SAINT MUNGO’S CITY
A Novel
BY SARAH TYTLER
AUTHOR OF ‘THE BRIDE’S PASS,’ ‘WHAT SHE CAME THROUGH,’
‘BEAUTY AND THE BEAST,’ ETC.
[Illustration: colophon]
IN THREE VOLUMES
VOL. III.
London
CHATTO AND WINDUS, PICCADILLY
1884
[_All rights reserved_]
CONTENTS OF VOL. III.
CHAPTER PAGE
XXVII. THE MISS MACKINNONS’ HARMONIOUS
LITTLE ARRANGEMENT 1
XXVIII. THE OFFICERS OF JUSTICE IN ST.
MUNGO’S SQUARE--CLARIBEL DRYSDALE
STANDS BY HER COLOURS 19
XXIX. ‘LOVE WILL VENTURE IN WHERE
WISDOM AINCE HAS BEEN’ 40
XXX. A HORRIBLE SUSPICION ASSAILS AULD
TAM 58
XXXI. THE SUSPICION BECOMES A CERTAINTY 84
XXXII. IN THE BALANCE 111
XXXIII. A DROWNING MAN’S STRAWS 128
XXXIV. AULD TAM ‘FEY’ 150
XXXV. SIR HUGO LAYS HIMSELF AND WILLOUGHBY
COURT AT YOUNG EPPIE’S
FEET 180
XXXVI. THE SEAL TO SIR HUGO’S SUIT 201
XXXVII. A CHARMED SAIL 216
XXXVIII. THE LAST OF RORY OF THE SHELTIES--DR.
PETER ON THE SCENT 248
XXXIX. THE SACRIFICE 263
XL. A NEW CALCULATION 292
XLI. ATHOLE MURRAY SKETCHES A MODERN
FUGGEREI--THE MISS MACKINNONS’
ULTIMATUM 317
SAINT MUNGO’S CITY.
CHAPTER XXVII.
THE MISS MACKINNONS’ HARMONIOUS LITTLE ARRANGEMENT.
To begin with, something closed the Miss Mackinnons’ lips on this point,
and not a word was said among them of the defrauding of Miss Mackinnon
and Miss Janet to enrich Miss Bethia, sitting with downcast eyes,
wringing the hands hidden in her lap.
At last Miss Janet said, not so much bitterly as with forced gaiety:
‘You are up in the buckle [exalted], Betheye--an heiress; you’ll no be
speaking to me and Meye.’
‘Oh, Janet!’ burst out Miss Bethia, breaking down and sobbing with
mingled pain and shame. ‘Do you think I would touch the money? I’ll gie
it back, every penny, to you and Meye, the moment I’ve got it into my
fingers.’
‘But there’s twa and whiles three at a bargain-making,’ said Miss Janet,
with wounded pride in her voice. ‘Do you think we would tak’ from
anither--though she happened to be our sister--what was ours, but had
been wulled awa’ from us?’
‘But that would be cruel!’ protested Miss Bethia, in still greater
distress. ‘How could I help it? An ill-kinded man! Gude guide us!’
pausing in horror; ‘to think that I should speak ill of him, and him
hardly in the mools. But I never set een on him, never.’
‘You gowk, what does that signify?’ Miss Janet was provoked into
treating the heiress with little courtesy.
‘What ails her?’ cried Miss Mackinnon wrathfully. ‘Is she pretendin’ to
greet for the man, now that he has left her the maist of his money? I
cannot stand such hypocrisy.’
Miss Bethia wept on, regardless of the good fortune, which was
misfortune to her, and equally unrestrained by the manner in which her
sorrow was misunderstood.
‘What can I do?’ she lamented. ‘I never wanted your shares; I never
thocht money would come between me and you and Meye.’
Miss Janet was a little softened.
‘You can do nothing--as long as the paper stands, the money’s yours. But
we’re no blaming you, save for being silly--and we’ll tak’ the will for
the deed.’
‘Oh, thank you! thank you, Janet!’ said Miss Bethia gratefully. ‘If only
Meye and you will not tak’ me for a traitor and hypocrite--and me never
to have seen the man!--I’ll no mind so muckle. But is there no way to
gie back the money, and share and share alike as we should have done?
Why can I not do as I like with my ain, as he did?’
‘You’re fast enough with your ain,’ said Miss Janet, in fresh
displeasure. ‘It has not been yours mair than an hour. I’ll tell you
what, Betheye,’ the speaker relapsed into a sardonic mood, ‘it’s a’ very
weel to say what you’ll do or not do the noo; but it’s as likely as not
that the word o’ the sillar will bring some fair-spoken blackguard of a
man after you. You’ll marry him fast; then Meye and me will be left in
the lurch, and he’ll help you to spend the money that should have been
ours.’
‘Never!’ declared Miss Bethia; and she failed to simper as of old, but a
dull-red rose in her lined face and spread over it. She had, as she
would have said, given up all thought of a man for many a day; but
mercenary as were the notions attributed to this man, the sudden revival
of the vision brought a shy, guilty sense of gratification, which the
next moment covered poor Miss Bethia with confusion and remorse. Would
she sacrifice her sisters even for the best man that ever breathed? ‘I
wonder at you, Janet!’ she said, so vehemently that there was a
suspicion of weakness and fear in the vehemence; ‘an auld maid like me.’
‘There’s nae fules like old anes,’ said Miss Janet jauntily; ‘and you’ll
cease to be an auld maid when the scamp has made you a young wife. Ye
ken you’ll be young among the mawtrons, though you’re auld among the
maidens.’
‘It’s cruel,’ repeated Miss Bethia, with an ominous intensity of
distress in the kindling fire of temptation. ‘Oh! I wish I had the
horrible money to fling it into the fire, or cast it into Clyde.’
‘What good would that do?’ demanded the matter-of-fact Miss Janet,
‘unless you wanted him to loup in and fish it out.’
Miss Bethia groaned.
‘Stop her greetin’,’ broke in Miss Mackinnon, in greater disgust than
before. ‘I canna bide sic false pretences, Betheye; it’s like haudin’ an
ingan [onion] to your een. Hoo can ye try sic a trick upon Janet and
me?’
‘I wull greet,’ Miss Bethia suddenly turned upon her sisters; ‘I have
cause to greet. I thocht my ain sisters liked and trusted me, and I was
prood to slave wi’ them and for them; but I find I was mista’en when
they’re ready to misdoubt me, for nae faut o’ mine, and to tant me
because of the wrongdoing of another.’
Miss Janet was taken aback by this new attitude of Miss Bethia, and the
feelings reflected on her face were quickly caught up by her elder
sister. They both paused, irresolute what to say next.
‘We dinna misdoubt you, Betheye,’ said Miss Janet, in a more subdued
tone. ‘But you maun grant this has been a shock as well as a hardship to
us--the younger to be served out of the elders’ portions--the elder to
be dependent on the younger’s generosity, or whatever you like to ca’t.’
‘Oh, it is maist abominable!’ admitted Miss Bethia, with all her heart.
‘But it is no generosity--it’s justice which ocht to be done; and surely
I’ll be helped to do’t, though I’ve to get the Queen to back me.’
‘It’s an expensive road to the Queen, though her Majesty is very gude
and kind,’ said Miss Janet, not affording any encouragement to the
scheme, but refraining from the strong derision she had been practising.
The next moment she added: ‘I think there may be an easier plan--it has
just flashed upon me--if you’re in earnest, Betheye, as I do not
question.’
‘Try me,’ said Miss Bethia, with trembling eagerness.
‘Weel, I apprehend there’s just this parchment binding you doon--I said,
as long as the paper stands we’ve but to submit. But what is to hinder
us from making awa’ wi’t? The wull concerns nane but oorsel’s and the
servants--that dour, sly jaud of a housekeeper and her man. We are
perfectly agreed, and we can easily settle wi’ servants; we’ll pay them
every bawbee of their legacy, though it’s twice as muckle as it need
have been--and that is all they’ll care for. What need is there to keep
the paper and fash our heads with it? We’ll tear it up, and think nae
mair o’t, while we divide Jean Mackinnon’s money fair among oorsel’s.’
‘The very thing,’ said Miss Bethia, with a great sigh of relief and of
lurking regret that the legacy had not been ten thousand or ten hundred.
In that case, even the third fraction of it might have constituted her
an heiress, with all an heiress’s privileges and trials. She might have
been courted, she might have needed to stand firm, to decline to be
wooed, to give her suitors a dignified yet amiable dismissal. There was
glamour in the prospect, but it was not for Miss Bethia. ‘To destroy the
wull,’ she hammered on at Miss Janet’s project, ‘which deals just with
the servants, to whom we can make their legacy gude, while we are fully
agreed on a fresh division of Jean Mackinnon’s money, is so easy and
natural. I wonder it did not occur to us at aince. Let us do it this
minute, Janet, before Mr. Mair or ony of the gentlemen come back.’ Miss
Bethia was opposed to the least delay. ‘Shall I tak’ out the paper and
tear it?’ she cried.
‘On second thochts, it had better be brunt, and then there will be no
trouble with the fragments,’ said Miss Janet, gratified with having been
the originator of a good idea, and full of importance in putting it into
execution. ‘I believe I have heard,’ continued Miss Janet dogmatically,
‘that, when a wull is brunt in this way, the parties interested stand
round a can’le, and each holds a corner of the dockiment over the lowe,
so as to mak’ sure they’re all consenting to the destruction; then if
any wyte [blame] is incurred, it will fa’ on all alike.’
‘But is there ony fear o’ wyte?’ asked Miss Bethia, startled. ‘Maybe,
after a’, we had better wait and ask Mr. Mair.’
‘Maybe, after a’, we had better let the wull stand,’ said Miss Janet
scornfully, for the resource hit upon had by this time recommended
itself thoroughly to her. It would restore her own and Miss Mackinnon’s
birthright, by the curl of a flame, if not by the stroke of a pen, and
thus immediately wipe out the insult and loss inflicted upon them. And
the act would prevent any danger of Miss Bethia’s wavering in her
design, or being overborne by the arguments of others.
Not only was the plan Miss Janet’s, and therefore right in her eyes; she
was proud of it, and sought to keep it in her own possession, and carry
it out independently for herself and her sisters. She enjoyed the notion
of astonishing and discomfiting Mr. Mair by her sharpness and
promptitude. In fact, Miss Janet had got out her head, and was bent on
‘running her own road.’
‘You ken I did not mean to let the wull stand,’ said Miss Bethia, hurt,
and reproachful. ‘But you’ll speak to Mr. Mair after. You’ll tell him
what you’ve done with the wull he gave up to you.’
‘I’ll speak to Mair when he speaks to me,’ said Miss Janet, full of
refractoriness. ‘What has he, ony mair than his clerk, to do with Fenton
of Strathdivie’s wull, that was made on our account? Mair drew it up, as
ony ither writer micht have done; but it was not his wull, or yours
either, Betheye, as ane micht think, to hear ye speak. You’ve sune
learnt to tak’ a great deal upon you. You seem to forget, because you’ve
been preferred without reason, that we’re your elders, and Meye’s the
head of the hoose.’
‘I dinna forget,’ said Miss Bethia, with a full heart.
Miss Janet went on harshly:
‘If you’re in earnest in makin’ reparation by being willin’ to join Meye
and me, in what we’ve had cause to suppose you had fixed to do, ye’ll
say no more about it.’
Miss Bethia said no more.
When it was put to Miss Mackinnon whether she would support her sisters
in their spirited measure, she replied with hoarse emphasis,
‘Certainly!’ and looked about for a matchbox.
There was a wax taper by the inkstand, and Miss Janet was in such a
hurry that she would not wait to ring for a candle, though it seemed
doubtful at the first glance whether the little light could effectually
consume the two or three broad-margined, widely-written, crackling pages
of which the will was composed.
‘We’ll tak’ it leaf by leaf,’ said Miss Janet methodically. ‘There are
only three o’ us; but I’ll haud twa corners, while you and Meye can tak’
the other twa, ane each.’
The process was a slow one. Miss Janet and Miss Mackinnon stood
unflinchingly, braving the little wreaths of smoke which seemed to rise
out of all proportion to the performance, even daring the yellow tongues
of flame that darted across the paper, and threatened the bony fingers.
Miss Bethia shook fitfully, disturbing the balance of the arrangement,
and shrank nervously from the burning, as if it had been Archie Fenton
putting forth fiery fingers to execute vengeance upon her for her
contemptuous treatment of his will.
The whole fantastic incident--witnessed under the solemn splendour of a
moorland sunset, which shone in through a western window; the three big,
gaunt, hard-featured old women, in more or less fixed theatrically
tragic attitudes, the right hand extended, grasping the sheet of paper;
Miss Janet’s dauntless, impassive face; Miss Mackinnon’s glittering,
restless eyes, lit up by an imprisoned spirit; Miss Bethia’s features
working with anxiety and dread; the shrivelling, blackening paper; the
jets of flame, the smoke--all bore a marvellous, grotesque resemblance
to the witches’ incantations of the Middle Ages. Fenton of Strathdivie’s
will might have been one of those bonds, written in letters of blood,
that sold souls to the foul fiend, and could no more be burnt in fire,
which was their natural element, than the devil could perish in his own
hell.
Towards the close of the strange proceeding there was a slight creaking
of the door and rustling of something behind it, which caused Miss
Bethia to look round in fresh terror; but the trifling noise ceased
almost instantly. The charred fragments of the will dropped on the
floor, and were carefully collected by Miss Janet in the fire-shovel and
deposited in the empty grate. Another match was lit and applied to them,
and she was soon warranted in the triumphant announcement:
‘There’s naethin’ left but white aiss [ashes], let Mair or wha like mak’
what they can oot o’t. We’ve snapped our fingers at Fenton o’
Strathdivie, in what was his ain hoose, too.’
‘Oh! wheesht, Janet, wheesht!’ implored the appalled Miss Bethia.
But Miss Janet did not heed her younger sister.
‘We’re free to do what we like wi’ our ain,’ she proclaimed exultingly.
Indeed, the Miss Mackinnons were not disturbed in their harmonious
little arrangement, either on that night or before their departure next
morning.
Mr. Mair, in his character of host, sat later over the funeral dinner
than was prudent, with regard to catching the train by which he could
reach that night the bosom of his family, in the market-town where he
practised as a solicitor. He left in such a hurry that he declined a
parting interview with Mrs. Todd, and contented himself with sending his
clerk to fetch the desk from the study, and take leave for him of the
Miss Mackinnons. Indeed, Mr. Mair had not been very favourably impressed
by the ladies. He considered rightly that he had done all in his power
for their comfort, and as a poor return, he had been forced to bear a
considerable amount of rudeness from Miss Janet. He was a long-suffering
man, but endurance has its limits.
The ladies, on their part, had not thought of leaving Strathdivie the
very day after the funeral, but had rather meditated an indefinite
stay--a sort of taking possession till their claims were settled, with
the deliberate investigation of that ‘stoucherie’ [collection of goods
in an old family house], all or part of which they had fondly hoped
would have fallen to their share. But the sisters were compelled to
understand that the place and everything it contained belonged to the
late owner’s New Zealand cousins, among whose property the women had no
excuse for prowling, however natural their regretful curiosity. At the
same time they had every reason to distrust any prolonged civilities
from Mrs. Todd, the housekeeper, who was again mistress of the
situation, having been appointed by the lawyer to continue in her former
place till the term should bring a new tenant to the old house.
And Miss Janet, in spite of her supreme confidence in her own powers,
was a little doubtful what step to take next in the acquirement of the
money, the division of which she had already altered in a summary
fashion. It might be necessary for the sisters again to have that
respectable family adjunct--a man of business; and if so, the sooner
they applied to him the better on all these counts. Miss Janet and Miss
Mackinnon filled Miss Bethia’s heart with thankfulness, by deciding to
quit Strathdivie the following forenoon.
But another person was before the Miss Mackinnons. Mrs. Todd, in her new
mourning, accompanied by her canny lout of a husband, in his Sunday
suit, had slipped out of the house, leaving a deputy in charge, by break
of day. Ten minutes afterwards, the late Fenton of Strathdivie’s
confidential servant might have been seen at the little railway station,
starting on a journey by the early Parliamentary train.
In the course of the day, Mr. Mair appeared again on the scene--not
coming quietly by train this time, but driving in hot haste across the
country, arriving at Strathdivie to find the birds flown, if he came in
search of the Miss Mackinnons, who had departed for Glasgow a quarter
of an hour before. The lawyer was in an excited, disturbed frame of mind
when he heard that the ladies were gone. He turned the head of his
reeking horse without giving it either rest or refreshment, saying to
himself:
‘There is nothing for it but an application to the fiscal; and I doubt
if I’ll come out clear in the business. I should not have been so
careless; but who would have thought the old beldames were capable of
such a trick? But, good Heavens! to think what will be the upshot, and
how the wretched old women will be served for their desperate deed!’