Memorials of old Derbyshire

by Unknown

THE OLD HOMES OF THE COUNTY

By J. A. Gotch, F.S.A.

The old houses of Derbyshire are remarkable both for their number and for the variety of architectural periods which they illustrate. In them may be traced the development of domestic architecture, century by century, from the time of William Rufus down to the Georges. Not only are they interesting as a guide to the evolution of style, but also in their variety of size and importance. There is the small and ancient Peak Castle; the comparatively modern palace of Chatsworth; the great house of Haddon, with work of every century from the thirteenth to the seventeenth; the extensive ruins of Wingfield; the splendid remains of Bolsover; while among the dales and on the hill sides of the northern parts of the county are many diminutive manor houses, like Offerton and Highlow, or Snitterton and North Lees. Not only are there houses innumerable, but also many remains of the charming settings in which they were placed; ancient gardens like those at Melbourne; simple lay-outs, with terrace, steps, and paved walks like that at Eyam; quaint archways, like those at Tissington and Bradshaw. In the south of the county, near Sudbury, are several highly interesting half-timbered houses, of which the hall of Somersal Herbert, of three distinct dates, is the most striking instance. There is, indeed, hardly any point of interest connected with the amenities of by-gone house architecture which is not illustrated in this charming county.

The Peak Castle is an interesting example of the early manner of house building. It is a kind of midland pele-tower, resembling those small fortified dwellings, or watch-towers, or outlying forts, which abound in Northumberland along the Scottish border. Indeed, it is a specimen on a small scale of what all its contemporaries were like. It consisted of a keep and a courtyard, defended from attack by a strong wall on one side and natural precipices on the others. Most of the castles of that time consisted of little more. The keep was the dwelling-house, the courtyard was the fortified enclosure, giving breathing space and serving as a place of refuge in troublous times for the cattle and dependants of the lord. Great keeps like those at Rochester, in Kent, or Hedingham, in Essex, or Kenilworth, in Warwickshire, or (to judge from its foundations) Duffield, the Derbyshire house of the Ferrers, were tolerably well found, and provided what might then be considered luxurious abodes. This Castle of the Peak, in its original state, contained the minimum of what was tolerable. It consisted of only three storeys, one of which was partly underground, and it had no fireplace; but in those days, more often than not, the fire was placed in the middle of the floor, and the smoke found its way out through the windows, supplemented, where possible, by a kind of ventilating turret in the roof. It could not have been the residence of a large family, and may have been little more than a watch-tower. But the probability is that it was the home of its owner, and the amount of comfort which the stay-at-home women of the family must have experienced may be conceived by anyone who will seat himself in one of the window recesses on a chilly day in summer, and gaze through the rain across the valley on to the blurred mass of Lose hill.

The Castle of the Peak.

Very different in size and in variety of interest is Haddon Hall; yet Haddon Hall, like the Peak Castle, is no longer, according to modern notions of comfort, a tolerable dwelling, although we cannot agree with Horace Walpole that it never could have been considered such. For a long period it was the home of a powerful family, and was altered again and again to meet the need which successive centuries demanded. Parts of the chapel take us back to a date but little subsequent to that of the Peak Castle; and although few, if any, remains of the rest of the contemporary house are to be seen, yet the existence of the chapel indicates that it pertained to a large house. It is easy to understand that the discomforts of a primitive house would call for remedy long before the chapel grew out of date, and we need not wonder that the chapel should be the only surviving portion of the original dwelling. The kind of accommodation to be found in a keep, however large, grew to be insufficient and inconvenient, and it became the fashion no longer to pile one room over another, but to spread them out horizontally, and thereby, among other advantages, to assign to the various rooms different sizes suitable to their different purposes. The hall, always the chief apartment, was made the central feature; the kitchens were attached to one end, the family rooms to the other; the courtyard was enclosed by ranges of buildings looking into it, and presenting little but blank walls to the outside world; through one of these ranges was pierced the entrance gateway, defended by strong doors, and sometimes a portcullis, such as rased Marmion’s plume as he dashed in hot haste from under its falling mass. Haddon is a good illustration of this kind of house, only it has two courts, with the hall placed between them, as well for greater security as to obtain large windows on each of its main sides. There are very few windows of the older rooms looking out into the country, and the kitchen in particular suffers in this respect, for a darker apartment can scarcely ever have been devoted to such important uses. The windows of the long gallery, now called the ballroom, are large and airy; but they date from Elizabeth’s time, when defensive precautions were no longer necessary. Haddon appeals to all sorts and conditions of men. Its romantic situation and venerable appearance delight the ordinary sightseer; its veritable and unrestored antiquity appeals to the more earnest student of by-gone ways; while to those interested in the minute details of the past, it is a storehouse of all kinds of work wrought in all kinds of styles. Surely, it has enough of true and genuine interest to be able to dispense with the fictitious, sixpenny-magazine romance of Dorothy Vernon. Let those who cling to her invented story, and picture her as a fascinating, winsome heroine, go and look at her portraiture on her monument in Bakewell Church—a more staid, prosaic person could hardly be imagined.

Another romantically placed house is Bolsover Castle, which is mentioned in ancient records as a sister stronghold of the Peak Castle. Of the early building nothing is now left; but the sites of the keep and of the enclosing wall are curiously preserved, and occupied by highly interesting buildings of the early seventeenth century. The keep is replaced by a square house, planned with considerable ingenuity so as to obtain within a limited and strictly defined space the customary arrangements of a Jacobean residence. It rises abruptly from the brow of a steep hill, and looks far and wide over the valley now studded with colliery chimneys. Within the thickness of the wall which marks the enceinte of ancient times are contrived quaint chambers, carefully vaulted and furnished in some cases with curious chimney-pieces. Indeed, this early seventeenth century work, particularly in the successor of the keep, is quite remarkable in respect of its vaulting and its fireplaces. Vaulting was very seldom used in Jacobean work, yet here we have examples of that method of construction which need not fear comparison with those of earlier days, when masons were much more accustomed to its use. The chimney-pieces at Bolsover are a noteworthy series, exhibiting a great variety of treatment, yet preserving a family likeness, and adorned, most of them, with unusual delicacy. This part of the castle was executed for Sir Charles Cavendish, a son of the renowned Bess of Hardwick, about the year 1613. The actual owner of Bolsover was Gilbert, seventh Earl of Shrewsbury; but he had granted a lease of 1,000 years to Sir Charles, who was at once his step-brother and his brother-in-law.

Bolsover Castle: “La Gallerie.”

Outside the ancient precincts of this part of the castle stand the ruins of a later building, lying parallel with the brow of the hill, and leaving a broad terrace between the building and the sloping ground. It is designed on a much larger and coarser scale than its neighbour, and was built by Sir William Cavendish, son of Sir Charles, about the year 1629.

It was this Sir William, subsequently created, after a distinguished career, Duke of Newcastle, who wrote a celebrated treatise on horsemanship, some plates of which he adorned with a view of his Bolsover building. This he calls “La Gallerie,” and it was probably intended as a supplement to the somewhat restricted accommodation of the earlier house. The Duke was also responsible for another charming portion of this interesting group of buildings at Bolsover, in the shape of the Riding School, a structure which has a considerable Dutch flavour about it.

Bolsover has been mentioned out of its strict chronological order because of its early foundation and the peculiar manner in which it preserves the outline of the original castle. It has a notable predecessor in date at South Wingfield, where, about the middle of the fifteenth century, Ralph, Lord Cromwell, treasurer to King Henry VI., built a lordly house, which vied with Haddon in importance. Much of it has gone to hopeless ruin, but there still remain long stretches of wall and decayed buildings forming two large courts. The outer gatehouse is left, flanked by an ancient barn. Through the middle of the range which divides the courtyard is pierced a second gateway, over which are carved the purses of the Lord Treasurer. On the opposite side of the second court is the porch of the house itself, leading on one side to the great hall, with its vaulted undercroft, and on the other to the kitchen department. Midway along one of the far-stretching fronts rises a lofty tower, from the summit of which may be studied the domestic economy of a colony of rooks as they sway below in their nests among the topmost branches of the trees.

On the death of its builder, Wingfield passed by purchase to the Earls of Shrewsbury, and in the fulness of time it passed to Gilbert, seventh earl. On his death it went to his eldest daughter, who had married the Earl of Pembroke. Then came the troublous times of Charles I., and Wingfield, being held by the then Earl for the Parliament, who should be sent to attack it but his kinsman, William Cavendish, of Bolsover, Duke of Newcastle, and author of the treatise on horsemanship. The attack was successful, but fickle fortune soon restored it to the Parliament, and by order of that assembly the place was “slighted.” From that drastic operation it has never recovered, although part of it was for a time patched up and made into a residence.

Of work dating from the time of Henry VIII. the county can show hardly any examples. Some panelling at Haddon is the most noteworthy, but this lacks that peculiar mixture of Gothic and French renaissance which makes the work of that time particularly interesting. Yet, even in this panelling, put up by Sir George Vernon, the “King of the Peak,” as he was called, although it is free from the actual renaissance touch, there seem to be indications which point that way, and it forms one of the links which connect the old style with the new, and goes to show that in the development of architectural style no change came quite abruptly.

[J. Buckler, 1812.

Haddon Hall (North View).
(From a Water-colour Drawing in possession of Hon. F. Strutt, showing 16th Century Brewhouse, now removed.)

During the next of the periods into which styles group themselves, namely, that of Elizabeth and James I., there were notable additions made to Derbyshire houses. There is all the beautiful work of the Earl of Rutland at Haddon—of him who came into possession in right of his wife, Dorothy Vernon. Chief among it is the long gallery, which he formed among the ancient walls, pulling down here and adding there, adorning it with handsome panelling and a fretted ceiling, all ornamented with his own arms and those of his wife. There are Hardwick Hall, and Barlborough; the remains of Swarkeston in the extreme south, and Sudbury in the south-west, not to mention numerous manor houses scattered all over the county.

Hardwick Hall is, in some respects, one of the most interesting of Derbyshire houses. It is an excellent example of the stately and symmetrical planning which was much in vogue in the days of Elizabeth, and it has survived without any serious alterations, except such as were necessary for the comfort of modern life. Haddon has not been obliged to submit to this test, and therefore retains even more of its original flavour; but Hardwick illustrates vividly the large ideas and the desire for magnificence which dominate much of the design of that period. Moreover, it retains what very few of its contemporaries can boast of—its entrance gatehouse and garden walls. The builder was the renowned Bess of Hardwick, one of the great Elizabethan builders, a worthy rival of the Cecils and Hattons. She claims on her monument in All Hallows’ Church, Derby, to have built Hardwick, Chatsworth, and Oldcotes; but the last-named has disappeared, and Chatsworth has been rebuilt, leaving this house as her sole monument. The legend runs that so long as she kept building she would not die, but that a long frost occurring while she was engaged upon Bolsover, the men were obliged to desist from their work, and thereby struck the knell of their mistress. But we have already seen that Bolsover was the work of her son, and that it was not begun until six or seven years after her death.

The work at Hardwick presents the most complete contrast to that at Bolsover. There everything had to be restricted to the narrow limits of the old site; all the work is carefully designed, and much of it delicately executed. Here the arrangements are far from compact, and the detail is coarse. No particular ingenuity has been exercised. The staircases are merely flights of steps, without any of the charming balustrades and newel-posts which adorn most Elizabethan staircases. The windows are so overdone in order to produce a striking external effect, that many of them are mere shams, and never were anything else, while others have a floor going across them, and light one storey with their lower lights and another with their upper. But it is just these points which lend interest to the place, and show how everything had to give way to the prevailing passion for symmetry.

There are some fine rooms on the top storey: the presence chamber, with a deep frieze of modelled plaster exhibiting a variety of hunting scenes; the library, with a charming relief over the fireplace of Apollo and the Muses; the long gallery, a characteristic apartment of the age; and a room called after “Mary Queen of Scots,” but bearing the date 1599, which was twelve years subsequent to her death. It is true, however, that Mary was placed for some years under the custody of the Earl of Shrewsbury, who was husband of Bess of Hardwick (her fourth venture), and it is also not improbable that the wife was inclined to be jealous of the influence which the royal captive obtained over her husband.

Haddon Hall (North View), circa 1825.
(From a Water-colour Drawing in possession of Hon. F. Strutt, showing 16th Century Brewhouse, now removed.)

The documentary evidences of Mary’s long period of custody are copious; they afford no suggestion of her visiting Hardwick, but she was on several occasions at Bess’s other great house at Chatsworth. Moreover, the true dates of the second hall at Hardwick make the Queen’s sojourn here an impossibility. The date usually assigned to Hardwick Hall is 1576, but the dates actually appearing in the house are 1588, 1597, and 1599, all subsequent to Mary’s death. The parapet is ornamented with Bess’s initials, E.S., and a coronet.

In front of the house which Bess built lie the ruins of that in which she was born. This, also, must have been a good house, but one of the older manor-house type, and not conforming to the new and fashionable order of things. Nevertheless, it was adorned from time to time to suit the prevailing fancy, and both it and its more splendid offspring flourished side by side for many years. It offers another example of the fact that so strong was the desire among those who could afford it to build afresh in the new style, that in many instances houses built in Henry VIII.’s time were either rebuilt in Elizabeth’s or, as here at Hardwick, were suffered to remain and to add point by their modest dimensions to the extent and splendour of the newer dwelling.

At Hardwick, the old custom of building round a court, which we have met with at Haddon and Wingfield, was abandoned; the idea of adopting defensive precautions had no part in its arrangement—it was frankly intended for display and cheerfulness. But the courtyard still survived up and down the country, although rather for convenience than for defence. In some cases it became so contracted as to be little more than a well, admitting a modicum of light and air. Such contracted courts are both cheerless and insanitary, especially when they were made the meeting place of the household drains; and in many instances they have been roofed over in modern times and incorporated into the house itself.

Barlborough, in the north-east corner of the county, is a case in point. It is a house with an interesting plan, being almost square in shape, yet contriving to obtain the kind of rooms and the general disposition which were usual at the time. The effect is quaint, especially as the octagonal bays are carried up above the roof to form turrets. The small central court has been converted into a staircase. The builder was Francis Rodes, a judge, like many of the builders of Elizabethan houses. It is almost contemporary with Hardwick, as it was built in 1583–84. It bears its date on the pedestal of the pillars flanking the front door, and students of by-gone architecture cannot be too thankful to the old masons for having dated their work so frequently as they did. Nor is our gratitude less for the fashion which made heraldry one of the chief sources of ornamentation. No doubt the display of arms and badges was a weakness of the worthy people of that age. It is even conceivable that men who achieved their own fortunes, as many did under Elizabeth, unduly emphasized their ancient descent, and occasionally recorded as facts what really were surmises. But anyone who has spent time in ferreting out the history of an old house is very willing to condone this foible in return for the clues with which it furnishes him.

Far be it from us, however, to throw any doubt on Francis Rodes’s heraldry; it serves to fix beyond a doubt who was the builder of Barlborough. In the drawing-room is a handsome, lofty chimney-piece, which is quite characteristic of the times. It displays the arms and the effigies of Francis Rodes and his two wives, and is dated 1584. There seems to have been no hesitation in those days about second marriages. Whatever poets may have said about the marriage of true minds, and the lasting passion of one man for one woman, neither man nor woman forbore from marrying again and again, nor did they conceal from the later spouses the charms and the arms of the earlier. Here, for instance, on this chimney-piece are the arms, the name, and the office of Francis Rodes set forth at large, and below are two other shields with his arms impaling severally those of his two wives, each shield being supported by a representation of himself and the wife whose arms are impaled. To remedy any defect in the sculptor’s portraiture, or for the benefit of future generations who knew not the ladies in the flesh, their names are legibly printed at their sides—“Elizabeth Sandford,” “Maria Charleton.”

Snitterton Hall.

So far, all the houses mentioned have been of considerable size or well-established fame; but scattered about the county, in small villages or among the dales or on the hill-sides, are numerous manor houses, the homes of the small gentry or of the well-to-do yeomen. There are some of these near Hathersage, several of which belonged to various branches of the family of Eyre. North Lees is one, in a retired situation and falling to decay, at least so far as its decoration is concerned; one deserted room still retains some of its panelling and a fretted ceiling. Its stone walls, mullioned windows, and bold chimneys lend an air of romance to the house half-hidden among the trees. Highlow Hall is another of the group, chiefly notable for the quaint gateway which leads to the entrance court. Not far away is Offerton Hall, now a farmhouse, but an excellent example of the planning and simple architectural treatment of a small house of the early seventeenth century. Near Matlock is Snitterton Hall, the remains of a rather more considerable house, with remnants of a lay-out, and with many of its contemporary farm buildings. These are but a few of those which might be named, and the wanderer in out-of-the-way places will often be rewarded by the discovery of these links with the past.

There is no notable example within the county of the work of the later seventeenth century, of the time rendered famous by Inigo Jones and Sir Christopher Wren. But of the period which succeeded them, when the rules of classic architecture were firmly established, and spontaneity in design had given way to propriety, there are one or two specimens. Of these the most characteristic is Kedleston. This great house was designed in the grandest manner of the time. It was to have had a large central block, with four outlying pavilions attached to it by curved colonnades, but two of the pavilions were never built. This place well illustrates the prevalent method of designing mansions. The principal floor was devoted to functions of state, and is occupied by large and lofty apartments, far too huge for comfort. They resemble apartments in some large public building. The family rooms are tucked away in a basement beneath the state apartments. It was the fashion of the age. Architecture was chiefly a means for display; the noble conceptions of the architect left his clients with scarce a comfortable corner for themselves. The surroundings of the house are also characteristic. It is itself placed in a somewhat haphazard position, backed by a range of trees; the stables are concealed by trees, and approached by a covered way; in the park is a bridge, so placed as to group in a casual way with the house: the whole idea being to obtain a pictorial effect, without any consideration for convenience of approach or convenient arrangement when the house is reached.

Such were the tours de force of the times, when wealth helped, and there were no restraining conditions; when the architect had a free hand to design, and the client another to pay. But in cases where the opportunities were more limited, the results were more reasonable, and such houses as Foremark are quite satisfactory. They have not the sparkle of their predecessors, it is true, but they combine dignity with comfort. Calke Abbey, lying hidden amid its ancient woodlands, is another fine example of the time.

There are not a few good specimens of formal gardens in the county. Haddon has terraced gardens which hardly receive the attention they deserve, so much is the interest of the visitor absorbed by the house. Eyam Hall, in the village rendered famous by the heroism and energy of its rector during a visitation of the plague, has a simple lay-out of walls and steps and formal paths. Locko rejoices in terraced gardens judiciously laid out, and resulting in admirable though simple effects. But the finest gardens are at Melbourne, in the south of the county, where stately vistas cross each other and give distant glimpses of urns or statues, which themselves are worth careful inspection when at length they are reached. The effect is increased by placing some notable feature, such as a fine vase, at the meeting of several avenues; seen thus again and again from unexpected points, it adds to the apparent extent and intricacy of the lay-out. There is a long walk completely tunnelled over with dense yew hedges, and down in the bottom is a placid pool where sportive cupids play.

North Lees Hall.

Foremark Hall (Garden Front).

Such is a brief glance at some of the more noteworthy houses of the county; others there are waiting for the explorer to discover, as he will do in almost any expedition he can make, whether it be among the pasture land of the south, or the more bleak and invigorating hills which culminate in the wild plateau of Kinder Scout.

WINGFIELD MANOR HOUSE
IN PEACE AND IN WAR

By G. le Blanc-Smith

Derbyshire, if unable to boast of that share of stirring episode with which war and the hate of man have impregnated other counties, if unable to show the numerous stately castles and religious houses of its neighbouring shires, can at least proudly name a house which, while being a gem of architecture, yet was so cunningly situated by its owner as to prove a menace to the surrounding country, and a fortress which required no mean ability to compass its surrender, at the same time being of a nature so secure that it was used as the prison-house of the greatest political prisoner in our island’s history.

Such is Wingfield Manor House; beautiful, stately, isolated, and—in ruins; mansion, fortress, and prison. In no way does this manor house resemble its more ambitious neighbour, Haddon Hall. Haddon is just as weak, strategically, as Wingfield is strong, for the latter is perched on a hill top, whose sides may be well described as precipitous, at least on two sides. Another side of the hill, while less steep, is useless for purposes of cavalry attack, whilst the fourth is more level in character.

The Tower, and Rooms occupied by Mary Stuart: Wingfield.

With the early history of the manor we have no concern, save in so far as it affects that of the manor house. In the year 1440, the manorial rights were vested in Ralph, Lord Cromwell, but his undoubted rights to its possession were not absolutely proved till this date owing to a prolonged law suit with Sir Henry Pierpoint over the finding of an inquisition taken at Derby as long before as 1429. It was then found that Ralph, Lord Cromwell—a man of immense wealth—was heir, inter alia, to the estates, owing to his relationship with Margaret de Swillington, heiress of John and Robert, her brothers. Briefly, Lord Cromwell traced his descent from the family of De Heriz, who, in the person of one Mathilda de Heriz, was connected by marriage ties to a certain Thomas Beler, or Bellers. This man’s sister married Sir Ralph Cromwell, and owing to these marriage ties Lord Cromwell laid claim to the property, as being a descendant of a de Heriz, whilst Sir Henry Pierpoint, on his side, claimed an equal right to possession as being a descendant of Sarah de Heriz and Robert Pierpoint; Sarah being aunt to the member of the same family from whom Lord Cromwell proved his descent, i.e., Mathilda, who married Thomas Beler. Why the family of de Swillington was introduced it is hard to understand; but perhaps it was in the nature of a red herring, used to draw the scent from a good point in the adversary’s case, or to cover a weak spot in the claim of the opposite side.

However, it is with the fortunes of Lord Cromwell that we are concerned, and we find that, three years after his possession was assured to him, he was taken under the wing of King Henry VI., and was enriched by appointment to the lucrative posts of Treasurer of the Exchequer,[39] Constable of Nottingham Castle, and Steward and Keeper of Sherwood Forest. Within the next two or three years he was further advanced in royal favour and finances by being appointed Master of the Royal Hounds and Falcons. From these appointments it may be fairly deduced that he was a good financier and even better sportsman.

Shortly after his lawsuit was satisfactorily settled, he proceeded to erect the beautiful manor house. He did not, however, live to enjoy his new possession for very long, as he died January 4th, 1455, being buried in a church which his enormous wealth had enriched, i.e., Tatteshall, Lincolnshire. Ralph, Lord Cromwell, sold the reversion of this manor during his lifetime to John Talbot, second Earl of Shrewsbury, who was to occupy it after his (Cromwell’s) death. The new owner had much to do in the way of roofing and plastering his new possession, so we may safely conclude that it was far from finished by Lord Cromwell. Owing to the condition of the fabric, its new owner was unable to inhabit it for some time; but after spending large sums of money in roofing, etc., he finally occupied it in 1458, coming into residence with a numerous retinue. After his death at Northampton, in 1460, the manor and manor house descended in his family for many years, being apparently a much favoured country seat. The death of his grandson, the fourth earl, here was apparently quite unexpected, for, on July 6th—only twenty days before his death—he humbly prayed, through the Earl of Southampton, that King Henry VIII. would deign to visit his “pore house at Wynfeld and hunt in Duffelde Frithe” on his approaching visit to Nottingham.

The following account of his funeral is quoted from Holmes’ MSS. (Harl. Lib.):—

“The xxvi of July Anno Regis Hen. viii tricesimo, departed out of this world the right noble & puissant George, Earl of Shrewsbury & Lord Talbot, Furnival, Verdon & Strange of Blackmoor, & High Steward of the King’s most honble. household etc. on the 27^th of March (?) this noble earl was removed from Wynefield to Sheffield with women and tall yeomen, & the same night his dirige done & his body honourably buried.

“The morrow after his masses solempnely sung—,first one of the Trenitie, another of Or. Lady, and the third of Requiem.”

The fifth earl, Francis, was born in 1500. At the age of forty-four he was made Lieut.-General of the North; a year later he was installed Knight of the Garter, and was later made Justice in Eyre of the forests north of the Trent. He was a commissioner in the trial of Sir Nicholas Throckmorton, a leading light in Wyatt’s insurrection, who was tried and found “not guilty” by the jury; but the judges, in their wrath at this finding, compelled the jury to enter into recognizances of £500 each for their appearance in the famous Star Chamber when called upon. On their appearance, as desired, the unfortunate men were thrown into prison for daring to give judgment according to their consciences.

The fifth earl died on September 21st, 1560, and was followed by his son George in the possession of Wingfield.

It is to this sixth Earl of Shrewsbury, and to his times, that we owe much of the glamour and interest of Wingfield’s history, owing to the fact that for well nigh sixteen years he was the custodian of that unhappy lady, Mary Queen of Scots. For various lengthy periods the poor harassed Queen was a close prisoner within the all-too-hospitable walls of this manor house. The Earl’s charge of Queen Mary was no sinecure it seems, as according to Blore:—

“In this service he preserved his fidelity to Elizabeth unshaken; but he was so perpetually teized (sic) by her suspicions and those of her ministers, that his office, which might otherwise have been desirable to so great a nobleman, as a distinguished mark of honour and confidence, appears to have inflicted upon him a severity of punishment little inferior to that of his unfortunate captive. The fear of Elizabeth’s displeasure induced him, at times, to a moroseness in his behaviour to Mary, which implanted in her bosom sentiments of distaste and resentment, that her high spirit could not be subdued, by her sufferings, to dissemble; whilst at other times by real or colourable marks of kindness and attention to Mary, he drew upon himself the malevolence of a wife, ever alive to jealousy and prepared to empoison his comforts, and the suspicions and rebukes of his Queen, who had no trifling satisfaction in mortifying and humiliating the greatest of her subjects.”

He was, in other words, “between the devil and the deep sea.” The custody of the prisoner Queen was first placed in Lord Shrewsbury’s hands during January, 1569, while he was in residence at Tutbury Castle; her removal to Wingfield took place on April 20th of the same year.

Three weeks later she was suddenly and mysteriously seized with a violent attack of some malady, which caused grave anxiety to her custodian. Two physicians were promptly dispatched by the Privy Council to undertake her cure, and these worthies gave but a bad account of the sanitary conditions of her prison quarters. Their report seems to have considerably nettled the Earl of Shrewsbury, who retorted that “the very unpleasant and fulsome savour, in the next chamber, hurtful to her health” was directly owing to the “continual festering and uncleanly order of her own folke.” Since the cause was known to him, it seems strange that he did not try to do something to better it. The unfortunate Queen was removed with all speed to Chatsworth—where her moated bower still remains—for this princely residence was brought to the Earl by his second matrimonial venture, Elizabeth, better known as “Bess of Hardwick.”

June 1st once more saw her installed in her old apartments at Wingfield, they having been cleaned and sweetened. In the following August she once more fell ill of the same malady, and requested the Earl to find her another prison-house. She was therefore removed to Tutbury, between which place and Sheffield she alternated for the next fifteen years. Once more her custodian had to complain that his mansion and her rooms, “in consequence of the long abode here and the number of people, waxes unsavoury.” This is hardly to be wondered at when it is remembered that at her second period of captivity at Wingfield, after fifteen years’ absence, the poor Queen’s personal attendants numbered 47 persons in all: 5 gentlemen, 14 servitors, 3 cooks, 4 boys, 3 gentlemen’s men, 6 gentlewomen, 2 wives, and 10 wenches and children.

The year 1584 again saw the captive Queen at Wingfield, and the Privy Council proposed that she should be incarcerated in the castle of Melbourne, also in Derbyshire; but, owing to the fact that there were structural alterations of an extensive nature required there, it was decided to saddle the poor Earl of Shrewsbury with his weighty responsibility once more. Orders to this effect were dispatched to him on March 20th, 1584, till such time as Melbourne Castle was prepared—which never came to pass. These orders to the Earl commanded the removal of the Queen from Sheffield to Wingfield, and “that for the more safety in conveying the said Queene, in case you shall find it necessary, for your assistance you may use the ayde of the sheriffs of our countys of Derby and Leicester.” Whilst the Earl’s duties to his sovereign kept him at Court, the Queen’s custody was in the hands of Sir Ralph Sadleir, Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster, and a distinguished soldier. Sir Ralph wrote, on August 25th, 1584, to Sir Francis Walsyngham, and informed him that he had begged the Earl of Shrewsbury not to transport the Queen to Wingfield till further instructions from the Sovereign were received. He continues by saying that he would rather “keep her here (Sheffield Castle) with 60 men than at Wingfield with 300.” In a paper read before the members of the Royal Archæological Institute, then visiting the manor house, by the Rev. J. Charles Cox, the author stated that:

“having carefully gone through the whole of the documents in the Public Record Office pertaining to Mary Queen of Scots, as well as the little known Talbot papers at the College of Arms, and the Shrewsbury papers at the Lambeth Palace Library, I have come to the conclusion, for reasons that would be far too long to now explain, that the Earl of Shrewsbury, worn out by the jealousy, meanness, and cruelty of his wife, as well as by the suspicions and displeasure of Queen Elizabeth and her Council, and filled with a growing sympathy for his prisoner, did his best to bring about this second sojourn at Wingfield in the hopes of her escape.”

An excellent guard was placed over the Queen, for Sir Ralph Sadleir set a watch of eight soldiers at night time, taking turns in watches of four, to patrol the immediate vicinity of the Queen’s apartments in the inner courtyard. Two other soldiers kept a day and night watch in the house itself, at the entrance to her rooms.

The captive Queen arrived in September, 1584, for this second enforced visit, with a huge retinue, which must have seriously taxed the accommodation of the manor house. The Earl of Shrewsbury had 120 gentlemen, yeomen, and servants; Sir Ralph Sadleir followed suit with 50, whilst there were 40 trained men at arms. Including the prisoner’s personal retinue, there were 257 persons herded together within these walls, the Queen and her suite occupying fifteen rooms; yet, despite guards and precautions, one man alone was able to plot with the Queen herself for her release.

The daring plot was the child of the fertile brain of one Anthony Babington, whose family seat was at Dethick, about five miles to the west. Babington was in a way a fanatic, and the pity for, and desire to liberate, his beloved Queen was the mania which brought him to the scaffold. Stained with walnut juice, and disguised in gipsy garb, he is said to have constantly visited the captive, and a curious tale is told of his visits. Just outside the Queen’s rooms grows a huge walnut tree, and tradition hath it that this tree is sprung from a walnut dropped by Babington himself when on one of his surreptitious visits.

The Porch of Banqueting Hall: Wingfield.

This plot was not the first having the same end in view, for in 1569 a certain Leonard Dacre was implicated. Now if this was a relation of the Earl of Shrewsbury’s, through his mother, Mary Dacre, the Earl may well have been the instigator of the plot, for we have seen how little he cared what became of his charge. What is more likely than that he should choose Dacre, a relative, to assist the enterprise—and bear the blame—as a blood tie would be less an object of suspicion, and at the same time more loyal to his employer? Dacre’s plot at once aroused the slumbering suspicions of Elizabeth, and she, giving as a reason that Lord Shrewsbury’s health was not of the best, directed the Earl of Huntingdon to watch the Queen. The immediate outcome was a reduction in her retinue to thirty persons, with the object of avoiding the influx or substitution of suspicious persons. Other futile attempts, devoid of interest, were made at various times and by various persons to effect the release of this interesting prisoner.

It is easy to understand how in a house like this, teeming with menials and servants, the substitution of a servant for a spy or messenger for Mary Stuart would be an easy matter. The kitchen staff must have been enormous, as, according to Sir Ralph Sadleir’s report, the daily meals of the Queen “on Fishe days and Flesh days” consisted of “about 16 dishes dressed after their owne manner, sometimes more or less, as the provision serveth.” The price of necessary foodstuffs at Wingfield at the time was not high according to present day reckoning, for “a good ox cost £4, sheep £7 a score, veal and other meats reasonable good charge, about 8s.” Wheat was priced at £1 a quarter; malt at 16s. a quarter; hay 13s. 4d. a load; oats 8s. a quarter; and peas 12s. for the same quantity. The drink bill—no small item in those days—run up by Queen Mary was for ten tuns of wine annually.

The captive’s linen was provided by the Earl of Shrewsbury, for that supplied by Queen Elizabeth was declared to be “nothing of it serviceable, but worn and spent.”

The before-mentioned report of Sir Ralph Sadleir states that the Queen’s stable held four good coach horses of her own; her gentlemen had six, and the total number kept was about forty.

It would thus seem easy for a stranger to obtain a post among such numbers without a fresh face being observed, and in the crowded kitchens the entrance of a disguised stranger through the little door opening towards Dethick and the west would possibly be unobserved. Then, among the number of servants some might be won over by a bribe, a note concealed in food might reach the Queen; or among the stable helps one might be found who could give news to the captive for some trifling reward. Chances seem to have existed on every hand. But to return to the ill-fated Babington. Babington had been brought up by his mother and two guardians in an atmosphere of stout but secret Roman Catholicism, and no doubt his situation at the age of sixteen as Queen Mary’s page was productive of a chivalrous love for the fair captive. At nineteen years of age he was the moving spirit in a plot to conceal two Jesuits; and three years later his thoughts reverted to the release of the Queen, whose plight had so strongly appealed to his youthful mind. The following year he formed a plot for Mary’s release and Queen Elizabeth’s assassination; but all the while the busy spies of Walsyngham were quietly collecting material from the correspondence relative to his cherished scheme, and were suiting their actions to his, with a view to successfully foiling his attempt. He was hunted down, but escaped till 1587, when he was caught and tried with a dozen other well-born youths, and met his death on September 20th at Lincoln’s Inn Fields. In the report of the apprehension of the conspirators is the following:—

“The names of sooche as are touched as made partyes of the confideracye,” followed by the names of Ballard, Savage, Tycheborne, G. Gifford, St. Donne, Tylney, and Gage; “and there were,” the report continues, “13 who were at large, vizt., Babington, Barnewell, Salisbury,” etc.

The Queen, who was removed from Wingfield on January 13th, 1585, was incarcerated at Tutbury. A curious tradition of late years has been put forward; it is to the effect that her son was born at Wingfield! The authority for this has been traced to a statement in a guide book to the effect that “Mary Stuart was made a prisoner, and it was at Wingfield Manor that she spent part of her confinement.” This erroneous reading has obtained a footing, and should be promptly eradicated. Thus is “history” made.

On the death of the seventh Earl of Shrewsbury, his three daughters, co-heiresses, divided the estates, Wingfield falling to the eldest, Lady Pembroke. The new owners were now in troublous times, and during the Civil Wars the manor house was stoutly held for the Parliamentary forces. The little garrison of about one hundred men at arms was reduced to sixty at the request of the Parliamentary leader, Fairfax, who was forcing his way northwards into Yorkshire. Sir John Gell complied with the request in 1643, and left the house too weakly defended; the close of the same year saw a vigorous and successful attack by the Royalist troops under the Earl of Newcastle, and the manor house, after a twelve days’ struggle, was occupied on December 19th. On the day following Sir John Gell arrived, and proceeded to stir up the new owners, who were as yet far from fully acquainted with their new quarters. Preliminary skirmishes took place in the vicinity, in which two columns of horse lost their colours, these being sent to London by the triumphant Gell.

The Earl of Newcastle passed on the command to Sir John Fitzherbert, of Tissington, who held the house for six months. The Wingfield garrison proving troublesome to the Parliamentary forces, Sir John Gell was told off to retake the manor house, which he did with difficulty, as it required all the forces at his command, reinforced with 200 foot of Colonel Hutchinson’s. Gell sent to Nottingham for troops, asking for “assistance to beleaguer Wingfield Manor, because it was as great an annoyance to Nottinghamshire as to Derbyshire.” This diplomatic request was productive of the desired result. Strict siege was laid to the manor house for fifteen days, after which Gell’s troops were called off to repel a threatened Royalist attack; this they accomplished to their satisfaction, and they once more returned to the siege. The naturally strong situation of the house was nearly an insurmountable obstacle to Gell, and he found that unless his artillery was considerably reinforced by heavier pieces, he should be compelled to starve the gallant little band out as the only practicable means of reducing their fortress to submission. This plan was evidently not to his liking, as he was likely at any time to be set upon by small bodies of Royalist troops, whose harassing action would compel a temporary raising of the siege, and consequently a corresponding influx of provisions to the defenders during the absence of the beleaguering troops. He therefore requested heavier pieces of ordnance from Major-General Crawford, and on receipt of his new artillery he set to work to make a breach in the walls with all dispatch. So great was his success and so true his fire that after only three hours’ assault with his “foure great peeces for battering,” the whole defending force of 220 men surrendered themselves on condition that every man should be allowed to return home unharmed.

It is hard to determine whether it was fear of the ultimate result of the use of these heavy guns, or the sight of the actual damage done, which caused this sudden collapse of the defence on the day of the great assault, July 20th, 1644. The heavy guns were, it is said, situated on the flat ground on the east of the house, and on the other side of the valley—a distance of one and a quarter miles. Some assert that the range from here (Pentrich Moor) was too great, and that the guns were brought round to the west side and placed in a wood, a breach being opened from there. Should this have been the case, the breach would be in the south-west angle of the larger courtyard, and the approach to this is of such a nature that an entry would be a matter of difficulty. The necessity of an armed assault on the breach was nullified by the collapse of the defence.

The Window in the Banqueting Hall: Wingfield.

The death of the Royalist governor, Colonel Dalby, who succeeded Colonel Roger Molineux, can have had no part in causing the surrender, for, according to Pilkington, he was traitorously shot by a deserter, who had recognized him despite his disguise of a common soldier, and who is said to have put his musket through a hole in the wall of the porter’s lodge and shot him in the face. Pilkington also asserts that one of the cannon-balls which he saw weighed 32 lbs.! This was in 1789.

The surrendered garrison was a resourceful one it appears, as the besiegers either having cut off the water supply (presumably in pipes) or else seized the source of this necessary fluid, they promptly dug a well in the south courtyard, and therefrom secured a sufficient supply. This well fell in about 1850, and the hole was filled up.

An old account of the capture of the manor house runs thus:—

“Colonell Gell finding that his ordinance would do noe good against the Mannor and understanding that Major General Craford had foure great peeces, sent two of his officers unto him to desier him to send them for three or foure days for battering; and in soe doinge he would doe the countrey good service, because it was a place that could not bee otherwise taken without they were pined (starved) out.”

The stirring times of war now left the house, and its further use as a fortress was nullified by an order for its dismantling on June 23rd, 1646.

The fabric of the house now went from bad to worse as it passed from one owner to another. Twenty years after the order for its dismantling was received, it was occupied by one Imanuel Halton, an auditor of the Duke of Norfolk. As a man of culture and learning he was more or less distinguished, being especially noted as an astronomer; while allowing much of the fabric to fall into ruins, he amused himself by decorating the crumbling walls with sun-dials, two of which remain. A piece of gross vandalism was perpetrated by this worthy, for he converted the magnificent banqueting hall into a two-floored dwelling-house, with chimneys in the centre, and made ugly structural alterations to the north windows to suit his convenience. The Halton family continued to enjoy the air of Wingfield, and to pull the manor house about, for the next hundred years, till, in 1744, the “powers that were” decided to pull down the lovely building, which they utilized as a convenient quarry from which to obtain stone for the erection of a truly ugly house—described as “a small box at the foot of the hill”—which is the present Hall. After this disgraceful exploit, the progress of decay was practically unchecked, and at this day the buildings are deteriorating more and more rapidly under the changes of our capricious climate. In the Topographer, by Shaw, vol. i., of 1789 (only fifteen years after the removal of the family residence to the new hall), it is stated that the roof was gone from the banqueting hall, and that all the arms and quarterings of the great family of Shrewsbury were open to the destructive influences of the weather. This was in 1789, yet in 1785—only four years previously—a sketch by Colonel Machell shows the banqueting hall as roofed and glazed. At the close of the eighteenth century a great part of the banqueting hall—between the lovely oriel window and the porch—fell down; about a quarter of a century later a tower in the south-east angle of the inner courtyard (at the back of the present farmhouse) collapsed utterly.

The statement often made that no less a person than the much maligned Oliver Cromwell was present at the fall of the manor house in person is, of course, a fiction used by some for the greater entertainment of visitors to the house. Nevertheless, it is a curious coincidence that by the power of a Lord Cromwell these magnificent buildings were raised from the ground, and that by the power and will of another Cromwell they were razed, in places, to the ground, but two hundred years separating the two events, and including much history of more than local interest.

The actual buildings form one of the most beautiful examples of fifteenth century domestic architecture to be found in the kingdom; hence Wingfield is far better known to the architectural student than to the historian. Of the present state of the walls, the less said and seen the better. To look at them recalls the lines from Idylls of the King (Geraint and Enid):—

“All was ruinous.

Here stood a shatter’d archway plumed with fern

And here had fall’n a great part of a tower,

Whole, like a crag that tumbles from a cliff,

And like a crag was gay with wilding flowers:

And high above a piece of turret stair,

Worn by the feet that now are silent, wound

Bare to the sun, and monstrous ivy stems

Claspt the gray walls with hairy-fibred arms,

And sucked the joining of the stones, and look’d

A knot, beneath, of snakes, aloft, a grove.”

It is a pitiable sight to see some of the most beautiful and interesting parts of the grand old house in such a deplorable and tottering state. Nothing so much enhances the value, sentimentally, of an ancient building as a considerable fall of its walls; then, of course, a great outcry is raised—when it is too late. It is not the decay of past years which must be viewed with alarm, but the steady, increasing hold which ruin is obtaining on this structure. “Gutta cavat lapidem non vi, sed semper cadendo,” is a good maxim to remember, but if remembered in this case, it has never been thought sufficiently true to be worth acting upon. So year by year the stones fall and the mortar crumbles, the ivy, trees, etc., force their way between the stones, the frost shells off the fine, smooth surface of the ashlar, and the wind carries destruction, and future destruction in the form of seedlings, into every part of the beautiful buildings; and the people look on and admire the craft of their forefathers, but they do not stretch forth a hand to save what gives them pleasure. Their country has given them a great treasure, and they enjoy it and value it; they value it so much that they will see not one stone left upon another before they resort to methods of salvation; it is a ruin, it was a ruin, let it remain a ruin, they say. Some day it will be a ruin of such a nature that none shall recognize its likeness to a building, for when it falls down the steep hillsides, “great will be the fall thereof,” and the noise of its fall will be equalled only by the noise of lamentation at such a catastrophe.

The manor house consists of two courtyards, of which the southern is the larger, whilst the northern one contains the more beautiful specimens of architecture. The extreme length of the house is 416 feet, with a total width of 256 feet. There are two entrances to the south courtyard, one on the east in the southern corner and another on the west. The north courtyard is entered from the southern one by a fine gateway, flanked by two turrets, and the north wall is likewise pierced by a now destroyed entrance of fine proportions. There is also a small ogee-headed doorway opening into the kitchens on the west side. The south courtyard was bounded on the east by the retainers’ quarters, now a crumbling ruin; on the south by the fine old barn, still excellently preserved, and also the stables, long since destroyed. The west side, with its sally port, was formed by the quarters of the guards, and the north of the courtyard still retains the mutilated range of buildings which form the southern bounds of the north quadrangle. The farmhouse, which is now occupied, is a mere shell, as all the interior is modern.

The north courtyard has the great tower at its south-west angle, and from here, up the west side, runs the range of apartments once occupied by Mary Queen of Scots. The north boundary is formed by the kitchens on the west, the state apartments in the centre, and the grand banqueting hall on the east. The eastern boundary of this courtyard has disappeared, and here, it is conjectured, was the chapel, which no doubt the Halton family utilized as a quarry, as being to them the least useful part of the house. The southern boundary is formed by the farmhouse and buildings already mentioned as being the northern limit of the south court.

The glory of Wingfield Manor House is the banqueting hall, with its undercroft beneath it. This noble chamber, now sadly mutilated, is 72 ft. 2½ in. long and 36 ft. 1 in. in width. The most notable feature in this scene of by-gone revelry and lavish hospitality is the great oriel window, a piece of architectural excellence hardly to be equalled elsewhere in the kingdom. This beautiful projection is situated at the east end of the south front of the hall, whilst at the opposite end of the same side is a porch, which is well worthy of a place in the same edifice as the above-mentioned window. This porch is of two floors; the ground floor gives entrance to the banqueting hall, and is entered by an archway of boldly conceived design, on which is cut a series of handsome flower petals. On the right of the entrance is a little traceried window, which can only be described as a glittering gem of architecture. The battlements which still remain over porch and oriel window are now denuded of their quartered shields, but the excellent diapered pattern, consisting of quatrefoils, is still in almost its pristine beauty.

The most striking feature of the manor house is part of the great tower, which Wingfield’s old historian, Thomas Blore, has completely omitted in his engraving. Though not of any great height, the aspect of this towering sentinel is imposing.

The apartments which once sheltered Mary Queen of Scots are indeed in a sad state of ruinous decay. Nothing remains but the outer walls, with the fireplaces and chimneys, the former with nodding heads and the latter with, apparently, a serious spinal complaint. The walls themselves are scored by many a huge and gaping wound, not the wounds of honour received in battle, but the wounds caused by the horrid disease of decay unchecked and unheeded. It is sad to think that the first part of the hitherto unbroken line of wall round this courtyard to succumb to this fell disease will be the most interesting portion of this historic house.

The kitchens, which lie between the Queen’s rooms and the banqueting hall, are likewise in a sad state; the depressed form of arch surmounting most of the doorways, despite the presence of “arches of construction,” are fast bowing their heads beneath the weight of masonry and the neglect of centuries. Adjoining the servants’ quarters and the banqueting hall are the state apartments, lighted by a huge and by no means beautiful window of Perpendicular times, if judged by the standard of excellence obtaining elsewhere in the fabric. A curious feature noticeable from the courtyard is the fact that this window, like the little gem of a round one above and the traceried lights below, is far from being central in the gable or in line with its neighbours above and below.

The Undercroft: Wingfield.

The undercroft, more often known as the crypt—an ecclesiastical term possessing no right here—is of the same dimensions as the hall above. The ceiling is composed of beautifully wrought stone groins, with large circular bosses, cut with fine traceried designs; the springing of the arches is from the walls on either side and the five stone pillars in the centre respectively. This subterranean chamber has now begun to show most unmistakable signs of the gross neglect which so characterizes the remainder of the house, for the stone ribs of the vaulting have fallen over the eastern entrance—and there they lie. The entrances to this undercroft are four in number—one at the north-west corner, one at the south-west, one at the south-east, and one in the centre of the east end. Three of them communicate directly with the banqueting hall above, whilst the fourth opens into the open air. This cellar-like room has been described as the chapel, and also as the retainers’ hall, but the general opinion of those whose opinion is worthy of consideration is that it was a general store house for the huge retinue of owner, guests, and prisoner; such was no doubt its use, but what the intentions of its builders were is quite another question.

The inner courtyard with which I have just dealt is far better preserved than its southern neighbour, which seems to have proved a better mark for Gell’s big guns and Halton’s destructive genius than the other. The entrance gate to the inner court is fairly well preserved, but the greater part of the rest is in but a sorry plight. The great entrance on the east is shorn of its upper storey, but the adjoining barn is in a delightful state of repair, and is of a nature to arouse the enthusiasm of students of our mediæval barns.

On the east side of the house were the old gardens, now presenting a dismal appearance, for the sole surviving signs of the topiary work of our forefathers are the broken ranks of a long line of stunted yew trees; even these trees have not been spared of late years, and the woodman’s axe has been responsible for considerable gaps. On this side, too, remain traces of the old earthworks thrown up by the Royalist garrison to repel the besiegers on this, the most weakly of the naturally strong defences formed by the slope of the hill. In the farmhouse reposes a collection of old cannon balls rescued from the ruins, methods of destruction far preferable to the stealthy creeping action of the prince of destroying agents—Unchecked Decay—now so busy there.

Let us hope, however, that before it is too late a helping hand may lay its healing touch on these walls which crown the slope, a spot noiseless save for the thousand and one sounds of the neighbouring farmyard, and that distant and discordant triumph of modernity, the railway, which, thanks to the situation of the manor house on its hill, finds no near approach.