Notes and Queries, Number 35, June 29, 1850 | Page 4

spurs
were (as is often the case in monumental erections of Elizabethan date)
suspended over the tomb. What chiefly attracted my attention was the
colour of the gloves, which was red. The old woman who acted as my
cicerone, seeing me look at them, said, "Aye, miss, those are Bloody
Baker's gloves; their red colour comes from the blood he shed." This
speech awakened my curiosity to hear more, and with very little
pressing I induced my old guide to tell me the following strange tale.
The Baker family had formerly large possessions in Cranbrook, but in
the reign of Edward VI. great misfortunes fell on them; by
extravagance and dissipation, they gradually lost all their lands, until an
old house in the village (now used as the poor-house) was all that
remained to them. The sole representative of the family remaining at
the accession of Queen Mary, was Sir Richard Baker. He had spent

some years abroad in consequence of a duel; but when, said my
informant, Bloody Queen Mary reigned, he thought he might safely
return, as he was a Papist. When he came to Cranbrook he took up his
abode in his old house; he only brought one foreign servant with him,
and these two lived alone. Very soon strange stories began to be
whispered respecting unearthly shrieks having been heard frequently to
issue at nightfall from his house. Many people of importance were
stopped and robbed in the Glastonbury woods, and many unfortunate
travellers were missed and never heard of more. Richard Baker still
continued to live in seclusion, but he gradually repurchased his
alienated property, although he was known to have spent all he
possessed before he left England. But wickedness was not always to
prosper. He formed an apparent attachment to a young lady in the
neighbourhood, remarkable for always wearing a great many jewels.
He often pressed her to come and see his old house, telling her he had
many curious things he wished to show her. She had always resisted
fixing a day for her visit, but happening to walk within a short distance
of his house, she determined to surprise him with a visit; her
companion, a lady older than herself, endeavoured to dissuade her from
doing so, but she would not be turned from her purpose. They {68}
knocked at the door, but no one answered them; they, however,
discovered it was not locked, and determined to enter. At the head of
the stairs hung a parrot, which on their passing cried out,--
"Peepoh, pretty lady, be not too bold, Or your red blood will soon run
cold."
And cold did run the blood of the adventurous damsel when, on
opening one of the room doors, she found it filled with the dead bodies
of murdered persons, chiefly women. Just then they heard a noise, and
on looking out of the window saw Bloody Baker and his servant
bringing in the murdered body of a lady. Nearly dead with fear, they
concealed themselves in a recess under the staircase.
As the murderers with their dead burden passed by them, the hand of
the unfortunate murdered lady hung in the baluster of the stairs; with an
oath Bloody Baker chopped it off, and it fell into the lap of one of the

concealed ladies. As soon as the murderers had passed by, the ladies
ran away, having the presence of mind to carry with them the dead
hand, on one of the fingers of which was a ring. On reaching home they
told their story, and in confirmation of it displayed the ring. All the
families who had lost relatives mysteriously were then told of what had
been found out; and they determined to ask Baker to a large party,
apparently in a friendly manner, but to have constables concealed ready
to take him into custody. He came, suspecting nothing, and then the
lady told him all she had seen, pretending it was a dream. "Fair lady,"
said he, "dreams are nothing: they are but fables." "They may be
fables," said she; "but is this a fable?" and she produced the hand and
ring. Upon this the constables rushed in and took him; and the tradition
further says, he was burnt, notwithstanding Queen Mary tried to save
him, on account of the religion he professed.
F. L.
Cure for Warts.--Steal a piece of meat from a butcher's stall or his
basket, and after having well rubbed the parts affected with the stolen
morsel, bury it under a gateway, at a four lane ends, or, in case of
emergency, in any secluded place. All this must be done so secretly as
to escape detection: and as the portion of meat decays the warts will
disappear. This practice is very prevalent in Lancashire and some