Legend of the Lady of Ulverscroft

PERCHANCE the dim echoes of ghostly feet are yet heard amidst the ruins of Ulverscroft Priory when the eerie mantle of darkness, with its age-long mystery, has enveloped the lonely forest meadows.

Verily the lady of Ulverscroft may elect to visit the place where was enacted that grim scene overcharged with drama and tragedy, when the strange and frenzied clash of swords was heard in the peaceful cloisters.

SIR Ralph Litherland, a wealthy knight from the North Country, had a daughter of surpassing beauty.

There were many suitors for her hand though she was scarce nineteen, but already, as was the custom of those days, she was promised in marriage to William de Mavesyn, a member of an ancient Northumberland family.

Agnes had a deep respect for her future husband, and indeed he was a young man of excellent parts, who had borne himself with great bravery on the battlefield, and with much distinction in more peaceful pursuits.

Sir Ralph was a typical English squire, and like most of his kind in the sixteenth century he had a poor opinion of foreigners and of foreign parts; yet for his daughter’s sake he consented to suffer the hardships of a continental tour, and in due course they arrived at. Cadiz, where they sought diversion for a few weeks.

It was agreed that William de Mavesyn should meet them at a later date, an arrangement which appeared to give the greatest

satisfaction betrothed.

At Cadiz, Agnes was pestered by the attentions of many young Spanish hidalgoes, to her father’s infinite dis-pleasure; day by day he grew more stately and forbidding, but was totally unable to stem this unwelcome foreign tide. The most persistent of the young Spaniards was Don Giraldi Sforza. He came of one of the oldest families of Spain and his many indiscretions and excesses were therefore regarded with an infinite tolerance as the legitimate diversions of a man of high degree.

“Swore a Mighty Oath.”

With. undeniable resolution he paid his addresses, and swore a mighty oath that ere the moan was past he would win her for his own.

He made considerable progress with the lady, who was gratified by his unremitting attentions, but spite of undoubted charm of manner and gallant bearing he failed to make the slightest headway with her unimpressionable sire.

Don Giraldi revealing a patience previously unknown, awaited a favourable opportunity with commendable restraint.

One night he deemed the time had come to storm the citadel of maidenly reserve. It was one of those intensely hot nights not uncommon in Southern climes; the moon shone bright in a cloudless sky, and romance was in the air.

With a skill acquired by constant practice in the art Dion Giraldi Sforza serenaded the lady Agnes. He had a shrewd knowledge of the feminine mind, his lines were gently yet eloquently persuasive, his voice exquisite in tone. His mistress, dazzled by the romantic setting, came down to him, and he wooed her with a fiery persistence which would brook no denial. ‘Twas not long ere she withdrew her opposition and consented to a secret marriage.

Their stay at Cadiz was fast .drawing to a close, but the time was enough to convince the lady Agnes that she had made a terrible mistake.

She soon conceived a violent hatred, for her husband, but there was none to whom she dare confide her fears, nor did there seem any possible means of escape from her ghastly dilemma. But on the night before they were due to leave for home there was a storm of tropical intensity.

She felt an irresistible desire to glance out of the window, and there beneath her window chamber lay the inanimate form of her husband apparently lifeless. She gave vent to a piercing shriek and fell heavily to the ground in an interminable swoon.

‘Tis not known if all was revealed to her father, but when sufficiently recovered she was taken back to England, and for some strange reason which the legend does not relate, she became an inmate of Ulverscroft.

A Worthy Father.

Paul Pierceton, a worthy Father of Ulverscroft Priory, was riding home on his aged mule. It must fain be admitted that this statement is slightly misleading since for some moments the animal had positively refused to move in spite of sundry coaxing and endearing remarks addressed to it by its rider.

Gradually Father Paul lost patience with his mount and changed his tone, revealing an enviable fluency strange in one of his profession. “May the foul murrian, the cancer, the spavin, and the bots overtake they. May disease dry up every vein and artery in thy stubborn frame.”

He continued in this strain without the slightest suspicion of repetition, yet the hardy mule, totally unaffected by these terrifying male-dictions,_ made no effort to stir.

It is impossible to how long this ludicrous situation would have continued, but the storm which had been threatening for some time suddenly broke and there was a loud clap of thunder directly overhead. The obstinate mule was galvanised into action, though still its behaviour could in no wise be deemed satisfactory. It reared up almost perpendicularly, unseated its rider, and fled hastily down the hill.

The good Father was grievously stunned by his fall and on regaining consciousness he experienced a feeling of intense cold which he could in no way account for to his horror he discovered that some unknown and sacrilegious hand had stripped him of well nigh every vestige of his clothing.

Her Lover Arrives.

Mistress Agnes Litherland was resting in her chamber whither she had retired to shelter from the storm. Suddenly her door was quietly opened and there was revealed the manly form, of her lover, William do Mavesyn, ‘though so strangely clad that she scarce recognised him.

He was enveloped in the saturated garment which had lately adorned the ample proportions of Father Paul. In this adequate disguise he had been successful in passing the porter at the massive outer gate.

Since the day some months past when he had discovered her retreat they had met secretly on several occasions and now he was trying to persuade her to fly with him though shortly she was due to take the veil.

Great was the power of the church in those days and long was its arm. Therefore grave doubts assailed the lovers as they weighed the chances of flight.

“Would that I could read my fate,” said William de Mavesyn wistfully. He was answered by a deep voice. “Thou wilt know it soon.”

They both arose hastily and glanced fearfully round the room with uneasy alarm, but could find no explanation of that sinister voice which Agnes confessed had constantly haunted her in the most unlikely places, Deciding resolutely that they would risk no further delay they made plans for flight that very evening, and all having been arranged to their satisfaction, William de Mavesyn prepared to take his leave.

A Desperate Struggle.

They were clasped in a passionate em-brace when the door opened and Father Paul Pierceton followed by numerous attendants burst into the room.

Agnes was dragged from her lover, who after a desperate struggle was overpowered ere he could draw his sword. He was unceremoniously carried off and thrust into a small room at the top of the Priory

from which there could be no escape.

William de Mavesyn, exhausted by his unavailing struggle with his numerous captors, sank on to a rude pallet which, apart from a rough bench, was the sole piece of furniture in the room. Presently he fell into a restless sleep which was full of uneasy dreams. Shortly after sunrise he awakened to find a tall dark sinister figure standing, grim and formidable, at the foot of the bed.

Hastily he jumped up and confronted the stranger. “Who are you?” he asked angrily.

“I am Giraldi Sforza, the husband of Agnes Litherland,” was the reply, and William de Mavesyn recognised the strange voice he had heard on the previous day. And Giraldi pointed to the rough bench, and there in the dim light to his intense horror William de Mavesyn saw the corpse of Agnes Litherland.

A terrible rage possessed him and though he realised he was dealing with a man whose mind was deranged, he hurled himself on the powerful Sforza, and there ensued a fight of the weirdest kind, for though each madly desired the other’s life neither had any further wish to preserve his own.

For awhile they fought knee to knee, then with mutual accord they broke away, took their swords and resumed the contest with unabated fury.

Soon they were both stretched on the floor with mortal wounds, exchanging looks of the deepest hatred yet incapable of movement, and as they lay dying there was heard the sound of the bell which tolled at six of the clock summoning the good monks of Ulverscroft to Matins.

A DELVE in the Echo archives often turns up some surprising and interesting finds and none more so than a series of articles by an author going under the pen name of “Heywood”.

During the 1930s Heywood contributed a number of pieces for the Echo looking at local country houses, churches and also “Local Legends.”

Of course legends are always worth repeating so we have decided to re-run our mystery author’s articles ninety-odd years on.