Alittle northward of the road from Bradford to Leeds, four miles distant from the former and seven from the latter, lies the village of Calverley, the seat of a knightly family of that name for some 600 years. They occupied a stately mansion, which was converted into workmen's tenements early in the present century, and the chapel transformed into a wheelwright's shop.

Near by is a lane, a weird and lonesome road a couple of centuries ago, overshadowed as it was by trees, which cast a ghostly gloom over it after the setting of the sun. It was not much frequented excepting in broad daylight, and even then only by the bolder and more stout-hearted of the village rustics, whilst the majority would as soon have dared to sleep in the charnel-house under the church as have passed down it by night, or even in the gloaming. Instances were known of strangers having unwittingly gone through it, all of whom, however, came forth with trembling limbs and scared faces, their hair erect on their heads, and the perspiration streaming down from their foreheads. When questioned as to what they had seen, the reply was always the same, a cloudlike apparition, thin, transparent, and unsubstantial, bearing the semblance of a human figure, with no seeming clothing, but simply a misty, impalpable shape; the features frenzied with rage and madness, and in the right hand the appearance of a bloody dagger. The apparition, they averred, seemed to consolidate into form out of a mist which environed them soon after entering the lane, and continued to accompany them, but without sound, sign, or motion, save that of gliding along, accommodating itself to the pace of the terrified passenger, which was usually that of a full run, until the other end of the lane was reached, when it melted again into a mere shapeless mass of vapour.

The apparition was that of the disquieted soul of a certain Walter Calverley, which was denied the calm repose of death, and condemned to flit about this lane, as a penance for a great and unnatural crime of which he had been guilty. Various attempts were made to exorcise the restless spirit, but all were ineffectual until some very potent spiritual agencies were employed, which were successful in "laying the ghost," but only for a time, as they operate only so long as a certain holly tree, planted by the hand of the delinquent, continues to flourish, when that decays the ghost may again be looked for.

The Calverleys (originally Scott) were a family of distinction in Yorkshire from the time of Henry I. to the period of the great Civil War, intermarrying with some of the best families, and producing a succession of notable men.

John Scott was steward to Maud, daughter of Malcolm Canmore, King of Scotland, and niece of Edgar the Atheling, the last scion of the Saxon race of English Kings; he accompanied her to England on the occasion of her alliance with King Henry I., and married Larderina, daughter of Alphonsus Gospatrick, Lord of Calverley and other Yorkshire manors, who was descended from Gospatrick, Earl of Northumbria, who so stoutly supported the claims of Edgar the Atheling to the crown of England in opposition to that of the usurping conqueror, William the Norman. By this marriage, John Scott became j.u. Lord of Calverley.

William, his grandson, gave the vicarage of Calverley to the chantry of the Blessed Virgin, York Cathedral, temp. Henry III.

John, his descendant, in the fourteenth century, assumed the name of de Calverley in lieu of Scott.

Sir John, Knight, his son, had issue three sons and a daughter, Isabel, who became Prioress of Esholt.

John, his son, was one of the squires to Anne, Queen of Richard II. He fought in the French wars, was captured there, and beheaded for some "horrible crime, the particulars of which are not known," and dying cÆl, was succeeded by his brother, Walter, whose second son, Sir Walter, was instrumental in the rebuilding of the church of Calverley, and caused his arms—six owls—to be carved on the woodwork.

Sir John, Knight, his son, was created a Knight-Banneret, and slain at Shrewsbury, 1403, fighting under the banner of Henry IV. against the Percies. Dying s.p., his brother Walter succeeded, whose second son, Thomas, was ancestor, by his wife, Agnes Scargill, of the Calverleys of Morley and of county Cumberland.

Sir William, his grandson, was created a Knight-Banneret for valour in the Scottish wars, by the Earl of Surrey; his grandson, Sir William Knight, was Sheriff of Yorkshire, and died 1571; Thomas, his second son, was ancestor of the Calverleys of county Durham. Sir Walter, his son, had issue three sons, of whom Edmund, the third, was ancestor of the Calverleys of counties Sussex and Surrey.

William, the eldest son of Sir Walter, whose portrait was exhibited at York in 1868, married Catherine, daughter of Sir John Thornholm, Knight, of Haysthorpe, near Bridlington. This lady was a devoted Catholic, and suffered much persecution for adhering to her faith and giving refuge to proscribed priests, the estates being sequestered and some manors sold to pay the fine for recusancy. They had issue Walter, the subject of this tradition.

Walter Calverley was born in the reign of Elizabeth, and in his youth witnessed the relentless persecutions which his family, being adherents of the old faith, had to endure from the ascendant Protestantism, which held the reins of government. Those of the reformed religion were wont to style Mary the "Bloody Queen," for the number of executions and barbarities which, in the name of religion, stained the annals of her reign; but it was a notable instance of the pot-and-kettle style of vituperation, as the burning and hanging and quartering and pressing to death of Jesuits and seminary priests, and of lay men and women who afforded them refuge, went on as merrily during the reigns of her two following successors, as did the roasting of heretics at Smithfield and elsewhere under Bonner and Gardiner. He was witness, when a boy, of the barbarous treatment to which his mother was subjected for worshipping God according to the dictates of her conscience and for daring to shelter priests of her persuasion.

Walter was a lad of strong passions and vehement spirit, and the sight of the sufferings endured by the friends and co-religionists of his family drove him almost to madness. He would stamp his foot, clench his fist, and vow vengeance upon the perpetrators, and it is highly probable that he consorted and plotted with Guy Fawkes and others of the gunpowder conspirators at Scotton, near Knaresborough, and might have had a hand in the great plot itself, which culminated and collapsed in the same year that he committed the crime which cost him his life.

He married Philippa, daughter of the Hon. Henry Brooke, fifth son of George, fourth Baron Cobham, and sister of John, first Baron of the second creation, and by her had issue three sons, the third of whom, Henry, succeeded to the estates, whose son, Sir Walter, was a great sufferer in person and estate for his loyalty during the Civil War, and who was father of Sir Walter, who was created a baronet by Queen Anne in 1711, the title becoming extinct in 1777, on the death, without surviving issue, of his son, Sir Walter Calverley-Blackett.

For a few years the newly-married couple lived in tolerable harmony and happiness, such as falls to the lot of most married people. They looked forward to giving an heir to the family estates who should perpetuate the name in lineal descent; but the months and years passed by, and they began to experience the truth that "hope deferred maketh the heart sick," as no heir made his appearance, which was an especial disappointment to the Lord of the Calverley domain, and gave rise to the idea that he had married one who was barren, and incapable of giving him an heir. Brooding over this impediment to his hopes, he grew moody and discontented; treated his wife not only with neglect, but upbraided her with opprobrious epithets, treated her with cold and cruel disfavour, and in his occasional violent outbursts of passion would wish her dead, that he might marry again to a more fruitful wife. Moreover he gave way to over-indulgence in deep potations of ale, sack, and "distilled waters," which added fire and force to his naturally fierce temperament, and rendered him almost maniacal in his acts. He was profuse in his hospitality to his neighbours, frequently giving dinner parties to his roystering friends, with whom he would sit until late in the night, or rather until early in the morning carousing over their cups.

Amongst the friends who thus visited him was a certain country squire of the name of Leventhorpe, a young fellow of handsome figure and insinuating address, who would drink his bottle with the veriest toper, and yet would conduct himself in the company of ladies with the utmost decorum and most fascinating demeanour, would converse with them on flowers and birds and tapestry work, and quote with admirable accentuation and feeling passages from the writings of the popular poets, or recite with pathos and humour the novelettes of the Italian romancists, which then were the delight of every lady's boudoir. He was introduced by Calverley to his wife, and she being naturally of a lively, vivacious disposition, and, like ladies of the present age, a passionate admirer of works of fiction and imagination, she took great pleasure in his society, as, indeed, he did in hers, and he was consequently a constant visitor at Calverley Hall, whether invited or not, and whether the lady's husband was at home or not; but always was he gladly welcome, and in pure innocence and without any idea of impropriety, by the lady. On his side, too, he went to the house as a man might do to that of a sister, without any sentiment save that of friendship, or, at the utmost, a feeling of platonic love. Not so, however, the lady's husband. He began to feel annoyed and disquieted at witnessing their growing intimacy, but hitherto saw no reason to doubt the fidelity of his wife. Some twelve months after the introduction of Leventhorpe to the Hall, symptoms became evident of the probable birth of a child, and Calverley at first hailed the prospect with satisfaction, praying and hoping that it might prove to be the long-wished-for son and heir. In due course the child was born, and of the desired sex, and great were the rejoicings and splendid the banqueting at the christening. The next year a second son made his appearance, and then dark thoughts and suspicions began to flit across Calverley's mind. He considered it strange that no child should have been born during the early years of his marriage, but that immediately after Leventhorpe's introduction to the house his wife began to prove fruitful, and had borne two children, with the prospect of a third. He brooded over these dark thoughts by night and day until they ripened into positive jealousy and the belief that the children were Leventhorpe's, and not his own.

Influenced by these sentiments, he drank still more deeply, and was frequently subjected to delirium tremens and maniacal fits of passion, which rendered him the terror of all by whom he was surrounded. He could not openly accuse Leventhorpe of a breach of the seventh commandment, of which he believed him guilty, as he had no basis of fact upon which to ground the charge; but he found means to quarrel with him on some frivolous point, and made use of such expressions of vituperation as he thought would impel him to demand satisfaction at the sword's point; but Leventhorpe was a quiet, peaceable man, who swallowed the affront, attributing it to the deranged state of his friend's mind, induced by too free application to the bottle; and he simply abstained from visiting the house.

"He is a coward as well as a knave," said Calverley to himself. "No gentleman would listen to such language as I have used and submit to it patiently like a beaten cur, without resenting it with his sword, and this circumstance proves his guilt, and the certainty of my suspicions; but I will be amply revenged on both him and his paramour and their progeny;" and he drank and drank day after day, and more and more deeply, until he at length brought himself to a state fitting him for a madhouse and personal restraint. Many a time he sought for Leventhorpe, with the hope of provoking him to fight, but was not able to accomplish his purpose, as circumstances had called Leventhorpe to London, where he remained some months.

In the meantime the third child was born, and as the mother's health was delicate, it was sent out to nurse at a farm-house some two or three miles distant, and it was then that Calverley charged his wife, to her face, with adultery, adding that he felt positively assured that the children were Leventhorpe's. She indignantly repelled the charge, assuring him, with an appeal to the Virgin Mary as to the truth of what she was saying, that the children were his and nobody else's; but he would not listen to her denials—called her tears, which were flowing profusely, the hypocritical tears of a strumpet, and cursed and swore at her, threatening a dire vengeance on her and her seducer, and finally left her in a fit of hysterics in the hands of her women, who had rushed in on hearing her screams. He then went downstairs to his dining room and sat down to dinner, but could not eat much, each mouthful as he swallowed it seeming as if it would choke him. "Take these things away," he exclaimed in a furious tone to his servants, "and bring me sack, and plenty of it." The terrified menials saw that he was in one of his maniacal moods, and knew that it would be aggravated by drinking, but dared not disobey him. The sack was placed on the table, and he dismissed the attendants with a curse. Flagon after flagon he poured out and drank in rapid succession, which soon produced its natural effect. "Ah, demon!" said he, "have you come again to torment me? Why sit you there, opposite me, grinning and gesticulating? You are an ugly devil, sure enough, with your fiery eyes, your pointed horns, and your barbed tail. You tell me that it were but just to murder my wife, Leventhorpe, and their brats, and I don't know but what the advice is good. Aye, twirl your tail as a dog does when he is pleased; you think you have got another recruit for your nether kingdom, and you are right. I live here a hell upon earth, and I do not see that I shall be much the worse off with you below; besides I shall have the satisfaction of vengeance, and that will repay me amply for any after-death punishment. Aye, grin on, but leave me now to finish this bottle in quietness, for I cannot drink with comfort whilst you are grimacing and jibing at me there." He spoke this in a loud tone of voice, to which the scared servants were listening at the door, after which he continued to drain goblet after goblet, giving forth utterances more and more incoherent, until at length he fell from his chair with a heavy thump on the floor. Hearing this, the servants entered, and found him, as they had often found him before, in a state of senseless intoxication, and carried him up to bed.

Having slept off his debauch, he awoke late the following morning with a raging thirst, which he endeavoured to assuage by deep draughts of ale. Breakfast he could eat none, but continued drinking until his familiar demon again made his appearance, and seemed to incite him to the fulfilment of his vow of revenge. Leventhorpe was out of his reach, but the other destined victims were at hand, and what more fitting time than the present for the execution of his purpose? He selected a dagger from his store of weapons, and carefully sharpened it to a fine point; then gave directions to have his horse saddled and brought to the door of the hall to await his pleasure. As he had three or four men-servants, who might hinder him in his intent, he sent them on several errands about the estate, and when they had departed, leaving only the female domestics in the house, he went, dagger in hand, into the hall, where he found his eldest son playing. Seizing him by the hair of his head, he stabbed him in three or four places, and, taking him in his arms, carried him bleeding to his mother's apartment. "There," said he, throwing the body down, "is one of the fruits of your illicit intercourse, and the others must share the same fate." So saying, he laid hold of his second son, who was in the room, and stabbed him to the heart. The mother, shrieking with terror and agony, rushed forward to save the child, but was too late, and herself received three or four blows from the dagger, and fell senseless to the floor, but more from horror and fright than from her wounds, which were but slight, thanks to a steel stomacher which she wore. Imagining that he had killed her as well as the children, he mounted his horse and rode towards the village, where his youngest child was at nurse, with the intention of killing it also, but on the road he was thrown from his horse, and before he could re-mount was secured by his servants, who had gone in pursuit of him.

He was taken before the nearest magistrate—Sir John Bland, of Kippax—and in the course of his examination stated that he had meditated the deed for four years, and that he was fully convinced that the children were not his. He was committed to York Castle and brought to trial, but refusing to plead, was subjected to peine forte et dure. He was taken to the press-yard, stripped to his shirt, and laid on a board with a stone under his back; his arms were stretched out and secured by cords; another board was placed over his body, upon which were laid heavy weights one by one, he being asked in the intervals if he still refused. He bore the agony with firmness and endurance, even when the great pressure broke his ribs and caused them to protrude from the sides. As weight after weight was added, nothing could be extorted from him save groans caused by the intensity of the pain, which at length ceased and the weights were removed, revealing a mere mass of crushed bloody flesh and mangled bones.

The two children died, and the third lived to succeed to the estates. The mother also recovered, and married for her second husband Sir Thomas Burton, Knight.

"Two Most Unnatural and Bloodie Murthers, by Master Calverley, a Yorkshire gentleman, upon his wife and two children, 1605." Edited by J. Payne Collier, 1863.

"A Yorkshire Tragedy, not so new as lamentable, by Mr. Shakespeare; acted at the Globe, 1608. London 1619. With a portrait of the brat at nurse." Attributed to Shakespeare (without proof) by Stevens and others.

"The Fatal Extravagance. By Joseph Mitchell, 1720." A play based on the same subject, and performed at the Lincoln's Inn Theatre.

The incident is also introduced by Harrison Ainsworth in his romance of "Rookwood."