"He's always been uncle to me," she explained. "Though lately I've
hardly seen him at all.... He buries himself more and more up at
Fingarton...."
"And what of the present Lady Fingarton?" I inquired.
"I like her--she's a dear," answered the girl. "Though I think daddy
always compares her with the first one." Her father smiled, but said
nothing. "She is generally here in Town.... She likes to be near
Bobby...."
For a while we were silent, while the soft strains of the orchestra
stole through the smoke-laden air above the hum of conversation.... It
had gripped me--the picture painted by Bill Lakington, in his short
clipped sentences. The tragedy of it--and, as he had said, the good
fortune too.... Duty: pride of family--aye, they have their price.
Mayhap Betty Fingarton was paying her share in the knowledge that the
next of the line was not her son.... Or did she, with clearer vision,
understand the workings of the Great Architect, which at first must have
seemed so inscrutable?...
"When is the wedding?" I asked.
"In about a month," said the girl. "Everyone will be there."
"Personally," I murmured, "I shall be one of the forty or fifty odd
million who won't. So you can send me an account of it."
"Where are you going, Sir Richard?"
"To a little village way up in the outskirts of Skye," I replied with a
smile. "More burial, young lady--and more hard work."
"You ought to take a bit of a rest, Dick," said Bill Lakington. "You
deserve it...."
"After I've broken the back of the book, I shall," I answered.
"Are you writing a novel, Sir Richard?" inquired the girl.
"No such claim to immortality," I sighed. "My subject is the mode of
life of Glossina palpales--with illustrations."
"And who are they when they're at home?" she asked, dubiously.
"Flies--whose conduct is not above suspicion. Shall I present you with a
copy?"
"Rather. As long as you don't expect me to read it.--Hullo! Bob.
Going to anything to-night?"
"We're staggering to Daly's, old thing...." With a feeling of mild
curiosity I glanced at the boy who had paused by our table on the way
out: a clean-cut, good-looking youngster. No outsider, this future
seventeenth earl, like the distant cousin.... Yes, one could see where
the good fortune came in....
We, too, were going to Daly's, and we all passed out of the restaurant
together. I had a word or two with the youngster as we waited for the
car: he was keen as mustard on hearing about Africa, and especially
Uganda....
"Everybody is tottering out to the country these days, Sir Richard, and
'pon my word, I don't blame 'em..."
"If they can, no more do I. But the head of the family can't go, my
dear boy.... That's the drawback to responsibility."
"Do you know Fingarton?" A gleam came into his eyes as he spoke.
"I'm afraid I don't," I answered. "I've never met your father."
"Go and look him up, if you're in those parts," he said, impulsively.
"It'll do the dear old governor good.... He's burying himself too much
up there, and it's lonely for him.. I've written and written just
lately, and I can't get any answer out of him.... I want him to come
South--he will for my wedding, of course--but these last few months, if
ever I do get a line from him, it's in reply to a letter about three
weeks old...."
"Come on, Sir Richard...." Molly Lakington was calling me from the
car.... "We mustn't miss the last part of the first act...."
Undoubtedly not, and with a nod to the youngster I stepped into the car.
"A good lad that, Bill," I remarked.
"Aye ... a good lad.... But not _quite_ so good as the other," he
answered, thoughtfully.
"He's good enough for Cecilie, anyway, old man, and that's saying a good
deal," said Molly....
By the light of a passing lamp I saw Bill Lakington's face. He was
smiling quietly to himself, as a man smiles when he has his own opinion,
but refuses to argue about it....
"Besides, you scarcely knew the first son," pursued Molly. "I've heard
you say so yourself."
"No, my dear, but I knew the first wife," answered her father, still
with the same quiet smile. Evidently, on the subject of Betty Fingarton,
Bill was adamant.
And at that moment we drew up at Daly's and the conversation ceased. We
were in time for the last part of the first act as the girl had
demanded--though apparently one priceless song about a Bowwow named
Chow-chow had eluded us.... My sorrow at this failure on our part was
heightened by the information that it was one of the best Fox Trots you
could dance to.... I was very anxious to know what a Fox Trot was: in
Uganda, as a form of amusement, it is in but little vogue....
But we'd missed it, and though I endeavoured to bear up under the
staggering blow, I found my attention wandering more and more from the
stage, and centring round the story or the sixteenth Earl Fingarton and
his first wife Betty.
The picture of the old man, shutting himself up more and more in his
Highland castle, waiting for the time when he could be relieved of duty,
and go once more to the woman he loved, came between me and the
stage.... _His_ child to carry on the line, but not _hers_.... But it
would be carried on in direct descent--that was the great point--it
would remain unbroken. The sacrifice of the father had had its
reward....
"There is Lady Fingarton in the box opposite," said Molly Lakington in
my ear, as the lights went up at the end of the first act.... "Sitting
next to Bobby ... and Cecilie on the other side."
I glanced across the theatre. The youngster was just getting up to go
out and smoke, and for a moment or two he bent over a lovely girl, who
smiled up into his face. Then he turned to his mother, and she too
smiled--a smile of perfect happiness. She was a sweet-looking woman of
rising fifty, and on a sudden impulse I spoke my thoughts to Bill
Lakington.
"He ought to come down, Bill: he oughtn't to bury himself. He'd like
it--once he'd broken away. It's not fair to them--or himself. Why
doesn't he?"
"I can't tell you, old man..." he answered, slowly. "I know no more
than you. He's happy up North: when he does come he's always hankering
to get back again."
"But they go up there, I suppose?"
"Sometimes," he said, leaning back in his chair. "Sometimes. But never
for long.... When shooting starts, and he has guests."
"I agree with Sir Richard," said Molly, decidedly. "It's not fair.
He's got the son he wanted, and now he sees as little of the woman who
gave it him as he can.... He ought at any rate to pretend...."
The orchestra was filing back: the smokers were returning to their
seats. And as the safety-curtain rolled slowly up, I glanced once more
across the theatre at Lady Fingarton. Did she feel that too? And it
seemed to me that her eyes were weary.... He ought at any rate to
pretend....
*II*
And so, but for a strange turn in the wheel of fate, the matter would
have rested as far as I was concerned. For an evening the story of the
sixteenth Earl Fingarton and his wife Betty had appealed to my
imagination, then stress of work drove it from my mind. In Scotland,
especially in the Highlands, the fierce pride of family and clan seems
natural and right: from time immemorial that pride has been a dominant
trait of those who live there.
And up in Skye, where I wandered for a while before settling down to
work, the old Earl's action seemed easier to understand.... As a man,
his heart had died with his wife Betty; as the sixteenth of his line, he
had gone forth into the world, which had ceased to interest him, and
taking unto himself another wife, had waited until she gave him a son.
Then, his duty over, he had come back to his dead and his memories....
Callous, perhaps, to the living; primitive in his treatment of his
second wife, as men of old were primitive in their treatment of women,
regarding them as merely the bearers of their children--yet
understandable.... Look on the glory of Glen Sligachan, and it is
understandable. Country such as that in another part of the Highlands
belonged to the Fingartons, and the breathless marvel of it is not to be
lightly parted with. It must remain for a man's son, and his son's son
... a sacred heritage. There must be no outsider to break the line.
Thus did it strike me as I settled down to work in the island that I
loved. And then, as I have said, it gradually faded from my mind. Vast
tracts of territory at present infested with sleeping sickness could, I
felt convinced, be rendered immune from that dreadful scourge if my
proposals were adopted. Starting from the point at which the German
Commission under Professor Koch had left off, years before the war, I
had carried his investigations several steps further. And I knew that I
had been successful. So I found an undisturbed place to write, and
quickly became absorbed in my task. Without undue conceit, I knew it
was an important one....
And then, one evening, after I had been working for about a fortnight,
occurred the strange turn of the wheel which was to bring my attention
back from the dark interior of Africa to things much nearer at hand. I
had finished for the day, and was sitting by the open window watching
the sun sink in a blaze of golden glory over the Coolin Hills, when a
small urchin obtruded himself into my line of vision, and stared at me
fixedly in the intervals of sucking his thumb. The inspection
apparently proved satisfactory, and after a while the small urchin
spoke. His language required interpretation by my landlady, but finally
I gathered that the attentions of a medical man were wanted. And since
the local doctor was away, he wanted to know whether I would come.
"It's for Mrs. MacDerry, sir," explained my landlady. "She's old and
ailing fast."
No doctor can disregard a call of such a sort, and though I had
certainly not come to Skye with the idea of attending to the local man's
practice during his absence, I followed my small guide to a little house
some half a mile away. He left me at the door, and after a moment's
hesitation I knocked. It was opened almost at once by a somewhat stern
and forbidding-looking woman, who stared at me suspiciously, and then
curtly inquired what I wanted.
"Nothing," I answered a little nettled by her tone. "But from the boy
who led me here I gathered you wanted a doctor."
"It was Doctor Lee I sent him for," she snapped.
"Well, Doctor Lee is out," I replied. "But doubtless he will be back
soon, so I'll go away."
I turned away distinctly annoyed at my reception, and was on the point
of passing through the little gate when the woman overtook me.
"Are you a clever doctor?" she demanded.
"I have been told so," I remarked, suppressing a smile.
"Then come inside and see what you can do for my mistress."
"Is your mistress Mrs. MacDerry?"
"Aye," she nodded. "It's herself." Without another word she turned and
led the way up the narrow path, apparently taking it for granted that I
would follow.
"What's the matter with your mistress?" I asked as I reached the door.
"If you're clever you'll find out for yourself," she remarked tersely,
and again I suppressed a smile. An uncompromising handmaiden this....
She left me alone in the room which in such houses is generally alluded
to as the parlour, and while I waited I stared about me idly. And as I
stared my vague curiosity gave way to acute surprise. Generally the
furniture in such rooms must be seen to be believed: stuffed birds in
glass domes, and beaded ornaments of incredible design meet one at every
step. And should one lift one's eyes in a moment of panic to the walls,
innumerable photographs of wedding groups leap at you in mute protest.
But there was nothing of that sort in this room....
Everything was in the most exquisite taste, from the bric-a-brac on a
beautiful inlaid table, to the baby Grand standing in the corner. I
glanced at some of the pictures, and my surprise changed to amazement.
Three at least were genuine Corots.... And the next thing that caught
my eye were half a dozen pieces of Sevres....
"Will you come this way, please?" The woman's harsh voice from the door
interrupted my inspection, and I followed her slowly up the stairs.
I found Mrs. MacDerry propped up in bed awaiting me. The bedroom, in
the quick glance I took around it, seemed in keeping with the room
below; then my attention centred on my patient. She was an old
lady--sweet and fragile-looking as her own Sevres china--and it needed
but a glance to see that the fires were burning low. For Mrs. MacDerry
the harbour was almost reached.
"It is good of you to come, Doctor----" She paused inquiringly.
"Morton is my name," I answered gently, drawing up a chair beside the
bed.
"Doctor Lee seems to be out," she continued, "and--and..."
Her voice died away, and she lay back on her pillows, while the
harsh-voiced woman bent over her with a look of such infinite love on
her weather-beaten face that I inwardly marvelled at the transformation.
"You see"--the invalid opened her eyes again as my fingers closed round
the weak, fluttering pulse--"it's very important, Doctor Morton, that I
should see my husband.... He has been up in London, and came down by
the mail from Euston last night.... So he should be here in a few
hours, shouldn't he?"
"He should," I answered, taking out a notebook and pencil. "Don't talk,
Mrs. MacDerry ... just rest."
I scribbled a few lines and handed the paper to the maid. I knew only
the simplest drugs would be available, and it was going to be a stiff
fight to keep the feeble flame alight even for a few hours.
"Either go yourself, or send the boy at once to the nearest chemist for
those drugs," I whispered. "There's no time to be lost...."
She left the room without a word, and once more the weak voice came from
the bed.
"Can you do it, doctor; can you keep me ... till my husband comes?"
"Of course, Mrs. MacDerry, and long after he's come," I said,
cheerfully; but she only shook her head with a faint smile.
"You can't deceive me," she whispered.... "Besides, I don't want to stay
on.... It's finished--now; only I just want to hear from his own lips
that it went off well.... That it's not all been in vain...."
And then for a while she lay very still--so still that once I thought
she had gone. But she stirred again, and said a few words which I could
not catch. Faintly through the open window came the ceaseless murmur of
the distant sea, while from a dozen cottages on the hillside opposite
little yellow beams of light shone out serenely into the darkening
night. And after a while I rose and lit the lamp, shading it from the
face of the woman in the bed. One swift glance I stole at her, and she
was sleeping with a look of ineffable peace on her face.... Then once
more I sat down to wait....
It was an hour before the maid returned with the drugs, and the slight
noise she made as she entered the room roused the sleeper....
"Has he come?" she cried, eagerly, only to sink back again with a tired
sigh as the maid shook her head.
"He couldn't be here yet, Mrs. MacDerry," I said, reassuringly. "Not
for an hour or two.... And now I want you to drink this, please...."
Without a word she did as I told her, and once again closed her eyes.