Cuthbert Spring left me to my own devices until four o’clock, at which time it was agreed that we should start for Owlarton Grange. If the arrangement had been left to me, I should have set out at once — for I was impatient to be off; but my friend had letters to write, and of course his convenience must be consulted.
Not finding much to amuse me in-doors, I sallied forth, and proceeded to the churchyard to look at the ancient yew-tree, which had served me as a medium of introduction to the charming Ora. It was a fine old tree, in perfect preservation, with a bench, capable of accommodating at least twenty people, encircling its mighty stem. Dunton Church, as I have heretofore stated, stands on an elevated ridge of land, overlooking the extensive vale of the Mersey, with the Lancashire hills bounding the view on the north, while on the south or Cheshire side, the prospect is even more diversified and beautiful. I had seated myself on the bench beneath the yew-tree, and was trying to discover some landmark to indicate the position of Owlarton Grange, when the noise caused by the shutting of a gate at the bottom of the churchyard made me aware of some one’s approach. It was Ned Culcheth. He was accompanied by Hubert, and had come over to inform me that a month’s leave of absence had been granted him by Lord Amoundemess. He had heard something overnight which he thought would furnish him with a clue to Simon Pownall’s retreat. A person very like Simon had been seen a few days ago at Knutsford with Chetham Quick. Chetham, therefore, as I had suspected, was most probably in secret communication with his old master. That Chetham must be in league with Captain Sale, Ned thought quite certain, for soon after my visit to the barber’s shop on the day before, Chetham had run down to the vicarage to inform the captain of the circumstance. Phaleg had also been to the vicarage. This was the sum of Ned’s intelligence. It was not much; but, by closely watching Chetham, he felt sure he should soon learn more. I agreed with him that he was now upon the right scent, and likely soon to unearth the old fox, but I advised him to use the utmost caution in his proceedings, as no doubt he would be watched in his turn. I then told him of my proposed visit to Owlarton Grange, and that I should probably remain there for three or four days. Ned said he would come over to the grange, if he had any tidings to give me, and he then left me — taking my best wishes with him — and made his way out of the churchyard, with Hubert at his heels.
The rest of the morning passed rather slowly, and was unmarked by any incident, but at four o’clock a yellow rattler, as Mr. Spring termed the post-chaise, came to the door, and we started on our expedition. Our road lay through a fair and fertile district, abounding in comfortable homesteads, orchards, barns, cow-houses, stacks of corn, hay, and beans, and other evidences of the prosperous condition of the cultivators of the soil. Nowhere in England is there better farming than in this part of Cheshire; nowhere are such cheeses made — a fact which alone would prove the extraordinary fatness of the land. But it was not merely the comfortable farmhouse and its appurtenances that we beheld. In the course of our drive we passed by many an ancestral hall and lordly mansion, enriched with the accessories of wood and water — for without a mere a Cheshire park would be incomplete. Some of these domains were of vast extent, and calculated to give exalted notions of the territorial importance of their possessors. The Cheshire squires may well be proud. But by far the most picturesque scene we beheld was towards the end of the drive, and as my companion had not prepared me for it, I was quite taken by surprise.
Emerging from a thick wood, through which the road was cut, we came suddenly upon a most romantic glen, hemmed in on either side by rocks some sixty feet in height, seemingly rent asunder, and spanned by a giddy-looking stone bridge, such as might be thrown across an Alpine ravine. Beneath this bridge dashed a rapid stream, which, falling over ledges of rock, formed a cascade, and then taking its way down the glen, the bottom of which was covered with well-grown timber, reached a point where its waters were dammed, in order that they might turn the wheels of a most picturesque-looking mill, causing them to spread out into a miniature lake. In some places the rocks were naked and precipitous; in others, where less steep, their sides were clothed with shrubs and evergreens. On the further side of the glen, and overhanging it, stood a venerable fabric, with a fine square tower, and I learnt to my surprise that this was Wevenham Church, of which John Brideoake was curate. John did not live in the village, but his cottage was pointed out to me amongst a clump of trees behind the church. Most assuredly I should have called there, had I not expected to meet him at dinner. We were now within a couple of miles of Owlarton Grange, and my heart began to beat with pleasurable anticipation. The last mile was rather trying to our horses, being up a deep sandy lane, but having waded slowly through it, we came to firm ground, and entered a long avenue of stately sycamores, at the end of which we descried the old hall.
CHAPTER VIII.
OF THE MYSTERIOUS BELL-RINGING AT OWLARTON GRANGE.
ON a nearer approach, I was struck with the lonesome look of the place. It had an air of gloom about it that filled me with superstitious fancies. How could Ora dwell there, and retain such high spirits? A stagnant moat, covered with duckweed and flags, and with its edges overgrown with rushes, surrounded the house and the quaintly-cut parterres in front of it. This moat was crossed by a stone bridge, on either side of which grew a sombre pine. There was no lodge, but on the further side of the bridge stood a tall arched gateway of red brick, with stone copings and large stone shields, on which were sculptured the arms of the family. Over a smaller gate on the right was a demi-wyvern carved in stone. A brick wall, about four feet high, with iron rails on the top, skirted the garden, and extended as far as some small outbuildings. The house itself was a very fair specimen of an old Cheshire timberframed hall. According to dates preserved in different parts of the edifice, which I afterwards saw, it must have been built in the reign of James the First, when a great portion of the ancient grange was probably demolished. Cuthbert Spring’s description of the place was sufficiently accurate, though its exterior was more picturesque than he had led me to anticipate. From ‘ a narrow centre sprang two small projections; and beyond these advanced, far out, a couple of broad wings, constituting altogether a frontage of great beauty. In each of the wings and lesser projections were large transom windows, with stained glass in the small octagonal leaden frames. All the timber of the hall was painted black, and the plaster white, with quatre-foils in the squares, producing a very charming and fanciful effect. Sharp gables terminated each point of the roof.
Our summons at the gateway-bell was speedily answered by Finch, the old footman, and a stout, respectable-looking butler of remarkably sedate aspect, whom Cuthbert Spring addressed as Mr. Ponder. The gates being thrown open, we drove on to the porch, and, alighting there, made but a step into a spacious entrance-hall, hung round with old buff coats, hunting-horns, battle-axes, and pikes. Here Mr. Hazilrigge came forth to bid us welcome.
The old gentleman seemed enchanted to see me. I had evidently won his heart by my solution of his dream; but he told me, with a very solemn look, that he was sure some misfortune awaited him, for the yard-clock had struck thirteen at midnight, and old blind Mungo, the superannuated house-dog, had howled throughout the night. Moreover, Mrs. Duncalf, the cook, had complained that the kitchen fire would only burn on one side of the grate. This I could not but admit was a very bad sign, portending that the meat would only be half roasted, and I recommended an immediate and vigorous application of the poker, in order to dispel the charm. To my infinite regret, Mr. Hazilrigge next informed me that John Brideoake was too unwell to leave home on that day. He sent his love to me, and hoped I would come over and see him on the morrow. How grieved I then felt that I had not called on him as I passed through Weverham. But where was Ora? I was just going to inquire after the ladies when my host moved an adjournment to the library, and I followed him, hoping to find them there; but the chamber was vacant, and I learnt that it was a sanctum sanctorum which none of womankind were allowed to invade.
I also remarked, as the old gentleman closed the door, that Cuthbert Spring had vanished, and I soon discovered the reason of his declining to accompany us.
The library was well furnished with musty volumes. But just then I was in no humour for examining black-letter tomes, and would far rather have encountered the black eyes that had bewitched me. However, there was no escape, so groaning internally, I seated myself in the chair offered me by Old Hazy, and listened, as attentively as I could, while he took down some of his treasures, and descanted upon them. He propounded the magical oracles of Zoroaster — half fascinated me by the wondrous narratives of Frommannus and Leonard Vair — cited Delancre, Delrio, Cardan, Torreblanca, John Baptist Porta, Psellus, Pererius, Doctor Dee,’ and other writers on occult philosophy — recounted the history of the three possessed Virgins in Flanders, the Princess of the Sorcerers in Provence, and Martha Brossier — discoursed on the Clavicula Salamonis and the Euchiridion of Pope Leo — flagellated demons and sorcerers with the lashes of Bodinus — revealed the confessions of witches by the help of Binsfeldius — and stunned me with the Malleus Maleficorum.
While listening to him, I felt as if I myself were in a magic circle from which there was no escape. At last he took down a large mystic folio, bound in black vellum, and full of blood-red characters and conjurations, and, telling me it was the Grimoire, was about to exhibit to my stupefied gaze the veritable sign-manual of the Prince of Darkness, when, luckily, the rumbling of a gong announced that it was time to dress for dinner, and I was liberated from a purgatory of more than an hour’s duration. My delight was excessive as we returned to the entrance-hall, and, fancying there was no immediate prospect of seeing Ora, I willingly accepted my host’s offer to conduct me to the haunted room, which had been prepared for me, in accordance with my request.
Passing through an arched opening in a richly-carved screen or dark oak, Mr. Hazilrigge then led the way to a magnificent staircase of the same lustrous material, with massive and elaborately-carved handrails and balusters. Tall posts at each angle supported the family crest — a demi-wyvem — together with a carved shield with armorial bearings. Light was afforded by large transom windows, glowing with rich dyes. As I commenced ascending the staircase, the sound of light musical laughter reached my ears, and looking up at an open gallery above, I beheld Ora Doveton. Yes — there stood the charmer in the prettiest attitude possible, between the pillars, with one small hand resting upon the low balustrade, in front of her. No portrait in Old Hazy’s gallery could be better framed — no frame could contain a more exquisite portrait. My gaze must have expressed the admiration I felt, for an added colour rose to her cheeks. Close behind her stood her aunt and Cuthbert Spring, On our joining the party, Miss Hazilrigge chided her brother for detaining me so long in the library, but Ora, with a sly glance, said she thought I must be just as fond of necromantic lore as her uncle, since his books seemed to have more attraction for me than their society. Good-natured Mr. Hazilrigge came to my rescue at once, declaring if anybody was to blame he was; but, finding my tastes congenial to his own, he had seized the earliest opportunity of displaying his treasures to me, and was happy to state that I fully understood and appreciated them. Ora must not suppose that conversation with a silly girl was half so attractive as discourse with departed sages, to a young gentleman of my reflective turn. He had seldom met with so patient a listener as I had proved, and he hoped I should pass many equally profitable hours with him in his study. All his recondite stores should be laid open to me. My fair tormentress heard him quietly to an end, looking all the while archly at me, but she then broke into a fit of merriment, which was only checked by her uncle ordering her to go and prepare for dinner, while he carried me off — much to my chagrin — down the long, dark corridor. Cuthbert Spring accompanied us, but Ora tripped off with her aunt in the opposite direction, and we had just reached the door of the chamber assigned to me, when her jocund laugh was heard again, as if she thought I was about to undergo a second ordeal. Looking round, I just caught a glimpse of her mirthful countenance ere she disappeared.
Cuthbert Spring left me at the door, saying, with a shrug of the shoulders, that he had had quite enough of that chamber. Mr. Hazilrigge himself only just entered the room, and after looking round to see that all was comfortable, and inquiring whether I wanted anything, proffered to send his valet, Rivers, to assist me in my toilet, and departed.
I looked round with curiosity, not unmixed with a little superstitious dread. The room was spacious and gloomy, owing to the sombre character of the furniture and the dark oak panels. Opposite the antique tester-bed, with its stiff, faded hangings, described by Cuthbert Spring, was a large bay-window filled with painted glass, now glowing with the radiance of the setting sun, and casting its rich dyes on the polished oak floor. Over the carved mantelpiece hung the portrait of an old man in a nightcap wig, and a long loose coat of reddish-brown cloth wrapped round his attenuated limbs. The features of the personage thus represented were spare and sharp, with a nose like a hawk’s beak. He wore spectacles, by the aid of which he was examining an account-book. Behind him stood an attendant in a square-cut coat and long-flapped waistcoat, with a sinister expression of countenance. This was the only picture in the room, and it strongly arrested my attention.
I was examining it when Rivers entered. He was a young man, and an importation from town, and rattled away all the time he was helping me to dress. Rivers did not think it possible he could remain in his place, for though he had no objections to make to his master or Miss Hazilrigge, or to any one else, yet such strange things had happened in the house of late — such alarming noises had been heard — that he couldn’t stay in it. I questioned him as to the kind of noises he meant, but he glanced round in trepidation, and said, in a low tone, “I daren’t speak in this room, sir, lest the ghost should overhear me. But you’ll find it out. Between ourselves, I don’t think you’ll stop here long. Nobody does, sir.” And with this consolatory remark — his services being no longer required — he left me.
Seating myself on an old fauteuil covered with faded Utrecht velvet, I again began to examine the remarkable picture I have mentioned, and might have been occupied in this way for two or three minutes, when the door suddenly opened, and Rivers bounced into the room. Seeing that he looked startled, I asked him what was the matter.
“Pray what may be your pleasure, sir?” he said.
“I want nothing,” I returned. “I didn’t ring.”
He eyed me rather incredulously, but, without making any further remark, bowed and departed.
But he had not been gone more than a couple of minutes, when he re-appeared. — .
“This time you must have rung, sir,” he observed. “There can be no mistake, for I watched the bell. Excuse me for remarking, sir, that nothing disturbs my master so much as the loud ringing of chamber-bells, or, indeed, any other bells, and he hopes his guests will kindly consider him in this particular.”
“Your master may rely upon it I will not disturb him,” I rejoined, “but no bell has been rung by me. I have not quitted this chair since you were last here.”
Rivers looked at me again, shrugged his shoulders, and departed.
I thought his conduct very odd, but I was still more surprised when he once more burst into the room.
“Now, sir!” he exclaimed, “I am certain of it.”
“Certain of what?” I rejoined, almost laughing in his face. “Certain that I rang the bell?”
“Yes, sir, — yes! — and very loudly too! Mr. Ponder, the butler, and old Finch, the footman, heard it as well as me — and watched it.”
“This is very extraordinary,” I remarked.
“Very extraordinary indeed!” he rejoined, “if you didn’t ring the bell, sir. But perhaps it’s a joke, sir?”
I looked angrily at him, but at this moment the sedate-looking butler came in, having previously tapped at the door.
“Beg pardon, sir, but the bell has been rung again — sin
ce Rivers went up.”
“Well, at least he can bear witness that I have not rung it,” I said.
“Certainly, sir — there’s no denying it,” the valet replied, staring with surprise.
“Is there not a possibility of mistake as to the bell?” I asked.
“None whatever, sir,” Mr. Ponder answered. “We all know the bell belonging this room well enough. It hasn’t rung for many a long day — not since Mr. Cuthbert Spring slept in the room.”
Here there was another tap at the door, and old Finch, the footman, entered.
“It be goin’ again,” Finch, said, “and I be come to see whatever be the matter.”
We all exchanged glances of astonishment, but no explanation could be given.
“This is very strange — very unaccountable,” I remarked.
“Ours is a very strange house, sir, and very odd things happen in it,” Mr. Ponder rejoined, gravely. “But let me beg you not to mention the circumstance to my master. It would put him out exceedingly, and he would have no rest during the whole evening. If we hear any more ringing, we shall conclude that we needn’t answer the summons. Dinner will be served directly sir.”
Upon this, he quitted the room with the two other servants, and I soon afterwards found my way to the drawing-room, in which all the party, with one important exception, had assembled. Of course, having been cautioned by the butler, I said nothing of the strange circumstance that had just taken place, to Mr. Hazilrigge. Soon afterwards, Ora entered, looking ravishing in a dark evening dress, which set off the graces of her exquisite person to the utmost advantage. With a sly smile she asked how I liked the haunted chamber — whether my courage had evaporated — and whether I had heard any supernatural sounds? Not for worlds would she sleep in that room, she declared. She would not even enter it in broad daylight. Had I noticed the portraits of the miser and his wicked servant — old Clotten Hazilrigge and Jotham Shocklach? Before I could reply to these inquiries, the bell at the garden gate rang loudly, attracting general attention.
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 466
