"Why, Patie," said Robin, "I ken it is said that every ane can rule a
bad wife but he that has her--and I believe it is true. I am quite
convinced that naebody kens sae weel where the shoe pinches as they that
hae it on; though I am quite satisfied that, had my case been yours, I
wad hae brought her to her senses long afore now, though I had
'Dauded her lugs wi' Rab Roryson's bannet.'
or gien her a _hoopin_ like your friend the cooper o' Coldingham."
"Save us, man!" said Patie, who loved a joke, even though at
second-hand, and at his own expense; "but ye see the cooper's case is
not in point, though I am in the same line; for, as I hae observed, I am
only five feet twa inches and an eighth in height--my wife _is not the
weaker vessel_--that I ken to my sorrow."
"Weel, Patie," said Robin, "I wadna hae ye to lift your hand--I was but
jokin upon that score, it wadna be manly;--but there is ae thing that ye
can do, and I am sure it wad hae an excellent effect."
"Dearsake! what is that?" cried Patie.
"For a' that has happened ye," said Robin, "ye hae just yoursel to
blame, for giein up the key and the siller to her management that nicht
ye gaed to Orange Lane. That is the short and the lang o' a' your
troubles, Patie."
"Do you think sae?" inquired the little bicker-maker.
"Yes, I think sae, Peter, and I say it," said Robin; "and there is but
ae remedy left."
"And what is that!" asked Patie, eagerly.
"Just this," said Robin--"_stop the supplies_."
"_Stop the supplies!_" returned Patie--"what do you mean, Robin? I canna
say that I fully comprehend ye."
"I just mean this," added the other; "be your ain banker--your ain
cashier--be maister o' your ain siller--let her find that it is to you
she is indebted for every penny she has the power to spend; and if ye
dinna bring Tibby to reason and kindness within a month, my name's no
Robin Roughead."
"Do ye think that wad do it?" said Patie.
"If that wadna, naething wad," answered Robin; "but try it for a
twelvemonth--begin this very nicht; and if we baith live and be spared
to this time next year, I'll meet ye again, and I'll be the death o' a
mutchkin, but that ye tell me Tibby's a different woman--your bairns
different--your hail house different--and your auld mither comfortable."
"O man, if it might be sae," said Patie; "but this very nicht, the
moment I get hame, I'll try it--and, if I succeed, I'll try ye wi' a
bottle o' wine, and I believe I never drank ane in my life."
"Agreed," said Robin; "but mind ye're no to do things by halves. Ye're
no to be feared out o' your resolution because Tibby may fire and storm,
and let drive the things in the house at ye--nor even though she should
greet."
"I thoroughly understand ye," said Patie; "my resolution's ta'en, and
I'll stand by it."
"Gie's your hand on't," said Robin; and Patie gave him his hand.
Now the two friends parted, and it is unnecessary for me either to
describe their parting, or the reception which Patie, on his arriving at
Birgham, met with from his spouse.
Twelve months went round, Dunse fair came again, and after the fair was
over, Patie Crichton once more went in quest of his old friend, Robin
Roughead. He found him standing in the horse market, and--
"How's a' wi' ye, my freend?" says Patie.
"Oh, hearty, hearty," cries the other; "but how's a' wi' ye?--how is yer
family?"
"Come and get the bottle o' wine that I've to gie ye," said Patie, "and
I'll tell ye a' about it."
"I'll do that," said Robin, "for my business is dune."
So they went into the same house in the Castle Wynd where they had been
twelve months before, and Patie called for a bottle of wine; but he
found that the house had not the wine license, and was therefore content
with a gill of whisky made into toddy.
"O man," said he to Robin, "I wad pay ye half a dizen bottles o' wine
wi' as great cheerfu'ness as I raise this glass to my lips. It was a
grand advice that o' yours--_stop the supplies_."
"I am glad to hear it," said Robin; "I was sure it was the only thing
that would do."
"Ye shall hear a' about it," said Patie. "After parting wi' ye, I
trudged hame to Birgham, and when I got to my house--before I had the
sneck o' the door weel out o' my hand--
"'What's stopped ye to this time o' nicht, ye fitless, feckless cratur
ye?' cried Tibby--'whar hae ye been? Gie an account o' yoursel.'
"'An account o' mysel!' says I, and I gied the door a drive ahint me, as
if I wad driven it aff the hinges--'for what should I gie an account o'
mysel?--or wha should I gie it to? I suppose this house is my ain, and I
can come in and gang out when I like!'
"'Yours!' cried she; 'is the _body_ drunk?'
"'No,' says I; 'I'm no drunk, but I wad hae you to be decent. Where is
my supper?--it is time that I had it.'
"'Ye micht hae come in in time to get it then,' said she; 'folk canna
keep suppers waitin on you.'
"'But I'll gang whar I can get it,' said I; and I offered to leave the
house.
"'I'll tak the life o' ye first,' said she. 'Gie me the siller. Ye had
five cogs, a dizen o' bickers, twa dizen o' piggins, three bowies, four
cream dishes, and twa ladles, besides the wooden spoons that I packed up
mysel. Gie me the siller--and, you puir profligate, let me see what ye
hae spent.'
"'Gie you the siller!' says I; 'na, na, I've dune that lang aneugh--_I
hae stopped the supplies_, my woman.'
"'Stop your breath!' cried she; 'gie me the siller, every farthin, or wo
betide ye.'
"It was needless for her to say _every farthin_; for, had I dune as I
used to do, I kenned she wad search through every pocket o' my claes the
moment she thocht me asleep--through every hole and corner o' them, to
see if I had cheated her out o' a single penny--ay, and tak them up, and
shake them, and shake them, after a' was dune. But I was determined to
stand fast by your advice.
"'Do as ye like,' says I; 'I'll bring ye to your senses--_I've stopped
the supplies_.'
"She saw that I wasna drunk, and my manner rather dumfoundered her a
little. The bairns--wha, as I have tauld ye, she aye encouraged to mock
me--began to giggle at me, and to mak game o' me, as usual. I banged out
o' the house, and into the shop, and I took down the belt o' the bit
turning-lathe, and into the house I goes again wi' it in my hand.
"'Wha maks a fule o' me now?'
"And they a' laughed thegither, and I up wi' the belt, and I loundered
them round the house and round the house, till ane screamed and anither
screamed, and even their mither got clouts in trying to run betwixt them
and me; and it was wha to squeel loudest. Sae, after I had brocht them
a' to ken what I was, I awa yont to my mither's, and I gied her five
shillins, puir body; and after stoppin an hour wi' her, I gaed back to
the house again. The bairns were a' abed, and some o' them were still
sobbin, and Tibby was sittin by the fire; but she didna venture to say a
word--I had completely astonished her--and as little said I.
"There wasna a word passed between us for three days; I was beginning to
carry my head higher in the house, and on the fourth day I observed that
she had nae tea to her breakfast. A day or twa after, the auldest lassie
cam to me ae morning about ten o'clock, and says she--
"'Faither, I want siller for tea and sugar.'
"'Gae back to them that sent ye,' says I, 'and tell them to fare as I
do, and they'll save the tea and sugar.'
"But it is of nae use dwellin upon the subject. I did stop the supplies
most effectually. I very soon brocht Tibby to ken wha was her
bread-winner. An' when I saw that my object was accomplished, I showed
mair kindness and affection to her than ever I had dune. The bairns
became as obedient as lambs, and she soon came to say--'Peter, should I
do this thing?'--or, 'Peter, should I do that thing?' So, when I had
brocht her that far--'Tibby,' says I, 'we hae a but and a ben, and it's
grievin me to see my auld mither starvin, and left by hersel wi' naebody
to look after her. I think I'll bring her hame the morn--she'll aye be
o' use about the house--she'll can knit the bairns' stockins, or darn
them when they are out o' the heels.'
"'Weel, Peter,' said Tibby, 'I'm sure it's as little as a son can do,
and I'm perfectly agreeable.'
"I banged up--I flung my arms round Tibby's neck--'Oh! bless ye, my
dear!' says I; 'bless ye for that!--there's the key o' the kist and the
siller--from this time henceforth do wi' it what ye like.'
"Tibby grat. My mother cam hame to my house the next day. Tibby did
everything to mak her comfortable--a' the bairns ran at her bidden--and,
frae that day to this, there isna a happier man on this wide world than
Patie Crichton the bicker-maker o' Birgham."
MORTLAKE.--A LEGEND OF MERTON.
"Pray, sir, will you condescend to inform me by what title you presume
to set your foot on my grounds? Have I not already warned you; and if I
use you now severely, the blame must rest with yourself."
These words were addressed by Sir Thomas Bruce Vavasour, in an evident
state of excitement, to a young lad apparently of about nineteen, but in
reality not much above sixteen, whom he met traversing the grounds of
Merton. Tom Vallance did not condescend to inform his interrogator why
he had presumed to intrude where his presence seemed far from welcome,
or explain why, on the present occasion, he happened to have in his hand
a gun, which suspicious folks might be apt to suppose was intended to
create some little confusion among the game on this well-preserved
estate. He returned no very distinct answer; but some inarticulate
sounds issued from his mouth, which, no doubt, were intended to
deprecate the rage of the hasty and irritable baronet; but which seemed
to have the effect only of heightening his ire, as he turned round to
his keeper, who, with one of the servants, was at his back, and bade
them secure the fowling-piece with which the youth was furnished--a
command which was instantly obeyed; and the lad, not prepared for the
sudden attack, was without difficulty disarmed.
"Now, my lad," quoth Sir Thomas, "you had better be off, unless you wish
me to use violence; for I will not allow my property to be trespassed
upon, and my game destroyed, by you and the like of you."
Tom stood firm, scowling on the baronet. At length he gained nerve
enough to say--
"Give me back my gun. You have no right to rob me, nor shall you."
"But you shall submit, my little cock-sparrow. Don't suppose I want to
keep your twopenny-halfpenny pop-gun. Here, John, just take Master Tom
by the shoulders, and turn him off my grounds; and you, Peter, carry
this rubbishy thing to Mrs Vallance, and tell her it would better become
her to keep her son behind the counter of her shop, to serve her
customers with farthing-candles and brown soap, than allow him to
vagabondise about the country poaching. If he does not mend his manners,
I've a pretty good guess that some of those days he'll either take a
voyage at the expense of his country, or get his neck thrust into a
noose."
This was certainly impertinent. It was, moreover, unjust and uncalled
for; as, whatever might be said to the charge of Tom Vallance, on
account of his predilection for field sports, no impeachment lay
otherwise to his moral character. But Sir Thomas was in a passion; and,
like all persons in that state, spoke without reflection. Naturally of a
hasty and irritable temper, he had received a letter that morning which
excited his ire excessively, and as, upon issuing from the mansion, the
lad Vallance crossed his path, the first burst of his wrath fell on his
devoted head. Tom felt deeply the insult. He had been accustomed to a
shake of the head, and sometimes a sharp word; but Sir Thomas, upon the
whole, used him well enough; for, as his mother had been housekeeper in
the family during the lifetime of Sir Marmaduke Vavasour, who had
married the heiress of Merton, the lad was looked upon, or rather he
looked upon himself, as a sort of licensed person on the grounds. To be
deprived of his gun was bad, but to insinuate moral turpitude was worse;
and, forgetful of the rank of his tormentor, he exclaimed--
"I am no thief--I am as honest as yourself, Sir Thomas! and bitterly,
bitterly shall you rue this day! When I set my foot next time on your
grounds, it will be for no good to you."
Saying this, he turned on his heel, and, extricating himself suddenly
from the hands of the servants, cleared a ditch which opposed his
retreat, and was speedily out of reach.
The passion of Sir Thomas was not lessened by this unexpected reply,
followed as it was by the speedy evasion of the speaker; and, as Tom was
out of his reach, he transferred his wrath to the attendants, who were
scolded in the most exemplary style for not knocking the young rascal
down. After indulging some time in this agreeable relaxation, he
returned to the house, looking all the while, as his men said, "like a
bear wi' a sair head."
Sir Thomas Bruce Vavasour was the third son of an English baronet of
ancient lineage, who, by intermarriage with Isabella, daughter, and
afterwards sole heiress, of Reginald Bruce of Merton, in the County of
Roxburgh, eventually carried that estate into his family. He had three
brothers, two elder and one younger than himself. By the marriage
contract, the English estate, which was considerable, was destined to
the elder son, the Scottish one to the second son. Thomas got a
commission, went abroad, and, after much battling about, attained the
rank of general, when, by the death of his brother William, he succeeded
to Merton; and a few years afterwards, the demise of the eldest brother,
who broke his neck whilst fox-hunting, gave him the extensive manor of
Vavasour Castle, and the title of a baronet. The younger brother married
an heiress, by whom he had one son, whom, after his demise, he left
under the guardianship of Sir Thomas--excluding Mrs Vavasour from all
control. The uncle carefully superintended the education of his
ward--became much attached to him--and, during the holidays, frequently
took him to Merton, to the infinite displeasure of Mrs Richard Vavasour,
who cordially hated her brother-in-law. When he grew up, those visits
were discontinued, partly as he was studying for the bar, and partly to
please his mother, whom he considered he was in duty bound to propitiate
as much as he could--rather a difficult task, as she was a capricious,
fine lady, with violent and vindictive feelings. Edward was about
four-and-twenty, and had formed an attachment to a lady--his equal in
birth and fortune--but who did not meet with the mother's approbation.
She demanded that the match should be broken off--Edward
remonstrated--she persisted; and, after a war of words, matters remained
precisely as they originally were: he avowing a fixed determination to
make himself happy, notwithstanding Mrs Vavasour's threats of vengeance.
This he accordingly did; and his mother, bursting a blood-vessel, soon
afterwards died, leaving a sealed letter to be sent, after her demise,
to Sir Thomas, whom she hated.
Three weeks had elapsed from the date of this interview, when, one
evening early in the month of September, a party of farmers (for it was
market-day) were sitting, after dinner, in the public inn of the county
town, when the landlord suddenly entered, exclaiming--
"Gracious! a dreadful murder has just been committed. The Laird of
Merton has been killed in his own house!"
This announcement was received with equal astonishment and horror by
those assembled; and the intruder had every possible question to answer
as to the time, place, and person, that the half-muddled brains of those
present could devise; and such a Babel of voices arose in sweet discord,
that a gentleman, who sat in the parlour alone, and who had arrived by
that day's mail, was so much disturbed as to ring violently, to know why
his meditations were thus so unharmoniously interrupted.
"Waiter," said he, "why this disturbance? Cannot your farmers dine here
without kicking up a riot?"
"Oh, sir, it's the murder!"
"What murder?"
"The General, sir, who lives at Merton, sir, found stabbed in his own
sitting-room, sir!"
"Stabbed, do you say? It cannot be!"
"Quite true, sir, as I'm a waiter! And they have got the murderer in
custody."
"Murderer! impossible! What mean you?" exclaimed the traveller, hastily.
"Why, sir, the fellow that killed Sir Thomas is taken redhand, I think
they call it."
"Who is he?"
"Just Tom Vallance, sir--an idle fellow, to be sure, but the last person
that I would have thought would do such a thing."
"What! the son of the old housekeeper?"
"Yes. Do you know him, sir?"
"Not I; but I've heard of his mother. What inducement could he have to
commit so dreadful a crime?"
"Revenge, sir! The General, some two or three weeks since, seized his
gun, and, poor gentleman, abused Tom fearfully, for he was in one of his
terrifics; and Tom told him the next time he was on his grounds he would
do for him--at least so it is said."
"Dreadful! And what was this Tom Vallance, as I think you call him?"
"Nothing, sir. His mother is an industrious woman; and the lad was not
that bad fellow neither--but dreadfully idle. He had a good education;
but his father dying two years since, Tom left school; and his mother,
in place of sending him back, kept him at home. She was so fond of him
that she let him do whatever he liked."
"How can she afford to maintain him?"
"She is very industrious, sir; and, as she was daft fond of him, every
penny she could scrape together went into his pockets."
"Where is the accused?"
"Tom, sir, do you mean? Why, before the sheriff, making his
declaration."
"Who succeeds the late baronet?"
"His nephew--a very nice chap. He was often at Merton when a lad; but he
has not been here for many years. He'll be better liked than his uncle,
though the old fellow was not so bad neither. But I must go, sir, for I
hear the bell ringing in the travellers'-room."
So saying, he whipped his napkin under his arm, and withdrew with
praiseworthy celerity.
The unknown traveller paced slowly up and down the room, apparently very
much perplexed in his mind. He muttered--
"Strange!--very strange!--caught in the room--a previous threat--all
concurs."
Shortly afterwards he again rang the bell, ordered in and paid his bill;
and, taking a post-chaise to the next town, waited there only until the
mail from Edinburgh to London stopped to change horses, and, having
procured a seat, arrived in due time in the metropolis.
The investigation of facts connected with the death of Sir Thomas
proceeded, and a strong case was made out against the accused. The two
servants swore to the threat; and, although not giving exactly the
waiter's version of it, made it pretty nearly as bad; for, not having
heard the precise words, they supplied the defect in hearing by
generalising. "He threatened," they said, "to be revenged, and that he
would come to the grounds for that purpose;" or used some such words,
showing a determined resolution of getting "_amends_" of their master.
That the General met his death by a stab in the heart was plain enough;
and that the servants found Tom beside him, grasping a bloody knife, was
equally so. Presumptions were, therefore, strongly against him; nor did
his declaration or judicial statement help him much; for he admitted,
after some little hesitation, that he had slipped into the grounds to
redeem his threat of revenge by carrying off some very fine peaches, of
which the General was very proud, and which he intended as a present to
a neighbouring friend. Knowing that Sir Thomas was accustomed to take
his _siesta_ immediately after dinner, which was usually at five--for he
followed a fashion of his own in this respect, which has, since his
time, become popular--and that the gardener left at six, he lurked about
the grounds till after that period, and then, easily getting into the
garden, thought it prudent to see how the land lay before he proceeded
to his labour of love.
The house of Merton was an old-fashioned building; or rather series of
buildings erected at different times; and the present possessor, who had
a fancy for horticulture, had added an apartment, which opened by a
glass-door upon a terrace, from which, by descending a few steps, he
entered the garden. This room was, necessarily, remote from the rest of
the mansion, and here Sir Thomas uniformly dined, summer and winter.
After dinner was removed, and the dessert and wine placed on the table,
the servants withdrew, and were forbidden to enter till seven o'clock,
when coffee was served. Of all this Tom was perfectly cognisant.
Now Tom asserted that, as a precautionary measure, he resolved to peep
into the room in question, to ascertain whether Sir Thomas was asleep
before he took his boyish revenge; and seeing the glass-door which led
into the garden open, he proceeded, cautiously and slowly, till he got
there, when, looking in, he observed his old enemy lying on the floor on
his face. Astonished at this, and forgetting all sense of personal risk,
he advanced to raise the baronet, when he discovered that he was dead,
and a knife lying beside the body, which he picked up. Fear tied up his
tongue for some few seconds, and he had barely time to give utterance to
an exclamation of horror, when, the door opening, the servant gave the
alarm, and before he had time to collect his scattered senses he was a
prisoner. All this might have been true, and perhaps the story would
have been treated with more consideration than it obtained, had it not
been for the _previous threat_, which naturally induced a strong
suspicion against Tom. The result was, that, after the ordinary form had
been gone through, the unhappy youth was fully committed to take his
trial for the murder of Sir Thomas Vavasour Bruce Vavasour of Vavasour
and Merton, Baronet.
The heir, at this eventful period, was in England, whither the body was
transmitted, and deposited in the Vavasour mausoleum.
Meanwhile Tom remained for some weeks in the county jail, in a condition
far from enviable. All attempts to induce a confession of guilt were
abortive; he persisted in his declaration of innocence; but, as parties
accused are not usually in the habit of confessing their crimes, these
protestations were not considered worth much. Indeed, the only person he
could convince was his poor mother, who gave implicit confidence to his
assertions.
A change, and one for the better, had come over the accused in prison.
How bitterly did he regret his former idle moments--how deeply did he
lament the burden he had been on his mother! Many a vow did he make,
that, if he could get quit of this charge, he would eschew his former
course of life, and be all a fond parent could ask. About the tenth day
before the approaching sittings, Tom was visited by a gentleman, who
proffered his assistance as his adviser. He had heard, he said, of the
case, and was anxious, on his mother's account, to afford his aid; but
he required a full and ample statement, without any concealment. Tom
answered, he had nothing to conceal; and he recapitulated everything he
had formerly stated.
The stranger listened attentively, and, after his client had concluded,
shook his head. "Tom, you may be innocent--there is the impress of truth
in what you state, and I can hardly doubt you; but still the evidence
against you is so strong, that, if you go to trial, I am fearful--very
fearful of the result."
Tom's face, which had brightened as the stranger commenced, became
clouded ere the remarks were finished, and when they terminated he burst
into tears. "Oh, sir!" he sobbed, "have pity on a poor misguided lad,
who never meant evil to any one--who is as innocent of the crime of
which he is accused as you are. Save me, sir--oh, save me! if not on my
own account, at least on that of my poor mother, who will break her
heart if I am condemned!"
"I would willingly save you if I could," was the rejoinder; "but I
cannot influence juries--I cannot sway the court."
"And must I die, then? Must I, before my time, go down to my grave
dishonoured and disgraced? Oh, sir, if it had pleased Heaven to visit me
with a deadly sickness, I would have left the world without one sigh
except for my mother! But to be degraded as a felon--to be branded as a
murderer--it is too--too much!" He became so agitated that grief choked
his utterance.
The stranger, obviously affected, took his hand. "Tom, have you
firmness? There is a way, perhaps."