Thornycroft Hall: its owners and its heirs ... Second thousand

Front matter

THORNYCROFT HALL. _Wavei- Jv TW.Xurvt. AU THORNYCROFT HALL: |ts Ofoiuts an!) its fkii's. irV EMMA JANE WORBQISE, FTHOR OF "MARRIED LIFE," "XILLICENT KENDRICE," "LOTTIE LOXSDALE. etc., etc., etc. 0 purblind race of miserable men, How many among us at this very hour Do forge a life-long trouble for ourselves, By taking true for false, or false for true; Here, through the feeble twilight of this world Groping, how many, until we pass and reach That other, where we see as we are seen. Tennyson. [SECOND THOUSAND.] LONDON: CHRISTIAN WORLD" OFFICE, 81, FLEET STREET JACKSON, WALFORD, & HODDER, PATERNOSTER ROW. 1864. LONDON : GRAHAM AND LOWE, PRINTERS, NEW STREET SQUARE, FLEET STREET, E.C. THORNYCROFT HALL.

Chapter I. My Old Feiends

A little -while ago, as I sat reading by the fire, I took up my " Tennyson," and, turning over its well-conned and well beloved pages abstractedly, lighted, as it were by chance, on one of the poet's vigorous sonnets, wherein occur the follow ing lines : — " Hating to hark The humming of the drowsy pulpit-drone Half God's good Sabbath, -urhile the worn-out clerk Browbeats his desk below." Now you must not suppose that I am going to write a tirade against sermons, or against parsons— far from it; I love good sermons and I love good parsons ; but sermons may bo too long, and parsons may be none of the cleverest — and then ! Well, reading the above lines, addressed to "J. M. K.," who was not a " pulpit drone," but a " latter Luther," carried me back in memory to an evening long ago— to the evening, in fact, when the story of my lde really and truly begins : for on that memorable evening I, Ellen Threlkeld, a young damsel of ten years of age, was dismally wearied and cruelly oppressed by a sermon of tedious duration, preached by the Rev. Octavius Longman, my dear father's immediate suc cessor, in the ancient parish church of the North Country town of Battlebarrow.

Now, as all sermons, even d divided into four-and-twenty heads, and blessed with a "finally," a "lastly," and an "in conclusion," must come to a termination some time ov other, B THORN YCEOFT n\LL. 2 bo ours, following the natural course of all things mundane, was over at last ; and, the Benediction being pronounced, the Rev. Octavius Longman retired into the vestry, where, alas ! I had no longer any reason or any business to intrude myself. Gradually the congregation dispersed, and the last note of one of Handel's magnificent choruses died away in the dark arched roof of our beautiful, old, minster-like church ; and then Mrs. Jackson slowly uprose from her cushioned corner in the "Castle-pew," and said to me— " Now, Miss Ellen, dear, we must go home." I was standing within the chancel screen, before a plain marble slab, bearing the following inscription : — SACKED TO THE MEMORY OF ILL K N, THE BELOVED WIFE OP THE EEV.

EDWARD TBEKLKEI.D, WHO died December 4th, 1832, in the 2S_xd yeah of her age. ALSO, OF THE REV. EDWARD THRELKELD, __£______, VICAK OF THIS 1'ARISH, WITO DIED AUGUST 31ST, 1842, AGED 40 YEARS. "BLESSED ARE THE DEAD WHO DIE IX THE LORD." And as I read and re-read the simple inscription, I knew that the stone beneath covered the mortal remains of my fad young mother, whom I had never known ; and of my dearly loved, almost worshipped father, who had lain but a few weeks in the cold, voiceless chambers of the grave. I remember that grief unutterable weighed down my chddish heart as I turned away, with tearless eyes and aching spirit, from that most sacred spot. I remember that I gazed hnger ingly on the quaint pulpit, with its faded, threadbare velvet, and its heavy sounding-board, where Sunday after Sunday my father's famidar form had appeared ; on the narrow wind ing pulpit-stads, which his feet had so often trodden ; on the grim faces that frowned between the arches ; on the half decayed altar-screen; and especiady on the vicarage-pew, where I might sit nevermore — nevermore.

I could not make up my mind to go yet ; and so Mrs. Jackson talked to the <-lerk, whde I made the edcuit of the dimly -dghted church, and finally mounted to the organ-loft, in order to take a bdd's-eye view of the whole interior, and also to bid fare wed IHOr.X\C]lOFT nALL. 3 "to two dusty, gilded angels, blowing trumpets on each side of the fine old organ, that had seen better days in the cathe dral of another county. Neither of these angels, if I recollect aright, were by any means of celestial aspect ; one of them looked dke a person suffering an excruciating toothache with pious resignation ; the other gazed with an expression of mingled despair and stupidity on a mass of dusty carved work, supposed to represent lyres, harps, and shawms, and other canonical musical instruments ; and besides these two, there was yet another angel, bodiless, fat-faced, and with •clipt wings, at the very top of the organ, right in the centre of the ceding above the gallery, and a very id-favoured, un plc»r>ant-looking angel he was!

Judging from these, and from similar works of art, I have often wondered what must have been the ideas cherished by our forefathers of the heavenly world and its angedc hierarchy. And yet I loved them all — nay ! I am not ashamed to say I love them, or rather thed memory, very dearly now : they beguiled many a weary hour, when, too young to understand the sacred service, I sat in my corner, trying to count the tarnished pipes of that dear old organ, and wondering d the real angels up in the sky were anything dke the imitation ones in the church. I think, if I had been alone that evening, I should have tried to devise some means whereby I might climb up to the more accessible angels, and imprint a parting kiss on their dusty, awful faces. But I was not alone. Mrs. Jack son stood regarding me with watchful eye from below, and the clerk, commonly caded Lazarus, because his ghastly ■countenance and attenuated form suggested the idea of recent resuscitation, was hovering about the aisles, slowly extinguishing the candles.

Just as I joined Mrs. Jackson, Lazarus came up, and ho really did look as d he were newly risen from one of the mouldering tombs around us. " And so you're a-going. Miss Eden?" he said, with a twitch of his lank, black hair; " so you're going right away into the South ! Ah ! it's sad times for we ad ! Mrs. Jackson, ma'am, did ye ever hear sic a sarmon? — I never did." Lazarus had not heard much b TnOIiXVCROFT WALL. of it; he had been enacting Tennyson's "worn-out clerk with much success. I am afraid he even snored. "There's to be all sorts o' new ways, fashing and vexing auld steady bodies like we. Why, there's the new parson, that don't know the faces of us yet, talking about gas ! yes, Miss Ellen, gas .'—flaring, stinking, unhealthy gas ! Says I, ' Yer reverence, there isn't none laid down in these here parts.' Says he, ' Never mind that ; we'd make it ourselves.

Pll start a company; we'll have a gas-chronicler in Tinkers-lane.' What's gas-chronicler, Mrs. Jackson ? Then he says these candles do gutter and run, and wants a world of snuffing, that takes off tho people's attention ; but what then ? can't we get wax tapers ? They'd be a deal more propercr, and I'd rather have them, anyways, for they're cleaner, and last longer, and the ends 'ud gie my missus more light to knit by," said poor Lazarus, innocently revealing his primary objection to the flaring, unhealthy gas ; for " the ends " were the lawful perquisite of Mrs. Atkinson, Lazarus' better half; and there were people uncharitable enough to say that her notions of how much candle went to make "an end" were, to say the least of it, unreasonably extensive. All the "ends" were extinguished now, save one which Lazarus held in his hand, and that one did certainly gutter and run, to an extent that fully justified the new vicar's nneonservative preference for gas.

Then the clerk, mar shalling us before him, turned the key in the heavy door, and bidding Mrs. Jackson "good night," and me "good bye," went slowly and sadly to his own lowly domicile on the confines of the churchyard. Mrs. Jackson and I proceeded up the street ; it was bright moondght, and we saw John Wharton standing at the door of his shop, where on week-days he dispensed groceries, stationery, perfumery, drugs, and toys. The worthy man was looking for us, and he came out with a pretty little box fitted with writing materials in one hand, and a huge packet of sweets, or, as I caded them, "goodies," in the other, which he begged me to accept as a small token of respect. Miss Dobson, the lame dressmaker, was leaning on her crutches, TuonsYcnorr hall. 5 waiting to say her last " God Almighty bless you, my dear, and make you worthy of your dear sainted father ; and here's some silks I've been saving for you."

And Jennie Grahame, and Aggy Dawson, and old Eleanor Thwaites, who was said to be a hundred years old and upwards, were standing in front of the almshouses, and came hobbling to meet us, each one primed with a valedictory address, as hearty and sincere as it was quaint and ungrammatical, and that is saying a good deal. I was sobbing by the time we reached the Castle, where I had been living with good Mrs. Jackson, the housekeeper, ever since my father's death ; but my uncle was now at Battlebarrow, for the express purpose of taking me away to Thornycroft Hall, his own house, and my suture home. He was the husband of my father's half-sister, whom I hud never seen, and seldom heard of, for very bttle intercourse was maintained between the wealthy Mrs. Ward and her reverend brother, who had not the remotest prospect of a mitre, or a deanery, or of any of those good things which Mother Church keeps in store for her more highly-favoured sons.

Then, my father had been weak enough to many the portionless daughter of a clergyman poor as himself, for no better reason than that he loved her very dearly. My father was meek, quiet, studious, erudite, and contented. Mrs. Ward, as I afterwards discovered, was haughty, violent when offended, ignorant, and ever dissatisfied : the two were utterly and always dissimilar. If I had heard hut seldom of Mrs. Ward, I had never heard at all of Mr. Ward ; I had no idea how many cousin Wards I possessed, i knew that my aunt was rich, com pared with my father; that she dved at Thornycroft Hall, near the large manufacturing town of Hackington, in one of the Midland counties ; that she had several children ; and now, to this previous stock of information, I added the knowledge of her husband's existence, and a personal. acquaintance with a stout, good - natured, well - dressed elderly gentleman, whom I was instructed to call uncle.

The day after my father's death, Mrs. Jackson had written ITIORXYCKOFT HALL. to Mrs. Ward, giving her verbatim his dying appeal on behalf of his desolate and almost destitute orphan, at the same time inquiring her wishes respecting me. For more than a week no answer arrived, though Mrs. Jackson had fudy expected some one to come to the funeral ; and at last she became morally certain that either her own missive or Mrs. Ward's reply had miscarried. Eor three days Mrs. Jackson, the housemaid, and the head gardener inveighed against the shameful carelessness of the Post-office authorities ; but on the fourth morning the long-lookcd-for letter arrived. Mrs. Jackson was very much surprised to sec a rather short epistle ; she read it in silence — read it again, and looked discontented and suspicious.

At length she yielded to my earnest entreaties, and im parted to me the contents of my aunt's letter, first reading, with a strong emphasis, the address — " Mrs. Jemima Jackson, the Castle, Battlebarrow." "The Castle, Battlebarrow!" quoth the good lady, in a tone of intensest annoyance ; "just as d I kept 'the Castle,' down the street, and let out neat gigs, and post-chaises, and stuck up ' good stabling and wed aired beds !' I wonder what my lord would say to it ! And Mrs. Jemima Jackson ! as d I were an elderly maiden lady, ashamed of calling myself Miss any longer ! I — that have had two good husbands of my own, and two highly-respectable offers, since my poor dear Mr. Jackson departed this mortal life. There was Mr. Brunskid, at the Nether Croome Earm, and there was my lord's steward, you know, Miss Eden—" Yes, I knew very well.

I knew all about Mrs. Jackson's husbands and lovers, and I made haste to assure her I remembered it quite well, for I was impatient to lenow what might be in the inside of a letter, the outside whereof caused so much indignation : so, after two very audible sighs — to the memory of Mr. Jackson, deceased, I suppose — the good lady debberately settled her spectacles, cleared her voice, and read as fodows : — " Mrs. Ward thanks Mrs. Jackson for her con siderate communication, and for her care of Miss Threlkeld. Mr. Ward wdl be at Battlebarrow in a few days to take inOESYCROFT HALL. charge of Miss Threlkeld, and convey her to her future home. Mrs. Ward sincerely trusts that her niece is of an industrious and tractable temper, and religiously disposed ; she would also feel obliged to Mrs. Jackson if she would take care to have Miss Threlkeld in readiness for her journey, as, after the 20th inst., Mr. Ward may reach Battlebarrow at any time."

" There, my dear, that's all," said Mrs. Jackson, handing me the letter without comment, but with a look and a gesture that spoke as plainly as words. From that hour I have believed unwaveringly that handwriting is an index of character. Mrs. Ward's sharp, cramped, yet methodical and respectable - looking caligraphy shadowed forth the outer woman and her innermost soul. Of course I could not there and then form my conceptions of Mrs. Ward's character ; but I felt an instinctive and childish dread of the person whose written communication I held in my hand, which the experience of after-days strengthened and confirmed. But to return to that mournful Sunday night. Owing to various causes, which I never understood, or else forget, my uncle did not come for me tid the beginning of November ; and, greatly to my content, I stayed in the dear old place tdl I began to have faint hopes of remaining there altogether.

But one Saturday evening Mr. Ward made his appearance ; and I was instructed to hold myself in readiness to set out early on Monday morning. So Mrs. Jackson and I sat down together for the last time to our supper : then she called the maids, and read prayers, according to custom, and finady counted the spoons, went her rounds, and retired to rest. My trunks were packed and corded, my travelling-gear lay on the table near at hand, and Mrs. Jackson's parting admo nition to Deborah, the housemaid, was to bo sure and have a good fire, and breakfast ready at half-past five. When Mrs. Jackson was sadly asleep, I sat up in my little bed, and cried quietly, but bitterly : I would have given worlds to stay at Battlebarrow, roaming over the Castle, where " the famdy" seldom or never came, taking pleasant walks by the sweeping river, through the deep woods, or in the wdd glens of the mighty mountains, that girdled us in with their strong, giant arms ; going in and out among old lamiliar faces, and attending Divine service every Sunday in the dear old church, where those who had given me life were quietly, side by side, sleeping the sleep of death.

But it could not be. Even then old things were passing away like u dream, and a new life and a new world lay before me; and while I was wondering what my aunt would be like, and what she would say to me, and hoping that my uncle would not think it necessary to converse with me during the journey, I fell asleep. I seemed to have slept but a few minutes, when I was awakened by Mrs. Jackson striking a lucifer match. She consulted her watch, and then, looking wistfully towards my bed, and seeing my eyes open, told me it was time to get up. The dear old lady helped me to dress with infinite care and tenderness ; but she did not speak, nor I either ; our hearts were too fud. Then we went down, and found breakfast all ready ; but I could not eat ; I could only swallow half a cup of coffee, and essay to swallow a tiny bit of toast ; and very soon Robert came to take my luggage to the terrace ; and when my bonnet and cloak were fairly on, and there was nothing more to be done, dear Mrs. Jackson took me on her lap, and cried over me heartily.

Presently the carriage came rattling up, and with many tears we parted. Robert gave me a nosegay of beautiful winter roses, and Deborah presented me with a crooked six pence, and a many-coloured engraving of the nuptials of Her Majesty and the Prince Consort. I promised to keep both till I died, and the coin is in my possession stid. I remember how the carnage passed slowly across the courtyard, and under the dark archway, with its iron clenched gates and long-disused portcullis. I have a vivid recodection of how the Castle looked in the slanting lines of yellow light, which the setting moon cast on the dark turrets, and on the heavy balustrades of the stately terrace ; how the black shadows lay on the sdvered turf, as we went swiftly across the park; how the newly-lighted fire gleamed from THORNYCROFT nALL. 9 the lodge windows, as we passed the limits of the Castle precincts, and began carefully to descend the steep, ill-paved street ; how sad and sombre looked the almshouses, and the grand old church, and the grey, shadowy cloisters, and the white vicarage under the shelter of its stately sycamores — that pleasant happy home that had been mine ever since I was born — that was to be mine never, no, never again !

I was not long in passing from the Castle to the principal inn, where my uncle had taken up his quarters ; but into that brief transit were crowded ad the memories of my short life : I felt as if I were somebody else, whom I pitied exceedingly, and not the orphan child herself — the poor, desolate, sorrowful Ellen Threlkeld. I found Mr. Ward rising from the breakfast-table, which was covered with the remnants of a right noble repast. "Wed, Nedy," he cried, kissing me with a mouth fud of muffin, "we're off in excellent time; you arc a very good girl not to keep me waiting. But come, have some breakfast ; there is a quarter of an hour yet. Have an egg ? Like duck eggs, or hen eggs? Have some damson jam and toast ? And here is cold fowl, and something made of sausages ; and here is hone)-, and marmalade, and muffins, and oat-cakes, and we'll have some hot coffee in, and there's plenty of sugar and cream ; and be quick about it."

And before I knew what was coming, my bonnet was whisked off, and I was placed in the vacant chair, with an injunction to make the most of my time, and clear the table, if I could. It was several minutes before I could make my uncle understand that I had already breakfasted, and could not, under the cdcumstanccs, accept his kind invitation. "Well, well,'' he replied, at last, "if you ready have had enough, don't try to cat any more ; there is nothing worse than indigestion when you are on a journey ; and ' enough's as good as a feast '• — only be sure to have enough. Now then, child, tic on your bonnet, and if you are ready jump intu the carriage ; the coach starts at eight, and we have eleven miles to go, and not tho best road, cither. Boots, fuel: that rug round the young lady's feet, and sec to the other window."

Then the ostler bfted me in, bidding me " Good-bye," and giving me his sister's love and humble duty; and "Boots" thrust fresh straw round and under my feet, and told me " Battlebarrow wouldn't look nohow now." And then my uncle jumped in, and established himsed as comfortably as circumstances permitted, and we drove off, as fast as we could, over the bridge, and into the darkness ; for the moon had now set, and ad the eastern horizon was heavily clouded. I had seen the last of my native place ; when should I behold it again ? Till that hour, I had never felt quite orphaned ; but now the full misery of my position came upon me with over whelming force : I knew that I was fatherless, and that I was going to dve among strangers ; and I tried to think of my father's last words — "I commend thee to God, my darling.

In his hands thou wilt be safe; he wdl bring us together again, in his own good time." And so, sadly and tearfudy, I was borne along the famdiar road to Kendal, where the coach started for the south.

Chapter II. Fibst

TMPRESSrONS. Mr. Ward was soon fast asleep, and, as I grew more com posed, I occupied mysed with peering out of the window aud trying, as the cold grey dawn began to glimmer, to discern familiar landmarks and to trace the outlines of the wed known mountains. Also I speculated on my probable manner of life at Thornycroft Had, and felt, with an inexpressible dreariness, that every turn of the wheels bore me farther and farther from Battlebarrow — from ad that I loved and trusted, and from that quiet grave in the solemn shade of the ancient chancel. As the sun rose — that is, as he rose conventionady and astronomically, for ho might have remained below the horizon for all we saw of him — the gloom deepened, the clouds lowered, and the impenetrable mists rolled down from the heights, and presently a thick beating rain began to descend.

A dttle before eight we reached Kcndal, and, to my infinite regret and disappointment, neither Benson's Knot nor Scout Scar were visible; even the old Castle, with its four ruined towers, was hidden from view by that dense, heavy, leaden vapour, that blotted out lulls and mountains, and everything else that warnot within a given circumfer ence, as if some giant power had uprisen, and swept them bodily away. Kcndal streets looked dreary enough : they were very nearly empty, and all the shops were stid shut ; whde under the gateway of the coach-office stood the coach itsed, as dis consolate and helpless a thing as ever I saw. But by-and-by the horses were brought out and put to, and then the dingy travelling machine looked a little more like a thing of life and business, and we were exhorted to take our places without delay.

My uncle saw our luggage deposited, and he settled me in a corner of the inside of the coach, and almost smothered me with straw ; then he stepped in himself, exchanged his hat for a cozy woollen cap, and resigned himself to nap number two. Once on our way, we got pretty quickly over the ground, catching here and there a vision of rooky headland, looming spectre-like through the mist, or a flash of the swollen Ken speeding on its way to the sands of Morccambe Bay ; the last thing I recognized was the ancient hall of Levcns. In a few hours we were clear of mountains and mountain-streams, and in the heart of Lancashire, amid large, many-windowed brick buildings and tall chimneys, with torrents of black smoke descending from thed' elevated summits. And all day long it rained, and rained thickly, steadily, drenehingly, and perseveringly.

How we pitied the poor outside passengers, sitting in pools of water, receiving on neck and shoulders the drippings from the oil-skin that pro tected the heaped-up luggage, and sundry miniature cascades THORNYCROFT 1IU.L from each other's umbrcdas — their persons saturated and their tempers exasperated ! 0 ! the good old coach-da5s that some people regret as the passed-away golden age of our island ! I wonder which they thought the more charming — to sit outside a coach on such a day as I have described, or to sit inside it on a broiling July day, shut up with three or four more fud-grown people, and chddren in proportion, suffocated when the glasses are up, choked with dust when they are down, knowing you arc in a most beautiful country, and yet seeing dttle beside the hedgerow, and visited every few stages by a stout red-faced person,,, who desires you to "remember the coachman."

Late in the afternoon we passed through some town — I think it was Wigan — and my uncle remarked that it rained black mud there, which seemed highly probable, considering the universal state of grimincss in which the whole place seemed to rejoice. Soon after dark we left the coach, or it left us, and we rested for the night in one of the towns of South Lancashire. Next morning we were to take the train, and somehow we managed to miss the one by which we were to travel; it was middle day before we were fairly on the line, and the speed of those days was not at all equal to that of our own time. It rained, moreover, as heavily as on the preceding day, and looked very much as if it never meant to leave off again. Our road lay now through a flat country, among low marshy meadows, intersected by sluggish, tortuous streams, and through dreary little villages, alike destitute of beauty and interest.

At last, thoroughly worn out, I fell asleep ; my uncle kindly arranged some sort of cushion for my head, and I slumbered on profoundly, till I woke up with a start, and found mysed in the Hackington Station, where there was a great noise of steam, and engine-wheels, and shrieking steam signals; and, before I quite knew where I was, I was placed in my uncle's carriage, which was awaiting our arrival. Just as the clocks struck eight, we drove up to the prin cipal entrance of Thornycroft Hall, and I prepared, with no smad trepidation, to meet my unknown aunt and my cousins. I felt as d' I were thousands of miles away from my old home, as if Battlebarrow and Thornycroft were antipodes, and yesterday morning seemed a veiy remote period indeed. We entered a large, handsomely-furnished room, dimly bghted, however, and not a little stiff and precise in its general aspect.

I cannot say what it was, but it was not a bright, cozy, genial drawing-room, where, in summer-time, you might rejoice in windows opening on the lawn, and in flowers and music, and pleasant talk ; or where, in winter time, you might luxuriate in damask and velvet, and glowing fires, and unrestrained intercourse with all around. The only occupant of this wide, shadowy apartment was a little girl, about a year younger than myself. She was sitting, sidtana fashion, on a sofa near the fire, which was not blazing, but only smouldering in the bright polished grate. She was a pretty child, the prettiest I had ever seen, with smooth, rounded limbs, dark curling hair, magnificent Oriental looking eyes, cheeks coloured with a delicate rose, like the pure faint flush on a sea-shell, and a tin}- mouth, that made one think of a damask rose-bud.

"What, Julia, all alone!" said my uncle, as we advanced towards the fire-place. " Where is mamma?" "Mamma is gone to church," replied Julia, as she sprang upon her father's knee, aud gave and received I know not how many warm, loving kisses. How that tender caress made my heart ache ! Happy Julia, to have a living father to kiss and to prattle to ! And she began assiduously un buttoning his great-coat, her little rosy fingers fumbling, and yet glancing so prettily among the large, stiff buttons ; and then she added, "Maria is gone to church too, and so is Arabella ; it is lecture night." " Then, Julia, my pet, run to Miss Lambert, and ask her to come down and give us some tea." "Miss Lambert is gone to church, papa." " Well, then, Julia, suppose you take your cousin to the nursery, and help her off with those heavy shawls and cloaks : she is very tded and cold, and we are both very hungry.

I will ring, and tell John to bring in the tea : I suppose wo must manage for ourselves." My uncle rang the bell, and a footman answered the sum mons with ail alacrity — " Did you ring, sir ?" "Yes, John — tea immediately." "My mistress and Miss Lambert, and the young ladies, are at church, sir." " Well, never mind ; I cannot wait : Miss Threlkeld and I arc both cold and hungry." " But my mistress has the keys, sir; and the tea-chest is always locked." My uncle uttered something between a lamentation and a whistle, and then added, " Well, John, make haste and get everything ready, and bring up the tray, and ted cook to send in some cold meat, or broded ham and eggs, or some thing substantial : we have had no dinner. I dare say your mistress will be at home in a few minutes." John bowed aud disappeared, and Julia said, "I do not think they wid be home soon, papa.