of bringing Miss Morley up as a witness against her own father, was what I could not bear from any man living.

I have counted the cost of a row with him long ago, and it isn't so heavy after all. The breeches pocket will get over it; but there is another view to look at it in, and that, I confess, is very serious. You see, I've never been in a position to associate with any of the squires but him. I shall now be cut off entirely from good society. Not on speaking terms with anybody who ever dines with a man who has silver plates to eat off," said the lawyer, in a tone of affected sadness that was very enter taining. "Latet anguis in herba. There's a jest hidden in what you say. Would you object to favouring us with the key ? " said Dr. Chubb. Mr. Woorme's medical adviser lived in the neigh bouring market town of Glamford Briggs ; and as the doctor felt he had a vested interest in the sicknesses of his own district, he had just a slight flavour of bitter feeling against the justice.

" Not in the least," replied Mr. Howell. " I men tioned it for the purpose. If Mr. Woorme wants to know whether a man moves in good society or not, he has one question that he always asks, and according as the answer is, so he judges of the answerer. ' Sir,' says he, ' do you visit with anybody who eats off silver plate ? ' If the reply be ' Yes,' he takes the new friend to his bosom ; if ' No,' he replies, with a tone of tri umph, ' I do. Lord Burworth always eats off silver.' " " That is not a sign of vulgarity, but only of ignor ance of the habits of the world," interposed the Vicar. " You and I have other measures by which we estimate people ; but we all judge one another by the society hi which we ourselves move. Mr. Woorme's idea is, that silver plates and dishes are the distinguishing mark of gentility ; other people hold the not wiser opinion, that ancestry is the stamp.