JULIA.
When Captain John joined the family at dinner that day, it was with
feelings of more than his wonted self-content. He had returned from
his fishing only the hour before, and had brought with him the two
finest salmon that had been caught that season. The game-keepers and
retainers had admired them as in duty bound, but theirs was the
admiration that pleases only _faute de mieux_, seeing that it can be
counted on, while to-day his nephew, his old rival in field sports,
was present to join in the applause.
They sat down, a party of five, the three gentlemen already described,
Lady Caroline, and her kinswoman Miss Finlayson. Lady Caroline was the
great lady of the neighbourhood. She was tall and dignified, with a
thorough appreciation of her own importance; also she was somewhat
indolent, and therefore disposed to be good-natured and condescending,
whenever her superiority was quietly acquiesced in. She spent a few
weeks each summer in London with her husband, but these visits were
yearly becoming shorter. There were so many persons of more
consequence than herself, and she found herself so much in the
position of one in a crowd, that she felt as if losing her sense of
personal identity, became depressed, and hurried home never to return,
or would have done so had it not been for Miss Finlayson, her
judicious young friend, who never once presumed to advise or direct,
but who yet could influence her in opposition to her own inclination,
to remain in town to the end of the season, to return again the next
year, and to do any thing else the said Miss Finlayson might desire.
Miss Finlayson was a young lady of five or six-and-twenty, and of
slender fortune and accommodating disposition, who could converse or
keep silence, read, write, play or sing, laugh or cry in sympathy with
the mood of her protectress. In person as in manner she can only be
described negatively. She was quite what a young lady should be at all
points, or at least, when you come to particularize, nothing that she
should not be. Had Madame Contour, her London dressmaker, sent home
her person and demeanour, as well as her admirably fitting draperies,
she would have been very much as she was. Her figure was tall and
well-proportioned, waist small, bust a little flat, easily amenable to
the touch of art, arms slender but well rounded and charmingly white,
hands and feet adapted to the smallest and daintiest of gloves and
slippers. Her complexion was pale but clear, lips thin, mouth long,
nose slightly aquiline, eyes somewhat pale, forehead too high, but
with the dark hair drawn well over the temples, and long ringlets
descending nearly to the waist. Altogether a pale but not unpleasing
vision, and what Madame Contour would have called 'very ladylike.' She
had come to Inchbracken three years before, on a cousinly visit of a
fortnight; but Lady Caroline had found her so delightful and
invaluable a companion that she had been induced to prolong her stay
from month to month, till at length, after prolonged entreaties, she
had consented to sacrifice what she called her independence, and make
Inchbracken her home.
Her insight into the character of those about her was unusually
distinct, and the tact with which she applied the knowledge so
acquired thoroughly artistic. With the General she was all grateful
deference and modest trust; hanging on his lips for any occasional
oracles of wisdom that chance might issue, but very careful not to
bore him with her presence or conversation unsought, and ever ready
with a light for his cigar when his own matchbox was mislaid, as it
generally was. With Captain John she was gay, always ready with a
flippant repartee whenever he attempted to gibe, but still upon her
guard. There was a twinkle in the old gentleman's eye whenever they
engaged in a passage of arms, which suggested that he too had some of
the insight on which she depended so much in playing the game of life.
With Lady Caroline, as already said, she was self-adaptive and
sympathetic, and yet to all appearance spontaneously so, and without
ever sinking her own individuality, or permitting herself to be taken
for granted like a dependent. Besides amusing, she contrived to
relieve her of many small burdens and domestic cares, and so became
altogether indispensable to her indolent kinswoman. She interfered in
nothing, and yet there was no part of the household machine that did
not run smoother when lubricated by her good offices. The housekeeper,
the head gardener, even my lady's own woman came in time to solicit in
an emergency the favourable intervention of this best natured of all
young ladies, and always with the best results.
Lady Caroline found at length that she need neither think nor act,
save when she felt inclined, and she declared with fervour, that Julia
Finlayson was as good as a daughter of her own. That amiable person
was quite content that it should be so, and indeed was most willing
that Lady Caroline should have a full legal claim on her filial duty.
By some deft manipulation of circumstances, the idea of her becoming a
daughter-in-law had been suggested to her ladyship's mind, while the
dear disinterested Julia stood immaculate from every suspicion of
scheming, and, strange as it may seem, Lady Caroline was disposed to
acquiesce. Her Kenneth, she said, would never make a great marriage,
and if he would bring home a nobody, there was none she would more
willingly take to her mother's heart than 'poor Julia.' The adjective
is not exactly an enthusiastic one, but narrow circumstances had
taught Miss Finlayson philosophy, and she did not look to gather
grapes off thorns. If the thorns would only consent not to scratch
till she had made good her hold, she knew she could pick them off at
her leisure afterwards; and then for a crackling blaze under the pot!
It would be 'poor thorns' then! But meanwhile, to acquire a
mother-in-law, that lady's consent is by no means the essential or
only step. 'First catch your hare,' or the pot will be empty, and the
thorns to crackle under it will never be required. Though the damsel
sit expectant and willing in her bower, what matter, if the wooer
comes not? and so far Kenneth had shown no desire to approach Julia's
bower in wooer's guise. Most callous of men, and most indifferent of
cousins, he had passed under all the battery of charms and
accomplishments, and never known. In all cousinliness he had taught
her to fish, and to row on the loch. When she admitted a curiosity as
to men's pursuits and a liking for tobacco smoke, he had welcomed her
to the smoking-room, where she felt inclined to study _Bell's Life_,
and also to the billiard room, where, in fact, he made her a very
tolerable player, but that was all,--he felt to her only as if she had
been a very little brother, and wondered what she meant by so many
dainty affectations, and why she should bother to do so many things he
shrewdly suspected she did not like. As to her clever little leadings,
feints, and fencings colloquial, they were so much good brain-power
thrown away, and might have been spoken in French or Sanscrit for any
idea they conveyed to him. In fact she was altogether too
sophisticated and utterly fine for this country-bred swain, and
besides, she was always there.
If you had partridge every day for breakfast, partridge for dinner,
and partridge again at supper, how long would you continue to relish
that dainty food? And so probably in the case of a healthy young man
with plenty of social opportunities, a permanent residence under the
same roof does not afford the sportswoman the best opportunity to bag
her game. So many weapons and devices become useless after a trial or
two. What can be the efficacy of a parting glance, for instance, if
the glancer has only gone behind the rose-bush at the other end of the
garden? And how can one recall a last _tête à tête_, when the partner
in it sits in an adjoining chamber, ready to resume? And how can
imagination and memory ever come into play, with the fair object
always in full view? Miss Finlayson was not only too sophisticated,
but she was always there, and so, simple Mary Brown, though probably
not so handsome according to Madam Contour's standard, and certainly
less clever and accomplished, had taken possession of the young man's
affections, and kept them, in spite of all the wiles of the syren.
All this, however, had come to an end two years ago when Kenneth,
after long leave and quarters in the nearest garrison town, was
ordered with his regiment to Gibraltar. In the meantime Mary Brown had
become involved in the disgrace into which every well regulated mind
in the Inchbracken circle considered that her brother had sunk. In
fact she had so completely fallen out of their world that she need not
be considered further, except to keep her out. Wherefore Julia made
haste to welcome Kenneth's return, with all the warmth of a cousin,
and to intimate as far as a well-bred damsel may, that she was
capable, perhaps, of even warmer feelings.
The conversation at dinner that evening ran much on Captain John's
successful angling. The appearance of his largest salmon at table gave
the ladies an opportunity to join in the applause, which every male
inhabitant of the house and offices had already offered.
'If you would only go out oftener, John!' said Lady Caroline. 'None of
the men ever seem able to bring home anything larger than a small
grilse.'
'Was it above or below the bridge you caught him? Captain Drysdale,'
asked Miss Finlayson.
And so John was launched on an extended narrative of his day's spoil.
Every bolt and plunge and feint and double of his fish was duly
recorded, with sufficient local description to make the whole
perfectly intelligible. He told his story remarkably well, and quite
aroused the interest of his auditors. Too much so, perhaps, if the
General's opinion had been asked; but then the General may have been
hypercritical, owing to an idea he had of elevating dinner into one of
the fine arts. 'You see,' he would say 'one can only dine once in
twenty-four hours, that is to say if one is not to be talked about,
which would be unpleasant, or to lose use of one's liver, which would
be worse. And so, for myself I confess I look forward to dinner as the
event of the day, and like to approach it in a proper spirit. There
should be some talk of course, because we are neither beasts nor
cannibals; but it should be light, gay, and cheerful, for good spirits
promote digestion--yet not too engrossing--and especially--no
discussion! That distracts the attention, till a man may not know
whether it is a quail or a snipe he is eating. We want a cheerful
tranquility at dinner, in order to appreciate rightly the dishes
submitted; and give due attention to the business before us and that,
I take it, is the deglutition of food.'
On the present occasion, however, the General's views were neither
asked nor propounded, and John rambled pleasantly forward through the
various events of his day.
'By the way, Kenneth! I met your old crony, young Brown, this morning.
Poor lad! Fanaticism has changed him sadly; long-haired, lank-jawed,
and saucer-eyed, that is what he has become. He might be a Covenanter,
or a member of the Barebones Parliament. He appeared to be returning
home from Inverlyon, where he must have been last night, for it was
about eight o'clock when I met him on the road this morning, jogging
along, (how he used to gallop about the countryside of old!) and
mounted, of all beasts for a douce Free Kirk priest to be astride, on
that poaching rascal Patey Soutar's pony!'
'Hm!' said the General,'I always said secession was just inserting the
small end of the wedge! They quarrel with our vested right of
patronage now, but that is only the beginning. By and by they will
question our right to the grouse on our own hills, and want to repeal
the game laws! If they had their way, I wonder would they leave us a
roof over our heads, or a coat on our backs? That comes of your Reform
Bills! and putting the government of the country in the hands of
people who have nothing to lose! But I did not expect to see the son
of my old friend array himself with such as these. It is very sad.'
'Did he seem cheerful, John?' asked Kenneth.
'He looked as I say, tired, thin, and hollow-eyed. But when I tried
mildly to remonstrate, and show that he had made the change for the
worse, he fired up briskly enough, and held forth quite at length. He
might have been talking still, I daresay, but that just then, there
came a squeal from a parcel he carried on his saddle bow. I pricked up
my ears at that, and resolved to take _my_ innings then. He had been
discoursing on the solemnity of his avocations, which precluded
shooting and fishing, so here I had a fine opening for chaff, saying
that his presbytery might reasonably forbid these, seeing that it
allowed other pastimes so much more engrossing, for--saving your
presence, Lady Caroline--the bundle contained a baby! Poor fellow, he
seemed so put-out, I really did not catch his explanation--though of
course there was one, (there always is--) The confusion seemed quite
out of proportion, for after all as the French girl said to her
priest, "it was such a little one!" Ha, ha!!'
But no one joined in the laugh. The ladies were examining the flowers
painted on their plates, and the gentlemen kept a severe silence. You
surely went too far there! Captain John! Good man. He loved to make a
joke, but it was not often that he achieved one. If desire had been
qualification, he would certainly have been a wit; and when he thought
he had achieved one, he repeated it till every one he knew had heard
it. Hence the repetition of the morning's rather thread-bare jest.
Perhaps it was only to break an awkward silence that Miss Finlayson
took up the word.
'Your woman Briggs tells me, Lady Caroline, that that Tirpie girl, old
Tibbie's daughter, has come home again. When Briggs came over from
Inverlyon last night, there was some one else in the stage-coach, all
wrapped up, who sat and cried the whole way. She got out at Tibbie's
cottage. This morning Briggs went over about some sewing, and there
was the girl looking so thin and pale. Briggs says it was distressing
to see her, she looked so weak and heart-broken. Perhaps you may
remember that she was ailing and went away to some friend at a
distance. Now she is home again. I fear she is not a good girl, at
least not all her mother would wish her to be. But perhaps you could
let her have some fine sewing, Briggs says any other kind of work
would be too much for her.'
The boisterous unmannerliness of Captain John's remark had caused a
sensation, but it was as nothing to the dismay which followed Miss
Finlayson's perfectly quiet, evenly uttered, and perhaps charitably
intended words. She seemed virtuously unconscious of all evil, but by
some occult association of ideas, her statement fell into the minds of
her auditors as corroborative and supplementary to what had been meant
but as a little verbal horse play by the Captain.
Lady Caroline looked deeply shocked, Kenneth flushed scarlet with
indignation, and as his glance met John's, the latter returned it with
a twinkle of mingled amusement and admiration. He passed his napkin
across his mouth to hide an uncontrollable grin, and muttered to
Kenneth his neighbour--'the scandalous jade!'
William the footman appeared to quiver as if struck. His eye dilated
and his jaw fell. The dish he carried would have fallen, and there
would have been a catastrophe, had not the butler trodden on his toe
and recalled him with a reproving glance to that sublime impassibility
which alone is worthy of a footman on duty.
The General alone remained tranquil. He was eating his dinner. He
heard something pass between the ladies about one of the cottagers,
but his thoughts were running on other things, whether, for instance,
another clove of garlic, or perhaps an olive would not give a rounder
fulness to the sauce on his plate.
There was little or no conversation afterwards. Every one seemed
distraught, and following out a train of new and unpleasant ideas,
except Miss Finlayson, who seemed securely content, a participant with
the General in his digestive tranquility. Perhaps she had fired her
shot and it had sped home to its mark, or perhaps there was no mark
and no intention when the winged words flew forth. We read that of old
'a certain man drew a bow at a venture.' The arrow sped, and entering
the unguarded joint of a harness, it laid a warrior low. It may be
that Julia's arrow was thus unwittingly shot, but Captain John did not
think so.