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

"Our fortune was at a low ebb when we first became acquainted with you; and we were glad of the assistance of an aristocratic lodger. I saw your mother's weak points, and your love of gaiety and admiration; and I thought that, by residing with you in the confidential capacity of lady's-maid, I could benefit myself in many ways. Your clandestine marriage, and the birth of your daughter, which I persuaded you to keep secret from your parents, gave me a double hold upon you.

"After the death of your husband, and while you were with us on a visit to recruit your health, my brother returned. He fell desperately in love with you; – you refused to receive his addresses, and spurned him from you with scorn. He was desperate. He begged me to intercede for him, which I promised to do, but did not; for your marriage with my brother would not have suited my purpose at all. I knew your parents wished you to marry some rich man, and, as I was now the keeper of your secret, I knew that if you married according to your parents' wishes, I could make my own terms with you. You were summoned home, and eventually married according to their wishes and mine.

"My mother died. Your little daughter was left in my care, and I was well paid. I sent her to school, but I watched her most carefully; – I could not afford to lose her, for she was my nest-egg: and she grew a lovely girl, just like you when you were her age."

"How is it possible that she can ever have been even good-looking?" exclaimed Mrs. Courland; – "but that dreadful spoiler of the human face – the small-pox – has done its work: it was that, no doubt, that altered her so much."

"She was a lovely girl," continued the invalid, without noticing Mrs. Courland's interruption. "My brother would gaze on her countenance for hours without speaking, and then he would leave the room in a rage. He hated the name of Morley, because it was under that name that he first knew you, and was spurned by you. He seldom took much notice of the child, except to gaze on her until he had worked his mind up to a state of maddening jealousy.

"We never lost sight of you. Wherever you moved, we followed, and lived near you under feigned names, in order to worry you by continually draining your purse, and threatening to expose your duplicity and deceit to your husband by producing the child and telling him all, of which we had ample proof, and have still. My brother would not see you himself, – he could not bear it, he said. I was always your tormentor; and when I brought the dumb girl to you, I thought the sight of her hideous features, and her infirmity, would have so disgusted you, that you would have given us what we asked, rather than have her left on your hands as your acknowledged daughter. We were mistaken. You kept her, believing her to be your child; and you thought that, by doing this, and denying me an interview, you would be free from further worry, and there could be no danger of the girl telling anything of her former life or associates; and if we tried to expose you to your husband, he would not believe us.

"Since that girl has been with you, we have had other things to think of; and our anxiety for my brother's safety prevented our taking the steps we intended with regard to your secret. That poor dumb girl is not your daughter, Mrs. Courland."

"Oh! thank God for that!" exclaimed Mrs. Courland, rising in the greatest excitement. "I hope you are not deceiving me again. If you can produce her, and I can be satisfied that she really is my daughter, I will acknowledge her in the face of all the world, and tell my husband all, and throw myself on his mercy. I have suffered years of torture, from having followed your advice in the beginning. Oh! had I but acted a straightforward part, and kept no secret from my husband, my life would have been much happier. I see my error now, and am determined to keep the secret no longer. Where is she? let me see her at once; don't keep me in suspense."

The invalid had exhausted her strength in the recital of her tale, and this outburst of Mrs. Courland's quite upset her. She could not speak again for several minutes, until Frederick Morley handed her the glass which she seemed to wish for, and which was standing on the table more than half full of brandy. This, which she drank off at once, seemed to give her new life and energy. Then, turning to Frederick, she said, in a gayer tone than before, —

"You will be glad to hear, Frederick Morley, that the lovely girl to whom you are so devotedly attached, is not the daughter of John Freeman, the Land's-End conjuror, but the daughter of your aunt – Mrs. Courland."

"Alrina, of whom I have heard so much, my daughter!" exclaimed Mrs. Courland; "impossible!"

"Oh! this is indeed too good to be true!" cried Frederick; "I cannot believe it. What proof is there of this?"

"Proof in abundance," replied the invalid; "I am ready to make an oath of the fact before a magistrate; and my brother – "

"Your brother!" said Frederick; "where is he? is he still alive?"

"I was about to say that my brother could have confirmed my statement. Captain Cooper and his wife can also bear witness to the fact; but, even if there were no other evidence, the likeness would be sufficient to a person who knew Mrs. Courland as Miss Morley."

"Let me see her!" said Mrs. Courland; "where is she? It is very strange that I have never seen her, although I have heard so much about her. Why did you never let me see her?"

"That would not have suited our purpose," replied the invalid; "you would have braved all risk of your husband's displeasure, and taken her home long before, if you had seen her. I think you would have seen the likeness yourself. No, no, my brother's revenge was not complete. I led you, from the first, to believe that she was disfigured by the small-pox, and rendered very ugly and forbidding; but I never said she was dumb, – indeed, it was not our intention to have left the other girl with you entirely; it was only to frighten you into granting us the money that we required, that the poor girl was taken into your house. My brother knew that he must be found out, ere long, and he wanted all the money he could get to carry with him; for he had made all his preparations for leaving this country, and his associates and accomplices wanted their share of the hush-money also. It was the last we should get from you, and so we demanded a large sum."

"But my daughter!" said Mrs. Courland – "if in reality she is such – pray let me see her. Where is she?"

"Your daughter, madam, is now at Pendrea-house, as Frederick Morley knows. Let him go there and fetch her, while you remain here; for I have something more to tell you in connection with this affair, which will convince you I am not deceiving you now. Tell Alrina," continued she, turning to Frederick, "that her aunt, Miss Freeman, is on her death-bed, and she must come at once."

CHAPTER XLIV.

MRS. BROWN ENJOYS ANOTHER CROOM O' CHAT WITH MRS. TRENOW, AND RECEIVES AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR

While the other gossips were going from house to house, collecting and retailing the news respecting the mysterious disappearance of "The Maister," Mrs. Brown and Mrs. Trenow were having a serious chat over their "drop of comfort," according to custom.

"So, you don't think he's carr'd away by the pixies, then," said Mrs. Trenow.

"No, I don't," replied Mrs. Brown, "'tes some of his hocus pocus work, you may depend. I'm glad the old cap'n es gone weth Siah to see the gentlemen. They'll find 'The Maister' somewhere, I'll be bound, afore come back."

"No, no more than you will, cheeld vean," said Mrs. Trenow. "The Pixies have got 'n, or something wuss, so sure as my name es Mally Trenow. They'll be home soon, I shudn't wonder, and then we shall knaw. They've be'n gone evar since the mornin', an' now 'tes come brave an' late. Aw! here they are, sure nuff, – 'spaik o' the Devil and his horns will appear.' Well, where's 'The Maister,' soas," continued she, addressing her husband and son as they entered.

"We do no more knaw than you do, old woman," replied her husband; "we've sarched everywhere we cud think upon, and now we've returned, like a bad penny. Two glasses o' brandy toddy, Mrs. Brown, ef you plaise, for we've had a bra' tramp."

"Iss sure," said the landlady, proceeding to execute the order; "you must want somethin' to drink after your hard day's work; but you haven't be'n to the right place, I reckon."

"No fie, we ha'n't be'n to the right place, sure nuff," said Josiah.

"You shud oft to ha' kept a sharper look-out, Siah," said Mrs. Brown, taking a side glance at Josiah, as if she meant something more than she said.

"Zackly like that," said he, looking very serious, as he sipped his brandy and water; "'Needs must when the devil drives' es an old sayin' and a very true one; and I tell 'ee, Mrs. Brown, you may laugh so much as you will, and squinny up your eyes till they're so small as the button-holes of my jacket; but 'tes my belief that the Devil es at the bottom of et all. He put me to sleep, and fastened the door, so that I cudn't get out; and he took away 'The Maister' to have his desarts, – that's my belief, down sous; and now you've got it all."

Mrs. Trenow looked very serious at her son's earnestness; for she herself held the same opinions, although she didn't express them; – but Mrs. Brown continued to look at Josiah in her sarcastic way, without uttering a word.

"Where's Alice Ann, mother?" asked Josiah, at length breaking the silence.

"She's gone up to her aunt's again for a bit," replied Mrs. Trenow; "the ladies wanted her to stop over to Pendrea-house too, I b'lieve; but she thoft that one stranger wor enough for them to take in; and they wor very kind to take in the one that wanted it most. Poor Miss Reeney! she's worth her weight in gold. Talk about Cornish diamonds, soas! why, she's a Cornish diamond, every inch of her, and a bright one too. But where ded 'ee lev the young gentleman, 'Siah, boy?"

"Aw! he's right enough, I reckon," replied Josiah; "I thoft how 'twould be. When we went to sarch for 'The Maister,' he went to sarch for somebody else, I reckon; and I s'pose he found her, for we nevar seed he no more for the day."

"That's very well!" chimed in poor Mr. Brown, from his seat in the chimney-corner. "We sarched for the boy everywhere; but the mare came home safe. Wo! ho! my beauty; she shall be rubbed down, she shall! The boy came back at last, f'rall, zackly to the time, – dedn't aw, Peggy, my dear?"

"John Brown!" cried his wife; "hould your tongue!" – which had the desired effect of stopping that unruly member, and bringing John Brown back to the contemplation of the fire on the hearth – and nothing more.

Early the next morning – very early indeed – almost before the sun had taken down his shutters, Mrs. Brown was awoke from a sound sleep by someone, as she thought, knocking gently at the front door. She listened, and heard the same sound again, rather louder than before. At first she thought it might be some sailor or fisherman who had been out fishing all night, and wanted his morning's dram to warm him.

"You must wait, whoever you are," said she to herself, as she turned round to have a second nap. Still the knocking continued at intervals, and prevented her from indulging in her morning's nap. "Whoever can it be?" said she, as she sat up in the bed and listened; "I don't think it can be any of the sailors; for they'd have rapp'd the door down by this time, or else have gone away. I'll see who it es, at any rate." So she went to the window, and, drawing back the blind a little, saw a figure standing under the window which very much astonished her. It was not a sailor, certainly. She put on some of her clothes, and went down as quietly as she could, and opened the door to – Alrina!

"Why, wherever ded you come from?" exclaimed Mrs. Brown; "why, you're mazed, to be sure, Come in, do, and sit down, while I do light the fire and fit a cup o' tea for 'ee. Dear lor'! wonders will nevar cease. Miss Reeney here this time in the mornin'!"

It was indeed Alrina, exhausted and hungry. She had walked all the way from Pendrea-house to St. Just through the night. Her father's death she had borne bravely, after the first shock, and she intended to have remained at Pendrea-house until after the funeral, and then to have gone into some respectable service to gain her own livelihood, as companion to some invalid lady, or nursery governess. She was very grateful to her kind friends, but she could not impose on their good nature. Then came that cruel treatment which she supposed Frederick had planned, in order to be revenged for the coolness she had shown towards him. She deserved it, – she knew she deserved it; but it was hard to bear. Then came Blanche's discovery of her secret love, and, to crown all, the news of the mysterious disappearance of her father's body. Her friends would still be kind to her – she knew that – and would pity her, and alleviate her painful position as much as lay in their power. Of this she was quite sure: but this was repugnant to her feelings; – she would rather die, than live to be pitied, – she could not bear to think of it. She requested to be left alone for the night, as she was tired and wanted rest.

What should she do? If she remained there till the morning, and named her intention of leaving, the family would not hear of it; they would compel her to remain, and would probably watch her, in their kindness. After thinking over her position for some time, she made up her mind that she would leave at once, or at least as soon as the house was quiet. She would find her way to the road as well as she could; and then she would go direct to St. Just, where she would be able to learn the full particulars of this mysterious affair.

The house was not quiet until late. Miss Pendray's adventure caused great commotion, and kept the servants up late; but the interest they took in their young mistress's adventure, and their concern for her, and joy at her narrow escape, drove all thoughts of their visitor out of their heads, and she was left quite undisturbed. She wrote a letter to Mrs. Pendray, thanking her for all her kindness, and saying that circumstances compelled her to leave; and when the house was perfectly quiet, she put on some of the warmest clothing she had with her, and went out into the cold night. She missed her way several times, but at length got into the broad road, which she knew pretty well, and arrived at Mrs. Brown's house, where she knew she would meet with a hearty welcome, before any of the inhabitants of St. Just were astir.

It was early, too, when Frederick Morley arrived at Pendrea-house that morning in search of Alrina. In his haste and excitement to communicate the delightful intelligence he had just learned to the one nearest and dearest to his heart, he quite forgot the carriage which was waiting in the lane, so that he was some time in reaching the house; and when he arrived at the door, he was exhausted and out of breath, and totally unfit for the duty which he had come there to perform. So he thought his best plan would be to have a private interview with his brother, and ask him to be the bearer of the message to Alrina from her supposed aunt.

Mr. Morley was very much surprised at the tale his brother told him. He could hardly believe it could be true; but as Frederick said that Mrs. Courland seemed satisfied that Alrina was her daughter, and was at that moment receiving more proofs of it, he felt bound to adopt the belief too, and promised to see Alrina at once, and induce her to go to the cottage to see her aunt.

Frederick thought that, after what had occurred, it would be better for his brother to see Alrina alone; for, although he had started with the full determination of seeing her himself, and bringing her with him to the cottage to hear the welcome and delightful news, yet, when he considered the manner in which she had treated him in their former interviews, and remembered also that he had solicited an interview with her the day before, and had not kept his appointment, his heart failed him, and he proposed that his brother should see her alone, and he would wait his return.

After some little time, Mr. Morley returned, saying that he had sought an interview with Alrina through her friend Blanche, who immediately went to her room, and found no one there. On the table she found a letter, expressing her deep gratitude to Mrs. Pendray and all the family for the great kindness they had shown her in her distress, but stating, at the same time, she could not, after all that had occurred in connection with her and her's, trespass on their kindness any longer. She knew that their goodness and kind hospitality would not permit her to leave them, she went on to say, if she remained to take leave of them; and, therefore, to avoid pain to all parties, she had taken this step, which she felt seemed like ingratitude, – but it was not so. From her heart she thanked them all; and should she succeed in getting into some situation, whereby she could gain her own livelihood honourably, they should hear from her. If not, – God only knew what might become of her.

Mr. Morley read this much from the letter which he held in his hand, and then handed it to his brother.

"Gone!" cried Frederick, at length; "gone! just as the dark cloud was being lifted, which had obscured her so long! Can it be possible? Gone! But where can she have gone to? She had no friends – she has often told me this – no friends but her father and aunt."

"She is most probably gone to her father's house, to enquire for herself into this mysterious affair," said Mr. Morley.

"Yes," exclaimed Frederick; "she is gone back to the old house, no doubt. I will go there immediately, and seek her."

"Stay," replied his brother; "let us first consider what is best to be done. I think I had better go to St. Just in search of Alrina, while you return to the cottage to inform our aunt of her sudden disappearance."

"That, perhaps, will be the best arrangement," said Frederick; "I will be guided by you, for I know not what to do or say, – I am quite beside myself. My brain seems bewildered; I cannot think steadily on any subject. Let us go at once; I shall not rest till she is found. She is, perhaps, even now, out on the cold bleak common. The whole country shall be roused to search for her. Oh! why did I permit myself to be led away by that wretched scarecrow; – but he said she was there, – yes, he told me Alrina was at that cottage awaiting my arrival, and the letter he brought confirmed his statement. Oh! cruel, cruel fate!"

"It will doubtless turn out all for the best," said Mr. Morley. "Had you neglected the message of that unfortunate woman, she might have died, and then her secret would never have been told, and Alrina would have lived on, believing herself still the daughter of that guilty wretch."

"True," replied his brother; "I will believe in the wisdom of Divine Providence. We see His hand in all things. I will trust, and all things may yet be well."

The brothers did not think it advisable to tell Squire Pendray's family anything respecting their aunt in connection with Alrina; – they merely expressed their great concern at her abrupt departure.

Sir. Morley had not an opportunity the night before of seeing Miss Pendray alone, – indeed, she was too much excited and overcome by her late adventure, to receive his addresses with composure, and he was too much rejoiced at her safety, and anxious that she should seek repose after the terrible shock she had undergone, to think of himself. She saw how anxious and concerned he was, and she was pleased at it. Her object was gained; for she saw that he was feeling more than he could express on her account.

Lieut. Fowler was prevailed upon to stay and partake of their evening's meal: for, although the squire had not forgotten his former opinion of the lieutenant, which he in a measure still entertained, yet he had been the means of preserving the life of his favourite daughter; and ingratitude was not one of the squire's failings. Fowler would not, however, intrude on the squire's hospitality longer than politeness compelled him, but took his leave of them as soon as he possibly could after supper.

Mr. Morley had arrived some time before; and nothing was talked of but Miss Pendray's accident. Almost immediately after Fowler left, Miss Pendray rose from the table also, and, pleading fatigue, retired for the night, leaving the others to entertain their visitor. Soon after she left the room, a message was brought, that the squire was wanted on business.

"Dear me," said he, "who can want me at this time of night: it can't be to tell me that the conjuror is found, I suppose."

It was no stranger that wanted him. Miss Pendray had sent for him to explain and atone for the injury she had done her sister and Lieut. Fowler by her mischievous tale-bearing: she felt that she could not rest until she had made that atonement which was due to them both.

The squire was astonished to hear the confession of the proud and haughty Maud, and, had it been at any other time, he would have been very angry; but the recollection of her late sufferings and miraculous escape, and the preservation of her life by Lieut. Fowler, subdued him, and he promised to forget and forgive, provided he found that all was straight and above board. But he was determined that he would not be the first to invite him back to his house; for he still believed that Maud had exaggerated a little in her estimation of Fowler's conduct, out of gratitude for her own preservation. However he returned to the supper-table a happier man then he had been for many a day, and paid more than usual attention to Blanche, who could not understand the change.

Mr. Morley determined that he would not leave that house again without knowing his fate; and, when breakfast was over, he told Frederick that he had something of importance to settle there before he could leave, but that if he would go back to the cottage, and relieve their aunt's anxiety and send her back to Penzance in the carriage, he would meet him at the cottage as soon as he had finished his business, and they would then go on to St. Just together.

This pleased Frederick very much, for he wished to go with his brother, but did not press it before, as Mr. Morley seemed to think he had better go alone: Frederick, therefore, returned at once to the cottage, where he found his aunt and Miss Freeman anxiously waiting his arrival with Alrina, and they were very much distressed when they heard that she had left Pendrea-house unknown to the family. Mrs. Courland had received sufficient proofs to satisfy her, she said, that Alrina was her daughter, and she was most anxious to see her, that she might have the further test of the likeness. As that was impossible, at present, Frederick persuaded her to return to Penzance at once, fearing Captain Courland might return before her and might be angry at her absence, which she could not at present explain to him.

Mr. Morley did not keep his brother waiting very long, for his business was soon over. Miss Pendray knew quite well what he wanted, when he requested an interview with her; for she saw by his manner the night before, and from the tender concern he appeared to take in her miraculous escape, and the expression of his fine handsome countenance when he looked at her, that he felt a deeper interest in her than she had before supposed from his seeming-indifference to her during the past few months. Perhaps she measured his feelings by her own, and when they met, each being anxious for the other's love, and well-knowing their own feelings, and each being ready and willing to meet the other more than halfway, the betrothal was soon settled, and Mr. Morley left the house a happy man.

Horses were procured, and the two brothers were not long in reaching St. Just. They put their horses in Mr. Brown's stable, and went in to consult Mrs. Brown. She had heard Alrina's account of her having left Pendrea-house without taking leave of the family, and her reasons for doing so, and she also knew her determination as to the future, and her wish to avoid being seen by any of her former acquaintances at present. Mrs. Brown listened attentively to the tale the two gentlemen told: – that Miss Freeman, Alrina's supposed aunt, was lying at a cottage near Pendrea-house on her death-bed, and wished to see her niece before she died.

This was very "whisht" Mrs. Brown thought, and Alrina ought to go and see her aunt; for, however wicked "The Maister" had been, she never heard that Miss Freeman had been concerned in his wicked doings, so she determined that she would persuade Alrina to go. After thinking therefore for some minutes she said, – "I was tould not to let anybody knaw where Miss Reeney es, but in a caase like this, when a relation es upon her death-bed, I think she oft to go. – Stay here, gentlemen, for a few minutes, and I'll go and fetch her."