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Little Eleanor Mountjoy lived in Mountjoy Hall near Pickering in Yorkshire in the days of Charles I, our present King’s father.
In many ways Eleanor was a very lucky little girl. She lived in a big house, had plenty of toys and fine clothes to wear and was much loved by both her parents – her mother Lady Catherine, and her father Sir Thomas Mountjoy, whom Eleanor both adored and feared at the same time.
In fact her gentle mother, most of the servants and the estate workers felt the same way about her father. For Sir Thomas Mountjoy was kind and generous but was also said to have the fiercest temper in the whole of Yorkshire – if not in the whole of England.
Eleanor was well looked after and had plenty to occupy her. She was looked after by her nurse in the nursery. She learnt her lessons from her tutor – a local clergyman who also taught her music. When she was younger Eleanor had learnt to play the recorder and now she was just beginning to learn to play the flute.
Her mother taught Eleanor all about the running of a large country house so that one day little Eleanor would be able to take her place as the mistress of one. So little Eleanor was already learning about cooking and baking, churning butter and preserving meat and fruit. She had to learn all about these things herself so that one day she could supervise her own servants and give them their orders.
As well as all this Eleanor also learnt spinning. Lady Mountjoy was also very keen on sewing and she taught Eleanor embroidery herself. Eleanor was working on a sampler. She had been at it for over a year now and it was still far from finished.
Eleanor also got some lessons from her father. She had a little black pony and she was being taught how to ride by her father and one of the grooms. One day she would be able to ride all over her father’s large estate. Eleanor liked these riding lessons with her father far, far better than any of the lessons she had with her tutor or her mother!
Surely Eleanor could indeed count herself fortunate. There was, however, one way in which Eleanor was not so fortunate.
She was a very lonely little girl. Indeed loneliness was something she had just come to accept. She was the youngest of her family. She had two older brothers and an older sister. After the birth of the second boy her mother had had another girl and another boy but they had both died in infancy. So there was no one between Eleanor and her fourteen year old brother, Stephen. Eleanor’s elder sister was married and Stephen had little time for his nine year old sister. Besides he was at school most of the time anyway. So Eleanor had no companions of her own age.
In the presence of most adults she had to show proper respect at all times and virtually just speak when spoken to. As for the servants, they had to show respect for HER.
So Eleanor had actually no one to whom she could speak freely. No one to whom she could talk. No one to whom she could confide.
Not quite no one. She had one companion. This was her little dog. He was her best friend.
He was black and white. He was rather like a miniature spaniel but with sharper, more pointed features and much lighter in weight. He had a long silky coat. His tail was tightly curled over his back from where it cascaded down over his flanks. His large ears had long, luxuriant fringes.
Eleanor called him Sprig.
She found him quite a good playmate. He was intelligent, alert and playful. If Eleanor were to throw a ball he would fetch it back to her. If she hid tiny articles in the garden he would search diligently until he found them for her. If she held out a stick he would jump over it. He would also jump through a hoop.
He also had one rather unusual doggy talent. While still a pup he learnt to how untie knots. Eleanor was delighted with this. She gave him plenty of practise and was always ready to show people Sprig’s clever trick.
It had all started by accident. One day while still a pup Sprig scrambled up the back of Eleanor’s chair while she was sitting in the nursery. He nibbled playfully at her hair. Eleanor was wearing a little cap on her head. There was a ribbon stitched to the cap. The ribbon was tied in a bow. Sprig gave a little tug at one end of the bow. Nothing happened. He tugged the other end. It loosened slightly. Sprig tugged again and the bow fell apart.
Sprig had untied his first knot. He looked very proud of himself. But he was not nearly as proud as Eleanor was. She was absolutely thrilled to have such a clever little dog – a dog which could actually untie knots.
Her nurse was not so thrilled. She was responsible for Eleanor’s clothes and she was worried at the prospect of damp, chewed ribbons with tiny teeth marks on them. She thought about it. Eventually she sent for some pieces of rope. Eleanor was told that Sprig could practise his new found talents on these pieces of rope but – he was to leave all ribbons strictly alone.
Eleanor tied bows, and later knots, in the pieces of rope. Sprig learnt to untie them. It was a great game for him, especially as he knew that he was pleasing his little mistress. He became so good at it that even Eleanor’s nurse was impressed.
“He’s as clever as any animal you would get at a fair,” she said.
The nurse was even more impressed by the fact that Eleanor actually did get Sprig to leave her ribbons alone.
For Eleanor that was easy. Well you would expect an intelligent dog like Sprig to understand the meaning of a simple little word like “No” wouldn’t you?
Eleanor spent hours playing with Sprig in the nursery, in the walled garden, or in the orchard but when she tired of playing she would sit on the grass, take him on her knee and just TALK to him. And Sprig would look at her solemnly and just LISTEN. Eleanor would tell him anything and everything – about her lessons with her tutor, her rides with her father, any news she had of her brother Stephen. At other times she would just tell him stories. Eleanor even used to recite her lessons to him. She found that this helped her to remember them.
Everyone at Mountjoy Hall knew that Eleanor did this.
“A child’s fancy,” the housekeeper used to say indulgently.
“Poor little mite, she’s lonely,” the cook would say.
For both Eleanor and Sprig were regarded with both kindness and affection by all the servants at Mountjoy Hall – with one exception. This was Meg, one of the scullery maids.
Sprig had a lovely temperament. He was a very friendly little dog. He would greet all the other servants with a wag of the tail and a lick. But not Meg. Whenever he saw her he would curl his lips, bare his teeth and growl. At other times he would bark, not his usual friendly bark, but a really loud, fierce, angry bark which left no doubt about what he would do to Meg if he were given the chance. For although Sprig was a tiny dog, his little teeth were SHARP.
Eleanor could not understand this, especially as Sprig was so friendly with everyone else.
Actually the reason was very simple. Meg was secretly afraid of dogs. Partly because of this she did not know how to behave towards them. When she saw Sprig she tended to freeze and just stare at him. Sprig did not understand this. He did not like being stared at. It made him feel afraid. For although Sprig appeared to most people as a little dog with a great deal of spirit, he still had his fair share of the nervousness of many small dogs. His angry barking was actually the product of this underlying nervousness, because Sprig was not going to let Meg know that he was afraid of HER.
And of course Meg was not to know that it was mainly bluff on Sprig’s part. Meg herself made matters worse by throwing stones at Sprig when no one was around.
The cook did not know anything about this but she had her own ideas about the matter.
“That dog’s got sense,” she would say. “He knows the girl’s no good. An idle slut if ever there was one.”
It was no secret that the cook wanted rid of Meg, but so far she had not been able to persuade the housekeeper to dismiss her. But the cook lived in hope. Be that as it may, all Eleanor could do was to grab hold of Sprig and pick him up if she even saw Meg in the distance. But one day even the housekeeper had had enough of Meg and the girl was summarily dismissed.
Meg did not go to her home. Instead she set off to walk to York. Everyone at Mountjoy Hall was glad to see the back of Meg. The cook was absolutely delighted. The other servants were also pleased that Meg had left because they had not liked Meg either.
Eleanor was more pleased than any of them. As for Sprig, he could not tell anyone what he thought but no doubt he was just as pleased as everyone else.
In a few days everyone at Mountjoy Hall had more or less forgotten about Meg. They were sure they would neither see nor hear anything of her ever again.
They were terribly, terribly wrong.
Eleanor continued learning her lessons with her tutor and playing with Sprig and talking to him. Surely a harmless enough habit. Perhaps. But it was one which was to lead little Eleanor into dreadful danger.
At the time in which Eleanor lived people were very superstitious. Many of them really believed that there were people who had made a pact with the Devil and could do all manner of evil and wicked things. These people were known as witches. Throughout Europe witchcraft was considered a sin against God and the Church and a crime against the state. Witches were hounded and persecuted. Men known as witchfinders toured the country. A harmless old woman could be accused on the flimsiest of evidence, taken before a court, accused of witchcraft, and if, as was very likely, found guilty, would be put to death, in England by hanging, or in any other part of Europe, by burning at the stake.
In England the best known witchfinder was Mathew Hopkins. He even had a title – the Witchfinder General!
But what has all this to do with little Eleanor?
It was commonly believed that a witch would have an imp or a familiar. This was a demon in the shape of a small animal given to the witch by the Devil. The imp or familiar would perform small errands for the witch. An imp or familiar could be a rat, a ferret, a hare, a toad, a cat– or a little dog.
Eleanor liked to talk to her little dog.
And someone bore a grudge against everyone at Mountjoy Hall – Meg!
Life at Mountjoy Hall continued as usual until one day when Sir Thomas Mountjoy had to go on a journey.
As Sir Thomas Mountjoy and most of his retainers were preparing to ride away Eleanor was brought by her nurse to say good-bye to her father. Where he was going or why she did not know. All she knew was that he sometimes rode away and stayed away for a few days, weeks, months. For the rest of her life Eleanor was to remember him that morning as he sat astride his big grey horse. Her nurse lifted her up and Sir Thomas took her in front of him on the saddle, kissed her and told her to be good while he was away. He then handed her back to her nurse, gave a last wave and cantered away.
After her father had left, her nurse took Eleanor and Sprig to the walled garden. Some time later they both heard the sound of hooves and then shouting and men’s voices – harsh, hard voices. Suddenly some men burst into the walled garden. They were followed by the housekeeper who was protesting ineffectively,
“You can’t come in here. When the master hears ...”
“Hush woman,” said one of the men roughly pushing her aside.
Eleanor was dragged out of the garden and taken to the front of the Hall where there were some rough, cruel looking men on horses. Sitting in front of one of the men on a large chestnut was Meg. Eleanor’s mother was standing at the foot of the steps of the Hall looking pale but dignified.
The man on the chestnut appeared to be the leader. He had just been telling the Mountjoy household that he was a witchfinder. Eleanor was just in time to hear him say,
“I have been informed that the maid here is a witch and that creature” – here he pointed to Sprig who was struggling in a man’s arms – “is her imp.”
“She speaks to the dog,” said Meg suddenly. “She does it all the time.”
“A child’s fancy,” said Eleanor’s mother scornfully. She gave the witchfinder a look of utter contempt.
“That’s not all,” said Meg. “She put the evil eye on it and made it harm me. Once she made it sink its teeth into my leg. It made a wound which festered for days.”
Eleanor’s mother made a sound of exasperation.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Don’t you know that dogs can bite – especially people they don’t like.”
“Don’t listen to her,” Meg shrieked. She was obviously bolder now she was up on a horse with a protector behind her.
“She told it to bite me. At other times it made me drop things and break things.”
“A lame excuse for your own clumsiness,” said the cook who was standing with some of the other servants.
“That’s not all,” said Meg. “Once it barked at me and that very night I went down with a fever which lasted for days.”
Eleanor’s mother just shook her head and gave a bitter little smile.
“Silence,” shouted the self styled witchfinder. “I know about witches. We must put her to the test.”
“The water,” said one of his companions. “Swim her.”
“And the dog,” shouted another. “Then we will soon see that it is an imp of Satan.”
Eleanor’s mother took a step forward. “I warn you,” she began, “when my husband finds out about this...”
One of the men leant forward from his horse and pushed her roughly. She stumbled and fell. The servants looked on in silent horror. Two of the men dismounted and seized Sprig. They tied his legs together.
“Into the mill pond with him. Then we’ll see if the water accepts him or rejects him.”
Poor Sprig wriggled and bit frantically. He was so terrified that his bites had no force. He snatched at the ropes binding his legs. His little teeth found the knot. Automatically he tried to perform the trick he had learnt as a pup. The first tug he gave only made the knot tighter. He tried again. This time he was tugging the right way. Suddenly the knot came undone and the rope fell away. Sprig wriggled like an eel. When he did that no one on earth could hold him. He escaped from the man who was holding him and raced away.
The man held up the rope. “Look,” he said, “it’s untied. It’s not bitten through. Any mortal dog would have tried to bite through it. No dog can untie knots.”
There was a murmur of agreement from the men on horseback.
“Nay,” almost whispered one of the servant girls. “Some dogs can do tricks. Ned and I saw that trick done at fair last year.”
The witchfinder turned and stared at her. “Is everyone here in league with the Devil?” he roared.
Just then some of the estate workers rushed up. The gardener’s boy had slipped away and fetched them. But they just had hoes, spades and pitchforks. Not much use against the muskets of the witchfinder and his men.
“Swim the maid,” cried the witchfinder.
Eleanor was seized and swung up on one of the horses. The witchfinder and his supporters then turned their horses and cantered down to the millpond. Eleanor’s mother and the Mountjoy Hall servants hurried after them. When they came to the millpond Eleanor was lifted down from the horse and held firmly while the witchfinder bound her tightly. Her hands were bound to her feet and she ended up trussed like a fowl ready for the oven.
Her mother and the other servants arrived just as the witchfinder was finished. Her mother looked on helplessly. She noticed how Eleanor was bound. Lady Catherine was less superstitious and more practical than most other people of the time. She noticed that Eleanor’s skirts had been tightly bound to her sides. Eleanor would probably sink. There would be no danger of her skirts billowing out and keeping her afloat. So Eleanor would sink and be cleared of witchcraft.
Lady Catherine also noticed something else. The witchfinder’s men had not, as was usually done, tied a rope round Eleanor’s waist so that she could be pulled out if she sank beneath the water.So Eleanor would probably drown before anybody could fish her out. Eleanor would be cleared of witchcraft, but she would be drowned in the process.
The witchfinder prepared to throw Eleanor into the millpond.
Tears swam in Eleanor’s eyes. Bravely she tried to keep them back. She blinked her eyes desperately. Once.And then again. Suddenly there was the sound of galloping hooves. And a roar of rage. Suddenly Sir Thomas Mountjoy was in their midst. He gave another roar. He was red in the face and quite inarticulate with rage.
The witchfinder started to explain. Sir Thomas Mountjoy sat and listened and the witchfinder gained in confidence as he stated his case.
But Sir Thomas Mountjoy was not really listening. As his wife and all his servants knew, what he was really doing was trying to control his temper. Eventually Sir Thomas knew that he had himself under control. The moment he was ready he interrupted the witchfinder.
“Two points,” he said firmly and harshly. “Firstly, swimming a witch is illegal. Oh yes. I know it is done. But the fact remains. It is definitely against the law. Secondly, if the maid was accused of being a witch then she should have been brought in front of the local magistrate.”
He stood up in his stirrups, drew his sword and bellowed,
“AND I AM THE MAGISTRATE. SEIZE THEM.”
By that time the witchfinder and all his men were mounted. They turned and galloped away with Sir Thomas Mountjoy and his men after them. The witchfinder had learned a very important lesson. Stick to the poor and helpless. Save accusations for friendless old women. Above all else, leave the rich and powerful well alone.
Sprig came back and Eleanor continued to play with him. The years passed. She grew up. She married the heir to a neighbouring estate. She supervised the servants and saw to the running of the household. Whenever she could she rode around the estate on her chestnut mare. She always had a little dog and one of her chief pleasures was to walk in the grounds with it.
Years later a strange legend grew up around the name of Eleanor. It was said that she did have supernatural powers after all.
First of all, was it not strange that her father had arrived in time to save her? Why had he suddenly come back? Had he forgotten something? Or had one of the servants managed to slip away and fetch him? Some people found an explanation of their own – and a really startling one it was too.
Eleanor had summoned her father herself. Remember when she had blinked her eyes fiercely? Blinking back tears? No. That had been her way of summoning her father.
A few years after this the Civil War broke out. Mountjoy Hall was in a war area – a matter of miles from the battlefield of Marston Moor and the Siege of York. Yet the Mountjoy estate and Hall remained remarkably untroubled by the fighting. No raids by roving bands of soldiers. No looting. No requisitioning of horses or supplies. The estate survived the War intact. Surely this was almost unbelievable. Many of the country people claimed that Lady Eleanor had used her special powers to turn away any bands of soldiers. Those more practical thought differently. At that time Mountjoy Hall was in a thickly wooded area. It was also away from the main routes. Raiding soldiers could easily have missed it. The Mountjoy family may just have been lucky.
Perhaps. But it was something else for those who preferred to believe that Lady Eleanor really had special powers.
Indeed, this belief which was already beginning to take root, may itself have helped to safeguard Mountjoy Hall during the War. In fact it may have been DELIBERATELY fostered to keep plundering and pillaging bands away. If superstitious soldiers had heard the stories about Eleanor then they might well have decided that it would be only wise to give Mountjoy Hall a miss.
Years later an even stranger story grew up around Eleanor.
Among their other powers witches were credited with being able to control the weather. There were various elaborate ways in which they could do this. They would beat water with a stick and then throw into the water a powder which Satan had given them. This would raise a cloud which would turn to hailstones where ever the witches wanted it. If they wanted to raise a wind they would tie three knots on a string. By unloosing the first they would raise winds. By unloosing the second knot they would raise stronger winds and by unloosing the third knot they would raise a storm. There was another way of raising the wind. They would wet a piece of cloth and then beat the cloth. They would say a special spell over it and raise a wind. When they wanted the wind to die down they would say another spell.
But Eleanor’s powers were said to be so strong that she did not need to resort to these common methods to raise a storm. She could do it far more easily.
There was one time when Eleanor was reputed to have raised a storm. It was during the Civil War. Eleanor’s father and her elder brother were both dead and Stephen had inherited the estate, but he was not at home to run it. He was away fighting with the Cavaliers. So Eleanor had the task of running the estate herself. Not just the Mountjoy estate. She had to run her husband’s estate too because her husband was also away fighting alongside Stephen.
The years passed. 1651 and the final defeat of the Cavaliers at the Battle of Worcester. For many of the Cavaliers escape to France was now their only chance of survival.
One afternoon Eleanor was supervising the servants in the kitchen when one of the maids came rushing up to her with a message. Her brother and her husband had arrived suddenly and were at that very minute putting their horses in the stables. Eleanor at once rushed out to greet them.
They could not stay long. They were being pursued by some Roundhead soldiers and their horses were spent. Could Eleanor find them fresh mounts? While one stableboy saddled two horses another rubbed down the tired horses. If the Roundhead soldiers were to search the Mountjoy stables it would not do for them to find two muddy, exhausted horses there. There was just time for Eleanor to give her brother and husband a quick meal.
“Now we must be away,” said Stephen. “They are not far behind us, but just north of Whitby there is a ship waiting to take us to France. Now we have fresh horses we should be all right.”
He embraced his sister and sprang into the saddle. Within minutes they were cantering into the distance.
Two hours later a party of Roundhead troops clattered into the Mountjoy stable-yard. They searched the Hall and stables but found nothing suspicious. Eleanor had no idea where her brother and husband were and none of the servants had seen the master for years. Eventually the Roundheads decided they were wasting time and left to search somewhere else. No doubt Stephen had decided that his old home was the first place the Roundheads would visit and had deliberately avoided it.
When the Roundheads had left Eleanor went up to the Long Gallery. She stood at one of the windows and gazed northwards over the fields. Then she sat down on the broad window seat. She remained there alone – except for the little dog on her lap – throughout the remainder of the afternoon, the evening and well into the night.
Stephen and Richard were making good time until Stephen’s horse cast a shoe. Fortunately they were near a village at the time and they were able to knock up the local blacksmith so they did not really lose much time. But how far behind them were the Roundhead soldiers? That was what they did not know. The wind was rising all the time and it was hard work for their horses pushing against it. Then the rain started. Pelting, driving, relentless, penetrating, icy rain which turned the paths to mud and soaked right through their coats. This slowed their pace. But they both knew it would be the same for the Roundheads. They continued journeying northwards. They passed through the forests and started to climb over the moors. The wind had now become a gale. They descended from the moors, their horses picking their way carefully along the narrow track. They came to a river. It was swollen by the recent rain. They looked at the wooden bridge. The water was right up to it. It did not look at all safe but they had no choice. Carefully they walked their horses across. Once they were safely across they quickened their speed again.
Behind them the Roundheads, despite the weather, were making good progress. They came to a village and were told that the village smith had just shod a horse for a Cavalier. They now knew that they were just an hour behind their quarry. They also knew which road to take. They too came to the river and looked at the bridge across it. Two of the supports had been washed away and the centre of the bridge was under water. The Roundheads stopped. Their leader gave a grim frown. Then he kicked his horse into a canter.
“Follow me,” he shouted as he prepared to canter across the bridge.
Just as he got there the last support gave way and the remains of the bridge fell into the torrent and were washed away downstream. The Roundhead leader was just able to pull his horse up.
Now the Roundheads were faced with a long detour to the next bridge.
Back in the Long Gallery in Mountjoy Hall Eleanor sat gazing into the growing darkness with the little dog on her lap.
She suddenly gave a strange little smile.
Meanwhile Stephen and Richard were approaching the coast.
“It won’t be any good,” Stephen muttered. “No ship will be able to put to sea in a gale like this.”
“Don’t be too sure,” said Richard. “Haven’t you noticed. The wind has been dropping.”
Stephen suddenly realised that Richard was right. In the last half hour the wind had dropped considerably. But the seas would still be high for hours yet. Still it might just be possible with a stout ship and a courageous captain.
Back in the Long Gallery Eleanor gave another strange little smile.
Just north of Whitby Stephen and Richard came to an isolated inn. As had been prearranged they stabled their horses there and made contact with the guide who was to lead them to the ship. As they made their way along the cliff-side path with only the light of a partly shrouded lantern to guide them, Stephen looked across to the darkness where he knew the sea to be. He could guess what the swell would be like.
Soon the path was leading them down to a little bay. A boat was waiting to take them out to the ship. Stephen soon found that his fears were groundless. The captain, a Breton fisherman, was preparing to cast off practically as they were still scrambling aboard.
Back in the Long Gallery Eleanor gave another strange little smile. She stood up, took a candle in one hand, tucked the little dog under her other arm, and went downstairs.
That was the story anyway. Many people said that that was all it was – a story. But many others actually believed it.
Later an artist visited Mountjoy Hall and painted a portrait of Lady Eleanor. He painted her sitting at a window in the long gallery with a little dog on her lap.
Throughout the years a strange story grew up around that portrait. Several people claimed that while looking at the painting Lady Eleanor’s expression changed. In the picture she is looking pensive and serious. But occasionally she would suddenly give a quick little smile.
Attempts were made to explain this away. Rush lights and candles could flicker. That could explain a sudden change of expression. There was a tree outside the window. The wind in the branches could cause a ripple of light to flicker across the picture. But Lady Eleanor’s expression had been known to change on days when there was not even a breath of wind.
There was yet another explanation – an artist’s explanation. It was a clever trick of the painter’s. A kind of optical illusion. It was rather like a trick picture. One particular artist spent hours in front of the picture, staring at it and trying to work out the secret. He never found an answer.
Then a lady visited Mountjoy Hall and was taken to see the portrait of Lady Eleanor. Lady Eleanor’s expression did not change.
No but an even stranger thing happened. The dog wagged its tail at the visitor.
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