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

"Never! never!" replied Miss Morley; "I will never be another's bride. I am pledged and bound to you, dear James, by a sacred oath; I will die rather than break my vow. Yours, and yours only, till death parts us."

"I fully believe and trust in your good intentions, dearest Isabella," said he; "but, should a rich man offer himself, you will be compelled to break that vow, made only to me. Let us bind ourselves before the altar, dearest; then nothing can sever us."

Thus did he reason with the fair girl, and persuade her, when she had no one to guide her aright; and so ably was the young officer supported in his arguments, by the artful Miss Fisher, that they were married, and, within a week after, were separated – perhaps never to meet again.

Miss Morley (now Mrs. Marshall) returned to her father's house with a heavy secret in her breast – one that she could not reveal. Letters came, through Miss Fisher, which cheered her. Months rolled on. Her husband's name was seen sometimes in the newspapers, and commented on by her parents, little thinking how near and dear he was to her whom they imagined cured of that foolish love-affair.

At last there came an account of a great battle, and, amongst the list of killed, was the name of Lieut. James Marshall. The shock was terrible. Luckily there was no one in the room at the time but Miss Fisher, who immediately rang for assistance, and took her to her room. She was confined to her bed for several days; and when she got a little better, Miss Fisher prevailed on Mrs. Morley to allow her daughter to try change of air and sea-breezes again, as they had been so beneficial before. So they went once more to old Fisher's house, by the seaside, where she stayed several months, keeping up a continual and cheerful correspondence with her parents, who were so pleased with her apparent recovery, that the visit was prolonged, week after week, and month after month. At last a letter came, peremptorily requesting her to return at once, for reasons that would be explained when she arrived.

Old Mrs. Fisher had died during her stay with them, so that Miss Fisher felt bound now, she said, to remain with her father, who did not like being left alone, although he was a strong able man yet, and did something in the seafaring line beyond fishing – but what it was Miss Morley (now Mrs. Marshall) could not make out; – they were very secret about that. About this time also Miss Fisher's only brother, of whom she had often spoken to her young mistress, returned, after a long absence. He was a handsome young man, and was much struck with the beauty of their visitor, and, not knowing at first her position, he began to pay her marked attention. This did not suit Miss Fisher's plans, nor was it at all agreeable to Mrs. Marshall. She therefore determined to leave at once, although she was not quite recovered, and would be obliged to trust to the safe keeping of Miss Fisher a secret which, if revealed, would probably cause her parents to cast her off for ever. At first, and before she was so completely in her power, she had placed the utmost confidence in the fidelity of her maid; but during her last visit to the old fisherman's cottage, her attendant's character had displayed itself in its true colours. She now saw that Miss Fisher was working entirely to suit her own wicked ends, and that her secret would only be safe, while she could supply that wicked woman with funds sufficient to satisfy her avarice. Mrs. Marshall was surprised and shocked at the sudden change which she observed in Miss Fisher's manner towards her, and could not account for it in any way, as she had always hitherto been so kind. It was not Miss Fisher's fault, however, entirely; for the idea of making money out of their too confiding visitor, was suggested by the brother. He was piqued at her indignant rejection of his attentions, and, having wormed the secret out of his sister, he suggested the plan which she was only too ready to carry out. She now saw the advantages to be derived from having this beautiful woman so completely in her power; for she was quite sure that ere long her parents would insist on her marrying some rich man; – she knew that their hearts were bent on this, and there was nothing now to prevent it, except the opposition of the young lady herself, whom Miss Fisher well knew now how to overcome.

When Mrs. Marshall returned, she found that her father had become acquainted with the captain of an East-Indiaman, who brought letters of introduction from her brother. He was about forty years of age, – not very prepossessing in appearance, nor gentlemanly in manners, but he was rich, very rich, her brother said. So here was a husband for Isabella, to whom Mr. and Mrs. Morley did not object – quite the contrary.

The captain was much struck with the beauty of Miss Morley (as she was, of course, still called at home), who looked more lovely than ever since her last illness. The rough captain paid her most devoted attention, and it was evident that he had fallen desperately in love with her.

Her parents and all her friends persuaded, and even urged, her to accept Capt. Courland's offer; and Miss Fisher urged it also most strongly, for many reasons. Having lost her first love, Miss Fisher said, she thought she ought to make a sacrifice now, to atone for her disobedience to her parents in her first marriage.

Money was a great consideration too – very great – to Mrs. Marshall now, – why, we need not enquire. Ladies are not exempt from that passion any more than men. She was a long time bringing her mind to the point, but she did consent at last. She stipulated, however, for a very handsome allowance as pin-money, to do what she liked with, and a liberal jointure in case of the death of her husband. This made him think odd things. "A liberal jointure, in case of his death," was an awkward clause to be suggested by a young bride. However, this made him think she was a good woman of business, and that he should have more than beauty in his wife, after all. So they were married. And he went his voyages as usual, and returned to his lovely wife every nine or ten months, and spent a few months with her, and then off again, leaving plenty of pin-money behind, and a most liberal allowance for maintaining a large establishment.

Capt. Courland was very intimate with his wife's brother, Mr. Alexander Morley, the Indian merchant, and brought him to England when he came over with the two children, and took him back again, after that dreadful murder and false accusation.

Mrs. Courland seemed to feel it more than anyone. She had now been married to Capt. Courland, some three or four years, and he treated her with the greatest kindness and liberality; but still she seemed unhappy. She appeared not to have got over the loss of her first love, – something seemed preying on her mind always. While her husband was at home, she strove against this melancholy feeling, and exerted herself to the utmost to return his kindness; and he, knowing nothing of the former love-affair, and seeing her only at her brightest, when she did violence to her feelings to please him, during the short time he remained at home, was happy in possession and love, as he believed, of his beautiful wife.

It was a relief and a comfort to her to have her little niece, Julia Morley, with her. The superintendence of her infant education (for the little girl was then but five years old) amused her, and relieved her mind from other thoughts. And when she was old enough to go to school, she removed into a town with her, and took a house there that she might keep her still under her own eye, and sent her to a boarding-school, as a day-pupil, attended by a servant; and here Julia became acquainted with Alrina Freeman, and they became bosom friends, as schoolfellows; but Alrina was not permitted to visit or leave the school at all. These injunctions were strictly laid down by her aunt, when she placed her at school; and Mrs. Horton, who was a strict disciplinarian, carried out her orders to the very letter.

CHAPTER XXI.

THE LOVE-CHASE

Frederick Morley and Josiah met with very little success at Penzance. No one had seen the Freemans, and no post-chaise from there had gone to St. Just, except with pic-nic parties, for a considerable time. There was not much difficulty in finding out this; for there were but few hackney carriages in the town at that time.

Determined to discover the fugitives, the travellers went on to Truro, by way of Hayle, and there they were more fortunate. A party, answering their description as to number, had passed through that town about four or five days before.

Morley bought a couple of horses at Truro, and on they went in pursuit; for he found, by dint of the strictest enquiry, that a man and woman and a young girl had gone on by Russell's waggon. These persons answered the description pretty nearly in all but the dress; but they might have changed their dresses; so Morley determined on following the waggon, which was four days at least ahead of them. On they went, however, over the great London road, tracing the waggon, which they were rapidly gaining on, and changing their tired horses for fresh ones occasionally, for which accommodation Morley had to pay very dearly sometimes. They enquired continually at the wayside inns, where the waggon stopped to change horses, or for refreshment, and at first the answers were satisfactory. The fugitives had generally been seen by some one at the refreshment-houses, either in the house or having refreshment taken to them in the waggon. This was, so far, satisfactory; and on the two pursuers went, and came up with the waggon at Bristol.

The great lumbering vehicle was standing at the door of one of the second-class inns, to which they had been directed – the horses having been taken out, and the waggon unloaded. Morley thought it strange that it should be empty; for the same waggon generally went through to London; and while Josiah saw the horses taken care of, his master entered the inn and sought an interview with the driver, who informed him that he had brought three such persons into Bristol, and they were gone on in another waggon; for he had the misfortune to break his axle-tree as he entered the city, and was obliged to shift his load into another waggon, which was ten miles on the road by that time at least.

Fresh horses were procured, while the two travellers partook of a hasty refreshment, and on they went again with renewed hope; for the fugitives would not suspect pursuit, and would not, therefore, be prepared for escape.

That Mr. Freeman knew something of the parties connected with that document, Morley felt convinced now, having brooded over it so long, and had it constantly dinned into his ear by Josiah, who had held the belief from the first; but perhaps, after all, "the wish was father to the thought" in Morley's case. Now that he was drawing near the objects of their pursuit, a thousand reflections crowded into his mind; but, although the hope of finding some clue to "his secret" was very powerful, yet the hope of meeting Alrina once more, and rescuing her from the bondage which seemed now to enthral her, was uppermost.

In the midst of these reflections, the sight of the heavy waggon lumbering slowly up a hill, a little distance ahead of them, as they turned a corner, sent a thrill through the frames of both. There they were, and a brisk trot would bring the pursuers alongside of the waggon in a few minutes.

They spurred on their horses in great excitement, as if they thought the waggon would run away; but it still lumbered up the hill at its usual snail's pace, drawn by its eight fine horses, with the bells over the collars jingling at every step. The riders soon came up with them; and, jumping off his horse, and throwing the reins to Josiah, Morley sprang into the waggon, and was greeted by the hindmost driver, who was walking by the side of his horses, with a hearty crack of the whip, which made his back sting most unpleasantly, and brought him round to face his assailant, before he had time scarcely to look into the waggon.

"What business have you in my waggon?" cried the principal driver; for there were two.

"I came in search of the three passengers that you have here," replied Morley, who was still feeling the effects of the crack of the whip, although he thought it best not to resent it just then, as he saw at once that the driver was in the right.

"I've got no passengers here now," replied the driver. "We brought three coves along, as you say; but they left us about ten miles back, or so, and turned down a narrow lane. They're a queer lot, I reckon; and that young girl is afraid of her life of the old birds."

This was a terrible disappointment to Morley, after having his hopes raised so high at the sight of the waggon, and thinking he was about to reap the reward of all his trouble and fatigue.

"Did they say where they were going?" asked Morley.

"Not they," replied the driver; "he's as close as a box – that old chap – and the old woman is upon the next stave of the ladder, I b'lieve."

Morley gave the drivers a small piece of money for their information, and the detention he had caused them, and held a consultation with his faithful ally.

"We must follow them, my friend," said Morley, looking very much disconcerted. "Alrina is persecuted and ill-used by her father and aunt, according to that man's account. But why? There lies the mystery. She must be rescued, at all risks, and that at once."

"Zackly like that," replied Josiah, thoughtfully; "but which lane ded they go into, I wondar. I seed powers of lanes both sides."

"True," said Morley; "I forgot to ask which lane."

"'Twud ha' b'en all the same ef you had, I b'lieve," replied Josiah, "for most of the lanes wor alike, so far I could see, as we came along."

"We are losing time. Mount, man, and follow me; we must find them." And, suiting the action to the word, Morley vaulted into his saddle, and Josiah followed his example.

They turned and rode back in silence for some miles, passing numerous lanes on each side of the road; but the driver said the party left him about ten miles back. The two travellers had not retraced their steps, however, many miles, when they were accosted by a little beggar-boy, who was coming out of rather a wide lane into the turnpike-road.

Morley gave the boy something, and asked him if he had seen three travellers – a man and two females – pass up that lane.

"Yes, sir," replied the boy. "The man and the young woman turned down another lane a little way on, and the old woman went up to the house."

"What is the name of the house, boy?" said Morley.

"Ashley Hall, sir," replied the boy.

"Indeed!" exclaimed Morley; "I had forgotten the locality. I never approached it from this road before." And, setting spurs to his horse, he rode on as if Old Nick was at his heels, instead of his faithful friend and follower, Josiah. At the end of the lane, there was a neat lodge, at which the impetuous gentleman was obliged to pull up.

"You ha' found a bra' keenly lode, I s'pose," said Josiah; "'tes looken' brave an' keenly, I must say. The gozzan an' the indications do 'token somethen' good furder in."

"Oh! I forgot to tell you," said Morley, "that this is my aunt, Mrs. Courland's, place. I haven't seen her since my return; and this old place I haven't seen since I was a boy, – for my aunt left it for a long time, in order to be near my sister when she was at school. I meant to have seen her much sooner, but that foolish accident at the Land's-End frustrated all my plans. We will take up our abode here, Josiah, at present, and go out scouring the country every day. We will make this our head-quarters."

"Very good quarters to be had here, I'll be bound," returned Josiah. "That's a grand house, sure nuf, that es," continued he, as they rode up to the front door.

They were admitted at once, when the man saw the name on the card which Morley gave him; and, desiring another servant to take care of Josiah, he conducted Frederick into the drawing-room, where he found his sister, alone, making delicious sounds on the pianoforte – which had just superseded the harpsichord, and was then quite the rage among the affluent. She was delighted to see her brother, although she scolded him for not coming to see them before. When he told her the reason, however, and recounted the scene of the accident, which he could not, even then, look back upon without a shudder, she readily forgave him. She offered him some refreshment, which he was very glad to have; for he had ridden far, and had been harassed by anxious and exciting thoughts for several days. They had dined long ago, Julia said, and immediately after dinner her aunt was called out of the room on business, and had not yet returned. "Some more buildings, or improvements, or alterations, going on, I suppose," she continued, in a more subdued tone; "wealth has its troubles, Frederick, as well as poverty."

"True," replied her brother; "and I really think wealth brings most trouble very often. Aunt Courland has something of importance to settle to-night, I should think."

"Oh! I never mind her absence," replied Julia; "she has often engagements that occupy her a whole day, and I see nothing of her from breakfast till tea-time. But I'll go and see where she is now; she will be glad to know that you are here; and none of the servants would disturb her, I'm sure."

Julia found her aunt, alone, in a little room looking out into her private garden, from which there was a private communication with the lane which branched off from the entrance-gate and skirted the gardens of Ashley Hall. Mrs. Courland had evidently been weeping, and had gone through some agitating scene; for she trembled still, as Julia felt when she kissed her. She soon recovered, however, and accompanied her niece into the drawing-room to welcome her nephew, who was a great favourite. He, too, saw that something had agitated her, and he asked her what had happened to upset her so.

"Nothing," she said; "it will be all over in a few minutes." And she did get better; but still a cloud hung over her countenance, which she could not altogether dispel, although it was evident she made a great effort to do so.

The next morning, Morley and Josiah were on horseback before the ladies were stirring. Josiah had gained some useful information from the servants, as to the locality and the different lanes, and where they led to, and how far they were from the sea.

They rode all day without success. Every lane they saw they explored as far as they could, and enquired everywhere, but could gain no tidings of the fugitives; and they returned late, weary and out of heart.

Day after day was passed in the same way, and with the same result. Mrs. Courland requested that Frederick would use her horses to relieve his own, so that he had always fresh horses at his command. One day they rode along a narrow lane which seemed to lead to the sea. It was a lonely road, skirted on each side by deep woods of tall forest-trees. Not a house or human habitation was to be seen for miles. At length, as they approached nearer the water, the trees appeared more stunted and dwindled down to short coppice-wood. Still the road was lonely and destitute of human habitation.

Suddenly they came upon a solitary cottage, surrounded by what had once been a garden, but which was now filled with weeds and rank grass.

The entrance into the garden seemed to be at the end, through a little wicket-gate, which had fallen off its hinges; but as the low wall of the garden had fallen down in several places, Morley had no difficulty in entering; so, leaving his horses to the care of Josiah, he made his way through one of the gaps in the wall, and approached the front of the cottage. The door was locked and the house seemed deserted. He looked in at the windows, and, to his surprise, the house seemed furnished, and everything in the rooms appeared as if they had been recently used. This was very strange, Morley thought; so he went round the house, and, in one end, he observed a window, rather larger than the front window; and, looking into the room, he saw that it was a bedroom on the ground-floor, which appeared as if it had been lately occupied. A sudden thought now flashed across his mind, as he looked again in at that window; and, returning to Josiah, he said, —

"We must make some enquiries about this house, Josiah; it seems to be shut up, – and yet the interior has the appearance of having been lately occupied."

"'Tes a whisht old house, sure nuf," replied Josiah; "a purty place for pixies and ghostes, I reckon."

They mounted their horses again, and rode on about a mile further, when they arrived at a farm-house. The farmer informed them that he had not resided in that neighbourhood more than four or five years; but he had heard that the house Morley was enquiring about, was haunted. A horrible murder had been committed there many years ago, the farmer said, and no one had resided there since.

"To whom does it belong?" asked Morley.

"I have heard that it belonged to the old man who was murdered there," replied the farmer. "The son and daughter lived there with him, I believe; but after the murder they went off, no one could tell where, and they have never been heard of since."

"Do you know the names of these people?" enquired Morley.

"Well, I have heard," replied the man; "but I have forgotten."

Morley's conjecture was confirmed. This was, no doubt, the very house in which that dreadful murder was committed, of which his poor father had been accused. The murderers had gone to some distant part of the country, no doubt, or perhaps gone abroad, and left the house and its contents just as they were, fearing to return lest they should be discovered; and no one else would venture near the house, on account of their superstitious fears of ghosts. The premises would not be worth much, in that lonely district; indeed, no one would purchase them after what had happened; and so the risk of returning was not worth incurring, especially as the guilty parties must have taken away a considerable sum with them; for the money which Mr. Morley had with him at the time, and which he must have dropped in his agitation, at the time he slid down from the bed, was, no doubt, picked up by the fugitives and carried off. This was enough to enable them to live comfortably for a long time.

It was getting late; so Morley enquired the nearest way to Ashley Hall, and returned by a short cut which the farmer pointed out, determined to explore the interior of the house the next morning.

Julia ran down to meet her brother when she heard he had returned, and begged him to have his dinner in the breakfast-parlour, if he didn't mind, as her aunt was engaged with a stranger in the dining-room.

"What! more mysterious visitors, Julia?" said her brother, smiling; "why, my aunt Courland must be worried out of her life."

"Yes. Now eat your dinner, like a good boy," replied Julia, leading her brother to the table, which was already laid for dinner; "and then, if you are very good, I will tell you a grand secret."

"Hallo!" exclaimed Frederick, eating at the same time – for he was very hungry; "why, this place ought to be called 'The Castle of Mystery' instead of 'Ashley Hall.' You seem to have more secrets here than were contained in 'Blue Beard's' secret chamber. But the tables are turned here, and the ladies hold the secrets, and the poor men have to guess."

"Heighho!" cried his sister, with a sigh; "I am sorry to say we haven't many men here to hide secrets from. Their visits are 'like angels' visits, few and far between.'"

"Now, one glass of wine," said Frederick, who had been going into the substantials heartily while his sister had been talking; – "one glass of wine, my little sister, and then for your secret."

"Two glasses, Frederick dear, – I must insist on your taking two glasses at least; for I want to make you able to hear my terrible secret without fainting outright." And she kissed him so kindly as she said this, that he could not refuse his little sister's request.

"Two glasses, then," said he, "if it must be so."

When he had finished his two glasses of wine, she said she had such a surprise for him in the dining-room, where perhaps he would have to take another glass of wine.

"You little mysterious puss," said he, as he drew her arm within his, and suffered her to lead him to the dining-room. "What can you have to shew me? – it isn't a lover, is it?"