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

by William Bentinck Forfar

Fowler forgot his own wrongs in his anxiety to serve his friend; and it was not until they were within a short distance of Pendrea-house, that he remembered his position with regard to the squire and his household, and he scrupled to go on.

"Nonsense, my dear fellow," said Mr. Morley; "you are going on a very different errand now. That was pleasure, this is business; besides, we don't know what it may lead to."

Thus persuaded, but certainly not against his inclination, Fowler went on without again alluding to the subject, well knowing the old adage that "faint heart never won fair lady."

The squire was at home, and received his two visitors with politeness if not with cordiality; for his wife had got a crotchet into her head about Mr. Morley and her eldest daughter, which had been told her by one of the servants, and she had told it to the squire; and, putting this against that, as he expressed it, he thought he saw clearly that Mr. Morley had been trifling with his eldest daughter's affections, as Fowler had been doing with her sister; and so he came to the conclusion, without the aid of the conjuror, that the conduct of these two men had caused the sudden and alarming change which they had observed in the health and spirits of their two daughters, and which had baffled the skill of all the doctors. Had Mr. Morley and Lieutenant Fowler, therefore, called in the ordinary way, and claimed his friendship, they would not probably have been admitted; but they now came on business in which the squire was himself much interested; so he filled up a warrant and agreed to accompany them to see the end of it. They could take a constable from the village, as they passed, he said.

The old squire did not forget his hospitality, in his pique at the treatment he believed his daughters had received at the hands of these two gentlemen. They were both gentlemanly men, and they were now engaged in one common cause with himself, the punishment of a man whom the squire had suspected and watched for some time, and who, they now discovered, was a villain of the deepest dye. Mr. Morley had suspicions even beyond what, at present, he thought it prudent to communicate to the other two gentlemen. The squire unbent and came down from his stilts, before they had conversed five minutes, and ordered lunch, which he might in those days have termed dinner; after which the three gentlemen started on their expedition. And so eager and anxious were they in concocting their plans for the capture of the man who had so cunningly eluded them before, that, if the ladies were not forgotten by some of the party, they were certainly not alluded to. Perhaps this was avoided from policy by the two visitors;—the stilts might have been had recourse to again, if that subject had been revived just then in the mind of the crusty old squire.

The ladies knew that the two gentlemen were in the house, and expected to be summoned into the drawing-room, but they were disappointed. The three gentlemen lunched alone, and then started on their expedition. An experienced constable was procured at the next village, and on they went, a formidable party, determined not to be outwitted again by that cunning man. They found the trusty Josiah watching closely when they arrived near the house; no one had gone in or come out, he said, since he had been there. He had not even seen Alice Ann come out, and he would not venture too near the house for fear of causing suspicion. They knew the depth and cunning of the man so well, that it was necessary to use every precaution. He might feign extreme illness in order to put them off their guard, and might again escape. So it was arranged that Lieutenant Fowler and Josiah should watch the outside of the house, while the other two went in, accompanied by the constable, who was well up to his work, having been sent down from a larger place some years ago, and recommended to the office by a gentleman high in authority.

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

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

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

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