BEING A CHAPTER OF NO GREAT CONSEQUENCE
My lady, seated between Sir Hector, very conscious of his shirt-sleeves,
and Mr. Potter, fresh and assured of himself by reason of his late
ablutions, held up the garment she had been mending, and viewed the
result of her labours with coldly disparaging eye.
“I fear ’tis very clumsily done, sir,” said she.
“Nay, ’pon my soul,” answered Sir Hector ponderously gallant. “I protest
’tis of needlework the most excellent! My old coat will be endeared to
me for the ... the sake o’ your bonny, white fingers! An’ noo, gin ye’re
finished wi’t, I’ll get in till’t, for ’tis no juist proper tae sit here
afore ye in my sark, ye ken.... Aha, Johnnie, is she no’ a graund lassie,
as apt wi’ needle as wi’ boilin’ watter? A fine, sonsy lass——”
“Indeed,” answered Sir John gravely, “she is as up-standing and
down-sitting a wench as——”
“Tush!” cried my Lady Herminia, flushing. “There is your ill-cobbled
coat, Sir Hector. And now, I’ll be going.”
“Whaur to, lassie?”
“Home to my aunt, sir.”
“Aunt?” repeated Sir Hector at a loss, “but ’twas your grandmother last
time, I mind.”
“And to-day ’tis my aunt, sir. And she a lone widow.”
“Aunt? Widow?” quoth Sir Hector. “Why then, ’tis no’ for the sake o’ a
puir, auld, solitary, worn an’ woefu’ soldier-body wi’ ane leg i’ the
grave as ye’re here, Rose? ’Tis no’ for the sake o’ lonesome Hector
MacLean, whateffer?”
“Indeed but it is, sir!” she smiled. “To cook and care, and tend and
mend for him. I shall come and keep house for you every day.”
“Aye, but your aunt, the widow-body—she’ll be the fly in the ointment,
lassie——”
“Indeed and she’s no such thing, sir, as you shall see, for I mean to
bring her with me sometimes.”
“Hoot-toot—and she a widow? Na’, na’, lassie, I’ll be safer wi’ Wully
Tamson.”
“Sir Hector MacLean,” quoth my lady with her most determined air, “since
you are such a very old, poor, solitary soldier-body, I intend to do my
best for your future happiness ... with my aunt’s aid.”
“Save’s a’!” gasped Sir Hector, “an’ she a widow!”
“My aunt will, I hope, assist in my labour for your comfort and welfare.”
“Aweel!” sighed Sir Hector, “I can run as fast as ony man. I’ve braw,
lang legs, y’ ken.”
“Though one of ’em is in the grave, sir!” she reminded him. Here, at a
sign from Penelope, my lady curtsied demurely and followed the old woman
out of the room.
“Losh!” exclaimed Sir Hector, “yon Rose hath an air aboot her that gi’es
a cautious man tae think.”
“Very much so!” answered Sir John. “As you once said, she is not exactly
an ordinary lass.”
“An’ noo, Geordie man,” said Sir Hector, lowering his voice, “’twas a
mighty ill business yon, last nicht!”
“Why, I dunno, sir,” answered Mr. Potter, stirring his grog thoughtfully,
“we brought away every tub an’ bale—arl safe stowed, they be.”
“Aye, but the shooting, man, the bluidshed!”
“Naun so bad, sir—though poor Will Burgess took a musket-ball through ’is
leg.”
“An’ the sojers, Geordie? Nine sojers an’ twa o’ the coastguard desp’ret
wounded! O man,’twas awfu’ ... an’ if ane o’ them should dee ... ’twould
be noose an’ gibbet, y’ ken!”
Mr. Potter smiled dreamily, and was his most guileless self as he
answered:
“They wunt die, sir—nary a one on ’em! They’ll be up an’ about again by
now—though salt be apt to sting, an’ likewise smart a bit, d’ye see——”
“Salt?” exclaimed Sir Hector.
“Rock-salt, sir,” nodded Mr. Potter placidly. “I charged arl our pieces
wi’ liddle lumps o’ rock-salt as couldn’t ’ardly ’arm a babby noo-born.”
“Thank God!” cried Sir Hector fervently. “O Geordie man, I’ve hardly
blinked an e’e the nicht for worry—and now—salt! Man, I fair admire
at ye—salt! Geordie man, gi’e’s a grup o’ ye hond!” And Sir Hector
laughed suddenly and was immediately solemn again. “John an’ Geordie,”
he continued, “when Dumbrell’s Ann, thinkin’ they meant harm to old
Penelope, came running to fetch me hither, I was upon my knees wrestling
in prayer that no lives should be spilled and none of the lads taken,
for if so, I, being equally guilty, was determined to give myself up
and suffer with ’em. And as I prayed, John and George, I cam’ to the
determination that I would be done wi’ free-trading henceforth, whilk
determination I mean to abide by—amen!”
“I be glad to hear it, sir!” nodded Mr. Potter. “You be too ’igh-strung
for it, I rackon. Leave it to us as be born to it, same as our
grandfeäthers was.”
“And look’ee, John an’ Geordie, a’ the siller I have had by it—aye, every
penny, I have spent on good works, and all that remains is yon lugger the
_True Believer_, and that, Geordie man, I’m giving tae yourself!”
“What—what, me, sir?” gasped Mr. Potter, rising suddenly from his chair.
“You ... akerchally gimme the _True Believer_.... Me, Sir Hector?”
“Aye, I do, George. She’s yours, every plank and bolt, every rope and
spar.... And here’s my hand on’t!”
“But,” stammered Mr. Potter, hesitating, “but what o’ Sharkie Nye, sir?
My comrade Sharkie as ha’ sailed her so bold an’ true, blow fair or foul?
What o’ Sharkie?”
“Well, what o’ him, man?”
“Why, I think, sir, if it be arl the same to you, I’d be more ’appier in
my mind-like if you made Sharkie my partner, sir, share an’ share, your
honour.”
“Geordie Potter,” quoth Sir Hector, “gi’e’s your hand again. Your
sentiments, George, do ye infinite honour, and I’m prood to ca’ ye
freend.... Forbye, ye’re a rascally smugglin’-body an’ law-breaker,
Geordie, whilk as an elder an’ respectable citizen I haud tae be an
immoral an’ damnable practice. Faith, George, ’tis well to be free o’ the
sin that I may condemn it in others. But look’ee, George, I hear that the
man Sayle is like a madman after last nicht’s business, and vows to take
ye and make an example of ye, which means—well——”
“The gallers!” said Mr. Potter, reaching for his grog.
“Consequently, George, sic’ influence as I possess—whilk is sma’—and
a’ my money—whilk is no’ sae muckle as I could wish—I will joyfully
adventure to get ye safe awa’! Our first conseederation must be tae get
ye ower tae France.”
“Aye, but wherefore France, sir?”
“Ye’ll be safe there, man.”
“Mebbe, sir, but I can’t speak the lingo, d’ye see, an’ I dunno as I like
furrineers; ’sides, sir, I’ve made my plans to bide nice an’ quiet in
Alfriston——”
“But, ye muckle fule,” cried Sir Hector, “ye ken the man Sayle means tae
hunt ye doon?”
“Aye, I do, sir; this be why I’ll bide along in Alfriston; poor Potter’ll
be safest theer. Lord bless ’ee, there bean’t a Sussex man, woman nor
child as would give Potter away! An’ there’s plenty o’ hiding-places I
knaws on wheer nobody will never find poor Potter nowhen an’ nohow——”
Here Mr. Potter paused to drink as my lady reappeared; she, taking her
leave forthwith, Sir John did the same, and together they stepped forth
into the sunshine.