CHAPTER XVIII.

WINTER.

WE soon began to feel quite at home at Highbeck Hall, and knew all the nooks and corners about the old place, which were accessible to us. We were not a little curious about the shut up rooms, but of course we asked no questions, though I for one associated them with the beautiful lady in the saloon, and determined to get the story out of old Elsie some day.

We prescribed to ourselves a regular routine of study, practise, and work, beginning of course with about twice as much as we could do, and coming by degrees down to a more reasonable plan, to which we adhered as well as people generally do in such circumstances.

We read in our history which we had begun with Mrs. Cropsey, but at last abandoned it, for my Lord Clarendon's history of the Rebellion, at the request of Mrs. Deborah; who was determined to make us into as thorough Jacobites as she was herself. Even as Lord Clarendon tells the story, I must say, I did not acquire as greet an admiration for poor King Charles as I could have wished. He seemed to me to be tyrannical and timid both at once, and I could not forgive his abandonment of Lord Strafford, and the way in which he deceived his friends. But it may easily be guessed, that I no more hinted anything of this kind to Aunt Deborah, than I should have dared to suggest to Mother Prudentia a doubt of St. Agnes' prudence, in running away to St. Francis in the middle of the night. *

* Which she did at the age of fourteen, and afterward persuaded her Sister Clare, aged twelve, to do the same.—L. E. G.

We practised our music for two hours daily, during which time Aunt Chloe usually sat with us. We learned to ride on horseback, and to take long walks when the weather permitted, attended usually by one or other of the bloodhounds to keep off stray cattle or intrusive gypsies. We visited the poor people, and carried broth and medicines to the sick, and spent a good deal of time in gossiping with the old men and women in the alm-houses, and in reading to them. Only one or two of them could read, but all liked to be read to, and took pleasure also in telling their stories like other old people. We also made great friends with old Elsie, and heard many stories from her of the past glories of the Grahames, and their exploits on the border. In short, we were as much at home in Highbeck Hall in two weeks, as though we had lived there all our lives.

We had visitors from time to time, from among the gentry in the neighborhood. These visits usually lasted from two to four days, and were desperately dull, to my thinking. However, Aunt Chloe enjoyed them, and they brightened her up amazingly. We used to be called upon to play and sing for the edification of the visitors, and always received great commendation.

When there were young people of our own age, they were of course turned over to us for entertainment, and very much puzzled we were at first to know what to do with them, not being used to the company of girls of our own age. But we usually found we could amuse them by tales of our convent life, especially with the story of the robbery, which was always received with breathless interest. Then it was a time when fancy-work of all sorts was greatly in vogue. Ladies used to do cut-work, and lace-work, chenille-embroidery, and satin-stitch, and cross-stitch, and dozens of other stitches, and various kinds of knotting. *

* What is now called tatting. See Mrs. Delaney's memoirs.

Thanks to Mother Prudentia, we were proficient in all these pursuits, and what we did not know, our visitors did. Miss Jenny Thicknesse, I remember, was very enthusiastic over the shell-work, and cardboard work in imitation of stucco, with which she and her sister were adorning the gothic arches of an old chapel in her father's house. They were nice homely ladylike girls, and we were great friends with them.

Doctor Brown was to go to his deanery in Durham after the holidays, and Mr. Lethbridge from Berwick, was to come in his place.

What any one should have seen in Doctor Brown to merit such promotion I cannot guess; but he had grand connections, and was a cousin of the Bishop's lady, which might account for it. We young ones were not displeased at the prospect of a change, though we liked the doctor personally, well enough. He was a fat good-natured sort of man, ready enough to do a kindness when it came in his way, but not likely to seek such occasions, if they cost him any trouble. He used to read prayers every other Sunday, and administer the sacrament once a quarter; but he hardly ever preached, and as to any personal instruction, his people might as well have lived in Grand Tartary. He gave liberally in charity, and I suppose satisfied his conscience in that way. He was very fond of cards, and considered a wonderful whist-player. Whenever he came to the Hall, on a Sunday night, the card table was always set out. Doctor Brown almost always won, and as regularly gave his winnings to Mrs. Deborah for the poor people at the alm-houses. Sometimes Mrs. Philippa would send for him to play piquet with her, and at last it became a regular thing for him to do so. I don't think the other ladies were very sorry to be released.

By degrees, I learned from Mrs. Chloe, who was not disinclined to a little gossip, a good deal of the family history. I learned that each of the ladies had small independent fortunes of their own, derived from their mother's settlements—that she and Mrs. Deborah, used a good deal of their incomes in keeping up the house, while Mrs. Philippa saved hers, or laid it out for her own convenience; that Sir Julius had never been near the estate since his second marriage, though he derived a considerable revenue from it, and was very particular to have the rents paid up to the day, and sometimes drew for more money than it was convenient to spare—that his second wife had been very rich, and—

"A good sort of woman so far as I know, my dear—but of no family at all—not an ancestor to bless herself with. Of course I was sorry for the poor lady's death—very sorry!" said Mrs. Chloe. "And for the poor little lad, though I had never seen him; but still it would be much better for the estate to come to Amabel. Her mother was not a Northumbrian woman to be sure, but she was of a very old Devonshire or Cornish family."

"Perhaps Sir Julius may marry again," said I. "He is quite a young man yet."

"Oh, my dear, I hope not," answered Mrs. Chloe, looking startled. "It would be sad for poor Amabel to have a step-mother, though to be sure her last one never did her any harm. But if he does take a third wife I hope she may be a lady of quality."

Mrs. Chloe also had endless stories to tell of the families in the neighborhood. She had been a belle and a beauty in her day, and received many offers, none of which her brother had seen fit to let her accept. Either there was not money enough, or family enough, or something. So poor Chloe had gone on to thirty-five without being married, and now the smallpox had spoiled her beauty, and she was not like to marry at all. She was a good, gentle, little creature, not at all strong in any way, and had been kept in such a state of tutelage and dependence that she had no mind of her own about any subject save one which she could not keep to herself. Poor Aunt Chloe was desperately anxious to be married. She used to tell us, as she sat over her embroidery frame, about the offers she had had, something in this wise:

"There was Mr. Favor, my dears—such a fine young man—six feet high, at least, and a perfect gentleman in manners, I am sure, and a splendid horseman, but his grandfather had been in trade, it seems, and Julius thought it would not do. Then there was the Reverend James P. Thirlwall. He had no great fortune, to be sure, but a good living, and would have settled all my fortune on myself and my children; but then the Thirlwalls are all Whigs, and they say one of the family was connected with the regicides," and so on and so on. I know these stories left me with the strong impression that Sir Julius Leighton's aim had all along been to keep Mrs. Chloe from marrying at all, that her fortune might remain in the family. They did not make me augur well for the success of Mr. Cheriton's suit. I think Amabel felt the same, though she did not say a word.

It was from Mrs. Chloe that we heard Mrs. Philippa's story. It seems she had been betrothed to a young man of good family, and the wedding was near at hand, when Mrs. Deborah discovered that the bridegroom was playing a double game—that he was also betrothed to a citizen's daughter in Newcastle, and was only waiting till he could find out which lady was like to have the better fortune of the two. She acquainted her father with her discovery. Sir Thomas being a man of spirit, looked into the matter, discovered the gentleman's double game, and invited him to one of two courses—to marry Mrs. Philippa out of hand, or to meet him with the sword, as the custom was in those days.

Mr. Philip Falconer did neither, but preferred to elope with his city lady-love who, though neither young, handsome, nor well born like Mrs. Philippa, had a much larger fortune all in her own power. One would think Mrs. Philippa might have been glad to be free from such a poltroon. Instead of that, she went into fits, took to her bed, and had never spoken to Aunt Deborah since. There appeared no reason why she should not be as active as any one, only that she did not choose, for when she did take a fancy to come down stairs she walked as nimbly as Aunt Deborah herself.

It seemed for a time, however, that my auguries were likely to prove false, and that Amabel's course of true love was like to run smooth. Just about Christmas time Mr. Cheriton paid us a visit, bringing letters from Sir Julius to Mrs. Deborah and to Amabel herself. Sir Julius wrote very kindly to his daughter. He said she was rather young to marry, and must wait at least a year, but as Mr. Cheriton was a man of good family, and had a competent fortune beside his living, and a likelihood of church preferment, he should make no objection to his paying his addresses to his daughter.

What he wrote to Mrs. Deborah I don't know, but she received Mr. Cheriton very politely, even though he and his family were known for steadfast adherents to the reigning dynasty, and hoped she should have the pleasure of seeing his father and mother at Highbeck Hall during the Christmas season.

They came accordingly—he, a venerable, kind old man, very sincerely religious in his fashion, and though a little perplexed as to his son's new-fangled ways, as he called them, yet quite willing to accept them, and believe they must be good because Walter said so; she, the very model of a Lady Bountiful, a perfect housekeeper, a famous concoctor of syrups, draughts, and emulsions, of broth and brewis, the kind if somewhat arbitrary friend of the poor. She had not been in the house two hours, before she had propounded at least a dozen different remedies for Aunt Chloe's cough, from bread jelly with lemon-peel and raisins, to a couple of snails boiled in her tea-water. This last was confided in a whisper to Aunt Deborah, as it was essential to the cure that the patient should know nothing about it.

Both these good people took very kindly to Amabel, and invited us both to visit them. Mrs. Cheriton presented Amabel with a pair of pearl ear-rings which had been given herself on her wedding day, and promised her some silver which had been in the family three hundred years at least. (Did any one ever hear of an heirloom which had been in a family for less than three hundred years?) The subject of politics was kept out of sight by mutual consent, so we all parted excellent friends.

Mr. Cheriton returned to his parish in Newcastle, where, he told us, matters were going very much to his satisfaction. He had succeeded in establishing the weekly lecture on which he had set his heart; and it was well attended. He had also set up classes for the young women and elder girls, where they read good books and perfected themselves in various useful works, and in these Mrs. Thorpe was giving him very efficient help. He was on the best of terms with the rector of St. Nicholas, an old gentleman who was nearly or quite blind, but an excellent man and a good clergyman. This gentleman had been away during the whole of our stay in Newcastle, and we had more than once heard it said that on his return he would put a spoke in Mr. Cheriton's wheel; so that it was a great pleasure to hear that though he did not exactly approve of all Mr. Cheriton's doings, and thought him rather over-zealous, he made no active opposition to him.

Mr. Cheriton also told us another thing which we found it hard to believe—namely, that he was quite sure he had seen Father Brousseau at one of Mr. Wesley's out-of-door preachings he had attended not long before. He said he had not known how to believe his own eyes at first, but he had watched him and was quite sure it was the same person he had seen at Mrs. Thorpe's shop.

"How very strange!" said Amabel. "How did he look?"

"He seemed very much affected, I thought!" replied Mr. Cheriton. "At first, he pulled his hat down and kept his cloak up as if he were afraid of being seen, but toward the last he seemed too much interested in the discourse to think about concealment. But I can tell you news of another friend, which will surprise you yet more!" he added smiling. "Mrs. Cropsey is married!"

"Married!" we both exclaimed not very civilly! "Not married already! Why, her husband has not been dead a year, and she could never speak of him without crying."

"Exactly!" replied Mr. Cheriton drily. "She did up all her grief at once. She was married very privately by license more than two months ago to old Mr. Arnott the great ship owner, but it is owned now, and she presides over his fine house with great dignity."

"I hope she will not talk as much of poor dear Mr. Cropsey as she used to do to us!" I remarked. "I have wished sometimes the good man had either not died at all, or else had died before she ever saw him!"

"I have only heard her mention him once!" said Mr. Cheriton. "I had some business with Mr. Arnott, and was asked to dine, and Mrs. Arnott remarked as she dispensed the hare soup, how much poor dear Mr. Cropsey would have enjoyed it. He was so fond of hare soup!"

We had no very grand doings at Christmas, as Mrs. Chloe continued very unwell and there was no master at home. However, every cottager received a good piece of beef and a pudding or materials for one; all the old women in the alms houses had doles of tea and snuff, and those who needed them had new gowns or red cloaks.

Amabel and I had a guinea apiece for a Christmas box from each of our aunts, and Mrs. Philippa formally made over to Amabel her cat, which had attached itself to her very much of late. I did not understand this proceeding at the time, but I did afterward.

We had another present which made us feel sadly. Mrs. Chloe had for a year and more, been embroidering a set of chairs, and a couch in chenilles and silks. They were designed with a great deal of taste and beautifully worked so far, but on Christmas morning, Aunt Chloe gave them to Amabel and myself to finish, saying that it hurt her chest to bend over the frame, and besides she was rather tired of them. We could finish these against Amabel should have a room to furnish, and she would begin a set for me in the spring, when her cough should be better. Meantime, she would work at her knitted counterpane, which really ought to be finished.

Mrs. Deborah approved of this motion of her sister's saying that she was sure such close application was bad for Chloe, but she went out of the room directly afterward, and we did not see her till church time.

Christmas was a very serious day to us in another way. It was the first day that Amabel and I partook of the sacrament after the forms of the Church of England. Mrs. Deborah had been anxious to have us do so: we had talked the matter over with Mr. Cheriton, and had read the books he had suggested to us. This is not the place to enlarge upon such matters. I may just say, however, that we both found great comfort in the ordinance and never afterward missed it willingly. Mr. Lethbridge officiated for the first time, and his manner was very serious and proper. Dr. Brown was present, and preached a short sermon, which was as old Elsie used to say like chips in porridge, neither good nor bad.

Aunt Chloe went to church with us. It was the last time she ever went, and she seemed to feel very deeply the solemnity of the occasion. There was a fair congregation, a good many of whom I fear got very drunk at the ale house afterward,—but nobody in those parts thought that a matter of any consequence, or indeed expected anything else. It was one of the serious charges brought against the Methodist preachers as showing that they were not what they ought to be, that they drank neither ale nor spirits, and discouraged the use of them among their converts.

On twelfth day the whole family were invited to a dinner and ball at Brayton, the house of the Thicknesse family. We had never been at a ball, and Molly and Jenny Thicknesse were great friends of ours. We promised ourselves much pleasure in the visit, and were specially desirous of seeing the shell-work with which the girls had been adorning their chapel and their own room. But fate was against us. The very day we were to go, Amabel was taken with a violent rheum and defluxion,* and it was clearly impossible for her to venture out.

* What we should call a cold in the head, then considered a matter of more consequence than now.

Mrs. Deborah would have sent an excuse for the whole party, but Mrs. Chloe looked so greatly disappointed, that we begged Mrs. Deborah to go and leave me to nurse Amabel, with the help of old Elsie and Tupper to depend upon in case of an emergency.

Amabel felt very uncomfortable all the morning, but she was better at night, and able to sit up to tea in our own room. The housekeeper sent us up all sorts of nice things, including a plate of short bread, and we would have Elsie sit down and take tea with us. After we had finished, we drew up to the fire, and coaxed Elsie to tell us tales of the two families—and when we had drawn her into the full tide of narration, I put into execution a scheme I had long had in mind.

"Elsie, do you know the story of the beautiful lady whose picture hangs next the saloon door—the one who has a veil hanging over her picture?"

"Aye, do I, my lammie!" answered Elsie. "And a gruesome story it is; they dinna like to speak o't in the family, but it's true for all that."

"Oh, tell it to us!" we both exclaimed; and Amabel added,—"I love to hear ghost stories."

"It's no just a ghost story as you call't," said Elsie. "However, I do not ken any harm the telling it will do, unless it makes you afraid to go to bed. But you must not tell Mrs. Deborah, for I'm jealous she would not wish it talked about."

"She told us we might ask you!" said I, as indeed she had.

"Aweel, then it is all right!" And as Elsie took up her distaff which was as much a part of herself as Aunt Chloe's knitting, we settled ourselves for the enjoyment of a story.

"Aweel, young ladies!" Elsie began, dismissing her spindle to twirl upon the hearth-stone, and looking into the fire with her bright deep blue eyes.

"You maun ken that there was once a Lord of Leighton, who was the last heir in the direct line. It behooved him to marry, for the estate had gone on from father to son, ever since before the Danes came into the country. He would have had no fash at all in finding a mate, forby the great estate which was far greater then as they say, and the fine house and a'; he was a weal favored lad, and knew how to make the leddies pleased wi' him."

"His mother was at him night and day to take a wife, but he would not listen to her, and they say there used to be awful scenes betwixt them, for she was a Percy and proud as Lucifer, and he was as dour and obstinate as all the rest of the Leighton men—craving your pardon, mem." This to Amabel.

"I don't think I am very dour—am I, Lucy?" said Amabel smiling.

"You are never obstinate about little matters!" I answered. "But I think if you once made up your mind that a thing was right or wrong, you would be torn with wild horses before you would give up."

"And so much the better for her!" said Elsie. "And so my dawties—I beg your pardon—young leddies I should say—things got worse and worse between the young lord and his mother. At last the auld leddy began to have her suspicions, and she watched; and by and by she found sure enough, that her son was secretly married to a young lass, the only child of a poor old man who lived on the estate."

"Aweel it's a sad story, and hardly fit for young ears, only to show what pride may lead weak and sinful mortals to do. The leddy went to see the poor thing, who was no' weel at the time, and persuaded her to take a medicine she brought her, which should make her well and strong. She took it, fell into fits and in an hour was dead. Her father was like one wild, and when the lord came that very evening to visit his wife, the auld man up and tauld him the whole story, and showed him the draught that was left—for she had na taken it all. The young lord gave it to a dog that followed him, and the poor creature died directly."

"You may guess that the young lord and his mother did not meet on friendly terms. He charged her with murder to her face, and she owned it and gloried in it, and dared him to revenge it on her—the wicked creature—and he swore an awful oath, that now he would never marry at all, unless he married a she wolf—for that alone would be fit to mate with his mother. And then he flung away, and rode like one possessed through the mirk winter's night, and it was weeks before he returned. They say, that as he spoke his rash words, the long mournful howl of a wolf was heard in the woods so near the house that they both started—for though there were wolves in plenty in the Cheviot hills in those days, they did not often come near any dwelling."

"I hope there are none about here now?" said I, for I had heard stories enough about these creatures in France, to make me dreadfully afraid of them.

"Na, na! there's no wolf been seen in these parts for more than fifty years—not since I was a young maid like you. I heard tell that auld Lochiel killed one in Scotland not so long ago, but the Cameron's country is far away from here in the Highlands.

"Aweel, to go on with the tale. It was toward spring when my lord came home, and he was not alone; he had brought a wife with him, whom he had married in Scotland. He gave out that she belonged to one of the clans of the West Highlands, and that he had saved her from great danger, but what he did not say. She was a beautiful creature as you may see by her picture, and kind enough to her servants; but that was about her, which made her more feared than loved. She had bright eyes of the kind called hazel in these parts, but when she was angered or excited, they glowed like balls of green fire, and the servants declared they even shone in the dark. She was very civil to her mother-in-law, but soon let her know that she meant to be mistress in her own house, and after one trial the old lady never attempted to take the high hand again.

"Aweel, the time went on, and all through the summer there were merry-makings of all sorts; but when cold weather came, the lady was na weel, and kept her room, and nothing could make her stir out of doors, though doctor and nurse thought it would be much better for her. The wolves were very bold that winter, and came nearer the Hall than they had ever done before. The lady was dreadfully afraid of them, and when their long howls used to be heard, she would cling to her husband and hide her face in his neck. Neither would she thole his joining any of the hunting parties set out against the wolves, and it was a great vex to him no doubt, for he was a keen hunter, but it behooved him to pleasure his wife whatever it cost.

"Aweel, in the spring the leddy gave her husband a fine lad bairn, and there were great rejoicings on the estate. The leddy seemed to get over her fears, and went about with her husband and entertained company; but there were those who said she was na quite herself. She had a watchful look always about her, and any sudden noise in the night would make her start and clasp her bairn to her breast. She seemed to worship the child, and would not bear it out of her sight; but yet she would not nurse it, and had a young woman from the village to suckle it. After the babe was christened she seemed easier about it, but yet her face never lost the apprehensive look.

"The summer went by and the cold weather came on, and again the wolves began to come down from the hills. The lady showed the same terror of them, and begged her husband not to hunt them. But one day when he was away, some of his friends persuaded him, laughing at him, and telling, he should be too much of a man to be afraid of his wife, and be tied to her apron-string, handsome as she was. So away he went on the hunt, and had the fortune to slay a great dog wolf, and ye shall not hinder him from bringing the creature home to show to his wife.

"The poor leddy had been shut in her room all day, very low in her spirits, as though she mistrusted where her lord had gone. The rooms had all been new fitted for her with many beautiful ornaments and pictures, but she found no comfort in any thing. She sat by the fire with her babe hugged to her bosom till she heard her lord's horses in the court. Then she gave the babe to its nurse and ran down to meet him. He kissed her as she threw her arms round his neck, and bade his man show the leddy what he had brought her. The man threw down on the floor the carcass of a great gray wolf. The lady gave one scream—they said it echoed through the house—and fled to her bedroom, bolting herself in. She would na open to any one—not to her husband or her child—but they heard her wailing and crying fit to break her heart.

"It was just midnight when those within the hall heard, as though close at hand, the long-drawn, piercing howl of a wolf. It was answered so near that the cry seemed within the very hall itself, and so dreadful was the sound that it made every one's blood run cold. My lord, who had come down stairs, ran up to his lady's room, thinking she would be terrified to death. He found the nurse, who watched by the sleeping babe, in the outer room stretched on the floor in a faint, but there was no sound from within. Reckless in his dread, he ordered the door to be broken in. The room was empty. The leddy's clothes that she had worn all day lay in a heap on the floor. The door to a little turnpike stair that led down to the garden was open, but, alive or dead, the poor leddy was never seen mair.

"The babe seemed to pine for his mither, though she had never nursed him, and in a week, he too died, and was buried. The lord had the rooms which had been his wife's closed and locked just as she left them, and he went to the Holy Wars, as they called them, against the Turks, and never came home. The estate went to a cousin after all; but they say that when some great misfortune is about to happen to the family, the long howl of a wolf is heard at night in Highbeck Woods."

Elsie ended her story and we sat a few moments in silence. Then Amabel remarked quietly—

"I suppose those are the shut up rooms between this chamber and the king's room."

"Aye, they have never been opened since, or sae they say, and a veil hangs always over the poor leddy's picture, though Mrs. Deborah's mother used think it was only a fancy piece, since nobody knew how to paint such pictures in those days. She was a very well-educated young leddy, was my young mistress, and had been at school at a convent in France."

And here Elsie diverged into an account of her young mistress, who had been Amabel's grandmother. I was not sorry, for the tale had "garred me grew," as Elsie said, and I was glad that the poor wolf-lady, if such she was, could claim no kin with me. I have since learned that there are plenty of ghost stories in my own family. Indeed, the Corbet ghosts have made themselves so cheap that they are very little regarded. I cannot say that either Amabel or myself slept any the worse for Elsie's story, though I must confess to starting sometimes when the bloodhounds would give vent to their long melancholy bay, worshipping the moon after the fashion of their race.

Mrs. Deborah and Mrs. Chloe came home the next day but one, Mrs. Chloe seeming much revived by her visit. The ball had been a great success, and Mrs. Chloe had danced one dance with a very fine gentleman indeed—some officer or other—who had given her a fine copy of verses next morning, as the fashion was then. *

* Those who are curious may find plenty of such copies of verses in old collections. They might mostly be made on a machine.

Molly and Jenny had greatly regretted our absence, and had sent us a box of shells, and a needle-book and work-bag of their own manufacture. Mine was made of flowers cut out in satin and paper, and placed between two thicknesses of transparent catgut, † and was really very pretty and ingenious.

† A thin, transparent, but rather stiff material, much used for ornamental works. I have seen an old work-bag made of it.

Aunt Chloe had learned several new stitches, and the teaching of these and describing the dresses at the ball afforded her amusement, till something happened which drove General B., his sword-knot, and copies of verses, effectually out of her head. This event, however, must be reserved for another chapter.

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