The festive morning dawned at last, a vigorous, red October day, and all
about and around Merkland was bustle and preparation.
"Duncan," cried Bell the cook, her face looming, already red and full,
through a mist; "when was that weary man, Bob Partan, to send up the
turbot?"
"Punctual at eleven," said the laconic Duncan.
"Eh! man, Duncan," said May, "have ye tried on your new livery
yet?--isn't it grand?"
"Hout, you silly fool," responded Duncan, "has the like o' me leisure,
think you, to be minding about coats and breeks?"
"Eh!" exclaimed Bell, "what has possessed me! There's no clove in a' the
house and they need to be in--I kenna how mony things. You maun off to
Portoran, Duncan, gallopping; there's not a minute to be lost."
"Duncan," cried Johnnie Halflin, the boy at the Tower, who, with sundry
other articles, had been lent for the occasion, "I've casten doun a jar
o' the Smoothlie honey, and it's broken twa o' the bottles. Man, come
afore the leddy sees't."
"Duncan," said Barbara Genty, Mrs. Ross's own especial attendant. "You
are to go up to the parlor, this minute. You were sent for half an hour
ago."
"Conscience!" exclaimed the overwhelmed Duncan, "is there two of us,
that ye are rugging and riving at a man in that gate? Get out o' my
road, ye young sinner, or there shall be mair things broken than
bottles! I'm coming, Bauby. Woman Bell, could ye no hae minded a'thing
at once?"
Above stairs, Mr. Lewis's servant, who had left Merkland a loutish lad,
and returned glistening in Parisian polish and refinement, a superfine
gentleman, was condescendingly advising with Mrs. Ross, as to the
garniture of the dinner-table. Things were so arranged in the Hotel
de ----, John said; for Monsieur Charles, Mr. Sutherland's major-domo,
had a style of his own. But for the country, John fancied this would do
very well. Mrs. Ross had dismissed Anne, an hour before, to her own
room, as useless; and half-offended with the airs of her son's dignified
servant, was yet not above hearing the style of the Hotel de ----, and in
some degree making it her model, certain that Parisian fashion had not
penetrated to any other house in the district, and well-pleased to take
the lead. For the gay parties at Falcon's Craig, and the stately
festivities at the Tower, had an individuality about them which had
always been wanting in Merkland, and Mrs. Ross had resolved to outshine
all to-day.
Anne, meanwhile, sat up stairs, busied with her ordinary work. She was
the seamstress of the family, and the post was not by any means a
sinecure.
The guests began to arrive, at last. Mr. Ambler, of Smoothlie, emerged
from his dressing-room, neat as elderly, finical gentleman could be,
with his carefully arranged dress, and wig, savoring of olden times. Mr.
Ambler had been in India once, and alluded to the fact on all occasions;
albeit, an indulged only son, with the snug enough of his lairdship to
fall back upon, he had returned in the same vessel which took him out.
But though Mr. Ambler was too fond of slippered ease to try his fortune
under the burning sun of the East, his voyage supplied him with an
inexhaustible fund of conversation, innocently self-complacent, in which
India and its wonders had a place all incompatible with his brief
experience of them.
Dashing in, full gallop, came the Falconers--the gay, bold brother and
sister, fatherless and motherless, and entirely unrestrained in any way,
whose wild freaks afforded so much material for gossip to the
countryside. Then in a methodical, business-like trot, came in the sleek
horses and respectable vehicle of Mr. Coulter, of Harrows; the Manse
gig; the stately carriage of Mrs. Catherine, and other conveyances,
whose occupants we need not specify by name. The room was filled. Alice
Aytoun had never in her life been at so great a party.
She could distinguish on yonder sofa, in the corner, Mrs. Bairnsfather's
black satin gown, side by side with the strong thrifty hued silk of Mrs.
Coulter, of Harrows. The Misses Coulter, in their Edinburgh robes, were
near their mamma. They were very well-looking, well-dressed girls; but
Alice's own silk gown bore a comparison with theirs, and their ornaments
were nothing like those delicate pearls. The discovery emboldened little
Alice Aytoun, and took away her sole existing heaviness. She was fully
prepared to enjoy herself.
The stately dinner, and all its solemnities, were over at last. The real
pleasure of the evening was commencing; the company forming into gay
knots; and Lewis doing the honors, with so rare a grace, that his mother
almost forgot her own duties in admiration of her son. Alice Aytoun
admired him, too. The pretty little stranger had become a sort of centre
already, with the gayest and most attractive of all those varied groups,
about her--and Lewis let no opportunity pass of offering his homage.
Even on Mrs. Catherine's strong features, as she sat near her charge,
there hovered a mirthful smile. Mrs. Catherine herself was not
displeased that the _debut_ of her little stranger should be so much a
triumph.
"A pretty girl--there is no doubt of that," said the good-humored Mrs.
Coulter. "James, do you not think she is like our Ada? See, the heads of
the two are together, and Jeanie is behind them, with young Walter
Foreman. I declare that lad is constantly hovering about Jeanie. Ah,
Mrs. Bairnsfather, we have many cares who have a family!"
"No doubt," said the little, fat, round-about Mrs. Bairnsfather, the
childless minister's wife, whose cares, diverted from the usual channel
of children-loving, expended themselves upon the many comforts of
herself, and her easy, comfortable husband. "You must be troubled in
various ways now that the young people have got to man's estate, and
woman's. But what were you calling Miss Adamina, Mrs. Coulter? I noticed
a change in the name."
Mrs. Coulter looked slightly confused.
"You see, Mrs. Bairnsfather, it is a cumbrous name--four syllables--and
we must have some contraction. When they were all bairns, they used to
call her Edie, poor thing; but that would not do now; and at school she
got Ada, and it really is a prettier name, and quite a good diminutive:
so we just adopted it."
"Dear me! is that it?" said Mrs. Bairnsfather. "When I got the last note
from Harrows I saw it was 'A. M. Coulter.' And that's it!"
"Yes," said Mrs. Coulter. "Ada Mina--they are two very pretty names."
Mrs. Bairnsfather coughed a short sarcastic cough of wonder, and Mrs.
Coulter continued:
"Oh! there is John beside little Miss Aytoun. Is he not like his father,
Mrs. Bairnsfather? James, did you not say that Miss Aytoun was a
relative of Mrs. Catherine's?"
"Ay, my dear," said Mr. Coulter. "Mrs. Catherine told us so herself--you
recollect? or was it to me she said it? So it was--when she was looking
at yon new patent plough of John's."
"I wonder," said Mrs. Bairnsfather, "who is likely to get the Tower? In
the course of nature, it cannot be very long in Mrs. Catherine's hands,
and it's a good estate."
"Wonderfully improved in my time," said Mr. Coulter. "Mrs. Catherine is
not without a notion of the science of agriculture, which, to the shame
of landed proprietors, is generally so much neglected. The low lands at
Oran Point were but moor and heather in my memory, but they grow as fine
barley now as any in the country."
"Well, I suppose no one can say that Mrs. Catherine neglects her carnal
interests," said Mrs. Bairnsfather, with a professional sigh. Her
husband was known among his shrewd parishioners to be greatly more
observant of temporal than spiritual matters, and his wife, conscious of
a failing in that respect, was wont to assume at times a technical
solemnity.
"I believe Mrs. Catherine is a very excellent woman in every respect,"
said the good-humored and uncensorious Mrs. Coulter, "and cares as
little about money, for money's sake, as any one can possibly do; but
she thinks it a duty to use well and improve what Providence has given
her, as you do yourself, James, though, to be sure, we have more motive,
with a young family rising round us."
"I was very much struck yesterday," said Mr. Coulter, "with the contrast
between the Tower fields, and the adjoining lands within the bounds of
Strathoran. There is a place where the three estates meet--Mrs.
Catherine's, Mr. Sutherland's and mine. You recollect the little burn,
my dear, which that silly maid of yours fell into last Hallow-e'en?
well, it is there. Mrs. Catherine's stubble-fields stretch to the very
burnside--mine are turnips--uncommonly fine Swedes; but, on the other
side, spreading away as far as you can see, is the brown moor of
Strathoran, miles of good land wastefully lost, besides breeding by the
thousand these small cattle of game, to destroy our corn."
"Ay," said Mrs. Bairnsfather, mysteriously, "I hear the Sutherlands are
not in the best way."
"Poor things! they are young to be out in the world alone," said Mrs.
Coulter; "and Isabel was a wilful girl at all times. I gathered from
what Lewis Ross said, that they were living very gaily; but perhaps you
have heard more?"
Mrs. Bairnsfather shook her head.
"It is a melancholy thing to think of the downfall of an old family!"
"Hout! Mrs. Bairnsfather," said Mr. Coulter; "you are taking it too
seriously. Strathoran can stand a good deal. It will take more than one
lad's extravagance to bring down the family, I trust; and young
Sutherland used to have good sense and discretion. I spoke to him of
draining Loelyin before he went away, and he really had very just ideas
on the subject. No, no; let us hope there will be no ruin in the case."
Mrs. Bairnsfather shook her head again.
"I have no objection to hope the best, Mr. Coulter; but it is no
uncommon thing to be disappointed in hopes; and, if what I hear be true,
there is more room for fear."
"What's this," said Mr. Ambler, approaching the little group, as he made
a leisurely, chatting, circuit round the room--"hoping and fearing, Mrs.
Bairnsfather? Is it about these happy-looking young people of ours, and
the future matches that may spring from their pairings--eh, Mrs.
Coulter?"
Mrs. Coulter smiled, and glanced over to where Walter Foreman lingered
by her Jeanie's side. They were a handsome couple, and Walter had a nice
little improvable property, inherited from his mother. There was no
saying what might come to pass.
"No, Mr. Ambler," said Mrs. Bairnsfather, "we were speaking of poor
young Strathoran;" and, from the depths of her fat bosom there came a
mysteriously pathetic sigh.
"Strathoran! what's happened to the lad?" exclaimed Mr. Ambler. "Lewis
Ross left him well and merry--no accident I hope; but Lewis has not been
a week at home yet: there is little time for any change in his
fortunes."
"Ah, Mr. Ambler," said Mrs. Bairnsfather, "it is not aye well to be
merry. I have heard from those who know, that young Mr. Sutherland's gay
life is putting his lands in jeopardy; they say he'll spend a whole
year's income sometimes in a single night, poor ill-advised lad! I
happened to mention it to Mrs. Catherine, but she turned about upon me,
as if _I_ was to be any better of Strathoran's downfall, which I am sure
I never meant, nor anything like it."
"Bless me!" said Mr. Ambler, "I am concerned to hear that--I am grieved,
do you know, to hear that. Is it possible? Why, I always thought Archie
Sutherland was a wise lad--a discreet lad of his years."
Mrs. Bairnsfather shook her head.
"Archibald Sutherland ruined!" continued Mr. Ambler, "no, it's surely
not possible--it must have been an ill-wisher that said that. Why,
Strathoran is as big as Falcon's Craig and Smoothlie put together--ay,
and even ye might slip in a good slice off Merkland. Ruined! it's not
possible. When I came home from India I heard of old Strathoran
saying--I do not recollect the amount, I always had a bad memory for
figures--but a great sum every year. It must be a false alarm, Mrs.
Bairnsfather."
"Very well, gentlemen," said Mrs. Bairnsfather, "it's no concern of
mine; but a little time will show that I am correct."
"Bless me!" repeated Mr. Ambler, "then the lad must go to India, that is
clear--he may do great things in India. You see when I was there myself,
there was the best opening for a lad of talent that could possibly be;
but I had a yearning for home. I was always uncommonly fond of home, and
so I am only a country Laird, when I might have been a Nabob. But if he
were once in India I would have no fear for him--he would soon get up
again."
"India, Mr. Ambler!" exclaimed Mr. Coulter, "no doubt there are fortunes
to be made in India; but _I_ fancy it's a shame to us to send our sons
away to seek gold, when it is lying in our very fields for the
digging--agriculture--"
"What's that you're saying, Mr. Coulter?" exclaimed the Laird of
Smoothlie. "Gold! where is't man? we'll all take a hand at that work, if
it were but for poor auld Scotland's sake, who has ever been said to
have but a scanty providing of the precious metal."
"There are harvests lying in the cold breast of the great Strathoran
moor," said the agriculturist, energetically, "of more import to man,
Mr. Ambler, than if its sands were gold. If what we hear of Archibald
Sutherland is true, _he_ may never be able to do it now; but a sensible
man, with sufficient capital, might double the rent-roll of Strathoran."
Mr. Ambler looked slightly contemptuous.
"Well, well, Mr. Coulter, I'll not gainsay you; but to tell the truth,
I've no notion of making young lads of family and breeding amateur
ploughmen--I beg your pardon, Mr. Coulter, I mean no affront to you--you
look upon it as a science, I know, and doubtless so it is; but--you see
if Archie Sutherland could fall in with such an opening, as was waiting
ready for me when I went to India, he might be home again, a wealthy
man, before your harvests were grown."
"James," interposed Mrs. Coulter, "you are not looking at our young
people--how happy they all seem, poor things. I do not think you have
seen my Ada, Mr. Ambler, since she returned from Edinburgh."
Mr. Ambler adjusted his spectacles, with a smile. "No, I dare say not.
Is that her with Lewis Ross? No, that's Mrs. Catherine's little friend.
Ay, ay, I see her--like what her mother used to be, in my remembrance.
Mrs. Coulter, you must have great pleasure in your fine family."
Mrs. Coulter smiled, well pleased.
"Do you know, Mr. Ambler," said Mrs. Bairnsfather, "who that Miss Aytoun
is?"
"Who she is? No, indeed, except a very bonnie little girlie. She is
that, without dispute; but Mr. Foreman will know. Mr. Foreman, can you
tell Mrs. Bairnsfather who that young lady is, at Lewis Ross's hand?"
"Miss Aytoun, ma'am, a relative of Mrs. Catherine's," said the lawyer.
"We know that," said Mr. Ambler. "Is that all her history?
Aytoun--Aytoun--I have surely some associations with that name myself."
"Very likely," said Mr. Foreman, dryly. "She comes from the south
country; her mother lives in Edinburgh, I believe, and is of a good
family. I do not know anything further of the young lady, Mrs.
Bairnsfather; that is, nothing at all interesting."
"Which means," said Mrs. Coulter aside to her husband, as their little
group increased, and the conversation became more general, "that Mr.
Foreman knows something very interesting about that pretty little girl.
Mrs. Catherine is a client of his. Perhaps he thinks of Miss Aytoun for
Walter. James, will you call Jeanie to me?"
And so, in quiet talk, in that bright drawing-room, these ladies and
gentlemen--all possessing their average share of kindliness--had decided
upon the ruin of Archibald Sutherland, who sat this same night in yonder
brilliant Parisian saloon, with the fatal dice trembling in his hand, in
all the wild, delirious gaiety of a desperate man; and in their flood of
easy conversation, had touched upon another centre of crime and misery,
darker and more fatal still, the facts of which lingered in the
lawyer-like memory of Walter Foreman's father, and even attached some
dim associations, in Mr. Ambler's mind, to Alice Aytoun's name. Strange
domestic volcano, over which these slippered feet passed so heedlessly!
How often, in quiet houses, and among quiet people, are mighty sins and
mighty miseries passed by as lightly!