Read the book: «The Manchester Rebels of the Fatal '45», page 23

CHAPTER IX.
WHO WAS FOUND IN THE DISMANTLED ROOMS

After opening the doors of several other rooms, and casting a hasty glance inside, the magistrate said:

"I understand there is a portion of the house which for some time has been shut up. Take me to it."

Markland obeyed rather reluctantly, and when he came to a door at the end of the corridor, communicating, as he said, with the dismantled apartments, it took him some time to unlock it.

"I ought to tell you, sir," he said, assuming a very mysterious manner, calculated to impress his hearer, "that these rooms are said to be haunted, and none of the servants like to enter them, even in the daytime. I don't share their superstitious fears, but I certainly have heard strange noises – "

"There! what was that?" exclaimed Mr. Fowden. "I thought I saw a dark figure glide past, but I could not detect the sound of footsteps."

"Turn back, if you're at all afraid, sir," suggested Markland.

"I'm not afraid of ghosts," rejoined the magistrate; "and as to human beings I don't fear them, because I have pistols in my pockets. Go on."

Markland said nothing more, but opened the first door on the left, and led his companion into a room which was almost destitute of furniture, and had a most melancholy air; but it did not look so dreary as the next room they entered. Here the atmosphere was so damp that the butler was seized with a fit of coughing which lasted for more than a minute, and Mr. Fowden declared there must be echoes in the rooms, for he had certainly heard sounds at a distance.

"No doubt there are echoes, sir," said the butler.

"But these must be peculiar to the place," observed the magistrate; "for they sounded uncommonly like footsteps. Give me the light."

And taking the candle from the butler, and drawing a pistol from his pocket, he marched quickly into the next room. No one was there, but as he hastened on he caught sight of a retreating figure, and called out:

"Stand! or I fire."

Heedless of the injunction, the person made a rapid exit through the side door, but was prevented from fastening it by the magistrate, who followed him so quickly that he had no time to hide himself, and stood revealed to his pursuer.

"What do I see?" exclaimed Mr. Fowden, in astonishment, "Father Jerome here! Why I was told you were in Newton."

"His reverence ought to be there," said Markland, who had now come up.

"I must have an explanation of your strange conduct, sir," said the magistrate.

"His reverence had better be careful what he says," observed Markland.

"Answer one question, and answer it truly, as you value your own safety," pursued Mr. Fowden. "Are you alone in these rooms?"

The priest looked greatly embarrassed. Markland made a gesture to him behind the magistrate's back.

"Are you alone here, I repeat?" demanded Mr. Fowden.

"I have no one with me now, sir, if that is what you would learn," replied the priest.

"Then you have had a companion. Where is he? He cannot have left the house. The drawbridge is guarded."

"He is not in this part of the house," replied the priest. "I will give you further explanation anon," he added, in a lower tone. "All I need now say is, that I am here on compulsion."

Mr. Fowden forbore to interrogate him further, and after examining the room, which was that wherein Atherton had passed the two previous nights as related, and discovering nothing to reward his scrutiny, he expressed his intention of going down-stairs.

"I don't think I shall make any capture here," he remarked.

"I am sure you won't," replied the priest.

Very much to Markland's relief, the magistrate then quitted the disused rooms, and taking Father Jerome with him, descended to the hall.

After a little private conversation with the priest, he made a fresh investigation of the lower apartments, but with no better success than heretofore, and he was by no means sorry when Miss Rawcliffe sent a message to him begging his company at supper. The servant who brought the message likewise informed him that the constables in the court-yard had been well supplied with ale.

"I hope they haven't drunk too much," said the magistrate. "Don't let them have any more, and tell them I shall come out presently."

CHAPTER X.
A SUCCESSFUL STRATAGEM

Accompanied by the priest, he then proceeded to the dining-room, where he found Constance and Monica. A very nice supper had been prepared, and he did ample justice to the good things set before him. Markland, who had been absent for a short time, appeared with a bottle of old madeira, and a look passed between him and the young ladies, which did not escape the quick eyes of the priest.

The magistrate could not fail to be struck by the splendid wine brought him, and the butler took care to replenish his glass whenever it chanced to be empty.

Altogether the supper passed off more agreeably than could have been expected under such circumstances, for the young ladies had recovered their spirits, and the only person who seemed ill at ease was Father Jerome.

Towards the close of the repast, Mr. Fowden said:

"I fear I shall be obliged to trespass a little further on your hospitality, Miss Rawcliffe. I hope I shall not put you to inconvenience if I take up my quarters here to-night. I care not how you lodge me – put me in a haunted room if you think proper."

"You are quite welcome to remain here as long as you please, Mr. Fowden," said Constance – "the rather that I feel certain you will make no discovery. Markland will find you a chamber, where I hope you may rest comfortably."

"I will order a room to be got ready at once for his honour," said Markland.

"In the locked-up corridor?" observed the magistrate, with a laugh.

"No, not there, sir," said the butler.

"With your permission, Miss Rawcliffe, my men must also be quartered in the house," said Mr. Fowden.

"You hear, Markland," observed Constance.

"I will give directions accordingly," replied the butler.

And he quitted the room.

"I shall be blamed for neglect of duty if I do not make a thorough search," said the magistrate. "But I fancy the bird has flown," he added, with a glance at the priest.

Father Jerome made no reply, but Constance remarked, with apparent indifference:

"No one can have left the house without crossing the drawbridge, and that has been guarded. You will be able to state that you took all necessary precautions to prevent an escape."

"Yes, I shall be able to state that – and something besides," replied the magistrate, again glancing at the priest.

Just then, a noise was heard like the trampling of horses. Mr. Fowden uttered an exclamation of surprise, and a smile passed over the countenances of the two young ladies.

"I should have thought the men were crossing the drawbridge if I had not felt quite sure they would not depart without me," said Mr. Fowden.

"They have crossed the drawbridge – that's quite certain," observed the priest.

At this moment Markland entered the room.

"What have you been about?" cried the magistrate, angrily. "Have you dared to send my men away?"

"No, sir," replied the butler, vainly endeavouring to maintain a grave countenance; "but it seems that a trick has been played upon them."

"A trick!" exclaimed the magistrate.

"Yes, and it has proved highly successful. Some one has taken your honour's hat and cloak from the hall, and thus disguised, has ridden off with the men, who didn't find out their mistake in the darkness."

The two girls could not control their laughter.

"This may appear a good joke to you, sir," cried the magistrate, who was highly incensed, addressing the butler; "but you'll pay dearly for it, I can promise you. You have aided and abetted the escape of a rebel and a traitor, and will be transported, if not hanged."

"I have aided no escape, sir," replied the butler. "All I know is, that some one wrapped in a cloak, whom I took to be you, came out of the house, sprang on a horse, and bidding the men follow him, rode off."

"He has prevented pursuit by taking my horse," cried Mr. Fowden; "and the worst of it is he is so much better mounted than the men that he can ride away from them at any moment. No chance now of his capture. Well, I shall be laughed at as an egregious dupe, but I must own I have been very cleverly outwitted."

"You are too kind-hearted, I am sure, Mr. Fowden," said Constance, "not to be better pleased that things have turned out thus, than if you had carried back a prisoner. And pray don't trouble yourself about the loss of your horse. You shall have the best in the stable. But you won't think of returning to Manchester to-night."

"Well – no," he replied, after a few moments' deliberation. "I am very comfortable here, and don't feel inclined to stir. I shouldn't be surprised if we had some intelligence before morning."

"Very likely," replied Constance; "and I think you have decided wisely to remain. It's a long ride at this time of night."

Mr. Fowden, as we have shown, was very good-tempered, and disposed to take things easily.

He was secretly not sorry that Atherton had eluded him, though he would rather the escape had been managed differently.

However it was quite clear it could not have been accomplished by his connivance. That was something.

Consoled by this reflection, he finished his supper as quietly as if nothing had occurred to interrupt it.

Immediately after supper Constance and her cousin retired, and left him to enjoy a bottle of claret with the priest.

They were still discussing it when a great bustle in the court-yard announced that the constables had come back.

"Here they are!" cried the magistrate, springing to his feet. "I must go and see what has happened."

And he hurried out of the room, followed by Father Jerome.

By the time they reached the court-yard the constables had dismounted, and were talking to Markland and the gate-porter. Two other men-servants were standing by, bearing torches.

No sooner did Mr. Fowden make his appearance than one of the constables came up.

"Here's a pretty business, sir," said the man in an apologetic tone. "We've been nicely taken in. We thought we had you with us, and never suspected anything wrong till we got out of the park, when the gentleman at our head suddenly dashed off at full speed, and disappeared in the darkness. We were so confounded at first that we didn't know what to do, but the truth soon flashed upon us, and we galloped after him as hard as we could. Though we could see nothing of him, the clatter of his horse's hoofs guided us for a time, but by-and-by this ceased, and we fancied he must have quitted the road and taken to the open. We were quite certain he hadn't forded the Mersey, or we must have heard him."

"No – no – he wouldn't do that, Glossop," remarked the magistrate.

"Well, we rode on till we got to a lane," pursued the constable, "and two of our party went down it, while the rest kept to the high road. About a mile further we encountered a waggon, and questioned the driver, but no one had passed him; so we turned back, and were soon afterwards joined by our mates, who had been equally unsuccessful. Feeling now quite nonplussed, we deemed it best to return to the hall – and here we are, ready to attend to your honour's orders."

"'Twould be useless to attempt further pursuit to-night, Glossop," rejoined the magistrate. "Captain Legh has got off by a very clever stratagem, and will take good care you don't come near him. By this time, he's far enough off, you may depend upon it."

"Exactly my opinion, sir," observed Glossop. "We've lost him for the present, that's quite certain."

"Well, we'll consider what is best to be done in the morning," said Mr. Fowden. "Meantime you can take up your quarters here for the night. Stable your horses, and then go to bed."

"Not without supper, your honour," pleaded Glossop. "We're desperately hungry."

"Why you're never satisfied," cried the magistrate. "But perhaps Mr. Markland will find something for you."

Leaving the constables to shift for themselves, which he knew they were very well able to do, Mr. Fowden then returned to the dining-room, and finished the bottle of claret with the priest. Though his plans had been frustrated, and he had lost both his horse and his expected prisoner, he could not help laughing very heartily at the occurrence of the evening.

Later on, he was conducted to a comfortable bed-chamber by the butler.

CHAPTER XI.
ATHERTON MEETS WITH DR. DEACON AT ROSTHERN

Having distanced his pursuers as related, Atherton speeded across the country till he reached Bucklow Hill, where a solitary roadside inn was then to be found, and thinking he should be safe there, he resolved to stop at the house for the night.

Accordingly, he roused up the host and soon procured accommodation for himself and his steed.

The chamber in which he was lodged was small, with a low ceiling, encumbered by a large rafter, but it was scrupulously clean and tidy, and the bed-linen was white as snow, and smelt of lavender.

Next morning, he was up betimes, and his first business was to hire a man to take back Mr. Fowden's horse. The ostler readily undertook the job, and set out for Manchester, charged with a letter of explanation, while Atherton, having breakfasted and paid his score, proceeded on foot along the road to Knutsford.

Before leaving the inn he informed the landlord that he was going to Northwich, and thence to Chester; but, in reality, he had no fixed plan, and meant to be guided by circumstances. If the risk had not been so great, he would gladly have availed himself of Dr. Byrom's offer, conveyed by Beppy to Constance, of a temporary asylum in the doctor's house at Manchester – but he did not dare to venture thither.

After revolving several plans, all of which were fraught with difficulties and dangers, he came to the conclusion that it would be best to proceed to London, where he would be safer than elsewhere, and might possibly find an opportunity of embarking for Flanders or Holland. Moreover, he might be able to render some assistance to his unfortunate friends. But, as we have said, he had no decided plans; and it is quite certain that nothing but the apprehension of further treachery on the part of Father Jerome prevented him from secretly returning to Rawcliffe Hall.

He walked on briskly for about a mile, and then struck into a path on the left, which he thought would lead him through the fields to Tatton Park, but it brought him to a height from which he obtained a charming view of Rosthern Mere – the whole expanse of this lovely lake being spread out before him. On the summit of a high bank, at the southern extremity of the mere, stood the ancient church, embosomed in trees, and near it were the few scattered farm-houses and cottages that constituted the village.

The morning being very bright and clear, the prospect was seen to the greatest advantage, and, after contemplating it for a few minutes, he descended the woody slopes, and on reaching the valley shaped his course along the margin of the lake towards the village, which was not very far distant.

As he proceeded fresh beauties were disclosed, and he more than once stopped to gaze at them. Presently he drew near a delightful spot, where a babbling brook, issuing from the mere, crossed the road, and disappeared amid an adjoining grove. Leaning against the rail of a little wooden bridge, and listening to the murmuring brooklet, stood an elderly personage. His features were stamped with melancholy, and his general appearance seemed much changed, but Atherton at once recognised Dr. Deacon.

Surprised at seeing him there, the young man hastened on, and as he advanced the doctor raised his head and looked at him.

After a moment's scrutiny, he exclaimed:

"Do my eyes deceive me, or is it Atherton Legh?" And when the other replied in the affirmative, he said: "What are you doing here? Are you aware that a reward has been offered for your apprehension? You are running into danger."

"I have just had a very narrow escape of arrest," replied Atherton; "and am in search of a place of concealment. If I could be safe anywhere, I should think it must be in this secluded village."

"I will give you temporary shelter," said the doctor. "I have been so persecuted in Manchester since the prince's retreat, and the surrender of Carlisle, that I have been compelled to retire to this quiet place. Come with me to my cottage – but I cannot answer for your safety."

"I would willingly accept the offer if I did not fear I should endanger you," replied Atherton.

"Let not that consideration deter you," said Dr. Deacon. "It matters little what happens to me now that I have lost my sons."

"You need not despair about them, sir," rejoined Atherton. "They will be allowed the cartel."

"No – no – no," cried the doctor. "They will be put to death. I ought to be resigned to their cruel fate, since they have done their duty, but I have not the fortitude I deemed I had."

And he groaned aloud.

"Better and braver young men never lived," said Atherton, in accents of deep commiseration. "And if they must die, they will perish in a noble cause. But I still hope they may be spared."

"They would not ask or accept a pardon from the usurper," said Dr. Deacon. "No, they are doomed – unless they can escape as you have done."

"Have you heard of your second son, Robert, whom we were obliged to leave at Kendal, owing to an attack of fever?" inquired Atherton.

"Yes – he is better. He will do well if he has not a relapse," replied the doctor. "He wrote to me, begging me not to go to him, or I should have set off to Kendal at once. But do not let us stand talking here. My cottage is close by."

So saying, he led Atherton to a pretty little tenement, situated near the lake. A garden ran down to the water's edge, where was a landing-place with wooden steps, beside which a boat was moored.

The cottage, which was more roomy and convenient than it looked, belonged to an old couple named Brereton, who were devoted to Dr. Deacon; and he had strong claims to their gratitude, as he had cured Dame Brereton of a disorder, pronounced fatal by other medical men.

On entering the cottage, the doctor deemed it necessary to caution Mrs. Brereton in regard to Atherton, and then ushered his guest into a small parlour, the windows of which commanded a lovely view of the lake. Had the doctor been free from anxiety he must have been happy in such a tranquil abode. But he was well-nigh heart-broken, and ever dwelling upon the sad position of his sons.

A simple breakfast, consisting of a bowl of milk and a brown loaf, awaited him, and he invited Atherton to partake of the rustic fare, offering him some cold meat and new-laid eggs in addition, but the young man declined, having already breakfasted.

Very little satisfied the doctor, and having quickly finished his meal, he resumed his conversation with Atherton.

"I know not what your opinion may be," he said; "but I think the grand error committed by the prince was in avoiding an engagement. He ought to have attacked the Duke of Cumberland at Lichfield. A battle would have been decisive, and if the prince had been victorious his ultimate success must have been assured. But the retreat without an engagement was fatal to the cause. The Scottish chiefs, I know, refused to march further than Derby, but if they had been forced to fight, their conduct would have been totally different. Even if the prince had been worsted – had he fallen – he would have left a glorious name behind him! Had my own brave sons died sword in hand, I should have been reconciled to their loss, but to think that they have been compelled to retreat ingloriously, without striking a blow, because their leaders lost heart, enrages me, and sharpens my affliction. Then I consider that the Manchester Regiment has been wantonly sacrificed. It ought never to have been left at Carlisle. That the prince thought the place tenable, and meant to reinforce the scanty garrison, I nothing doubt – but he lacked the means. Surrender was therefore unavoidable. I shall always think that the regiment has been sacrificed – but I blame Colonel Townley, and not the prince."

"Disastrous as the result has been, I must take up Colonel Townley's defence," said Atherton. "He felt certain he could hold out till he was relieved by the prince, and all the officers shared his opinion – none being more confident than your gallant son Theodore."

"Alas!" exclaimed the doctor, bitterly. "Of what avail is bravery against such engines of destruction as were brought to bear against the town by the Duke of Cumberland. But could not a desperate sortie have been made? Could you not have cut your way through the enemy? Death would have been preferable to such terms of surrender as were exacted by the duke."

"Such an attempt as you describe was made, sir," replied Atherton, "but it failed; I, myself, was engaged in it, and was captured."

"True, I now remember. Forgive me. Grief has made me oblivious. But I must not allow my own private sorrows to engross me to the neglect of others. Can I assist you in any way?"

Atherton then informed him of his design to proceed to London, and the doctor approved of the plan, though he thought the journey would be attended by considerable risk.

"Still, if you get to London you will be comparatively secure, and may perhaps be able to negotiate a pardon. Dr. Byrom has promised to come over to me to-day, and may perhaps bring his daughter with him. He has considerable influence with several persons of importance in London, and may be able to serve you. We shall hear what he says."

"But why think of me?" cried Atherton. "Why do you not urge him to use his influence in behalf of your sons?"

"He requires no urging," replied Dr. Deacon. "But I have told you that I will not ask a pardon for them – nor would they accept it if clogged with certain conditions."

Atherton said no more, for he felt that the doctor was immovable.

Shortly afterwards Dr. Deacon arose and begged Atherton to excuse him, as he usually devoted an hour in each day to a religious work on which he was engaged. Before leaving the room, he placed a book on the table near Atherton, and on opening it the young man found it was a prayer-book published some years previously by the doctor, entitled, "A Complete Collection of Devotions, both public and private, taken from the Apostolic Constitution, Liturgies, and Common Prayers of the Catholic Church."

Atherton was familiar with the volume, as he had occasionally attended Dr. Deacon's church, but being now in a serious frame of mind, some of the prayers to which he turned and recited aloud produced a deeper effect upon him than heretofore.

When Dr. Deacon returned and found him thus occupied he expressed great satisfaction, and joined him in his devotions.

Before concluding, the doctor dropped on his knees, and offered up an earnest supplication for the restoration to health of his son Robert, and for the deliverance of his two other sons.