Dull and sad was the first meal at the Ruthvens' the next morning. Lady
Carse could eat nothing, having cried herself ill, and being in feverish
expectation still of some news--she did not know what. Mr Ruthven
found fault with the children so indefatigably, that they gulped down
their porridge and slipped out under Helsa's arm as she opened the door,
and away to the next house, where the voice of scolding was never heard.
The pastor next began wondering whether Rollo was still playing the
watchman in the harbour--tired and hungry; and he was proceeding to
wonder how a clever lad like Rollo could let himself be made such a fool
of by his mother, when Helsa cut short the soliloquy by telling that
Rollo was at home. He had come up just now with the steward.
"The steward," cried Lady Carse, springing to her feet. "I knew it! I
see it all!" And she wrung her hands.
"What is it? my dear love, my precious friend,--what _is_ the matter?
Compose yourself!" said Mrs Ruthven, soothingly.
But the lady would not hear of being soothed. It was plain now that the
distant vessel, the boat, the sailors, were sent by her friends. If Mr
Ruthven had only been quick enough to let them know who she was, she
should by this time have been safe. How could they suppose that she was
Lady Carse, dressed as she was, agitated as she was! A word from Mr
Ruthven, the least readiness on his part, would have saved her. And
now, here was the steward come to baffle all. Sir Alexander Macdonald
had had eyes for her deliverers, though her nearest friends had none.
Annie was her best friend after all. It was Annie's ball of thread, no
doubt, that had roused her friends, and made them send this vessel; and
Annie alone had shown any sense last night.
Mr Ruthven did not understand or approve of very sudden conversions;
and this was really a sudden conversion, after pointing at the widow
Fleming in church yesterday. He ought to state too that he did not
approve of pointing at individuals in church. He should be sorry that
his children should learn the habit; and--
"You would?" interrupted Lady Carse. "Then take care I do not point at
her next sabbath as the only friend I have on this island."
"My dear creature!" said Mrs Ruthven, "pray do not say such severe
things: you will break my heart. You do the greatest injustice to our
affection. Only let me show you! If this wicked steward prevents your
escape now, I will get away somehow, and tell your story to all the
world; and they shall send another vessel for you; and I will come with
it, and take you away. I will indeed."
"Nonsense, my dear," said Lady Carse.
"Nonsense, my dear," said the pastor.
Lady Carse laughed at this accord. Mrs Ruthven cried.
"If you get away," said Lady Carse, more gently, "you may be sure you
will not leave me behind."
"It is all nonsense, the whole of it, about this vessel and the
steward," Mr Ruthven pronounced. "The steward comes, as usual, for the
feather-rent."
"It is not the season for the feather-rent," declared Lady Carse.
"The steward comes when it suits his convenience," decided the pastor;
"the season is a matter of but secondary regard."
"You are mistaken," said the lady. "I have lived here longer than you;
and I know that he comes at the regular seasons, and at no other time."
"Oh, here are the children," observed Mrs Ruthven, hoping to break up
the party. "My dears, don't leave the room; I want you to stay beside
me. There now, you may each carry your own porridge-bowl into the
kitchen, and then you may come back for papa's and mine."
Mr Ruthven stalked out into the garden, to find fault with his
cabbages, if they were not growing dutifully. Lady Carse stood by the
window, fretted at the thick seamy glass which prevented her seeing
anything clearly. Mrs Ruthven sat down to sew.
"Mamma," said Adam, presently, "what is a Pretender?"
"A what, my dear?--a Pretender? I really scarcely know. That is a
question that you should ask your papa. A Pretender?"
"No, no, Adam. It is Adventurer. That was what the steward said. I
know it, because that is the name of one of papa's books. I will show
it you."
"I know that," said Adam. "But Widow Fleming called it Pretender, too."
"What's that?" cried Lady Carse, turning hastily from the window. "What
are you talking about?"
The children looked at each other, as they usually did when somebody
must answer the lady. "What are you talking about?"
"The steward says the Pretender has come: and we do not know what that
means."
"The Pretender come!" cried Mrs Ruthven, letting fall her work. "What
shall we do for news? Run, my dears, and ask Widow Fleming all about
it. I can't leave Lady Carse, you see."
The children declared they dared not go. Widow Fleming was busy; and
she had sent them away. "Then go and tell your father. Ask him to come
in." Mr Ruthven was shocked into his usual manners when he saw Lady
Carse unable to stand or speak. His assurances that he did not believe
her in any personal danger, if the report were ever so true, were thrown
away. Her consternation was about a different aspect of the matter.
She at once concluded that the cause of the Stuarts would be triumphant.
She saw in imagination all her enemies victorious--her husband and Lord
Lovat successful in all their plottings, high in power and glory; while
she, who could have given timely intimation of their schemes--she who
could have saved the throne and kingdom--was confined to this island
like an eagle in a cage. For some time she sat paralysed by her
emotions; then she rose and went in silence to Annie's dwelling. The
steward was just departing, and he seemed in the more haste for the
lady's appearance; but Annie stopped him--gravely desired him to remain
while she told the lady what it concerned her to know. She then said,
"I learn from the steward, madam, that it is known throughout Edinburgh
that you are still in life, and that you are confined to some
out-of-the-way place, though, the steward believes, the real place is
not known."
"It is not known," the steward declared; "and it is anything but kind of
you, in my opinion, Mrs Fleming, to delude Lady Carse with any hope of
escape. Her escape is, and will always be, impossible."
"I think it my business," said Annie, "to inform the lady of whatever I
hear of her affairs. I think she ought to have the comfort of knowing
that her friends are alarmed: and I am sure I have no right to conceal
it from her."
The steward walked away, while the lady stood lost in reverie. One set
of ideas had driven out the other. She had forgotten all about the
Jacobite news, and she stood staring with wide open eyes, as the vision
of her escape and triumph once more intoxicated her imagination.
Annie gently drew her attention to the facts, telling her that it was
clear that the ball of thread had done its duty well. The alarm had
begun with Mr Hope, the advocate. He had demanded that the coffin
supposed to contain the remains of Lady Carse should be taken up and
searched. When he appeared likely to obtain his demand, Lord Carse had
avoided the scandal of the proceeding by acknowledging that it had been
a sham funeral. Annie believed that now the lady had only to wait as
patiently as she could, in the reasonable hope that her friends would
not rest until they had rescued her.
At this moment Lady Carse's quick sense was caught by Adam's pulling the
widow's gown and asking in a whisper, "What is a Pretender?" and by
Annie's soft reply, "Hush, my dear!"
"Hush! do you say?" exclaimed Lady Carse, with a start. "What do you
mean by saying `hush'? Is the Pretender come? Answer me. Has the
Pretender landed in Scotland?"
"He has not landed, madam. He is in yonder vessel. You had a great
deliverance, madam, in not being taken away by his boat last night."
"Deliverance! There is no deliverance for me," said the lady. "Every
hope is dashed. There is no kindness in holding out new hopes to me.
My enemies will not let me stay here now my friends know where to find
me. I shall be carried to Saint Kilda, or some other horrible place;
or, if they have not time to take care of me while they are setting up
their new king, they will murder me. Oh, I shall never live to see
Edinburgh again: and my husband and Lovat will be lording it there, and
laughing at me and my vain struggles during all these years, while I lie
helpless in my grave, or tossing like a weed in these cruel seas. If
God will but grant my prayer, and let me haunt them! Stop, stop: do not
go away."
"I must, madam, if you talk so."
"Stop. I want to know about this Pretender. Why did you not tell us
sooner? Why not the moment you knew?"
"I considered it was the steward's business to tell what he thought
proper: but I have no objection to give all the particulars. I know he
whom they call Prince Charlie is in yonder vessel, which carries
eighteen guns. It cannot hold many soldiers; and Sir Alexander does not
believe that he will be joined by any from his islands. He is thought
to have a good many officers with him--"
"How many?"
"Some say twenty; some say forty. It is pretty sure that Glengarry will
join him--"
"Glengarry! Then all is lost."
"Sir Alexander thinks not. He and Macleod have written to the Lord
President, that not a man from these islands will join."
"They have written to Duncan Forbes! Now, if they were wise, they would
send me to him--You need not look so surprised. He is a friend of mine;
and glad enough he would be at this moment to know what I could tell him
of the Edinburgh Jacobites. Where is the Lord President at this time?"
"In the north, I think, preparing against the rising."
"Ay; at his own place near Inverness. If I could but get a letter to
him--Perhaps he knows already that I am not dead. If I could see Sir
Alexander! Oh! there are so many ways opening, if I had but the least
help from anybody to use the opportunity! Sir Alexander ought to know
that I am a loyal subject of King George; and that my enemies are not."
"True," said Annie. "I will endeavour to speak to the steward again
before he sails, and tell him that."
"I will speak to him, myself. Ah! I see your unwillingness; but I have
learnt--it would be strange if I had not--to trust nobody with my
business. With Prince Charlie so near, there is no saying who is a
Jacobite, and who is not. I will see the steward myself."
Annie knew that this would fail; and so it did. The steward's
dispositions were not improved by the lady's method of pleading. He
told her that Sir Alexander's loyalty to King George had nothing to do
with his pledge that Lord Carse should never more be troubled by her.
He had pledged his honour that she should cause no more disturbance, and
no political difficulties would make him forfeit his word. The steward
grew dogged during the interview.
Did her friends in Edinburgh know that she was alive? she demanded.
"Perhaps so."