Laura Heathjohn. A tale of Church Stretton, etc

Front matter

LAURA HEATH JO; a tali: or Church Sti _ett fS : acj B_ G>_ j -OR . 6Eei$.E it wip3@rt," BOOKSELLER, STATIONER, & NEWS AGENT, Mwmmmmmt^ flfjsl Cckgraph, anu Stamp (Sffit . CHUECH STSETTON. TO "VISITORS, A Complete Li<t of Apartmen's kept, and every information ;/ ENGLISH AND FOREIGN TOYS, ■** einis, *•«- Visitors to Church Stretton are strongly recommend obtain a Guide. The price is 6d. It gives ; beside a hi. of the locality, etc.) the most pleasant Walks and Object Interest. Botan.i gicttl Guides same price, or Is. the Tlin EXCELLENT PHOTOGRAPHS OF THE SCENERY THE LONDON AXD BIRMINGHAM PAPERS Arrive about 11 a.m. N Books, Periodicals, and Mag; punctually supplied. ' Agent for MeSsrs, W. H. Smith & Son. tobacco. Patent J^edicines. Pretty Presc ESTABLISHED I LAURA HEATHJOHN A TALE OF Church Stretton.

(FOUNDED ON FACT), BY GEORGE R. WINDSOR. [all eights eeseeved] SHREWSBURY: PRINTED BY ABRAHAM LLOYD, FRANKWELL. MDCCCVHIV. Note. — In reply to many inquires, and to several letters (some anonymous), the author begs to state most emphatically that the talo of Laura Heathjohn — though founded on fact — does not refer either directly or indirectly to any family or individual now, or within living memory, residing in or near the town of Church Stretton. LAURA HEATIIJOHN. A TALE OF CHURCH STRETTON, Bl GEORGE R. WINDSOR, Authob of a Guide to Chuech Stbetton, &o., &o., &o. all eights besebved. "I will a tale unfold." Not always has yonder grey ruin been what it now appears, a picturesque blot on this fair Church Stretton landscape. Let us rehabilitate its walls and show a faint picture of a time long passed into oblivion.

Prologue

. " Thou lovest me Too much, as I loved thee : we were not made To torture thus each other, though it were The deadliest sin to love as we have loved. Say that thou loath' st me not — that I do bear Th.s punishment for both — that thou wilt be One of the blessed — and that I shall die ; For hitherto all hateful things conspire To bind me in existence — in a life Which makes me shrink from immortality— A future like the past. I cannot rest. I know not what I ask, nor what I seek : I feel but what thou art — and what I am." It is a calm summer night. Through the open lattice the moon pours a flood of silver light ; and from the room may be seen bathed in splendour, the mighty Caer Caradoc and the silent Lawley Hills. Calm, grim, and imperishable, these mighty monarchs, whom time assails in vain, lie in the glint of the moonbeams.

But to the sufferer on the bed, in that oaken-panelled room, the beauty of the edge of night appeals not. And yet it might : for she is as beautiful as the starry night. But she is dying in the pride of her youth and beauty. The husband who bends in mute agony over her couch, hanging on her over labour'd breath, is, alas ! her murderer. Struck down by words as fatal in their effect as the deadly steel or swift sure bullet, she knows, and he feels, how quickly she is gliding into that dim shadowy land, where nought but the music born of love may enter. Innocent, yet guilty. Faithful, yet false. Loving, yet causing death : the husband stands by the dying wife's bed. Oh, God ! to lose her, whom he has so madly loved ! " Dearest," she said, " be good, be kind to her when I am gone ;" and, with the words upon her lips, she faded into nothingness, as the flower blossoms for a brief period on the face of the hoary Longmynd, then sinks into oblivion for ever.

LAUEA HEATHJOHN. 5 CHAPTEE I. THE MIGHTY CARADOC. " All Rome was stdl, and nations stood at gaze ; Fourth came the mighty chief, august in chains ; Unbroken, unsubdued : bis dauntless brow Lost not his conscious grandeur ; round he looked With steady glare, a lion in the foils." In a lovely garden overlooking the Carding Mill Valley walked a young and beautiful girl. She was dressed in a costume we should now consider antique, but it suited her well, and harmonized with the quaintly-set garden in which she walked. Presently she seated herself under a tree, and as she sits we will faintly try to pourtray her. How 6hall we describe a beauty which is almost indiscribable ? Reared in luxury and wealth, amid the pure air of the glorious Stretton Hills ; roaming over its wastes, delighting in its valleys ; knowing each shadowy dell, and fragrant gorge, Laura Heathjohn at eighteen was the perfection of all that is beautiful and girlish in budding woman-hood.

No town-bred beauty she, but a child of nature, yet very sweet and charming withal. " I wish," she said to an elderly lady, who had been her companion for many years, " I wish my dear father would shake off that gloom which ever weighs him down, and come out into the sunshine to drink in the loveliness of the scenery and the beauty of the day. Can any place on earth be more beautiful than this ? Stretton is my birthplace, and I dearly love my home : I cannot imagine anyone caring to live in a home where all is flat and level. You know the words of the charming old ballad : — ' I joy in my home, From the hour I first knew it ; I have found it a home Full of sunshine and bliss.' " "People, my dear," said the elder lady, ''must live where the necessities of life take them. We cannot all live in one spot, however beautiful.

You, as the daughter of so good a father, well born, an only child, are naturally proud of your home and its surroundings. From your infant days you have looked upon these majestic hills, upon the little town nestling at their feet, and have heard nightly, as we hear now, the curfew ringing from the little church of St. Lawrence, seen in the distance. How sweetly, like music on the waters, the sound of the bells reaches us, mellowed and softened by distance. Yes, dear, the love of home seems more inherent in the people of Salop than in other counties. Some day, perhaps, you may leave it for another and yet dearer home. You blush, love : have I divined aright ?" " Dearest Mrs. Teloh, if I blush it is not because I am in love. No ! that all-absorbing feeling has yet to come to me. I am at present heart-whole, but let us turn to other thoughts.

See how lovely the sun lights up the Caradoc, with the alternate light and dark clouds chasing each other across the summit. Is that indeed th9 spot where tbe brave and fearless Caractacus fought his last battle." " It is so stated, my love." " Tell me of it while we sit in the shade of this lovely tree, and feast our eyes upon its beauty." " Caractacus, my love, is known in history as the bravest of the brave ; his defence against the Roman legionaries was most marvellous, when we consider his untrained troops, and the matchless courage and training of the Roman soldiers. Driven from point to point Caractacus determined to make his final stand upon the Caradoc. Here he threw up entrenchments, prepared to defend himself to the last. But the ever victorious Romans were too numerous for the noble hearted and valorous Caractacus, and soon the Roman Commander, Ostorious Scapula, had the satisfaction of capturing the, until then, unbeaten Car actacus."

"How sad!" said Laura, "one would always wish heroes to be victorious." " Yes, dear! to be captured was sad enough ; but worse than this he was taken a prisoner to Rome, where, loaded chains, he was brought before Caesar. But Csesar behold ing in him a foeman who fought alone for love of country, ordered his life to be spared, and freedom given to him." " I shall ever think well of Csesar for his clemency, dear Mrs. Teloh ; ii ever I love, I should like to love a man like Caractacus, but my father comes not ; will you tell me now, while we are in the confidential mood, what it is that so saddens my dear father's life. Is it indeed, true that my mother died the same night, and within a few hours after my birth?" " It is, love ! the history of that night is shrouded in the deepest mystery. From all I can learn your mother was well and happy up to within a few hours of her sad death, and that she loved your father was well known.

The love was mutual ; a very happy pair, with youth, health, wealth in plenty, and a lovely home. What more could be wanted ? And yet, within an hour, quick, as with lightning stroke, your mother drooped and died, and your father became what he is now, a recluse, with no thought in life but your welfare ; no hope but in your future." " My dear father ! how he must have suffered. But see yonder he comes, let us go and meet him and try to rouso him from his lethargy to Hfe and action."

Chapter II. The Actress

" The Actors are come hither. Good my lord, will you see The players well bestowed : Do you hear, let them be well Used for they are the abstract And brief chronicles of the time." Nineteen years before our story opens, a company of strolling players arrived in the little town of Church Stretton. It was their custom to come occasionally to delight the inhabitants with a display of the Thespian art. At the period of our tale there was no one, gentle or simple, but delighted to welcome the strolling players. Their advent was a time of mirth, and although at the present time we should be more inclined to laugh than cry over their melo-dramas and tragedies, yet in those days it was a very serious matter indeed, and folks came from a long distance to remain in the town while the play-actors strutted their little hour upon the stage.

The company was an exceptionally good one for a travelling company, and had among them for the principal lady characters a very showy good looking woman. Phy siologists might object to her thin lips and pale blue eyes. Her female companions might, and probably would tell you, her age was above thirty, but, at night, with the aid of dress, and such other artificial aids to complexion as are not unknown even among ladies who are not on the stage, she was very passable indeed. She could also be very fascinating when she pleased; in fact, she was a born actress, and could simulate the passion of love, the lan guishing dreamy delight born of affection, admirably. The young Squire of the fair demesne, so proudly over looking the Vale of Stretton, is among the company who flock to see the play, and he is enchanted with the actress.

Night after night, he is at the theatre to see her act. She knows he is rising to her lure ; and having made inquiries, LAURA HEATEJOHN. 9 and found out his true position, determines if possible to marry him. It is to him she plays, to him all her love speeches are directed, and he, his own master, fascinated, thinks nothing on earth so beautiful as this scheming cun ning woman. He sends her rare and beautiful flowers, and soon stolen meetings are arranged. It is to one of these we now introduce the reader. In the lovely Light Spout Valley a couple are walking. He, tall, manly and handsome ; she, well-dressed and fascinating. • It is the young squire and the actress. He is persuading her to consent to a clandestine marriage, and she, although it is her intention to consent, is leading him on by hopes and fears, by alternately appearing to consent to his wishes, and then withdrawing her consent, start objections to his proposal.

"Nay, dearest," he said in reply to one of these objec tions, in which she urged that his friends would not receive her, or would look down upon her if married to him, " I have but myself to please ; trust me, I will try to make you happy. You say you love me, why then with-hold your consent to the arrangements which will make you mine for ever." " It is for your sake, dearest Aldis," she replied ; " how could you introduce the poor actress to your noble and haughty relatives ? She is neither well-born or rich, and has nothing but her love for you to give in return." " I cannot lose you, my lovely Jeannie," he replied. " Darling," he said, clasping her in his arms, " say you will be my wife." " I consent, dear Aldis, all shall be as you wish," she said, returning his caresses. And so the next night, when the actors were assembled, their principal actress was missing.

She had been known to go out early in the morning by the woman with whom she lodged, and, it was thought, she had rambled in pur suit of ferns and wild flowers, of which she professed to be very fond, and had lost her way in one of the valleys of the Longmynd. Search was made, but the runaway could not be found. In those days communications with neigh bouring towns were slow, and the actors moved sadly away, unaccompanied by her who had been their pearl, and had drawn much money into their coffers. Meantime Tom. the young Squire's groom and general factotum, might have cleared up the mystery, but Tom knew that a still tongue made a wise head, or Tom could have told of a quiet drive in the early morning ; of a stoppage at a little church, where a good simple-minded country clergyman performed the marriage service ; of a stoppage at an inn, and a delightful breakfast in a garden full of roses ; of another swift drive to a town where a travelling carriage was procured, and then Tom returned home, leaving the newly-wedded happy pair to continue their journey.

The young lover took his wife abroad, and did not communicate the fact of his marriage to any of his friends. The married actress speedily threw off the mask she had worn before marriage, and proved to be drunken, selfish, ignorant, and greedy for admiration. Quarrels succeeded, and their wedded life became a life of misery and wretchedness. Four months after the wedding in the quiet Shropshire church, the bride suddenly disappeared, without leaving a trace of her whereabouts. She had often threatened to destroy herself, and it was supposed she had done so, especially as a body was found in the water, where it had been so long as to be not recognizable, but from a ring on the finger was deemed to be the wife of the English gentleman. She had, moreover, left a letter in her room stating she was tired of her life, and intended to drown herself.

Upon this she was buried as his wife, and the sad duty accomplished, Aldis Heathjohn started for his .homo amid the glorious hills of Church Stretton. CHAPTER in. A VISITOR. " And the soft quiet hamlet v, here he dwelt Is one of that complexion which seems made For those who their mortality have felt, And sought a refuge from their hopes decay'd In the deep umbrage of a green hill's shade, Which shows a distant prospect far away Of busy cities, now in vain display'd, For they can lure no further ; and the ray Of a bright sun can make sufficient holiday." "My dear Laura," said Aldis Heathjohn, as his daughter approached, " I have by this morning's post received a letter from the son of a very old and valued friend, who asks us to put him up for a short time, while his own home, beyond Shrewsbury, is being repaired and renovated.

He writes, that he has been absent from home for niany years travelling ; and, now the matter is recalled to my mind, I remember hearing him spoken of as an adventurous and daring spirit, ever seeking fresh sources of excitement in foreign lands." "Is he an old man, father ?" " Oh ! dear, no : Some eight and twenty years old, or thereabouts. I suppose we can ' put him up ' as he says, but my child, I must leave the entertaining of this stranger to you. In some respects I regret his coming, for he will disturb my retirement ; this will be the first time for many years that a stranger has been welcomed as a visitor to our home. Yet, I am glad for your sake, my love, it will be a little change from your father and companion to have a young traveller, with stirring tales of foreign lands, to converse with."

" When may we expect him ?" " Well, I hardly know ! he writes, ' I shall be with you almost as soon as you receive my letter,' and we must be prepared to see him at any time, a few days at latest, for Sir Hernion Mervall is not one to let grass grow under his feet : but, adieu, my love ! I must to my study." And Aldis Heathjohn retired, leaving the ladies alone. So distracting an event as the advent of a young and possibly handsome stranger had never before occurred in the life of Laura, and the mere thought of it caused her to be strangely excited, ' ' Oh, what shall we do, dear Mrs. Teloh, to pass the time until Sir Hermon arrives ?" " First, dear, we will go to luncheon." "Yes! Yes! what next?" " Then, dear, suppose you try over your new song ?" " Oh ! yes, dear Mrs. Teloh, I had almost forgotten that amid all this excitement, will you please fetch it for me.

I think I will try it over now." Mrs. Teloh at once brought the ballad, and Laura, seated at her spinet, after a few preliminary notes, sung as follows :• — THE LONGMYND HAS A CHARM FOR ME. I. When spring, the lovely and the bright, In vivid verdure clothes the land, And with her smiles of sunny light, Illumines all the landscape grand ; When flowers spring up anew, and when Fresh foliage ornaments each tree, And birds sing gaily in the glen. The Longmynd has a charm for me. H When glorious summer walks the hills, In robes of radiant beauty dressed , And sunny heights and gleaming rills, The splendour of her charms attest ; When flowers are in their brightest glow, And sweetly lure the wandering bee ; When mountain breezes softly blow, The Longmynd has a charm for me. III. When autumn's cold and humid breath, Devastates summer's choicest bowers ; Consigns all tender plants to death, And strips the trees, and kills the flowers.

When o'er the mountain tempests pass ; And on the steepy slopes we see, The russet, fern, and withered grass — The Longmynd has a charm for me. rv. When winter comes, hard, harsh, and hoarse, To numb the limb, and chill the blood ; To chasten nature with the force Of snow, and storm, and frost, and flood ; When storm clouds bower, and fierce gales blow, When frosts bite with severity : E'en when the hills are white with snow, The Longmynd has a charm for me. " And now to luncheon, what shall we do after lunch ?" " Well, what say you to a drive ? Tho afternoon is delicious. We will drive as far as the Lea at the bottom of the wood, where Sylvania joins it. Your ponies want an outing, what •ay you, love ? " " I should like it above anything ; please give orders for the ponies to be ready at three."

It was the afternoon of a delicious day. The air mild and fragrant with the scent of flowers, stirred by the drowsy murmur of insects, and bright with butterflies. The sky bright and without a cloud ; the rich and varied scenery, bordered by Longmynd on the one hand and Caradoc on the other, was never more inviting, as Laura and Mrs. Teloh took their seats in the pretty little pony carriage for their afternoon's drive. Their way led past the brook, with its fringe of ash trees, under the Longmynd range, past the vale now known as Cound, where the sparkling water was beaten into foam beneath the ponies' feet ; past Old Stretton, where the giant shadow of the Caradoc was thrown across the road ; past Dudgley, with its quaking brook quivering in the sunlight. Laura's love of nature was intense, each wild bird with its woodland note, and every flower, was to her a deep and per manent attraction.

In the early spring she loved to see the ruby tips of the hawthorn give the first signs of approaching vegetation, ora little after tosee the violetwithitsfragrance, or the primrose with its beauty ; and now, around her, in tho deep shady recesses of the dark sombre woods round Pensylvania, where scarce a sunbeam wanders, except such as stray through the foliage of the tree*, are floral treasures without end. " How lovely it all is," said Laura ; then, her thoughts still running upon the approaching visit of the strange Sir Hermon, " our coming guest may have seen many strange and, wild countries, but it will take a great deal of persua sion to convince me that anything can be more beautiful and romantic than this, our own Stretton." " Prejudice my love ! " said her companion. " I do not deny that these lovely hills, from their sub-alpine elevation and varied aspect, are beautiful exceedingly ; those banks. too, with their overshadowing of trees, contribute much to the delight of the journey, but — " " Now, dearest Mrs. Teloh, I'll have no ' buts' ; you shall not institute comparisons between my dearly-loved Stretton and other places.

No other place, however fair, shall ever rival it in my heart." They were now approaching Leebotwood, and the ponies, which had been left almost to their own devices, while Laura had been pointing out the beauties of the scenery to her companion, now showed signs of becoming restive : they strained and tore at their bits until their young mis tress felt they had become utterly unmanageable, faster and faster they raced along, each exciting the other, the brook was in sight with its shelving banks, and, here it was felt by each lady the catastrophe must occur. Laura closed her eyes, giving herself up for lost : faster went the delirious ponies, the trees and hedges swam by in one indistinguishable whirl : gradually she seemed to be losing her senses, when she was brought to a sense of her situation by the one word : — "Stop!!"

From the hedge leapt a young man ; a man of grand build and splendid physique. With the skill, born of a knowledge ot prompt action in times of danger, he contrived to throw himself upon the ponies, and clutching the reins, held them with an iron grip : the brutes, brought to a knowledge of their misdeeds by these vigorous measures, slackened their pace, and were soon brought to a stand. When the carriage stopped Laura was discovered to have swooned. Fortunately the stranger had a flask in his pocket, and pouring a little stimulant into a cup, he forced her to swallow a few drops : Mrs. Teloh meanwhile applying the usual measures. In a few minutes thy had the satisfaction of seeing the colour return to her face, and, sitting up, she expressed herself as feeling decidedly better. ' ' How can I thank you ; but for your prompt interference we must have been killed."

" No thanks are necessary," said the handsome stranger, lifting his cap, " I was fortunate to have been of service. I am a stranger in these parts having been many years abroad, and having left my travelling carriage a short distance behind for some repairs, I was proceeding on foot to Church Stretton to the residence of an old friend of my father, Mr. Aldis Heathjohn." " Then you are " — said Laura. "I am Sir Hermon Mervall."

Chapter IV. Love

"But sweeter still than this, than these, than all, Is first and passionate love — it stands alone, Like Adam's recollection of his fall ; The tree of knowledge has been pluck' d — all's known — And Ufe yields nothing further to recall Worthy of this ambrosial sin, so shown, No doubt in fable, as the unforgiven Fire which Prometheus filch'd for us from heaven." Sir Hermon Mervall drove home with the ladies in the ■carriage, the restive ponies proving quite manageable in his skilled hands, and was received by Aldis Heathjohn as •cordially as it was in his nature to welcome a stranger. He proved to be a wonderful acquisition to their circle, for he was well read, and had visited many and strange lands, not in the " round the world in sixty days" style of the present generation, but in the leisurely and thorough man ner befitting a gentleman whose time was at his own dis posal, and whose wealth made travelling an easy, and delightful pastime.

To Laura he came as a glad surprise — and her father, being so reserved and retiring, it devolved upon her to help to make the time pass pleasantly for him, and while he told her of adventures in lands beyond the seas, she in turn instructed him in the lore of the neighbourhood. Mr. Heathjohn, though polite, as a gentleman is always, shrunk from society, and soon sought the seclusion of his room, leaving the young people to entertain each other. The morning found them rambling on the Caradoc. " It seems strange," said Sir Hermon, " that this mighty Caer Caradoc was once a submarine volcano, and that reservoirs of volcanic fire extended far and wide beneath the beds of the Caradoc sea ; it looks almost too peaceful now ever to have vomited fire and scorce and ashes, to say nothing of smoke."

" Nay," answered Laura, " all these things are solemn facts to me. I am by nature a lover of the meadows and the woods and the mountains ; I know that here where now the grass grows and cattle low, that waves once flowed ; this vast panorama, full of beauty, is indeed a series of pictures of true grandeur and variety. I have heard Church Stretton called the Paradise of Shropshire ; see, eastward the plain of Shrewsbury bounded by the Wrekin, the sharp-backed Lawley, the hills of Acton Burnell and Frodesley, the Brown Clee, the Edge Wood, and the Titterstone." " You are indeed an enthusiast," said Sir Hermon, looking at her animated face, " and is not the valley yonder, with its lights and shades, beautiful in the sunlight ? " " It is, indeed. The glorious sun ! how I love it ; when the sun shines everything seems joyous — the birds sing, and all Nature participates in added beauty."

"Yes," said Sir Hermon, looking up at the glorious orb of day, " we cannot wonder that some nations should worship so beautiful an object as the sun." "Do they?" " There are such people in the world ; come, let us sit on this huge boulder, and I will tell you of some people with whom I stayed two winters ago." " I*hall be so pleased to hear of them." " The nation of which I speak were formerly a very eonsiderable people. They were under some peculiar chiefs, who obeyed one grand chief, who carried on his breast the image of the sun, from which he pretended to trace his origin. They adored the sun under the name of the ' Supreme Fire.' " " Were they hospitable and good? " " To me they were very kind. The manner in which these people rendered divine service to the sun had some thing solemn about it.

The high priest got up before sun rising, and marched at the head of the people at a grave pace, and with the calumet of peace in his hand ; he smoked in honour of the sun, and blew the first mouthful of smoke towards him. On the first appearance of the orb of day all present prostrated themselves on the ground in a devout attitude. After remaining for a time in this position the priest performed a short service of prayer, the people per formed their ablutions, and were dismissed to the work of the day." " How very interesting." " They had a temple in which they kept up an eternal fire • only one peculiar kind of wood was allowed to be made use of, and the fire was watched with the greatest care both night and clay that it might not go out." ' ' Thank you, but it grows near luncheon time, let us descend."

Can it be wondered at, thus hourly thrown together, Sir Hermon fell deeply in love, almost before he knew it, with sweet Laura, and she, in return, felt the fascination of his society, hung upon his words, accompanied him in his rambles, and thought hourly of him. Shut in by hills from the rude world, under soft and cloudless skies, lovely with foliage, musical with birds ; she in the flower of youth and beauty, he, manly and tender — what more natural ? A new vision opened before her ; a vision of happiness and love. Attached to the house, Mr. Heathjohn had placed a fernery, and here at night Laura and Sir Hermon wandered. The place was deliriously cool, and being open on the one side, gave a view of the heavens, studded with stars, among which Venus, bright as a silver lamp, hung over the lofty Carodoc.