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Great Writing - Home > Extended > Trip to Shrigley Hall - Scoundrel or Saint - Chapter 10
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Extended Work
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| Trip to Shrigley Hall - Scoundrel or Saint - Chapter 10 | |
| By jean.day | ||||||||||||||
| 13 December 2007 | ||||||||||||||
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I'll do a better description of Shrigley Hall after I have done some research, but that won't be for awhile yet - as we are having my daughter and her family staying with us for the next 6 weeks, and life will be pretty busy, I think. June 10th, 1863 From the information I got from the publican in Pott Shrigley, I can determine what Pa would have written in his next letter to Mr. Wakefield. Ellen was delivered of a healthy baby girl on 20th February, 1830, whom she called Ellen Jane. And I can vouch for her continued health, as I met her just a few weeks ago. I think it is easiest if I just put the entire meeting down as it happened. I caught the 12.05 train to Stockport and changed there for the one to Poynton which left at 1.25. It arrived in Poynton at 2.05, and, having informed Mrs. Lowther of the train times, her coachman, Mr. James Davis met me and drove me to the hall. It is about 5 miles from Poynton train station, up into the hills - and of course not far from where I grew up, although I had never been to Pott Shrigley before. The hall with its spectacular views over the country side, is huge and very fancy in the neo-classical style - but I knew it had only been built in the 1820’s and at the time of the abduction, was not even fully in use. It is built of sandstone and has huge Ionic pillars to the porch. The coach dropped me at the front entrance, and the housemaid showed me from the front hall up the sweeping staircase and into the music room, at the front of the second storey and announced my name to Mrs. Lowther, who is a pretty woman of just over 33 years, holding her looks well despite her four pregnancies. She asked me to sit and she rang for the maid to bring us tea. All this time, she was just making small talk - asking me where I came from, and how I had become a postmistress. And she told me the ages of her children: Brabizon, 15, William 13, Constance, 7, and Henry 5. After we had begun to drink our tea, she got to the point of the visit. “Well, now, Miss Thorpe, please tell me why you should be interested in writing a book about my mother.” “Well, to be honest, (ignoring the advice of my employer) the book I am writing is not directly about your mother, but about Edward Gibbon Wakefield, so my interest in her relates to her life only after she got to know him.” She became quite angry and got up from her chair and paced around the room .“That man was a rogue and a charleton. He abducted my mother when she was only 15 and dragged her across the country, forced her into a marriage in Scotland, carried her off to France, and it was only because my grandfather rescued her in time that her reputation was not ruined for life. He got off with a very light sentence and should have been hung!” “My information is not quite the same as yours,” I said, trying to stay calm. “My father knew Mr. Wakefield and corresponded with him for over 15 years. I have those letters and it is that which I find interesting. His later life redeems his rash actions regarding your mother, and he repeatedly mentions in his letters how regretful he is that he ever took that course of action.” “So what is it that you have said about my mother? Do you have it with you?” “No, I didn’t bring it, as it is only in a very rough draft form at the moment. My aspirations to be an author is at a very early stage and I have a very lot of polishing yet required. But as far as what I learned from the publican, Mr. Unwin, it is merely the date of her marriage to Mr. Legh, the dates of her children’s births and deaths and then her subsequent death. The only personal comment he made was to say she was rather large and clumsy.” She bristled at my tactlessly mentioning this piece of information. “Here, let me show you my mother.” She led me into the hall where there were many portraits on display. “There. That is she.” The portrait was of a woman, not of exceptional beauty, but with a certain handsomeness to her countenance. She had thick dark hair and eyes and her hair was up except for ringlets which reached in front of her ears. She had a low cut gown and wore beautiful and no doubt expensive jewellery on. I certainly thought she had an elegance about her and an honest and pleasant open face. “She is very lovely,” I said. “How sad that she died so young.” “This was painted by Henry Wyatt. I think she shows composure and contentment. She must have been pregnant with my brother who died with her when she first sat for it. It didn’t actually exhibit the final portrait until 1837, years after her death. I never knew her. I was less than a year old when she died, but my father worshiped her and told me over and over what a wonderful woman she was. I do not want her memory besmirched yet again.” “Mrs. Lowther, I can only say that from the letters of Mr. Wakefield to my father, he had a very high regard for her. He hadn’t even met her before the abduction, but from what he wrote, within minutes of their meeting they became firm friends. The week that they had together before she was found and returned to England, he relates as a period of great joy between them. It was only after she realised that he had deceived her that she came to despise him. And he had only the most positive things to say about her.” “He did her nothing but harm! I cannot for the life of me imagine what your motivation is in writing about this man. Are you trying to imply that his careless disregard for my mother’s reputation - and even her life, was just something we should forget and forgive? How do you know that he life wasn’t foreshortened because of the experience she suffered due to the abduction? I’m sure it contributed to the early deaths of my grandparents. ” “I think the harm he did was more to her parents than to her. He did a stupid foolish and illegal thing - and he admits in the letters that he did it purely for financial gain. But once he had met your mother, he really wanted to be married to her for her own sake, not just for her fortune.” “My father told me that she had a vivid imagination and judgement beyond her years. He said he was very impressed by her maturity during the various trials and tribulations.” “You asked me my motivation. My father had a high regard for Mr. Wakefield or he would never have taken up the correspondence with him in the first place. Before he died, he asked my sisters and me to communicate with Mr. Wakefield on his behalf. We shirked that request, and I have felt guilty ever since. This book of mine is to somehow appease my wrong doing to my father, and to try to understand what it was that he saw in this man.” Seemingly somewhat softened, she turned to me again.“So how are you constructing this book of yours then - and what mention is there to be of my mother?” “Well, the book is to be mainly about the life of Mr. Wakefield after his trial. When he was in prison, he changed his path of life completely, and became a much valued member of society. He was instrumental in getting the conditions in prisons improved. And the death sentence was altered so it in future would only be used for murder and a few other major crimes. It was his pressure that resulted in stopping prisoners being transported to Australia. He mainly was known for his work in Australia and New Zealand in getting the colonies there established.” “Well, I expect you will to continue to write it no matter what I say. Would you be so kind as to allow me to read the entries regarding my mother before you get to the stage of publication? I cannot forbid you to use information about her in your book, as long as it is factually true, as I know from having taken advice from my solicitor. However, I would wish to know what it is you are going to say - as if it is published, it will dredge the whole dreadful story up again - and I need to be prepared for once again being dragged into the public view. Would you agree to that?” “Yes, I will send you a copy of the entries relating to your mother, but I cannot promise you that I will change them to suit your wishes. However, I do agree to consider any objections you may have to what I write, and if I think that you have a valid point, I may change what I have written.” Then she brought out clippings and allowed me to copy details of her mother’s funeral, and also those of her wedding and agreed that I can use them in my book. Before I left Shrigley Hall, Rev. Brabizon Lowther, her husband came into the room. I had not before made the connection between whom she had married and our vicar in Disley in those days when I still lived there. He must have arrived there in 1845, shortly after Pa died, and he did not stay long, but I hadn’t been aware that when he left, it was to become Ellen’s husband. The dealings of the aristocracy were not of much interest to me in those days. Although I had shaken hands with him after church on the occasions which I attended, I cannot say that I really knew him, and he did not show any recognition of my name when we were re-introduced, so I did not tell him of our previous meetings. Shortly afterwards I took my leave, and assured Mrs. Lowther that I would keep in touch with her. My train from Poynton was at 5.14, changing at Stockport at 6.05 and I was back in Altrincham and my home by just gone seven. Here is Mr. Wakefield’s next letter. “March 19, 1830 Newgate Prison Dear Daniel, What wonderful news. After her last tragic delivery, surely she must have been worried over this confinement. But with the grace of God, this one will live and prosper. Again, I wish I could give a present to them, but I very much doubt it would be accepted in the spirit in which it was offered. It must suffice for me to say a prayer of thanks to the Almighty and pray for His continued care of them. As far as my life goes, it will not be long now before I am released. 14th May is my exit date. My brother William will be let go on the same day, but what a sad man he has become during these three years. You may remember from earlier accounts that William was married in Paris to Emily Shelley Sidney, just before he was arrested. She became with child on their short honeymoon, and was delivered of her daughter, Emily just after our trial in 1827. His wife died shortly after the birth. He says he cannot face a normal life again just yet, and plans to continue to leave the daughter he has never met with relatives, and will join the British Legion. My other brothers have also gone their own ways. Arthur is serving in the Royal Navy. Felix, who trained as an engineer, is working in France (he is living with my father and my step-mother, Frances, whom you may remember had a part to play in our little adventure). My brother Howard is serving with the Bengal Army and my youngest sister, Priscilla, is also in India, helping educate girls in a Calcutta school. My oldest sister, Caroline Torlesse, who has been very faithful in her support for me here, and continues to live with her husband who is a vicar in Stoke by Nayland. My plans at the moment are upon my release to take a house in London, and have the care of my two children. Nina is now 13 and Teddy is 10. I suppose I shall soon have to send him away for his education, but I very much loathe the thought of parting from him. As you know, even while in here, I have seen my children almost every day when they come in for their lessons. I hope you will be pleased to continue our correspondence even when I am a free man again. Yours in true friendship, Edward Gibbon"
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