Part 1 - Chapter 3

The Tragedy of Birlstone

Now for a moment I will ask leave to remove my own insignificant
personality and to describe events which occurred before we
arrived upon the scene by the light of knowledge which came to us
afterwards. Only in this way can I make the reader appreciate
the people concerned and the strange setting in which their fate
was cast.

The village of Birlstone is a small and very ancient cluster of
half-timbered cottages on the northern border of the county of
Sussex. For centuries it had remained unchanged; but within the
last few years its picturesque appearance and situation have
attracted a number of well-to-do residents, whose villas peep out
from the woods around. These woods are locally supposed to be
the extreme fringe of the great Weald forest, which thins away
until it reaches the northern chalk downs. A number of small
shops have come into being to meet the wants of the increased
population; so there seems some prospect that Birlstone may soon
grow from an ancient village into a modern town. It is the
centre for a considerable area of country, since Tunbridge Wells,
the nearest place of importance, is ten or twelve miles to the
eastward, over the borders of Kent.

About half a mile from the town, standing in an old park famous
for its huge beech trees, is the ancient Manor House of
Birlstone. Part of this venerable building dates back to the
time of the first crusade, when Hugo de Capus built a fortalice
in the centre of the estate, which had been granted to him by the
Red King. This was destroyed by fire in 1543, and some of its
smoke-blackened corner stones were used when, in Jacobean times,
a brick country house rose upon the ruins of the feudal castle.

The Manor House, with its many gables and its small diamond-paned
windows, was still much as the builder had left it in the early
seventeenth century. Of the double moats which had guarded its
more warlike predecessor, the outer had been allowed to dry up,
and served the humble function of a kitchen garden. The inner
one was still there, and lay forty feet in breadth, though now
only a few feet in depth, round the whole house. A small stream
fed it and continued beyond it, so that the sheet of water,
though turbid, was never ditchlike or unhealthy. The ground
floor windows were within a foot of the surface of the water.

The only approach to the house was over a drawbridge, the chains
and windlass of which had long been rusted and broken. The
latest tenants of the Manor House had, however, with
characteristic energy, set this right, and the drawbridge was not
only capable of being raised, but actually was raised every
evening and lowered every morning. By thus renewing the custom