The Wizard of West Penwith: A Tale of the Land's-End

"'The Maister' es very bad in bed, sar," said Alice Ann, making a low curtsey to the squire, as she opened the door; "Miss Reeney es up in har room, very bad too, for what I can tell; for I haan't seed har for a bra' bit. I'll call har down, sar. Step inside, ef you plaise." And she ushered them into the best parlour.

As the house was well watched and guarded, the squire and Mr. Morley thought it would be but courteous to see the daughter, and smooth it over to her as well as they could. Justice must have its course, but it would have been cruel to have distressed the poor innocent girl more than was absolutely necessary. They intended to try to get her away somewhere first, and then she would not feel the disgrace so much. The constable, however, was for executing his warrant at once without showing favour or affection to anyone, man, woman, or child; and if the magistrate had not been there in person to check him, he would have made short work of it; for he was a rough, determined character, and had been in office long enough to be hardened in the stern duties he was sometimes obliged to perform. He had suffered for showing too much lenity to persons in his early career and he was determined that shouldn't happen again.

After a short time, Alrina made her appearance, pale and wretched, with swollen eyes, and a fevered brow, which her visitors, who knew not the real cause, attributed to her grief and anxiety for her father. The squire told her as gently as he could, that they had an unpleasant duty to perform, which must be done; and he advised her to leave the house, and seek the protection of some friend.

"Alas!" she replied; "what friend have I to fly to? I have no one in the world but my father and my aunt, to look to for protection. My father lies upstairs on a bed of sickness, and he has no one but myself to nurse him; and where my aunt is I know not. Oh! gentlemen, have pity on me, if not on my father; – he is my father, whatever evil he may have done. Spare him for my sake! Consider, squire Pendray, you have daughters of your own, – consider their feelings if placed in my situation. My poor father to be taken from a bed of sickness, where I have endeavoured to do all in my power to relieve his sufferings, and to ease his pain, – to be taken out by the rough hands of the executors of the law, and cast into a cold damp prison! Oh! gentlemen, on my knees I beg you to allow him to remain here with me. It may not be long." And, falling on her knees, she clasped the squire by the hand, and burst into a flood of tears.

It was an affecting sight. The squire remembered his own daughters, and their fond affection for their father, and would have relented; and Mr. Morley, although he was the one most aggrieved, turned away from the sad scene. It was heartrending to see one so young and lovely on her bended knees, praying for her father's relief from present punishment.

It was but a slight request after all.

"Why not let the constable remain here?" said Mr. Morley at last. "Two if you like."

"Yes! two!" exclaimed Alrina, rising suddenly, and approaching Mr. Morley; "only allow my father to remain here under my care and nursing, until he is able to be removed (if it must be so), and I will ask no more. Oh! squire Pendray! – Oh! Mr. Morley!" continued she, appealing to each of them by turns; "think what it is to have a father taken from you, and in this way! Let him remain here, – oh! pray, let him remain."

The constable was made of sterner stuff. He had been constable many years, and knew his duty when he had a warrant placed in his hands; and, seeing that Mr. Morley had given way already, and that the squire would soon follow his example, he thought it was time to speak.

"I tell 'ee what et es, squire," said he; "you have put a warrant in my hands agen John Freeman, the Land's-End conjuror, and what not, and Mr. Morley's oath es gone forth agen him; and ef you wink at et now, and the man shud escape, what do you think will be the upshot of et? Why, we shall have to take the conjuror's place for compromising a felony, – that's about the time o' day, gentlemen. I've suffered before for tender-heartedness, and I don't mean to do et agen; so ef miss will show me the room I'll follow her, or else I'll find et out by myself."

Alrina now turned to the constable and besought him to pity her, and, if it must be so, to remain there, and she would make him as comfortable as possible.

"Oh! sir!" she said, "if you have a daughter, think of her feelings, should her father be taken from her, as you would take away mine, – oh! in pity think of that sir!"

"That's the very thing I'm thinking about, miss," replied the constable; "and I'm thinking that my daughter wud have to go through the same trial as you are going through now, ef I wor to lev the conjuror go. No! no! miss, rather he than me, axing your pardon. Why lor' bless you, miss, tesn't much when you're used to et. We'll take care of the old gentleman, as much as ef he had be'n the old gentleman hisself. I've got a tidy little covered cart outside, and we'll clap 'n in, and travel to Penzance to-night, and to-morrow mornin' he'll be broft before the magistrates and committed, ef he's guilty, – and he's sure to be, I s'pose, – and then on to Bodmin. Why, 'twill be a nice little ride for 'n miss."

"Oh! don't, please don't, paint such a terrible picture as that," said Alrina, looking' up at the inexorable constable, with the tears glistening in her eyes.

"Come," said he, "I'm not going to be made chicken-hearted. Show me the way to his room, – we're wasting time." And he led the way out of the room, followed by the others.

Alrina, now, seeing that tears and entreaties would not avail, preceded the party upstairs; but when she arrived at her father's bedroom-door, she stopped and begged the constable to allow her to go in first, to break the nature of their business to him, and prepare him for their approach.

"No!" said the constable, sharply, placing his hand on the handle of the door; "that dodge won't do, my pretty lady. A cunning man and a shrewd woman are a match for the devil, when they get together." So, seeing she had no alternative but to open the door and admit them, Alrina, with a trembling hand, lifted the latch, and, preceding the others, hastily gained the side of the bed, and, kneeling down, begged her father not to be frightened, for he would be treated kindly. She said this without looking on his face; for she knew she could say nothing to comfort him, and she did not like to witness the shock which this untimely intrusion must occasion, and so she pressed her face on the bed, as she knelt, and said these few introductory words, and waited to hear what he would say to his unwelcome visitors. No one spoke for a few minutes. A deathlike silence prevailed throughout the room. At last the constable broke the spell by saying, —

"Escaped again, by George!"

"Escaped!" cried Alrina, jumping up from her kneeling posture; "thank God for that. But how escaped? how could he – ?"

She did not finish her sentence; for, looking down where she had dreaded to look before, the awful truth was but too evident. There was no mistaking it. There lay the earthly remains of her poor deluded father, it was true, but the spirit had indeed escaped, and fled to regions unknown!

The shock was too great for her. She had suffered the severest mental agony that day that it was possible for mortal to bear. She had borne up bravely while there appeared a chance of saving her father from disgrace; but now she broke down altogether, and fell on the floor insensible. Alice Ann had followed the intruders into the room; and, as all her efforts to rouse her young mistress were in vain, she asked the gentlemen to assist in carrying her into her own room.

Fowler and Josiah were called in, and a consultation was held as to where Alrina should be placed for the present. She could not remain there, under the circumstances, – that was very clear. Several plans were proposed and discussed, but nothing could be decided on for her. She might object to them all when she recovered her senses. At last Squire Pendray proposed that she should be conveyed to his house, where he was sure she would be taken care of; and he felt, moreover, although he did not express it, that the companionship of such a noble strong-minded girl might lead to the recovery of his own daughter. This was thought an excellent plan, and everyone declared that the squire was most kind and considerate. But then came another difficulty. She would not accept his offer now, he feared, any more than she would the offer that was made her by his wife, before. And in this he thought she acted foolishly, – more foolishly than he should have imagined from the good sense she had displayed in other respects.

Under these circumstances, he thought, they must get her to Pendrea-house by stratagem, and, when there, he felt sure she would like it too well to run away, and he was sure his family would approve of the plan, and would make her as comfortable as possible. So it was arranged that she should be taken carefully, in her present unconscious state, and placed gently in the covered cart, well wrapped up, and that Alice Ann should go also to take care of her, on the road. This plan Alice Ann thought capital. So the poor unconscious girl was carried out gently by Josiah in his great strong arms, and placed comfortably in the covered cart, with Alice Ann by her side, and Josiah was left in charge of the house and the dead body of its late owner.

Mr. Morley said he must go and see his brother again; for he feared that the sufferings and privations he had lately undergone, had seriously impaired his health and undermined his constitution. So he went on to "The Commercial" inn, while the squire and Lieut. Fowler proceeded towards their respective homes; and as their road lay the same way for some distance, they walked together. Fowler made himself so agreeable to the old gentleman during their walk that he was sorry to part with him when their roads turned in different directions. He did not ask him, however, to continue his companion all the way to Pendrea-house; but during his solitary walk after they had parted, he began to think that such an agreeable fellow could never really be the villain he supposed him to be with regard to his conduct towards his daughter. His opinion of him was softened a good deal; and if a satisfactory explanation of his conduct could have been given just then, and a proposal made in a straightforward honourable way, the old gentleman would, no doubt, have consented, rather than leave his daughter pine away thus, – the cause of which he now devined so truly. But the explanation did not come, nor was the proposal made; so the old squire walked home alone to prepare his family for the reception of their visitor, who was being brought slowly round by the broad road, while he and Fowler had taken a short cut across the common.

CHAPTER XXXVII.

JOSIAH'S LONELY MIDNIGHT WATCH IN THE CONJUROR'S HOUSE

Mr. Morley found his brother still in bed; not because he was too ill to get up – for the walk and the cold bath had done him good – but for the simple reason that he had no clothes to put on. Those he wore in the morning were too wet, and he had not yet received a fresh supply from the "First and Last" inn, at Sennen, where he had left his things when he started so suddenly on his journey some weeks before. So Mr. Morley sat by his bedside, and got him to relate his adventures, which he did very faithfully, until he came to the adventure of that morning; and then Mr. Morley saw there was a reluctance to tell all. But he was determined to know everything, and he pressed his brother to confide in him; and, after some little hesitation, he told all, except his attempt at self-destruction. He didn't tell that; but he dwelt long on the conduct of Alrina, and asked his brother if he could give him any clue to the discovery of Alrina's motive for treating him so coldly and cruelly.

"Yes," replied his brother; "I think I can fathom it; and although I think Miss Freeman is a noble girl, yet I think, when I have related to you my adventures of the last few weeks, you will think that she is right, and that you have luckily escaped being mixed up in a most unpleasant affair, that must have embittered your whole life, had not that noble girl been more prudent than yourself."

It will be remembered that Frederick knew nothing of his brother's search at Mr. Freeman's house, when he found his chest there, and the money gone, – nor did he know of the second attempt, that morning, to secure the man of cunning, nor of his death, – nor, indeed, had he heard of his brother's success in entering the deserted house near Bristol; – so that Mr. Morley had a long and interesting tale to relate.

Frederick was very much excited several times during the recital, and seemed to drink in every word, as it were, especially when his brother arrived at the latter part of his recital, wherein Alrina pleaded so piteously for a delay of her father's punishment.

A long silence ensued when the tale was ended. At last Mr. Morley said, —

"Now, do you see Miss Freeman's motive for her treatment of you this morning?"

"Noble girl!" exclaimed Frederick; "I see it all, she knew her father's guilt, and did violence to her feelings to save me from being involved in the sad affair. But after all, I cannot understand why she should say she couldn't love me; – why not have told me all, and have left it to me to act according to the dictates of my own feelings?"

"She knew you better than you knew yourself," replied his brother; "and I repeat that she acted nobly, and you ought to consider yourself lucky, that you have escaped a life of misery; for, however deeply you may love this girl now, in the warmth of a first and youthful love, you would find that your ardour would cool considerably, when you saw the world looking coldly on your wife, and avoiding her society, as the child of a felon, and worse, perhaps, however good and lovely she may be in herself. No! no! take my word for it, my dear brother, you will thank her for the course she has pursued, when you have calmly reflected on it."

"Never!" said Frederick, passionately; "instead of weakening my love for her, this noble conduct of hers, has endeared her to me a hundred-fold. What care I for the sneers of the world, if I have Alrina's love? I will go to her at once, and have a full explanation; and if, as you think, she declined my love for the sake of preventing my being subjected to the sneers and scorns of the world, I will compel her to marry me."

"Stay," said Mr. Morley; "you must first ascertain that my conjecture is the right one; but I wouldn't advise you to see her yourself. Let me see her for you."

"No," said his brother; "I will see her myself." And as his clothes had arrived by this time, he dressed and accompanied his brother back to Tol-pedn-Penwith, where Lieutenant Fowler had no difficulty in accommodating them both, although his house was so small. He ordered an extra hammock to be slung up in the largest of the sleeping apartments, where the two brothers slept soundly till a late hour the next morning, as they were both very tired.

Josiah, in the meantime, kept watch and guard over "the Maister's" house and its contents. It was pleasant enough while the daylight lasted; but when night came on, and darkness covered the face of the earth, Josiah thought it was very whisht to be there in that house all alone. So he went down to his father's, and had a good supper, and something to drink. This made him feel very comfortable, and he wished them all good-night, took a lantern with him, and went back again to his solitary watch.

Josiah was a courageous man at all times when there was any real danger to be feared, and a strong man, as everybody knew. The man must be more than mortal who could make Josiah afraid, but he had a strong superstitious feeling in his composition; and who had not in those days? – and if there was an excuse for the feeling at all, it certainly might be excused in such a case as this. Here was the man who had been the dread of the neighbourhood, and who was believed to have dealings with the Evil One, lying dead in that lonely house, where so many evil deeds had been done, some of which had been discovered within the last few days. That he was a man to be feared and dreaded no one doubted; but whether he really had the power which many gave him credit for, remained to be proved yet. Josiah thought that perhaps it would be his fate to prove this; and it cannot be denied that he felt rather uncomfortable, when he found himself seated in the kitchen of that house, not only without the pleasant society of Alice Ann, but, as he well knew, without having any human habitation within some distance of him.

His mother had kindly given him a flask of brandy, that he might indulge in the prevailing amusement at that period, of "keeping his spirits up, by pouring spirits down;" and so he sat down in the chair usually occupied by Alice Ann, having first placed a glass and some water on the table, and began to reflect on the vicissitudes of human life in general, and of his life in particular; and then he began to speculate on the prospects of happiness which seemed to loom in the future, when he should have led Alice Ann to the altar, and settled down as a married man. These thoughts were all very pleasant, and so was the brandy-and-water. The candle was burning brightly and so was the fire, and he thought he was "getten on brave."

He had got nearly to the bottom of the second glass of brandy-and-water, and was beginning to feel quite comfortable and happy. He only wanted one thing to add to his perfect happiness he thought, and that was the pleasure of Alice Ann's society. It was drawing towards midnight, and he was feeling drowsy, so he dropped off into a sound sleep as he sat in his chair, and dreamed of her he last thought of before he fell asleep. He fancied he heard her upstairs, brushing out the rooms, and knocking the furniture about, as servants frequently do, merely to show that they are doing something. She was making a tremendous noise certainly, he thought, and he called to her, in his sleep, not to make so much noise, to disturb "The Maister." But the noise continued, nevertheless; and when he awoke he found the candle burnt down in the socket, and the fire nearly gone out; so he replenished the fire first, and then looked about for another candle, but before he could find one, he heard, as he thought, a strange noise in "The Maister's" room. What could it be? No one could have got into the house; he had locked the doors, – he was sure of that, but still there was a noise – that was evident; and someone was walking up and down the room upstairs. What could it be?

The candle, which had been flickering in the socket, and wavering between life and death, as it were, for some seconds, now went out entirely, and left Josiah in perfect darkness. He searched in vain for another candle, – he couldn't find one anywhere; and then he tried to find the door of the kitchen, but he could not find it. He went round and round the room, as he thought, but no door could he find; so at length he came back to his chair again, which he found by the aid of the glimmer of light from the fire which he had nearly extinguished in his haste to replenish it, when he saw the candle flickering away.

He now fully made up his mind that he was spellbound, and that "The Maister's" spirit was walking through the house; but as the noise had ceased he became a little more reconciled, and helped himself to some more brandy, after which he fell fast asleep again, and when he awoke it was broad daylight.

He rubbed his eyes and looked about the room, forgetting for a moment where he was; and then he began to think of his absurd fancies about being spellbound and "piskey-led," and such nonsense; and he laughed aloud and went out into the fresh morning air. The doors were barred and all secure, as he had left them when he came in the night before. But still he heard those strange noises in his ears, and he could not get rid of the feeling that the "The Maister's" spirit was walking in his room last night. He locked the door behind him, and went down the road towards his father's house to breakfast.

"Why, 'Siah, boy," said Captain Trenow, laughing, as his son approached, "you're looking so whisht as ef you'd seed a ghost. "The Maister" dedn't trouble 'ee in the night, ded aw?"

"I caen't tell," replied Josiah, "what et wor, but I heerd a bra' noise in the night."

"Why, what are 'ee tellen?" exclaimed Mrs. Trenow, coming to the door; "I always thoft hes sperit wud walk, ef anybody's ever ded."

"Nonsense!" said Captain Trenow; "you're two patticks, both of 'ee."

Josiah would not be persuaded out of the belief, however, that "The Maister's" spirit was walking in his room last night.

"I'm no coward, fe-a-thar, and that you do knaw," said he; "but I arn't fitty for to stop up there another night by myself, nor I wean't nether to plaise nobody, – there, na."

His father turned the whole tale into ridicule, and laughed at the idea of noises being heard in "The Maister's" chamber, when there was no one in the house but Josiah.

"I'll tell 'ee, my son," said the old man, at length, with a wicked twinkle in his eye; "the brandy was too strong, I reckon. Ha! ha! ha!"

Josiah was about to reply indignantly to this insinuation, when they were disturbed by a knock at the door.

"Dear lor'!" said Mrs. Trenow, rising to open the door; "why, who can be come so early, I wondar?"

She soon returned, saying that the undertakers wanted to go in to do their work.

"Aw! iss, sure," said Josiah; "the door es locked, sure nuff."

"Come," said Captain Trenow; "we may as well go down too, and make sure that no more noises shall be heard. I shudn't like for 'ee to be frightened worse than you are, boy."

So they went down together; and, as Josiah unlocked the door, his father said in a sarcastic tone, – "Now, don't you be frightened, my son."

Josiah did not answer, but led the way upstairs to "The Maister's" bedroom, which adjoined the mysterious room, so often referred to in this history; and having unlocked the door, he led the way into the room where only a few hours before that affecting scene had been witnessed, which we have before recorded.

The awful escape from the hands of justice of one who seemed deserving of a severe punishment, and the consequent shock to the nervous system of a lovely and noble-minded girl, who would have braved everything to save her father from ignominy and suffering, – this scene was no novelty to the undertaker's mermidons. They were accustomed to view dead bodies continually, in their calling. They had been working all night, in order to be in time, and they had brought the fruits of their labour with them, and proceeded, without ceremony, towards the bed, when they started back in amazement! for, – the bed was empty!

"The Maister" was gone! – fled! But where? – that was the question. They searched the room, but found nothing. There was a communication, however, between the bedroom and "The Maister's" private room which no one remembered ever having seen before; – it must have been concealed by some paintings hung against the wall. It was open now – wide open. They went through, into the mysterious room, and there they found that the drawers had been opened and ransacked, and all the valuables taken away. The belt containing the diamonds and jewels, which had been put into one of the drawers in that room, was gone. Captain Trenow was the first to discover this; for he had found it in undressing "The Maister," and he it was who had suggested to Alrina the propriety of locking it up in one of those drawers.

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

THE SEARCH

The news soon spread that the conjuror – body and soul – had vanished from the room in which he was supposed to have died; and various were the reports that got into circulation. Some said they didn't believe he had been there at all; others thought he wasn't dead when the squire and party left him; while others again believed that he was really dead, but that, by some supernatural agency, he had been resuscitated and taken away through the keyhole, or up the chimney, and that probably he was then wandering about invisible. And those who held this belief were pitiable objects; for they feared to speak a word against "The Maister," lest he should instantly appear in his bodily form, and annihilate them as they stood. The dread of "The Maister" and his evil eye was bad enough when he was alive and in the flesh, but now it was ten times worse. Little knots of gossips might be seen here and there, holding private conversations in whispers; – but that was all nonsense, the believers in the supernatural would say. If "The Maister" was walking about invisible he could come close enough to hear them, whisper so low as they would.