“I look’d around, and all was gone.”
We left our party crossing the now well rolled lawn towards the house.
On their arrival at the great door, which was open, a strange scene
presented itself in the entrance-hall, in the centre of which stood a
short fat gentleman looking with much astonishment at a little thin old
woman, who, from her long, tapering, stomachered waist occupying one
half of her height, her full petticoats spreading like a hoop; her short
sleeves and mittens; her hair, white as though it were powdered, drawn
up over a high sugar-loaf shaped cushion, and her small cap on the top of
all—resembled much one of the figures in the frontispiece of an old play
book. Her diminutive features had nothing remarkable about them, but the
little reddish knob or button at the end of her nose, which seemed placed
there expressly to support her spectacles. These, in visible hurry and
trepidation, she was adjusting with one hand, while, with the other, she
was grasping the fat gentleman’s arm, and, at the same time, exclaiming
as with looks of terrified amazement she scanned his appearance, “Ye
dinna pretend to tell me, sir, that ye are Maister Lauson!” The fat
gentleman affirmed that he certainly was Mr. Lauson. The little woman
seemed of opinion that she knew better, and maintained that he was not.
The advance of the entering party, and the Earl, addressing the fat
gentleman by the name of Lauson, seemed to complete the dismay of poor
Mrs. M’Kinley, the housekeeper, for such was the name, and such the
quality of the little woman. “Lauson! Lauson! Lauson!” she reiterated,
clasping her hands, “wha iver heerd o’ sick a thing!—Jean!” she cried
next, “Jean! Jean! Jean! Some on ye caw Jean!” A hard-working looking
woman entered. “Hear ye to that, Jean!” said Mrs. M’Kinley, “hear ye to
that! yon Maister Lauson! Heard ye iver the like o’ that?”
“Yon short gentleman?” enquired Jean, as soon as her awkward courtesies
to our party were over. “Nay, yon’s nane o’ Maister Lauson. Maister
Lauson’s a taw weel lookt gentleman, no’ the least like yon gentleman.”
“Tall or short I am Mr. Lauson,” said Lauson very sulkily, for the Messrs
Morven had laughed out, and the Misses Morven were tittering evidently at
his expense.
Lord Arandale desired there might be no more noise, assuring Mrs.
M’Kinley that the gentleman, whose identity she seemed so unwilling to
admit, not only was, beyond a doubt, Mr. Lauson, but that he was at the
Craigs that day by his, the Earl’s, particular desire, to give him the
meeting for the arrangement of some business respecting serious repairs,
which he understood the park walls required.
“Now, madam,” said Lauson, “you’ll not dispute my Lord’s word, I hope.”
“Yeer no going to tell me,” exclaimed Mrs. M’Kinley, looking wilder
than ever, “that yon was the deevil at cam here and cawd himsel Maister
Lauson, and brought my ain keys we him, and my ain lables on them, and
took aw the things awa we him!”
“As to its being the devil,” replied Lauson, “I shall not dispute that;
but it certainly was not Mr. Lauson.”
“What can she mean?” said the Earl.
“And did ye send naybody then?” eagerly demanded the poor woman. On
being fully assured that no person whatever had been sent to the
Craigs, or authorized in any way to demand of her any thing of which
she had the charge, “Then,” she cried, first clasping her hands for a
moment, then flinging her arms to their utmost extent asunder, “aw is
gane—gane—rifled—robbed—lost—ther’s naything left in aw the hoose!”
An explanation was called for. Mrs. M’Kinley flung herself on her knees
in the midst of the hall, and, calling on heaven and Jean to witness
the truth of all she should say, after much that was too incoherent to
relate, gave the following account, though more frequently interrupted by
her hearers than it is necessary to notice.
“It was a fine moonlight night aboot a month syne, and I was sitting at
the window o’ the hooskeeper’s room, (it looks front, ye ken,) and I
catched a glympse o’ some-ot like tle a carriage coming roond the hill.
I could na credit my ain een, so I looked again, and it turned in among
the trees. Weel, said I to Jean, wha can be coming tle this lone place
at this time o’ night? It’s a while yet till the young mistress be at
age; and I’m no expecting that ony o’ the femely will com’ doon afoor
then, if they com’ then it sel. Ye mind that, Jean?” “Weel enough,” said
Jean. “The carriage,” continued Mrs. M’Kinley, “for it was a carriage
sure enough, com’ oot o’ the wood again, and sweeped along the lawn,
and up it com’ to the door, and ain o’ the sarving men, (for there were
twa,) jumped doon and made sick a thundering rap as gar’d the hale hoose
resound; the t’other man jumped doon, and opened the carriage door——”
“But what has all this to do, my good woman,” interrupted the Earl,
“with the house being, as you say, rifled and robbed? The robbers did
not drive up to the hall door in their carriage, I suppose!” “Aye, bit
they did, tho’!” cried Mrs. M’Kinley, wildly. “Bit hear me oot,” she
continued, “hear me oot, I say! and then dee what ye will wee me! Weel,
I hasted roond, and was standing i’ the haw, by the time the hoose door
was opened. A taw, weel-looked, vara weel-dressed, elderly gentleman
gits oot o’ the carriage, and coms intle the haw in a great bustle,
cawing oot wid a lood voice, ‘I hope you have got fires there!’ Then
he hurries up tle ain o’ the parlour doors, and, finding it locked, he
turns roond angrily, saying, ‘How is this! Where is Mrs. M’Kinley?’ What
was I to think o’ sick impudence, if he was no Mr. Lauson himsel?” Here
the young men had another laugh at Lauson. “I stood forward,” continued
Mrs. M’Kinley, “and courtesied tle him. ‘What is the reason you have not
things in some order, madam?’ said he. I was no expeckin ony body, sir,
said I. ‘Did you not receive my letter from Keswick, ordering you to
have things in readiness?’ No sir, I answered, I had no accounts since
my last remettance from Mr. Lauson. ‘Very odd,’ said he, ‘however, here!
open these doors! and get fires immediately in one of the rooms—whichever
is most comfortable. And, d’i hear, send in coffee—I hope you have got
something in the house for supper?’ There is a lettle cold meat, sir,
said I. ‘That won’t do,’ sais he, ‘you must get something hot.’ You can
have a foul, sir, said I. You mind picking the foul, Jean? ‘Aye, to be
sure,’ said Jean. And so he’d have the foul,” continued Mrs. M’Kinley,
“‘And take care,’ he sais, ‘you have a well-aired bed, and have a good
fire made in my room immediately—and, here! come back!’ for I was going,
‘when I have had coffee, do you attend me here for further orders!’
For, before this,” continued Mrs. M’Kinley, “I had opened one of the
parlours for him, and followed him in. ‘You know, I suppose, that I am
Mr. Lauson?’ he said. No, sir, said I, I did not know it before, sir.
‘Well you know it now, ma’am,’ he said.” The young men laughed. “And wha
could misgee the words o’ a gentleman wha took se mickle upon him!” said
Mrs. M’Kinley, with an appealing, but still wild look at the fairer part
of her audience, “and sae I did as I was bidden, and when his sarving
men had brought oot the coffee things, I went in for my orders. He was
standing wide on the hearth-stane, we his back tle the fire, and his twa
hands in the pockets o’ his breeks, haudding aside his parted coat, for
a’ the warld like lord and maister e the hoose.”
“He then talt me,” continued Mrs. M’Kinley, “that he had com doon tle see
safely removed the plate, coins, books, pictures, &c. &c.”
“The devil he did!” cried Lauson.
“But of course, you did not let him touch any thing?” said the Earl.
“Hear me oot! Hear me oot!” exclaimed Mrs. M’Kinley, deriving courage
from despair. “They were to be aw removed, he said, tle the hoose in
toon, that was preparing and furnishing, again Lady Julia should be at
age—”
“What an audacious villain!” exclaimed the Earl. “But you did not, I say,
allow him to remove any thing?”
“Every thing! Every thing!” cried Mrs. M’Kinley, with vehemence: “didna I
tell yee, awe was gane thegether? And I helped to pack them mysel’!”
“Why, woman, you must have been mad!” said his lordship. “Mad or not
mad,” she replied, “I’ve geen him every thing! Sae hear me oot, and then,
as I said afoor, di what ye will we me! I desarve hanging, and I can git
ne war!”
“Well, well! say on, say on,” said the Earl.
“If I geid up the things in good order,” she continued, “he wad gee me,
he said, receipts for every thing; mentioning that they were so, that
I might no be accountable for ony damage the things might sustain i’
the carriage. And he said further, that to avoid the chafing o’ land
carriage, aw was tle gang by long sea, in a vessel whilk was now aff the
coast. Bit what maist of aw convinced me, at he could be nebody else bit
Maister Lauson, was, at he took oot on his port mantle, aw the keys o’
the hoose.”—“The keys?” interrupted the Earl. “False ones, of course,”
said Lauson.
“Na sick a thing,” she rejoined, “bit the vara keys themsel and labeled,
as I mysel had labeled them, when I geed them tle yeer lordship and
Maistriss Montgomery: sae, what was I te think? Nor did the steward, nor
the gairdinir, nor the gamkeeper, at sleeped i’ the hoose for security,
iver think o’ misdooting at the gintleman was Maister Lauson.”
“A pretty business indeed,” ejaculated Lauson. “A very serious one,
I begin to fear!” said the Earl. “A very unlikely one” said Lauson,
rattling something in his pocket as he spoke. “But come, madam, finish
what you have got to say, and then I shall beg leave to put in a word.
It’s only necessary to give some people rope enough, and they will hang
themselves—that I see!”
“He geed me the keys o’ the buke-cases,” continued Mrs. M’Kinley, “and
bad me tle hay the books aw dusted, and that there wad be people here i’
the morn’s morn, at wad undertake the packing o’ the pictures. And sae he
desired particular at they should be carefully tane down, and weel wiped
ready soon i’ the morn.”
Many were here the ejaculations of astonishment at such audacity.
“And sae,” continued poor Mrs. M’Kinley, “I was up we the daw; and aw the
next day was spent we packing, and I helped every thing we my ain hands;
and signs by, I hev hed sick a pain i’ my back iver sine, at I’m no fit
tle stand straight!”
No one scarcely could avoid laughing at poor Mrs. M’Kinley’s thus
claiming merit to herself for the active assistance she had given the
plunderer.
“It’s no a laughing matter,” said she bitterly. “Bit hear me oot, and
I care na what coms o’ me after! Weel, towerds the glooming then, sure
enough, a boat cam fray the ship at we had seen nigh to the shore aw day;
and it pot in amang the rocks, just below the woody cliff yonder. And up
the sailor-men com, bowling through aw the shrubbery walks, and doon they
carried aw the kists and boxes.”
The Earl and Lauson looked at each other: there was no ejaculation strong
enough for this climax.
“And when they were tacking oot the last o’ them,” continued Mrs.
M’Kinley, “I followed mysel through the trees, as far as the view seat,
and sat mysel doon; and by cam Maister Lauson.”
“I’ll prosecute you if you use my name,” said Lauson.
“As he cawd himsel at least,” she added.
“So, Mrs. M’Kinley,” he said, “I am going with the ship mysel, to see all
safe,” and he passed on. “Weel, I looked after him, and after the kists,
and doon on the water, for the moon was up, and all was clear as day; and
the ship was lying, and I seed the boat put fray the land and gey toward
it; and I seed the kists quite plain, lifted oot on the boat, and drawd
up the side o’ the ship, ain by ain, till I coonted the last on them; and
then they drawd up the boat also. A weel, a weel, thought I, and noo it’s
aw ower, it’s been a queer sudden business, amaist like tle a dream. And
I gade back ti the hoose; and found Jean sweeping up the strey; and sae
I helped her to shut the doors and the windows; and we sat doon by the
fire, and thought the hoose mayne lanely like, (the men folk was no com
in tle their suppers) than we had thought it, aw the years at we had had
the care on’t.”
“You should certainly have shut your doors and windows a little sooner,
my good woman!” said the Earl.
“Here’s locking the stable when the steed is stolen, with the vengeance,”
said Lauson.
“Hear ye te that, noo!” cried Mrs. M’Kinley, “hoo he threeps me doon;
just as if I was na wratched enu awready. It’s easy prophesying when the
prophesy is oot! I may be feul, and mad, and aw the rest on’t; bit I’m
no sick a feul at I need to be talt noo, at the things wad aw be better
i’their places, nor i’ the hands o’a thief and a robber! Bit hoo was I
to ken at he was a thief? Did’na he caw himself Maister Lauson, and I
kent at his lordship did’na think ye a thief, or he wad’na ha’ geen ye
his business.”
“Don’t be noisy, my good woman,” said the Earl, but mildly; for he made
charitable allowance for the excited state of her feelings. “And pray
when did all this happen?” he continued. “Aboot a month syne,” she
replied. “Bit the receipts will show.” “What receipts?” asked Lauson.
“Did’na I tell ye, at he geed me receipts for ivery thing?” she replied,
with much asperity; at the same time beginning to rummage her pockets.
“To be sure I hey them!” she murmured; and the longer she was in finding
them among the varied treasures she successively drew forth, and in her
agitation alternately took from one pocket, and put into the other, the
more frequently she repeated, “to be sure I hey them!”
At length, with trembling hands, after frequent wiping of her spectacles,
which her fast falling tears as often dimmed, she selected from the chaos
a tied up parcel, containing receipts for every thing, all signed with
the name of Lauson, and in a hand which was a very tolerable imitation of
his.
Lauson exclaimed against the daring act of forging his name; swearing
that whoever had done so, should swing for it! “And as for your long
story, madam,” he continued, turning to Mrs. M’Kinley, “I shall quickly
prove it all a pack of lies! Here are the keys, labels and all, in my
own coat-pocket,” and thence he accordingly produced them. “Now, it’s a
likely story,” he continued, “if a highwayman-rascal had been able to get
possession of them out of Mrs. Montgomery’s japan cabinet, at Lodore
House, that he would have run the risk of putting them there again, after
they had served his turn; and from thence I took them with my own hands,
only three days since.”
Exclamations of wonder here followed. The Earl cast a very angry glance
at poor Mrs. M’Kinley. She was thunderstruck: she could not deny that
those were indeed the keys, yet protested that her former statement was
notwithstanding gospel truth!
Affected by her tears and protestations, Julia declared her belief of
poor Mrs. M’Kinley’s innocence, however inexplicable the circumstances
might be.—“Well,” said the Earl, at length, “as you, who are most
interested, wish it, we shall at least consider her innocent till she is
proved guilty.”
Mrs. M’Kinley wept like a child, fell at Julia’s feet, and begged
she would miss-caw and abuse her, aw at iver she could, and no break
her heart by sick goodness. When the surprise had at length a little
subsided, many spacious apartments were visited; and the picture gallery
in particular; which, bearing on its now naked walls the numerous traces
of departed frames of various shapes and sizes, gave thus a silent and
melancholy testimony of how great a loss had been sustained. Edmund
reminded Lord Arandale, that a clue might be found to some useful
discoveries, in what Gotterimo had said of the London swindler having
sold to a friend of his, plate, pictures, coins, &c.
His lordship requested the gentlemen to be present while he examined the
rest of the servants. The ladies walked on towards the view-seat.