DEMON AND THE PIPES.
His plan was to watch the house until he saw some entertainment going
on, then present himself as if he had but just arrived from her
ladyship’s country seat. At such a time no one would acquaint her with
his appearance, and he would, as if it were but a matter of course, at
once take his share in waiting on the guests. By this means he might
perhaps get her a little accustomed to his presence before she could be
at leisure to challenge it.
When he put Kelpie in her stall the last time for a season, and ran
into the house to get his plaid for Lizzy, who was waiting him near
the tunnel, he bethought himself that he had better take with him also
what other of his personal requirements he could carry. He looked about
therefore, and finding a large carpet-bag in one of the garret rooms,
hurried into it some of his clothes--amongst them the Highland dress he
had worn as henchman to the marquis, and added the great Lossie pipes
his father had given to old Duncan as well, but which the piper had
not taken with him when he left Lossie House. The said Highland dress
he now resolved to put on, as that in which latterly Florimel had been
most used to see him: in it he would watch his opportunity of gaining
admission to the house.
The next morning Blue Peter made his appearance early. They went
out together, spent the day in sight-seeing, and, on Malcolm’s part
chiefly, in learning the topography of London.
In Hyde Park Malcolm told his friend that he had sent for Kelpie.
“She’ll be the deid o’ ye i’ thae streets, as fu’ o’ wheels as the sea
o’ fish: twize I’ve been ’maist gr’un to poother o’ my ro’d here,” said
Peter.
“Ay, but ye see, oot here amo’ the gentry it’s no freely sae ill, an’
the ro’ds are no a’ stane; an’ here, ye see, ’s the place whaur they
come, leddies an’ a’, to ha’e their rides thegither. What I’m fleyt for
is ’at she’ll be brackin’ legs wi’ her deevilich kickin’.”
“Haud her upo’ dry strae an’ watter for a whilie, till her banes begin
to cry oot for something to hap them frae the cauld: that’ll quaiet her
a bit,” said Peter.
“It’s a’ ye ken!” returned Malcolm. “She’s aye the wau-natur’d, the
less she has to ate. Na, na; she maun be weel lined. The deevil in her
maun lie warm, or she’ll be neither to haud nor bin’. There’s nae doobt
she’s waur to haud in whan she’s in guid condeetion; but she’s nane sae
like to tak a body by the sma’ o’ the back, an’ shak the inside oot o’
’im, as she maist did ae day to the herd-laddie at the ferm, only he
had an auld girth aboot the mids o’ ’im for a belt, an’ he tuik the
less scaith.”
“Cudna we gang an’ see the maister the day?” said Blue Peter, changing
the subject.
He meant Mr Graham, the late schoolmaster of Portlossie, whom the
charge of heretical teaching had driven from the place.
“We canna weel du that till we hear whaur he is. The last time Miss
Horn h’ard frae him, he was changin’ his lodgin’s, an’ ye see the kin’
o’ a place this Lon’on is,” answered Malcolm.
As soon as Peter was gone to return to the boat, Malcolm dressed
himself in his kilt and its belongings, and when it was fairly dusk,
took his pipes under his arm, and set out for Portland Place. He
had the better hope of speedy success to his plan, that he fancied
he had read on his sister’s lips, in the silent communication that
passed between her and her friend in the crowd, the words _come_ and
_to-morrow_. It might have been the merest imagination, yet it was
something: how often have we not to be grateful for shadows! Up and
down the street he walked a long time, without seeing a sign of life
about the house. But at length the hall was lighted. Then the door
opened, and a servant rolled out a carpet over the wide pavement, which
the snow had left wet and miry--a signal for the street children,
ever on the outlook for sights, to gather. Before the first carriage
arrived, there was already a little crowd of humble watchers and
waiters about the gutter and curb-stone. But they were not destined to
much amusement that evening, the visitors amounting only to a small
dinner-party. Still they had the pleasure of seeing a few grand ladies
issue from their carriages, cross the stage of their Epiphany, the
pavement, and vanish in the paradise of the shining hall, with its
ascent of gorgeous stairs. No broken steps, no missing balusters there!
And they have the show all for nothing! It is one of the perquisites of
street-service. What one would give to see the shapes glide over the
field of those cameræ obscuræ, the hearts of the street Arabs! once to
gaze on the jewelled beauties through the eyes of those shocked-haired
girls! I fancy they do not often begrudge them what they possess,
except perhaps when feature or hair or motion chances to remind them of
some one of their own people, and they feel wronged and indignant that
_she_ should flaunt in such splendour, “when _our Sally_ would set off
grand clothes so much better!” It is neither the wealth nor the general
consequence it confers that they envy, but, as I imagine, the power of
making a show--of living in the eyes and knowledge of neighbours for a
few radiant moments: nothing is so pleasant to ordinary human nature
as to know itself by its reflection from others. When it turns from
these warped and broken mirrors to seek its reflection in the divine
thought, then it is redeemed; then it beholds itself in the perfect law
of liberty.
Before he became himself an object of curious interest to the crowd
he was watching, Malcolm had come to the same conclusion with many a
philosopher and observer of humanity before him--that on the whole the
rags are inhabited by the easier hearts; and he would have arrived at
the conclusion with more certainty but for the _high_ training that
cuts off intercourse between heart and face.
When some time had elapsed, and no more carriages appeared, Malcolm,
judging the dinner must now be in full vortex, rang the bell of the
front door. It was opened by a huge footman, whose head was so small in
proportion that his body seemed to have absorbed it. Malcolm would have
stepped in at once, and told what of his tale he chose at his leisure;
but the servant, who had never seen the dress Malcolm wore, except on
street-beggars, with the instinct his class shares with watch-dogs,
quickly closed the door. Ere it reached the post, however, it found
Malcolm’s foot between.
“Go along, Scotchy. You’re not wanted here,” said the man, pushing the
door hard. “Police is round the corner.”
Now one of the weaknesses Malcolm owed to his Celtic blood was an utter
impatience of rudeness. In his own nature entirely courteous, he was
wrathful even to absurdity at the slightest suspicion of insult. But
that, in part through the influence of Mr Graham, the schoolmaster,
he had learned to keep a firm hold on the reins of action, this
foolish feeling would not unfrequently have hurried him into conduct
undignified. On the present occasion, I fear the main part of his
answer, but for the shield of the door, would have been a blow to fell
a bigger man than the one that now glared at him through the shoe-broad
opening. As it was, his words were fierce with suppressed wrath.
“Open the door, an’ lat me in,” was, however, all he said.
“What’s your business?” asked the man, on whom his tone had its effect.
“My business is with my Lady Lossie,” said Malcolm, recovering his
English, which was one step towards mastering, if not recovering, his
temper.
“You can’t see her. She’s at dinner.”
“Let me in, and I’ll wait. I come from Lossie House.”
“Take away your foot and I’ll go and see,” said the man.
“No. You open the door,” returned Malcolm.
The man’s answer was an attempt to kick his foot out of the doorway. If
he were to let in a tramp, what would the butler say?
But thereupon Malcolm set his port-vent to his mouth, rapidly filled
his bag, while the man stared as if it were a petard with which he was
about to blow the door to shivers, and then sent from the instrument
such a shriek, as it galloped off into the Lossie Gathering, that
involuntarily his adversary pressed both hands to his ears. With a
sudden application of his knee Malcolm sent the door wide, and entered
the hall, with his pipes in full cry. The house resounded with their
yell--but only for one moment. For down the stair, like bolt from
catapult, came Demon, Florimel’s huge Irish stag-hound, and springing
on Malcolm, put an instant end to his music. The footman laughed with
exultation, expecting to see him torn to pieces. But when instead
he saw the fierce animal, a foot on each of his shoulders, licking
Malcolm’s face with long fiery tongue, he began to doubt.
“The dog knows you,” he said sulkily.
“So shall you, before long,” returned Malcolm. “Was it my fault that I
made the mistake of looking for civility from you? One word to the dog,
and he has you by the throat.”
“I’ll go and fetch Wallis,” said the man, and closing the door, left
the hall.
Now this Wallis had been a fellow-servant of Malcolm’s at Lossie House,
but he did not know that he had gone with Lady Bellair when she took
Florimel away: almost everyone had left at the same time. He was now
glad indeed to learn that there was one amongst the servants who knew
him.
Wallis presently made his appearance, with a dish in his hands, on his
way to the dining-room, from which came the confused noises of the
feast.
“You’ll be come up to wait on Lady Lossie,” he said. “I haven’t a
moment to speak to you now, for we’re at dinner, and there’s a party.”
“Never mind me. Give me that dish; I’ll take it in: you can go for
another,” said Malcolm, laying his pipes in a safe spot.
“You can’t go into the dining-room that figure,” said Wallis, who was
in the Bellair livery.
“This is how I waited on my lord,” returned Malcolm, “and this is how
I’ll wait on my lady.”
Wallis hesitated. But there was that about the fisher-fellow was too
much for him. As he spoke, Malcolm took the dish from his hands, and
with it walked into the dining-room.
There one reconnoitring glance was sufficient. The butler was at the
sideboard opening a champagne bottle. He had cut wire and strings,
and had his hand on the cork as Malcolm walked up to him. It was a
critical moment, yet he stopped in the very article, and stared at the
apparition.
“I’m Lady Lossie’s man from Lossie House. I’ll help you to wait,” said
Malcolm.
To the eyes of the butler he looked a savage. But there he was in the
room with the dish in his hands, and speaking at least intelligibly;
the cork of the champagne bottle was pushing hard against his palm, and
he had no time to question. He peeped into Malcolm’s dish.
“Take it round, then,” he said. So Malcolm settled into the business of
the hour.
It was some time, after he knew where she was, before he ventured to
look at his sister: he would have her already familiarised with his
presence before their eyes met. That crisis did not arrive during
dinner.
Lord Liftore was one of the company, and so, to Malcolm’s pleasure,
for he felt in him an ally against the earl, was Florimel’s mysterious
friend.