THE BLACK PEARL OF CAIRN FERRIS
"Never was such a pearl--a black pearl--yes, but worth a thousand of
your drowsy blondes. I am damnably obliged to that recruiting
fellow--what is his wretched Scotch name--oh, McClure--for signalling
such a treasure to a man who can appreciate her. You, Laurence, would
have been long enough without opening your mouth. You had, I dare say,
some idea of paying court in that quarter on your own account. Well, I
am your superior officer and you must stand aside. But if you back me up
now, I swear that you shall be gazetted Colonel in a month."
It was thus that the Duke of Lyonesse, in the guest-chamber which Julian
Wemyss had prepared for him, announced his intentions as to the niece of
his host and sometime chief. The young men of the blood royal in those
days considered such things as marks of honour paid by them, and,
indeed, the old Arabella Churchill tradition was still so fresh, that
they had some excuse for so thinking.
It was, indeed, to see the marvel of the Bothy of Blairmore that the
Prince had come so far out of his road. He was on his way back from
Ireland where, as usual, he had been sent, somewhat optimistically, to
solve the Irish question. As the Prince who could easily most be spared,
he had been ordered to show himself in the regions which had been
convulsed by the rising of '98. He had escaped without hurt and was now
on his way Londonwards. So he could afford to halt a while to behold a
wonder of grace and beauty. The dangers of his Irish campaign deserved
at least some recompense.
Besides Everard of the _Britomart_ had talked at some length to him. The
girl of the yellow sandals whom the "press" had found in the Bothy of
Blairmore, was still the talk of the officers' mess when that ship had
been sent to Belfast Lough to ferry successful Royalty over to a more
peaceful country.
Captain Laurence felt at least something of shame at the position in
which he found himself, but in the presence of the Duke and his evil
counsellor, Lord Wargrove, he was compelled to be silent. He could not
even send a message to the girl's father, for the Prince's suite and the
senior officers of his regiment were the guests of Adam Ferris at Cairn
Ferris.
"Your Highness will remember," he ventured to suggest, "that these
Galloway squires are apt to carry the vendetta rather far. They are not
so easily bought off with a title as others farther south."
"Nonsense," said the Duke, "if the girl's father does not see
reason--why, Julian Wemyss at least knows what is good for his niece.
She had better be a peeress in her own right and married with the left
hand to my father's son, than stay here to spend her life with the first
clodhopper who will make her his housekeeper, instead of, what she was
born to be, the toast of London society."
"You are sure about the title," queried my Lord Wargrove cynically, "or
are you only going to promise like the rest of them?"
"Oh," said the Duke, "I am sure George owes me more than that. I am the
only one of our family who has never pestered him. Besides, I have got
him out of one or two difficult ditches in his life, and he will give me
the title right enough if I get the girl."
"There will be some difficulty," said my Lord, thoughtfully rubbing his
chin with his forefinger; "we shall have to depend on our own devices.
The only great land-owner about here is old De Raincy up at the castle
yonder. He hates the Ferrises like poison, but I do not see myself going
up there and asking for the loan of his best horses in order to carry
off his enemy's daughter! A nice clean murder he might not object to as
a fitting finish to the Ferris line, but not what your Royal Highness
proposes to himself."
The Duke waved his hand carelessly.
"All that is for you to arrange--what else are you for? You are my
Master of the Horse, and as I have none at present, it is your business
to provide some for me! Now good-night to you--I must see that girl
again to-morrow. Gad, when I once get her safe to Lyonesse House, she
shall wear the cross-gartered sandals, the blue skirt with the red sash,
and if London does not bow down and worship, I am no true son of my
father."
* * * * *
But the next day Patsy was still absent, greatly to the annoyance of the
Duke. He had counted on a difficult but not unwilling captive. He judged
from her easy familiarity in the matter of the wool-winding that he
would have little difficulty in persuading her to make a dash for the
liberty which would also be glory.
But all the morning the Duke waited in vain, and the strange thing about
it was that neither at Abbey Burnfoot nor at Cairn Ferris did any one
appear to be concerning themselves about daughter, niece or heiress.
The Duke and his party did not know that as Adam Ferris was making his
evening round of the sheep on the hill, a plaided shepherd leaped a
drystone dyke ten yards in front of him, and was followed by a shaggy,
brown-eyed dog. The men exchanged a few words and then each went his own
way. Adam Ferris was reassured as to his daughter, and as for Uncle
Julian, busy with his guests, he understood that Patsy was safe with the
Garlands at Glenanmays.
But instead Stair had convoyed her, with the utmost pains of wood and
heather craft, to Ladykirk, where she had been received by Miss Aline
with such quiet rejoicings as the staid little gentlewoman permitted
herself.
Having housed his charge, Stair set himself to establish a guard about
the old house. His two brothers and half a dozen other members of the
band were easy to put hands upon when wanted, but Stair needed some one
above suspicion, who could come and go freely. He remembered, with a
grimace, that the matter would certainly interest Louis Raincy, and
accordingly he posted to Raincy Castle to find him, as soon as he had
got Agnew and Fergus into position.
Louis Raincy needed no spur. In order to help he was willing to break
all rules and dare all angers. He did not even pause to ask himself why
Stair Garland was taking so deep a concern in the matter. Patsy was his
Patsy, and he flattered himself that the young man from Glenanmays was
only recognizing his rights by coming to ask for his assistance.
Louis Raincy was Galloway bred. He knew the farmers' sons of the whole
district. He had always met them, played with them, and, on fit
occasion, fought with them as equals. Only he did not trouble his
grandfather with the closeness of his acquaintance with his neighbours.
The old gentleman would neither have understood nor approved. He himself
had always stood aloof, and he desired no better than that his heir
should follow in his feudal footsteps.
More than this, Louis had made a trip or two with Stair Garland's Free
Traders--of course, in the strictest privacy and in a disguise which was
immediately penetrated by the whole convoy, though they pretended to
accept Stair's statement that the young fellow with the false beard was
an Isle of Man shipper who had come to see how his goods were disposed
of.
The band thought no worse of Stair for trying to throw dust in their
eyes, but an Isle of Man shipper in possession of two spirited Castle
Raincy horses was too much for them. They laughed as they rode and
wondered how the heir of Raincy would explain matters to the Earl if the
business culminated in a tussle.
But Louis had come out all safe, and though he openly flouted the Free
Trade with the young men of his own rank, there was no part of his past,
except only his talks with Patsy in the hollow of the old beech bole,
which returned to him with such a flavour of fresh, glad youth as the
"run" in which he had taken part.
So now that he was again to do something which would lead him out on the
hills of heather in the misty shining of the moon or under the
plush-spangled glitter of the midnight stars, he went off in high
spirits to take his groom into his confidence and have the horses ready.
Obscurely, however, he felt that he was about to take part in a struggle
for Patsy. It was to be a fight, not so much against danger from
unscrupulous dandies like the Duke of Lyonesse and his acolyte, my Lord
of Wargrove, as between Stair and himself. Louis de Raincy himself was
"of as good blood as the King, only not so rich," as say the Spaniards.
But this restless, stern-visaged Stair Garland, with his curious Viking
fixity of gaze, what was his position towards Patsy? Was it all only
friendship for the confidante of his sister? Louis Raincy's own hopes
and purposes were of the vaguest. He did not even know whether he
himself loved Patsy, but he was quite clear on the chapter of nobody
else having her if he could help it.