“And well pleased I shall be to visit them both,” she rejoined. At this moment Mistress Nutter came up.
“My good friends,” she said, “as you appear to take so much interest in Alizon, you may be glad to learn that it is my intention to adopt her as a daughter, having no child of my own; and, though her position henceforth will be very different from what it has been, I am sure she will never forget her old friends.”
“Never, indeed, never!” cried Alizon, earnestly.
“This is good news, indeed,” cried Sampson Harrop, joyfully, while the others joined in his exclamation. “We all rejoice in Alizon’s good fortune, and think she richly deserves it. For my own part, I was always sure she would have rare luck, but I did not expect such luck as this.”
“What’s to become o’ me?” cried Jennet, coming from behind a chair, where she had hitherto concealed herself.
“I will always take care of you,” replied Alizon, stooping, and kissing her.
“Do not promise more than you may be able to perform, Alizon,” observed Mistress Nutter, coldly, and regarding the little girl with a look of disgust; “an ill-favour’d little creature, with the Demdike eyes.”
“And as ill-tempered as she is ill-favoured,” rejoined Sampson Harrop; “and, though she cannot help being ugly, she might help being malicious.”
Jennet gave him a bitter look.
“You do her injustice, Master Harrop,” said Alizon. “Poor little Jennet is quick-tempered, but not malevolent.”
“Ey con hate weel if ey conna love,” replied Jennet, “an con recollect injuries if ey forget kindnesses. — Boh dunna trouble yourself about me, sister. Ey dunna envy ye your luck. Ey dunna want to be adopted by a grand-dame. Ey’m content os ey am. Boh are na ye gettin’ on rayther too fast, lass? Mother’s consent has to be axed, ey suppose, efore ye leave her.”
“There is little fear of her refusal,” observed Mistress Nutter.
“Ey dunna knoa that,” rejoined Jennet. “If she were to refuse, it wadna surprise me.”
“Nothing spiteful she could do would surprise me,” remarked Harrop. “But how are you likely to know what your mother will think and do, you forward little hussy?”
“Ey judge fro circumstances,” replied the little girl. “Mother has often said she conna weel spare Alizon. An mayhap Mistress Nutter may knoa, that she con be very obstinate when she tays a whim into her head.”
“I do know it,” replied Mistress Nutter; “and, from my experience of her temper in former days, I should be loath to have you near me, who seem to inherit her obstinacy.”
“Wi’ sich misgivings ey wonder ye wish to tak Alizon, madam,” said Jennet; “fo she’s os much o’ her mother about her os me, onny she dunna choose to show it.”
“Peace, thou mischievous urchin,” cried Mistress Nutter, losing all patience.
“Shall I take her away?” said Harrop — seizing her hand.
“Ay, do,” said Mistress Nutter.
“No, no, let her stay!” cried Alizon, quickly; “I shall be miserable if she goes.”
“Oh, ey’m quite ready to go,” said Jennet, “fo ey care little fo sich seets os this — boh efore ey leave ey wad fain say a few words to Mester Potts, whom ey see yonder.”
“What can you want with him, Jennet,” cried Alizon, in surprise.
“Onny to tell him what brother Jem is gone to Pendle fo to-neet,” replied the little girl, with a significant and malicious look at Mistress Nutter.
“Ha!” muttered the lady. “There is more malice in this little wasp than I thought. But I must rob it of its sting.”
And while thus communing with herself, she fixed a searching look on Jennet, and then raising her hand quickly, waved it in her face.
“Oh!” cried the little girl, falling suddenly backwards.
“What’s the matter?” demanded Alizon, flying to her.
“Ey dunna reetly knoa,” replied Jennet.
“She’s seized with a sudden faintness,” said Harrop. “Better she should go home then at once. I’ll find somebody to take her.”
“Neaw, neaw, ey’n sit down here,” said Jennet; “ey shan be better soon.”
“Come along, Alizon,” said Mistress Nutter, apparently unconcerned at the circumstance.
Having confided the little girl, who was now recovered from the shock, to the care of Nancy Holt, Alizon followed her mother.
At this moment Sir Ralph, who had quitted the supper-table, clapped his hands loudly, thus giving the signal to the minstrels, who, having repaired to the gallery, now struck up a merry tune, and instantly the whole hall was in motion. Snatching up his wand Sampson Harrop hurried after Alizon, beseeching her to return with him, and join a procession about to be formed by the revellers, and of course, as May Queen, and the most important personage in it, she could not refuse. Very short space sufficed the morris-dancers to find their partners; Robin Hood and the foresters got into their places; the hobby-horse curveted and capered; Friar Tuck resumed his drolleries; and even Jack Roby was so far recovered as to be able to get on his legs, though he could not walk very steadily. Marshalled by the gentleman-usher, and headed by Robin Hood and the May Queen, the procession marched round the hall, the minstrels playing merrily the while, and then drew up before the upper table, where a brief oration was pronounced by Sir Ralph. A shout that made the rafters ring again followed the address, after which a couranto was called for by the host, who, taking Mistress Nicholas Assheton by the hand, led her into the body of the hall, whither he was speedily followed by the other guests, who had found partners in like manner.
Before relating how the ball was opened a word must be bestowed upon Mistress Nicholas Assheton, whom I have neglected nearly as much as she was neglected by her unworthy spouse, and I therefore hasten to repair the injustice by declaring that she was a very amiable and very charming woman, and danced delightfully. And recollect, ladies, these were dancing days — I mean days when knowledge of figures as well as skill was required, more than twenty forgotten dances being in vogue, the very names of which may surprise you as I recapitulate them. There was the Passamezzo, a great favourite with Queen Elizabeth, who used to foot it merrily, when, as you are told by Gray —
“The great Lord-keeper led the brawls,
And seals and maces danced before him!”
the grave Pavane, likewise a favourite with the Virgin Queen, and which I should like to see supersede the eternal polka at Almack’s and elsewhere, and in which —
“Five was the number of the music’s feet
Which still the dance did with live paces meet;”
the Couranto, with its “current traverses,” “sliding passages,” and solemn tune, wherein, according to Sir John Davies —
— “that dancer greatest praise hath won
Who with best order can all order shun;”
the Lavolta, also delineated by the same knowing hand —
“Where arm in arm two dancers are entwined,
And whirl themselves with strict embracements bound,
their feet an anapest do sound.”
Is not this very much like a waltz? Yes, ladies, you have been dancing the lavolta of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries without being aware of it. But there was another waltz still older, called the Sauteuse, which I suspect answered to your favourite polka. Then there were brawls, galliards, paspys, sarabands, country-dances of various figures, cushion dances (another dance I long to see revived), kissing dances, and rounds, any of which are better than the objectionable polka. Thus you will see that there was infinite variety at least at the period under consideration, and that you have rather retrograded than advanced in the saltatory art. But to return to the ball.
Mistress Nicholas Assheton, I have said, excelled in the graceful accomplishment of dancing, and that was probably the reason why she had been selected for the couranto by Sir Ralph, who knew the value of a good partner. By many persons she was accounted the handsomest woman in the room, an
d in dignity of carriage she was certainly unrivalled. This was precisely what Sir Ralph required, and having executed a few “current traverses and sliding passages” with her, with a gravity and stateliness worthy of Sir Christopher Hatton himself, when graced by the hand of his sovereign mistress, he conducted her, amid the hushed admiration of the beholders, to a seat. Still the dance continued with unabated spirit; all those engaged in it running up and down, or “turning and winding with unlooked-for change.” Alizon’s hand had been claimed by Richard Assheton, and next to the stately host and his dignified partner, they came in for the largest share of admiration and attention; and if the untutored girl fell short of the accomplished dame in precision and skill, she made up for the want of them in natural grace and freedom of movement, for the display of which the couranto, with its frequent and impromptu changes, afforded ample opportunity. Even Sir Ralph was struck with her extreme gracefulness, and pointed her out to Mistress Nicholas, who, unenvying and amiable, joined heartily in his praises. Overhearing what was said, Mrs. Nutter thought it a fitting opportunity to announce her intention of adopting the young girl; and though Sir Ralph seemed a good deal surprised at the suddenness of the declaration, he raised no objection to the plan; but, on the contrary, applauded it. But another person, by no means disposed to regard it in an equally favourable light became acquainted with the intelligence at the same time. This was Master Potts, who instantly set his wits at work to discover its import. Ever on the alert, his little eyes, sharp as needles, had detected Jennet amongst the rustic company, and he now made his way towards her, resolved, by dint of cross-questioning and otherwise, to extract all the information he possibly could from her.
The dance over, Richard and his partner wandered towards a more retired part of the hall.
“Why does your sister shun me?” inquired Alizon, with a look of great distress. “What can I have done to offend her? Whenever I regard her she averts her head, and as I approached her just now, she moved away, making it evident she designed to avoid me. If I could think myself in any way different from what I was this morning, when she treated me with such unbounded confidence and kindness, or accuse myself of any offence towards her, even in thought, I could understand it; but as it is, her present coldness appears inexplicable and unreasonable, and gives me great pain. I would not forfeit her regard for worlds, and therefore beseech you to tell me what I have done amiss, that I may endeavour to repair it.”
“You have done nothing — nothing whatever, sweet girl,” replied Richard. “It is only caprice on Dorothy’s part, and except that it distresses you, her conduct, which you justly call ‘unreasonable,’ does not deserve a moment’s serious consideration.”
“Oh no! you cannot deceive me thus,” cried Alizon. “She is too kind — too well-judging, to be capricious. Something must have occurred to make her change her opinion of me, though what it is I cannot conjecture. I have gained much to-day — more than I had any right to expect; but if I have forfeited the good opinion of your sister, the loss of her friendship will counterbalance all the rest.”
“But you have not lost it, Alizon,” replied Richard, earnestly. “Dorothy has got some strange notions into her head, which only require to be combated. She does not like Mistress Nutter, and is piqued and displeased by the extraordinary interest which that lady displays towards you. That is all.”
“But why should she not like Mistress Nutter?” inquired Alizon.
“Nay, there is no accounting for fancies,” returned Richard, with a faint smile. “I do not attempt to defend her, but simply offer the only excuse in my power for her conduct.”
“I am concerned to hear it,” said Alizon, sadly, “because henceforth I shall be so intimately connected with Mistress Nutter, that this estrangement, which I hoped arose only from some trivial cause, and merely required a little explanation to be set aside, may become widened and lasting. Owing every thing to Mistress Nutter, I must espouse her cause; and if your sister likes her not, she likes me not in consequence, and therefore we must continue divided. But surely her dislike is of very recent date, and cannot have any strong hold upon her; for when she and Mistress Nutter met this morning, a very different feeling seemed to animate her.”
“So, indeed, it did,” replied Richard, visibly embarrassed and distressed. “And since you have made me acquainted with the new tie and interests you have formed, I can only regret alluding to the circumstance.”
“That you may not misunderstand me,” said Alizon, “I will explain the extent of my obligations to Mistress Nutter, and then you will perceive how much I am bounden to her. Childless herself, greatly interested in me, and feeling for my unfortunate situation, with infinite goodness of heart she has declared her intention of removing me from all chance of baneful influence, from the family with whom I have been heretofore connected, by adopting me as her daughter.”
“I should indeed rejoice at this,” said Richard, “were it not that—”
And he stopped, gazing anxiously at her.
“Were not what?” cried Alizon, alarmed by his looks. “What do you mean?”
“Do not press me further,” he rejoined; “I cannot answer you. Indeed I have said too much already.”
“You have said too much or too little,” cried Alizon. “Speak, I implore you. What mean these dark hints which you throw out, and which like shadows elude all attempts to grasp them! Do not keep me in this state of suspense and agitation. Your looks speak more than your words. Oh, give your thoughts utterance!”
“I cannot,” replied Richard. “I do not believe what I have heard, and therefore will not repeat it. It would only increase the mischief. But oh! tell me this! Was it, indeed, to remove you from the baneful influence of Elizabeth Device that Mistress Nutter adopted you?”
“Other motives may have swayed her, and I have said they did so,” replied Alizon; “but that wish, no doubt, had great weight with her. Nay, notwithstanding her abhorrence of the family, she has kindly consented to use her best endeavours to preserve little Jennet from further ill, as well as to reclaim poor misguided Elizabeth herself.”
“Oh! what a weight you have taken from my heart,” cried Richard, joyfully. “I will tell Dorothy what you say, and it will at once remove all her doubts and suspicions. She will now be the same to you as ever, and to Mistress Nutter.”
“I will not ask you what those doubts and suspicions were, since you so confidently promise me this, which is all I desire,” replied Alizon, smiling; “but any unfavourable opinions entertained of Mistress Nutter are wholly undeserved. Poor lady! she has endured many severe trials and sufferings, and whenever you learn the whole of her history, she will, I am sure, have your sincere sympathy.”
“You have certainly produced a complete revolution in my feelings towards her,” said Richard, “and I shall not be easy till I have made a like convert of Dorothy.”
At this moment a loud clapping of hands was heard, and Nicholas was seen marching towards the centre of the hall, preceded by the minstrels, who had descended for the purpose from the gallery, and bearing in his arms a large red velvet cushion. As soon as the dancers had formed a wide circle round him, a very lively tune called “Joan Sanderson,” from which the dance about to be executed sometimes received its name, was struck up, and the squire, after a few preliminary flourishes, set down the cushion, and gave chase to Dame Tetlow, who, threading her way rapidly through the ring, contrived to elude him. This chase, accompanied by music, excited shouts of laughter on all hands, and no one knew which most to admire, the eagerness of the squire, or the dexterity of the lissom dame in avoiding him.
Exhausted at length, and baffled in his quest, Nicholas came to a halt before Tom the Piper, and, taking up the cushion, thus preferred his complaint:— “This dance it can no further go — no further go.”
Whereupon the piper chanted in reply,— “I pray you, good sir, why say you so — why say you so?”
Amidst general laughter, the squire tenderly and t
ouchingly responded— “Because Dame Tetlow will not come to — will not come to.”
Whereupon Tom the Piper, waxing furious, blew a shrill whistle, accompanied by an encouraging rattle of the tambarine, and enforcing the mandate by two or three energetic stamps on the floor, delivered himself in this fashion:— “She must come to, and she SHALL come to. And she must come, whether she will or no.”
Upon this two of the prettiest female morris-dancers, taking each a hand of the blushing and overheated Dame Tetlow, for she had found the chase rather warm work, led her forward; while the squire advancing very gallantly placed the cushion upon the ground before her, and as she knelt down upon it, bestowed a smacking kiss upon her lips. This ceremony being performed amidst much tittering and flustering, accompanied by many knowing looks and some expressed wishes among the swains, who hoped that their turn might come next, Dame Tetlow arose, and the squire seizing her hand, they began to whisk round in a sort of jig, singing merrily as they danced —
“Prinkum prankum is a fine dance,
And we shall go dance it once again!
Once again,
And we shall go dance it once again!”
And they made good the words too; for on coming to a stop, Dame Tetlow snatched up the cushion, and ran in search of the squire, who retreating among the surrounding damsels, made sad havoc among them, scarcely leaving a pretty pair of lips unvisited. Oh Nicholas! Nicholas! I am thoroughly ashamed of you, and regret becoming your historian. You get me into an infinitude of scrapes. But there is a rod in pickle for you, sir, which shall be used with good effect presently. Tired of such an unprofitable quest, Dame Tetlow came to a sudden halt, addressed the piper as Nicholas had addressed him, and receiving a like answer, summoned the delinquent to come forward; but as he knelt down on the cushion, instead of receiving the anticipated salute, he got a sound box on the ears, the dame, actuated probably by some feeling of jealousy, taking advantage of the favourable opportunity afforded her of avenging herself. No one could refrain from laughing at this unexpected turn in affairs, and Nicholas, to do him justice, took it in excellent part, and laughed louder than the rest. Springing to his feet, he snatched the kiss denied him by the spirited dame, and led her to obtain some refreshment at the lower table, of which they both stood in need, while the cushion being appropriated by other couples, other boxes on the ear and kisses were interchanged, leading to an infinitude of merriment.
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 391
