Apparently it had the same effect on Peggy Duncan, for the next
Saturday when, as usual, her ancient schoolfellow and crony, Janet,
came to give the hovel that weekly redding up which was beyond little
Paul's ability, the old lady lay in her bed discoursing at length on
the "bit thing just made up o' fal-lals that sits in the auld chair as
if 't belonged to her, and chirrups awa like the lady's o' heaven's
hen. A sicht guid for sair e'en, no like what the house was maistly
acquaint wi'--just puir, ill-fa'ured warlocks."
Whereupon Janet Faa tossed her head, and muttered in an undertone that
Peggy might speak for herself; she was no warlock whatever. But she
went on with her work, patiently, being accustomed to such sly hits
and finding the description of Mrs. Vane's dresses and the puckles o'
tea that appeared from her pocket far more interesting than the old
lady's usual snappishness. But then, under any circumstances, Peggy's
tongue would have been softened by the knowledge that help was more
than ever necessary that day, since visitors were expected to tea. So
the old woman watched the preparations with wrathful eyes, and did not
even quarrel with the polish of the two silver spoons, which, usually
secreted with her other treasures in the bottom drawer of the bureau,
now graced the clean tablecloth. To tell truth, however, fault-finding
would have had no practical effect, since Janet never took the
slightest notice of it, beyond remarking every now and again: "Whist,
woman! whist! It is no breath you will be having to crack with the
doctor."
On the other hand, wee Paulie, who contributed his share by timidly
presenting a mug full of early rowan-berries and heather for the
middle of the table, was sternly bidden to take away the ugly trash,
and solemnly warned against the sin of mistaking weeds for flowers,
and thus setting himself up to be a judge instead of abiding by the
will of Providence. The rebuke, however, did not seem to touch the
child, who, with many previous memories of Miss Marjory's liking for
the said "ugly trash," set the posy aside on a shelf at the back of
the bed, and so beyond the reach of his grandmother's eyes.
"If Towpie wad lay anither egg," said the old lady at last, surveying
the _tout ensemble_ with a smile struggling with the frown which was
necessary to keep Janet Faa in subjection, "it wad nae be sae bad; but
I misdoot the silly thing is for clucking."
"But it is two eggs there are, Peggy, woman, and the shentlemans is
never for eatin' but one egg," protested Janet, who occasionally
helped at the Big House, and was great, in consequence, on the ways
and customs of the quality.
Peggy sniffed. "That may be your way o' thinkin', it's no mine. Ye
soudna press on a guest what ye're no able to tak' yoursel'. And I'd
no cook it, ye ken--I'd just offer it up to show there was ane--Lord
sakes! wha's yon at the door, an' me wi' my bald head. Quick, Janet,
woman, my mutch, and pit it straight, woman! I'll no have it cockit
over an ear as if I were tipsy."
"It will only be the master," said little Paul, coming from the door.
"He will be having a letter for you he says with a penny to pay."
"Then bid him tak' it back and pay himsel' if he's carin' for it. I'm
no. There's no letters for me that I'm carin' to have, and I'll just
no be fashed wi' them when there is company comin'--Hoot awa' wi' the
man comin' pryin', pryin', and me puttin' on my mutch for him."
"But, Mistress Duncan," came in remonstrant tones from the door.
"Oh! you're there are ye. Weel! I'm obleeged to ye, sir, for comin'
sae far oot o' ye're road. An' I must pit ye to the trouble o' takin'
it back again, and tellin' them as sent it that Peggy Duncan is on the
pairish an' hasna a penny to spare for their trash."
Mr. McColl, standing outside, looked longingly at the blue envelope,
with the seal of a well-known firm of Writers-to-the-Signet upon it,
and hesitated. Was it worth paying a penny on the chance of being the
first to spread news? A momentous question, which left a tremble in
his voice as he called again. "But there will be naethin' to pay,
Mistress Duncan. Here! Paulie, my man, rin with it to your grannie.
And it will be Scriven an' Plead's name on the anvelope, and they will
be the foremost Writers-to-the-Signet in Glasgow, whatever."
"They may be Writers to onybody else," retorted Peggy, taking the
bulky letter, however, and nodding to Mr. McColl, who had seized the
opportunity of slipping in so far. "But I dinna ken what right they
have to be Writers to me."
The master put in a deft suggestion. "Then ye can see inside, Mistress
Duncan. If you are carin' for't I could be readin' it to you before I
was goin' on. I'm no in a hurry."
Peggy's black eyes glittered with sheer malice as she tucked the
envelope away under her pillow, and lay back on it defiantly.
"An' I'm no in a hurry, either, Mr. McColl, an' I would be asking you
to have a sup tea, but that I'm expectin' the quality; sae gude day to
ye, and mony thanks for your kindness."
And yet when poor Mr. McColl had retired discomfited, bemoaning the
loss of his penny, and Janet Faa, having done her part of the
business, had left the kettle in charge of little Paul, who sate
outside watching for the first glimpse of Miss Marjory, the old woman
brought out the envelope again and looked at it wistfully. Perhaps the
thoughts of the long years, during which she had waited in vain for
some word of the husband who had deserted her, came back to her; yet
as she muttered to herself--as she did often when alone--it was not
that thought which came uppermost.
"Aye! aye! it's a fine thing the readin' o' writin'. If it were aboot
the lassie now; and me promising never to speir, never to let ony
other body know! I canna break my word, an' me sae near the Judgment.
It is no as if I were a Papist, like Janet, puir body, that can just
awa' an' get absolution, ye ken. I maun carry my sins wi' me, and it
will be ill eneuch flyin' wi' what I've got."
"May I come in, Mrs. Duncan?" said a clear voice, breaking in on the
old woman's preoccupation. As a matter of fact, however, the
permission was scarcely needed, for Violet Vane was already in the
room, close to the bed, her eyes on the letter; yet her first words
made it appear as if her attention had been given to something else.
"Ah! you are expecting visitors, and I shall be in the way."
"Naethin' o' the sort, ma'am," replied Peggy, hastily, as usual on the
lookout for a grievance. "I'm no sae sair put to it yet but that I can
spare a cup o' tea for them that takes the trouble to come and see the
auld wife."
"And a very good cup of tea, too," put in Mrs. Vane. "What you gave me
the other day was delicious. I only meant that strangers may not be
welcome when friends are talking secrets."
"I've nae friends and nae secrets," retorted the old woman, looking up
quickly.
"Then you are lucky," continued her visitor, lightly. "Friends are
often troublesome, especially over secrets; nine times out of ten you
daren't ask their advice for fear of their knowing too much."
"Ye'll no be askin' mony folks' advice, I'm thinking," said Peggy,
shrewdly. "Ye've plenty brains; eneuch for yoursel' and ithers to the
bargain."
Mrs. Vane laughed. "Perhaps; but other folks' brains are better than
one's own sometimes. When I am in a difficulty I go to someone who is
as near a perfect stranger to me as possible and ask for advice. I
needn't take it, you know--Gracious! what is that?" That was a
clamorous cackling at the foot of the bed, and the stately march
therefrom of Towpie, the hen, triumphant over the laying of an egg in
her favourite nest.
"Oh ye o' little faith!" cried Peggy; "and me misca'ing the puir
beastie! It's a special Providence, aye, aye. He neither slumbers nor
sleeps, ye ken. And you will no be goin' to stop at Gleneira long, I'm
thinking." The question followed fast on the quotation as if there was
some connection in the old woman's mind between them.
"I leave it very soon, I'm sorry to say, as I think it the loveliest
place in the world; and it is sad to know that I shall not see it
again."
The envelope had come put of its hiding-place again during this
speech, and Peggy was turning it over and over as if to attract
attention to it; but she failed, and had to resort to more direct
methods.
"I canna think why they pit sic'can a big seal to a letter. Will there
be something on it that shoudna be broken?"
"Not that I can see," replied Mrs. Vane, taking it up carelessly.
"Only the name, 'Scriven and Plead'--lawyers, Peggy--for there below
is W. S. Glasgow. It is what people call a lawyer's letter, I expect."
"An' what will that be about?"
"Heaps of things. I couldn't say without reading it; shall I?" But
Peggy's claw-like hand shot forth in quick negation.
"I'll no be troubling you. I thocht, maybe, ye micht hae had
experience o' such things."
"So I have, Peggy. Sometimes they are wills, and sometimes they are
money."
"Aye!" interrupted the old woman, with a sinister chuckle, "but when
they're written to bit pauper bodies like me?"
"Then they are generally questions," replied Mrs. Vane, and though she
spoke easily she was conscious of a certain agitation of mind.
"Agreeable or disagreeable. Something to help a lawyer in tracing
somebody, or finding out some secret."
Peggy lay back on her pillows with a sort of groan. "'Tis only the
pain, ma'am," she explained, then paused awhile; "I was thinkin' maybe
'twas that. An' if you coudna answer them, what then?"
"Nothing; they can't make you; only it is impossible to tell if you
can or cannot till you know the questions."
"But if I canna know them without breaking a covenant? I might just
let the letter bide, maybe?"
Mrs. Vane hesitated an instant to run over the pros and cons hastily.
There was some secret, that was evident, and though the letter might
not be concerned with it, on the other hand it might. Peggy was
disinclined to trust it to her on the instant, but might think better
of it by and bye; anyhow, the first thing to ensure was that no one
else should have the chance.
"In that case, of course, you should, as you say, let it be. If it is
really important they will write again, and then it would be worth
while considering the matter. In the meanwhile, as a perfect stranger,
I should advise your setting it aside."
Peggy looked at her admiringly. "It's a fine thing to hae deceesion o'
character, and me just fashing myself about it."
"Shall I put it away for you in a safe place?" asked her visitor, as
the old lady proceeded to put the letter back under the pillow.
"It's safe eneuch there," she retorted sardonically. "I'll no move
till they lift me to my coffin, an' that will no be far, for it's to
stand on the table whaur the tea is setten oot. I've planned it a' ye
see wi' Janet, and there's twa bottles o' gude whiskey wi' the deid
claes in the bottom drawer. Ye canna expec' sinfu' man tae sit wi' a
corp without spirits."
Despite the humour of the thought, which at another time would have
outweighed the grimness, Mrs. Vane shivered. It seemed to her as if
old Peggy were a corp already in that dim box bed, where she lay so
still, only her angry eyes and twitching fingers showing sign of life.
It was a relief to hear the grumbling voice again.
"Weel, yon's settled, thanks to you, an' I'll no be kep' lingerin' in
the deid thraw about papers that, for a' I ken, wad be as weel in the
fire. O, ma'am! ye dinna ken what it feels like to think o' bein'
called to the Throne, an' no bein' able to stir for the weight o' yer
sins. For a broken word is as heavy as lead ye ken."
"Why should you talk of being called, Peggy," protested Mrs. Vane,
uneasily. "You are no worse than you were." But here in her
nervousness she forgot her tact, and the old woman was in arms at
once. "Maybe ye ken better nor me, ma'am, that's only tholing the pain
alone in the night watches."
"Then you should get some of the neighbours to sit up."
"Neebors!" interrupted Peggy, with an eldritch laugh. "They'll have
eneuch to do in settin' up wi' my corp; sae let them sleep on now an'
take _their_ rest."
Mrs. Vane shivered again, and, a sudden distaste to the whole business
coming over her, made an excuse to escape; yet when, almost at the
threshold, she met Marjory and Dr. Kennedy on their way to Peggy's
entertainment, she paused with the lightest of laughs to tell them
that the old woman was in one of her worst moods, and would make their
hair stand on end. For her part she had had her fill of horrors, and
intended to shock Mrs. Woodward by asking for a spoonful of brandy in
her tea! It was a relief to joke over it for the time, even though in
her heart she knew that she would have a _mauvais quart d'heure_
sooner or later; most likely later, when the time came for sleep and
she would have to seek the aid of that bottle of chloral--for Mrs.
Vane's mind was fragile as her body, and could not stand any great
strain. She could handle the reins deftly, and drive her team gaily
along the turnpike road, but she had never driven across country. So
it was a further relief to meet the butler in the hall carrying a
fresh teapot of tea into the drawing-room, while the footman followed
decorously bearing eight cups on a tray. Lady Hooker, the former
functionary replied, in answer to her inquiries, had driven over from
the Forest to see her ladyship in a _châr-a-banc_, with seven other
ladies, some children, and a piper playing on the box. He added the
last item in tones of tolerant contempt, born of a dispute downstairs
as to whether the musician should have his tea in the housekeeper's
room or the servants' hall; the womenkind, dazzled by his gorgeous
array, favouring the former, the menkind the latter, on the ground
that fine feathers did not make fine birds, and that without them he
was only Roderick the gillie's brother and a "hignorant 'ighland
beast" to boot.
Lady George's face relaxed even at the sight of another woman, seeing
that that other was Mrs. Vane; for as she said afterwards, "It is
nearly twenty miles, you know, and a bad road, so the horses were
bound to have an hour's rest, and it requires a dreadful expenditure
of tissue to make tea last an hour; yet, if you don't, you have to put
on your boots in a hurry and begin the conservatories and the garden,
which no one wants to see in the least. Really, in the country, it
would be a charity to have a room where people could wait until the
horses came round, or rather, till the coachman got tired of flirting
with the maids, for in the end it comes to that, you know."
To tell truth, there was cause for Lady George's welcome of
reinforcements, for, despite the fact that the hall positively reeked
of mackintoshes, the drawing-room was redolent of the shower-proof
mantles worn by a bevy of ladies of the type so common on Mr.
McBrayne's steamers; ladies whose conception of the Highlands and
islands might be likened to a volume of Scott bound in waterproof!
"We brought our sandwiches for lunch with us," explained one in reply
to Mrs. Vane's commonplace about the long drive; "and dear Lady Hooker
said we might rely on Highland hospitality for tea; and really it was
exquisite, a dream of beauty, and so interesting, too! Dear Lady
Hooker says that a portion of Waverley was really written in this
neighbourhood."
"I hope they were not the opening ones, then," remarked Mrs. Vane,
carelessly. "They always make me inclined to agree for the time with
the man who said it was a pity Sir Walter wrote in such small print."
A perfectly bovine silence fell on her group, broken, however, by a
determined voice from over the way:
"I agree with you absolutely, at least, as absolutely as the
limitations of human life allow. There is a lack of spiritual insight
in Sir Walter, a want of emotional instinct, an almost brutal content
with things as they are. His style is doubtless good, but personally I
confess to being unable to appreciate it fully. Even on a second
reading I find the story distracts my mind."
The speaker was a slim, rather elegant-looking girl, with an odd
mixture of eagerness and stolidity on her face.
"She writes a great deal," said Mrs. Vane's next-door neighbour in an
undertone of gratification, as if she gained a certain distinction by
being of the same party.
"Only a hundred brace!" came Lady Hooker's voice, compassionately.
"That's very poor, scarcely worth writing for--but then, you don't
rent the place, of course; that makes the difference. Sir Joseph
doesn't go in for grouse, of course; he is a deer man. But we couldn't
get on under five hundred brace for the table, we really couldn't.
Cooks are so extravagant. You will hardly believe it, Lady Temple, but
my Glasgow beef bill last week was over nine pounds, and we had three
sheep besides, and--how many deer was it, Miss Jones? Six? Yes, six
deer."
"That seems enough even for Noah's Ark or a menagerie," said Mrs.
Vane, sympathetically, and Lady George gave her a grateful smile.
"But then, of course, the servants won't touch venison," went
on Lady Hooker, contentedly; "though really it makes very fair
clear soup--it does, indeed. Even Sir Joseph does not object; and
he is so particular. When we had the Marquis of Steyne's place in
Ross-shire----"
"Ah! there are the children," said Lady George, with a sigh of relief.
"I thought, Lady Hooker, that my little boy and girl--oh, nurse! I did
not intend Master Blasius----"
But nurse apparently had other views--possibly that of hearing the
pipes downstairs--for she feigned not to hear, and set Blazes down on
his feet with that final "jug" behind to his smock frock which is the
usual parting admonition to behave nicely.
"Eve, my darling! Adam, my love! go and shake hands' with your little
visitors," said Lady George, keeping an apprehensive eye on Blazes,
who, with his legs very far apart, was clacking the whip he had
brought down with him, and making extraordinary cluckings in the roof
of his mouth, like a whole bevy of broody hens, in which occupation,
what with his close-cropped hair and white smock, he looked a carter
to the life. "Really, nurse!" she continued nervously; "I think,
perhaps, it would be better. He is so much younger than the others,
you see, Lady Hooker."
But nurse was not to be put off with this subterfuge, and as she
happened to be keeping company with the carrier, she felt outraged by
the palpable suspicion. "Indeed, your ladyship," she said, in an
indignant whisper, "it is only the man as drives the ferry cart, and
'e is most respectable!"
So it appeared, for beyond the usual "_ger'up_" Blasius' vocabulary
was, if anything, too endearing. So much so, that Lady George
suggested that since the children had had their tea, she thought it
would be nice for them to play on the lawn. She would ring for the
nursemaid to keep an eye on them, not that it would be necessary,
since she could trust darling Adam and Eve not to get into mischief
anywhere--out of Paradise. But here a difficulty presented itself. One
little girl, a very pretty child dressed in white serge and fur,
refused to go, and stood burying her face in the window curtain, and
digging the toe of one shoe into the carpet after the manner of
children who have made up their minds to give trouble.
"She isn't my girl," came Lady Hooker's loud voice. "Sir Joseph
wouldn't tolerate that sort of thing, he is so particular. When we had
the Duke's place in Sutherland----"
"Cressida, my sweet!" said the authoress, plaintively; "if you can
possibly wish to go, do wish; it would be so much more convenient for
dear little mother. I never coerce her, on principle, Lady George--she
is the only tie I have to life."
"Separated from her husband," put in Mrs. Vane's next-door neighbour,
in the same self-complacent whisper. "It is quite the proper thing
when you write, you know."
"That is what Lady George says also," broke in Mrs. Woodward, a little
spitefully. "And I tell her that children were made to obey their
parents----"
"Should be made to obey them, you mean, dear Mrs. Woodward,"
interrupted her hostess, rising to the bait; "but, as I say, it
depends upon experience. You may have found it necessary with--with
yours, but mine----"
"And mine also!" broke in the lady who wrote, enthusiastically.
"Cressida's mind is so beautiful in its intense naturalness, so
delicate in texture. It is the instinctive shyness of a sensitive
organism which----" She started, and turned round, for a loud, full,
yet childish voice rose confidently above her words.
"Blazeth' goin' to kiss the little gurl, then she won't be flighted,
but come along o' Blazeths."
And she did, hand in hand, admiringly, while he cracked his whip and
cried, "_Ger'rup!_" to amuse her.
"And he can do old Angus awful well, too," whispered Eve to her
companion, as they passed out of the door. "We'll get him to do it by
the burn when Mary isn't looking. Mary doesn't like it, you know,
because her young man is a shepherd, too; but he really is quite a
genteel young fellar, and kept company with the under 'rouse last year
at the Forest--that's your place, isn't it?"
"It's a deal bigger than this," remarked the other. "And we have deers
and grouses."
So the game of brag--which children play more naïvely than their
elders--began, while the authoress was explaining at length how it
came about that Cressida had consented to Blasius's methods of
persuasion.
"I don't think you need distress yourself," remarked Mrs. Vane, with
an odd little smile; "Blazes is really a remarkable boy; he invariably
goes down straight to first principles, and that is a deadly method of
argument--especially with our sex."
"Sex!" echoed the authoress, scenting the foe. "I deny the right of
man----"
"Lady George!" said Mrs. Vane, hastily, "perhaps some of these ladies
might like to see the conservatories. I have on my boots."
Blanche gave her another glance of heartfelt gratitude, and as she saw
her bear off a large contingent, told herself that she was worth three
of Alice Woodward, who was only equal to the bread and butter! And
Paul was anything but bread and butter! The thought, as such vagrant
ones have a trick of doing, begged for more consideration as she sate
turning a polite ear and tongue to the task of amusing the authoress,
who had remained behind; Mrs. Woodward meanwhile appearing deeply
interested in a certain place the Hookers had had in Perthshire, where
the gillies expected champagne and _pâti de foie gras_ for their ball
supper. And she was fast approaching that condition of mind in which
the only thing which prevents our owning up that we are out of our
depth is the conviction that we know quite as much of what we are
talking about as the other party to the conversation, when the sudden
reappearance of the garden contingent bearing two bundles wrapped in
waterproofs supplied an all too efficient distraction.
For the waterproofs being set on the ground disclosed the coy Cressida
and Blasius, both dripping, and inconceivably smeared with tar; but
both to all appearance in the highest of spirits.
Poor Lady George stood up tragically.
"Yes!" replied Mrs. Vane, striving to be grave. "They are bad
children--all bad children," she added, turning to the group of elder
ones behind.
"Oh, but we wasn't there!" came in a chorus, led by Adam and Eve, "we
wasn't, really. It's all his fault."
"Don't! Don't come near me, child!" cried the devoted mother, hastily
retreating from the embrace of her only tie to life. "Cressida!
What--what have you been doing?"
"Oh mummie! it was bewful. First he washted me, and then I washted
him, an' then we washted each other, didn't we, Blazes? and we said,
Haud up--ye----"
"The child is dripping!" interrupted Lady George, hastily. "I will
ring for nurse. Oh! Blasius, how could you think of such a thing?"
Mrs. Vane pointed slily to the furred white pelisse. "It is rather
tempting," she said, aside; but Blanche was not to be mollified.
"And Mary? Where was Mary?"
"Mary's dancing the Highland fling with James in the boot hole,"
blabbed Eve, readily. "An' we wanted to dance too, but nursie was
there, an' so we comed away."
"But where did you go? What were you doing? How came you not to see?
you two whom I can generally trust," persisted Lady George, growing
tearful from vexation, yet feeling vaguely that it all arose from
people bringing a piper with them when they came to call--a piper who
disorganised the household and introduced Highland flings into the
boot hole! "I insist, children, on hearing what you were all doing."
There was a dead silence, until for the first time Blazes lifted up
his loud, mellow voice, as he stood disregarded by a chair smearing
his tarry hands stolidly over its cover in a vain effort to amend
matters before nurse appeared.
"They was flicking piggy wif a pin, and piggy was 'quealin' louder nor
Blazeths."
And even Lady George--when the _châr-a-banc_ had driven off, piper and
mackintoshes and all, with Cressida kissing her still tarry hands to a
struggling figure in Mary's arms at the nursery window--was forced to
admit that Blazes generally went straight to the point; and that after
all it had helped to pass the time. And as for Mary, she declared that
her ladyship might say what she liked about 'orseplay, an' lendin'
'erself to savage an' indignified dances in a boot 'ole, but 'ighland
flings wasn't in it--for a stetch in yer side an' no 'airpins to speak
of--with Master Blazes when you 'ad to 'old 'im and 'e didn't meant to
be 'eld.