In view of this important reservation, the arrangements made and
sanctioned by Duke and Duchess, and feebly but faithfully supported by
Miss Jean--who had become fully sensible of the value to herself of
Kirsteen’s services, yet could not but back up the higher
authorities--did not come to very much. Passive resistance is a great
power, and even when a child says “I will not,” it is policy on the part
of his superiors to be quite sure of their power either to convince or
coerce before entering upon any controversy. Kirsteen stood quite firm.
“No, my lord Duke, I cannot go home,” she said, with a courtesy so
respectful that his Grace could only take refuge in the recollection
that she was not his clanswoman.
“If ye had been of my name I would not have taken a denial,” he said.
“And she would have been of your name if she had married Glendochart,”
cried the Duchess exasperated.
But Kirsteen stood firm. She would hear of no postchaise. She did not
repeat what had been wrung out of her in the first assault that her
father would never again receive into his house the fugitive who had
escaped from it. Kirsteen had been very well aware of this fact,
however, from the beginning, and in her soul it supported her, like a
rock to which she had set her back. Her own heart might fail. It did
fail often when she thought of her mother. Sometimes she would start up
in the night with a wailing cry for Kirsteen ringing in her ears; and at
these moments it would seem to her that to set out at once with no
easements of a postchaise, but on foot like a pilgrim, guilty of treason
to the first love of life, was the only thing for her to do. But these
compunctions of affection died away before the recollection of her
father’s lowering face and the fire in his fierce eyes. She had known it
when she stole forth in the dark that miserable morning, escaping from
all the limitations of her youthful life. Had there been more time to
think, had there not been the terror upon her of his summary and
unhesitating tyranny, some other way might have been found. But having
once taken such a step Kirsteen knew that no way remained of going back.
Like Anne she would be already swept out of the record of the family. No
one would be permitted to name her name. And even her mother who wanted
her most, would weep, and acquiesce, and find comfort in an additional
plaint. Kirsteen was profoundly acquainted with that prosaic course of
common life which closes over all events in such a family as her own. It
would be like a stone in the water with ever widening, ever fainter
circles; and then the surface would become smooth again. It had been so
in the case of Anne. She remembered well enough the awed and desolate
sensation of the moment, the story about the candle dying in the socket,
and the cold wind blowing through the house from the open door; and then
a little blank of vacancy, and terror of the forbidden name which would
come to their lips unawares; and then,--forgetfulness. Kirsteen knew
that the same process would take place in her own case; the father’s
ban--forbidding that she should be called a child of his or her name
mentioned in his house, and the mother’s sob, but consent. No romantic
superstitions about a father’s curse were in Kirsteen’s mind. It roused
her only to self-assertion, to something of a kindred pride and wrath,
and resistance; nor did the thought of her mother’s acquiescence in the
sentence wound her. Poor mother! The girl was glad to think that there
would be no secret struggle in the ailing woman’s soul, but only a few
tears and all over. Kirsteen had the steadying force of experience to
subdue all exaggerated feelings in her own bosom. She knew exactly how
it would be. But she knew at the same time that the sentence she had
herself called forth was fixed and would not be changed.
And to speak the truth Kirsteen felt the activity and occupations of the
new life to be much more congenial to her own energetic and capable
spirit than the dull quiet of the old, in which there was no outlet.
That she should be seized with a yearning now and then for the sound of
the linn, for the silence of the hills, for the wholesome smell of the
peats in the clear blue Highland air, was as natural as that she should
hear that wail for Kirsteen in the midst of her dreams. These longings
gradually built up in her mind an ideal picture of the beauty and
perfection of nature as embodied in her own glen, such as is a stay and
refreshment to many a heart in the midst of alien life--to many a heart
which perhaps in presence of that glen not idealized would be
unconscious of any beauty in nature. The glen, and her mother, and
little Jeanie--the time would come when she would shower secret gifts
and comforts upon all--when they should find out what Kirsteen was by
the good things that would come from her--the things soft, and lovely,
and comforting, and sweet, which Marg’ret would convey and the father
never find out. Go back! Oh, no; she would not if she could go back, and
she could not if she would. So what did it matter what Duke or Duchess
might say? The postchaise remained unordered; the girl courtesyed to his
Grace and her Grace, and stood firm. And by and by that power came in
which is of such force in all human things. Duchess and Duke, and Miss
Jean, and even Kirsteen herself, carried on by the tide of daily life
with its ever new occurrences--forgot; and the little world about
settled down calmly as if the present state of affairs was that which
had always been.
Some time, however, after these events a significant incident occurred
in the history of Miss Jean Brown’s mantua-making establishment. A
carriage, unknown as yet with liveries and devices which never had
appeared before, appeared in Chapel Street and set down a little party
of ladies at Miss Jean’s door. She advanced to meet them, as was her
wont, to the door of the show-room, with a courtesy which would have
done no discredit to a queen’s drawing-room. But the ladies made a
pause, and whispered together, and then the eldest said--“Oh, it is Miss
Douglas we want. We wish to give our orders to Miss Douglas. We have
never been here before. And it is Miss Douglas we want to see.”
Miss Jean, surprised, indicated Kirsteen, who happened to be in the
room, with a wave of her hand, and withdrew a little in dignified
watchfulness not without a shade of offence.
“Oh, Miss Douglas!” cried the elder lady, while the others fluttered
round, enclosing Kirsteen in the circle. “We wish to have some things
made, my daughters and I. And we were so anxious to see you. We know all
your romantic story. And though, as the Duchess says, it may not be a
very good example, yet we felt we must come at once and patronize you.
It is so disinterested of you--and so romantic.”
“So interesting--like a story out of a novel.”
“So dramatic! It might go on the stage.”
Kirsteen stood and listened with a surprised face and an angry heart
while these exclamations fluttered round. Four ladies all rustling in
silks and laces--no doubt likely to be excellent customers and
therefore not to be too much discouraged, but each more exasperating
than the other. Dramatic! On the stage! Kirsteen had been brought up to
believe that the stage was a sort of vestibule of a region which the
Scotch ministers of her period had no hesitation in naming. All the
blood of the Douglases rushed to her cheeks.
“I think your ladyships must be deceived,” she said; “we have no
romantic stories nor stage plays here.”
“Oh, you must not think you can escape, you interesting creature! For it
was your friend Lady Charlotte, the great beauty, who told us all about
it; and we all vowed that henceforward nobody should dress us but you.”
“Lady Chatty is my friend indeed,” said Kirsteen, “and she is a bonny
creature; but what a friend may know is nothing to the world. And I am
not the mistress here to undertake your work. Perhaps, Miss Jean, you
will tell the ladies whether you can receive their orders or not. They
are recommended, it would seem,” she added, addressing her somewhat
mortified and indignant principal over the heads of the newcomers, “by
Lady Chatty, who is just full of fancies. And the work-room is very
full. But you will know best yourself what you can do.”
With this Kirsteen withdrew into the further part of the room, occupying
herself again with the box of flowers which had already played its part
in the beginning of her new life; and Miss Jean advanced into the
middle of the scene. It had never before occurred to that good woman to
treat a new customer, arriving in a coroneted carriage with liveries
which lighted up the street, with indifference. But she was much
mortified and affronted, and readily took up the cue.
“We are very busy, madam, as this young lady says. I cannot tell whether
we can take the advantage of your ladyships’ favours. We have gowns
making for the Queen’s Ball more than I remember for years. There is the
Duchess herself, and Lady A., and Lady B., and the Marchioness, and Miss
L., the Maid of Honour, and I cannot tell how many more--all old
patronesses of mine,” said Miss Jean with a slight courtesy that
emphasized her pause.
“But oh, mamma, we can’t be sent away! for I vowed to Lord John I would
have a gown,” cried one of the young ladies, “from” she glanced at
Kirsteen with a little alarm, then added in a low voice with a little
laugh, “_la belle couturière_.”
“My name is Brown, madam, and not Bell--ye have perhaps made a mistake,”
said Miss Jean, grimly holding her ground.
This the young ladies received with much laughter and fluttering among
themselves, as an excellent joke; while their mother, half indignant,
half disappointed, eyed Miss Jean as if she would have liked to
annihilate with a glance the presumptuous seamstress. But the refusal
itself was such a new and startling effect, and the list of fashionable
names was so overwhelming that any humiliation seemed better than
failure. And Miss Jean after a while allowed herself to be mollified.
Kirsteen on her part left the room, with a little offended pride mingled
with some mischievous enjoyment. “They shall come to me with petitions
not with orders,” she said to herself, “before all’s done.”
Miss Jean kept a grave face for the rest of the day. She had ended by
accepting with apparent reluctance and doubts as to the possibility of
executing it, a large commission, and entering very readily into her new
_rôle_ had received the enthusiastic thanks of her new customers for her
compliance with their request. Miss Jean had humour enough to be highly
tickled by this turning of the tables, as well as practical good sense
to see the enormous advantage to herself of assuming such a position
should she be strong enough to do it. But at the same time it opened up
grave questions which completely occupied her mind. Her business had
grown into an important one through the best and simplest agency, by
means of good work and punctuality and the other virtues that specially
belong to honest trade, and rarely fail of success in the long run. She
had that mingling of aristocratic predilections and democratic impulses
which belongs to her race. An old family which was poor, a gentle lady
of what she called real nobility, were always served with her best, and
with a delicacy about payment for which nobody gave the old Scotswoman
credit--but a haughty speech would fire her blood and change her aspect
even from the most admired and genuine gentility--and a new peeress,
much more a city lady, were subjects for lofty politeness and veiled
disdain and princely bills. Kirsteen’s suggestion had therefore fallen
into prepared soil. The pride of Marg’ret’s sister, though she had begun
her life as a lady’s maid, was scarcely less than that of Marg’ret’s
young mistress who had the blood of all the Douglases in her veins. And
Miss Jean’s keen practical faculty was sharpened by much experience and
in her limited way by great knowledge of the world. She had now a
problem before her of more importance than how best to make a skirt fall
or a bodice fit, which had been till now the chief problems with which
she had troubled herself.
She carried a grave countenance and many thoughts with her during the
remainder of the day. Kirsteen, who noted this serious aspect with some
alarm, made out to herself a little theory, to the effect that Miss Jean
had taken serious offence and would not suffer the presence of an
interloper who drew away the attention of her customers from
herself--yet she did not fully adopt this either, in consideration of
the great generosity towards her and unfailing kindness of Miss Jean.
But the evening brought a certain suppressed excitement to both. It was
a quiet house when all was over in the establishment,--the workrooms
closed and dark, the workwomen all dispersed to their homes or asleep in
their garrets,--in which the mistress of the household and her young
guest were alone. They still occupied this relation to each other, Miss
Jean treating Kirsteen with great ceremony as an honoured stranger,
notwithstanding that her distinguished visitor was so condescending as
to take part in the conduct of her work. When supper was over Miss Jean
drew her chair towards the window which was open, for the spring by this
time was advanced and nearly bursting into summer. The window admitted
nothing more sweet than the faint and smoky lamplight of the streets
into the room, to mingle with that of the candles; and though Chapel
Street was always quiet, there were vague sounds from more distant
streets, rolling of coaches and cries of the linkboys, which were
scarcely musical. Nevertheless Miss Jean was able to say that the
evening air coming in was sweet.
“And that reminds me, Miss Kirsteen,” she said, “that ye have been quite
a long time in London, three months and more. And how do you like what
you have seen?”
“I like it very well,” said Kirsteen. “It is not like the Hielands;
there is no comparison to be made. But for a town it is a very good
town--better than Glasgow, which is the only other town I ever saw.”
“Glasgow!” said Miss Jean with disdain. “Glasgow has no more right to be
named with London than the big lamp at Hyde Park Corner, which burns
just tons of oil, with the little cruse in my kitchen. It’s one of the
points on which the Scots are just very foolish. They will bring
forward Edinburgh, or that drookit hole of a Glasgow, as if they were
fit to be compared with the real metropolis. In some ways the Scots, our
country-folks, have more sense than all the rest of the world, but in
others they’re just ridiculous. I hope I’ve sense enough to see both
sides, their virtues and their faults.”
Kirsteen did not see how she was involved in this tirade, and
consequently made no reply.
“But that’s not what I was going to say, Miss Kirsteen. You have seen
all about us now, both the house and the work and the place. And ye seem
to have made up your mind that whatever is said to you, whether by the
Duchess or the Duke or myself, ye will not be persuaded to go home.”
Kirsteen, still very dubious as to the probable issue of these remarks,
looked in Miss Jean’s face with a smile and shook her head.
“Well, I will not say but what I think you very well able to manage your
own affairs. Miss Kirsteen, that was a very clever thing ye did to-day.”
“What was the clever thing?” asked Kirsteen surprised.
“Just to turn those leddies over in that prideful way to me, as if they
were not good enough to trouble our heads about. My word,” cried Miss
Jean with a laugh, “but ye made them dight their eyne, if ye will excuse
a vulgar phrase. I’m thinking yon’s the way to deal with newcomers,” she
said after a little pause.
“Well,” said Kirsteen, “there is nobody so good as you, so far as I can
hear, in all London. And it’s a favour ye do them, to keep on and take
all the trouble when ye have no need for it.”
“I would not just say that--that I’ve no need--though I have put
something by. And I would not say either that there was nobody so good.
I’ve been good enough in my day, but I’m getting old--or at least
older,” said Miss Jean.
“We’re all older to-day than we were yesterday,” said Kirsteen
cheerfully.
“Ay, but in my case it’s more than that. I could never have struck out
yon invention of yours for Lady Chatty with the silver gauze--though I
saw it was just most beautiful when ye did it. And what’s more, I could
never have gotten the better of those leddies like you--I see it all,
nobody clearer. Ye’re just a gentlewoman ye see, Miss Kirsteen, and
that’s above a common person, whatever anybody may say.”
“So far as I can see it makes very little difference,” said Kirsteen,
contradicting however the assurance in her own heart.
“It makes a great deal of difference; it gives a freedom in treating
them that I cannot help feeling are my superiors. Well; this is just
what I have to propose. Ye will not go home whatever anybody may say.
And ye will not mairry, though I hear he’s just a very nice gentleman.
And ye will get cleverer and cleverer every day as ye get more knowledge
of the world. It’s just this, Miss Kirsteen; that you and me, we should
enter into partnership and carry on the business together. And I think,”
said Miss Jean with modest confidence and a triumphant light in her
eyes, “that between us we could just face the world.”
“Into partnership!” cried Kirsteen in astonishment.
“Say nothing hastily, my dear--just go to your bed upon it. And we will
not compromise an honoured name. We’ll say Miss Brown and Miss
Kirsteen--the English, who are very slow at the uptake, will think it’s
your family name, and that will compromise nobody,” Miss Jean said.