These events were communicated by letter to the members of the firm of
Misses Brown and Kirsteen, Dressmakers to her Majesty, Chapel Street,
Mayfair. The medium of communication was Marg’ret, whose letters to her
sister had become, to the vast enlightenment of the only member of the
Drumcarro household who was qualified to collect circumstantial
evidence, suspiciously frequent. Mary, it may be supposed, had not much
time to give to correspondence, while the facts lately recorded were
going on; but when all was settled she slipped into Marg’ret’s hand a
letter containing the important news. “I am not asking where she is--I
am thinking that through your sister, Miss Jean, in London, ye might
possibly find a means of getting it to Kirsteen’s hand.”
“It’s an awfu’ expense for postage, and a double letter. I will just be
ruined,” said Marg’ret; “and my sister Jean might not ken anything about
the address.”
“You could always try,” said Mary derisively.
“That’s true, I might try--for she’s a very knowledgeable person, my
sister Jean; but that will make a double letter--and how is the like of
me to get a frank or any easement?”
“I will ask Glendochart--for he has plenty of friends in the Parliament
houses.”
“I will have none from Glendochart! The Lord be praised, I have still a
shilling in my pouch to ware upon my friends.”
“Ye are just a jealous woman for your friends,” said Mary with a laugh
of triumph.
“Maybe I am that and maybe I am not. I would neither wile away my
sister’s jo nor tak what anither’s left,” cried Marg’ret with
unreasonable indignation. But Mary turned away with a demure smile. She
had no such ridiculous prejudices. And perhaps it will be best to give
in full her letter to Kirsteen explaining how everything came about.
“DEAR CHRISTINA,--I am writing you a letter on the risk of perhaps
not finding you; but I have the less fear of that that I have
always been conscious Marg’ret Brown knew very well at the time
where you were to be found. And the letters she gets and sends away
have just been ridiculous. I would say one in a fortnight, never
less. It stands to reason that it would not be her sister Jean she
was writing to so often. So I made sure you were for something in
it. And therefore it is with no little confidence that I send this.
If ye do not receive it, you will not be able to blame me, for I
will have done everything I could.
“And I have a great deal to tell you, and in particular about Mr.
Henry Campbell of Glendochart, who was abroad for his health in
the beginning of the year, and afterwards took up his old practice
of visiting at Drumcarro, which was, you know, very well liked by
every person: for he was very kind to the children, and brought
them beautiful boxes of fine sweeties made of chocolate from Paris,
which they consumed from morning till night, my mother being always
afraid it would put their stomachs out of order; but no harm
followed. Now you know, Christina, that in former times when you
were at home it was commonly believed by all the family that
Glendochart was coming for you. But it would appear that this had
been a mistake. Perhaps it was that his fancy was not fixed then
between us two, being sisters and about the same age, which I am
told is a thing that sometimes happens. But anyhow the other day
him and me being on the road down to the linn--not that awful steep
road that you were always trying to break your own neck and other
folks’ upon, but the road round that goes by the side of the
hill--he began to talk to me very seriously, and to say that he had
long been thinking upon a Person that would make him a good wife.
And I said--that he might see there was no ill-will or
disappointment--that I was sure she would be a happy woman, and
that she should always find friends at Drumcarro. And on this he
took courage and told me he hoped so, for it was just Me that was
the Person, and that the offer he made me was one that he would not
make to any other woman. I was very much surprised, thinking always
that it had been You--but you being gone, and there being no
possibility in that quarter, and being always very favourable to
Glendochart myself and sure he would make a very good man--besides
that it would be real good for my mother to get a change of air
from time to time, and that it is better to be a married woman in
your own good house, than a lass at home with nothing but what her
father will lay out upon her (and you know how little that is), or
even an Old Maid like Auntie Eelen, though in many ways she is very
comfortable. But taking all things into consideration I just
thought I would take Glendochart, who is a very creditable person
in every way, and a fine figure of a man; though not so very young.
And I hope you will have no feeling upon the subject as if I did
wrong to take what they call my sister’s leavings, and other coarse
things of that kind. For of course if you had wanted him you would
have taken him when you had the offer, and it can do you no harm
that another should have him, when you would not have him yourself.
“So after all, dear Christina, this is just to tell you that on the
1st of June we are to be married by Mr. Pyper at Drumcarro. I will
wear a habit which it was my desire should be of green cloth, with
a little gold lace; but they all rose against me, saying that there
was an old rhyme to the effect that--
‘The bride that is married in green
Her sorrow will soon be seen’--
so I yielded about that, and it is to be French grey, with a
little silver upon the coat-tails and the cuffs and pockets, and a
grey hat with a silver band and a grey veil; which will be very
pretty and useful too, for grey does not show the dust as red would
have done, which was what my mother wanted, being the fashion in
her time. We will stay quietly for a week or two at our own house
of Glendochart, and then he has promised that he will take me to
London. I hope you will let me know by Marg’ret where I can find
you, and I will come and see you. Perhaps in the changed
circumstances you would rather not see Henry, though he has a most
kindly feeling, and would never think of being guided by my
father’s ban, which you might be sure would be placed upon you.
Neither would I ever give in to it, especially as a married woman,
owing no duty but to her husband, and him a real enlightened man.
So there would be no difference made either by me or him, but very
glad to see you, either in the place where you are, or at
Glendochart, or wherever we might be. If I don’t hear anything more
particular I will come to Miss Jean Brown’s when I get to London in
hopes that she will tell me where to find you, especially as I
cannot be in London without taking the opportunity to get a new
gown or perhaps two, and I hear she is very much patronized by the
first people, and in a very good position as a mantua-maker.
“Now, dear Christina, I hope you will send me a word by Marg’ret
about your address; but anyway I will come to Miss Brown’s and
find you out, and in the meantime I am very glad to have had the
opportunity of letting you know all our news, and I remain
“Your affectionate sister,
“MARY DOUGLAS.
“P.S. My mother keeps just in her ordinary.”
This letter was given to Kirsteen out of the cover which Miss Jean
opened with great precaution on account of the writing that was always
to be found on the very edge of the paper where the letter was folded,
and under the seal. Miss Jean shook her head while she did so and said
aloud that Marg’ret was very wasteful, and what was the good of so many
letters. “For after all,” she said, “news will keep; and so long as we
know that we are both well what is the object in writing so often? I got
a letter, it’s not yet three weeks ago, and here’s another. But one
thing is clear, it’s not for me she writes them, and we must just try to
get her a few franks and save her siller.” But she gave what she called
a _skreigh_ as soon as she had read half a page. “It’s your sister
that’s going to be married?” that was indeed a piece of news that
warranted the sending of a letter. Kirsteen read hers with a bright
colour and sparkling eyes. She was angry, which was highly unreasonable,
though I have remarked it in women before. She felt it to be an offence
that Glendochart had been able to console himself so soon. And she was
specially exasperated to think that it was upon Mary his choice had
fallen. Mary! to like her as well as me! Kirsteen breathed to herself,
feeling, perhaps, that her intimate knowledge of her sister’s character
did not increase her respect for Mary. “Having known me to decline on a
range of lower feelings.” These words were not written then, nor
probably had they been written, would they have reached Kirsteen, but
she fully entered into the spirit of them. “Mary! when it was me he
wanted!” She did not like the idea at all.
“Yes,” she said sedately, “so it appears;” but her breathing was a
little quickened, and there was no pleasure in her tone.
“And is your sister so like you?” said Miss Jean.
“She is not like me at all,” said Kirsteen. “She is brown-haired and has
little colour, and very smooth and soft in all her ways.” Kirsteen drew
a long breath and the words that she had spoken reminded her of other
words. She thought to herself, but did not say it, “Now Jacob was a
smooth man.” And then poor Kirsteen flamed with a violent blush and said
to herself, “What a bad girl I am! Mary has never been false or unkind
to me--and why should not she take Glendochart when I would not take
him? And why should the poor man never have anybody to care for him
because once he cared for the like of me?”
Miss Jean did not, of course, hear this, but she saw that something was
passing in Kirsteen’s mind that was more than she chose to say. And,
like a kind woman, she went on talking in order that the balance might
come right in the mind of her young companion. “They will be coming to
London,” she said, “just when the town is very _throng_--and that is
real confusing to folk from the country. If it will be pleasing to you,
Miss Kirsteen, I will ask them to their dinner; that is, if they will
not think it a great presumption in the like of me.”
To tell the truth Kirsteen herself felt that Marg’ret’s sister was not
exactly the person to entertain Glendochart and Mary, who were both of
the best blood in the country; but she was too courteous to say this.
“It would be very kind of you, Miss Jean,” she said, “but I am not sure
that it would be pleasing to me. Perhaps it would be better to let them
just take their own gait and never to mind.”
“I have remarked,” said Miss Jean, “in my long experience that a quiet
gentleman from the country when he comes up to London with his new
married wife, has often very few ideas about where he is to take her to.
He thinks that he will be asked to his dinner by the chief of his name,
and that auld friends will just make it a point to be very ceevil. And
so they would perhaps at a quiet time; but when the town is so _throng_,
and people’s minds fixed on what will be the next news of the war, and
everybody taken up with themselves, it is not so easy to mind upon
country friends. And I have seen them that come to London with very
high notions just extremely well pleased to come for an evening to a
countrywoman, even when she was only a mantua-maker. But it shall be
just whatever way you like, and you know what my company is and who I
would ask.”
“Oh, it is not for that!” cried Kirsteen. By this time she knew very
well what Miss Jean’s company was. There was an old Mrs. Gordon, who had
very high connections and “called cousins” with a great many fine
people, and had a son with Lord Wellington’s army, but who was very poor
and very glad to be received as an honoured guest in Miss Jean’s
comfortable house. And there was the minister of the Scots church in the
city, who announced to everybody on all occasions that there was nobody
he had a higher respect for than Miss Jean, and that her name was well
known in connection with all the Caledonian charities in London. And
there was Miss Jean’s silk-mercer, to whom she gave her large and
valuable custom, and who was in consequence Miss Jean’s very humble
servant, and always happy to carve the turkey or help the beef at her
table, and act as “landlord” to her guests--which was how she expressed
it. He had a very quiet little wife who did not count. And there was a
well-known doctor who was one of the community of the Scots kirk, and
often called on Sabbath mornings to take Miss Jean to Swallow Street in
his carriage. Besides these persons, who were her habitual society,
there was a floating element of Scotch ladies who were governesses or
housekeepers in great families, and who had occasion to know Miss Jean
through bringing messages to her from their ladies and being recognized
as countrywomen. It was a very strongly Scots society in the middle of
Mayfair, very racy of Scotch soil, and full of Scotch ideas though
living exclusively in London. It had been a little humiliating to
Kirsteen herself to meet them, with the strong conviction she had in her
mind that she herself with her good blood must be very much above this
little assembly. But she had been obliged to confess that they had all
been very agreeable, and old Mrs. Gordon had quoted her fine relations
to so much purpose that Kirsteen had been much ashamed of her
instinctive resistance and foregone conclusion. All the same she did not
think Glendochart would be elated by such an invitation, or that he
would consider it a privilege to introduce his wife to the circle at
Chapel Street. His wife! She thought with a momentary thrill that she
might have been that important personage, ordering new gowns from Miss
Jean instead of sewing under her, driving about in a handsome carriage
and doing just what she pleased, with an adoring slave in attendance.
And that he should have taken Mary in her place! And that Mary should
possess all that had been intended for Kirsteen! She thought she could
see the quiet triumph that would be in her sister’s eyes, and the way in
which she would parade her satisfaction. And wherefore not? Kirsteen
said to herself. Since she had paid the price, why should she not have
the satisfaction? But it cost Kirsteen an effort to come to this
Christian state of mind--and she did not reply to Mary’s letter. For
indeed she was not at all a perfect young woman, but full of lively and
impatient feelings, and irritability and self-opinion--as belonged to
her race.