THE HOME-COMING
Having been made free of his aunt's house, Malcolm arrived at Belgrave
Square that afternoon in time for tea. The room seemed quite full of
people, for the young Mackinnons were a gay crowd, never happier than
when surrounded by their friends. Somebody had said that the London
season was to be Scottish that year, and there were heaps of their own
immediate friends already settled in town.
Isla was greatly in request, and it was about twenty minutes before
Malcolm got a chance of having a word with her. He came up to her
jauntily with an air of the utmost unconcern, and, as he might have
expressed it, took the bull by the horns.
"Why were you in such a hurry this morning, Isla, and what were you
doing in the purlieus of the Edgeware Road? Don't you know that's the
wrong side of the Park altogether?" he said teasingly.
"I might say the same to you," she answered a trifle tartly, and her
eyes, which seemed to have acquired a distaste for his face, did not
meet his gaze.
"I was doing my duty--and a beastly fagging bit of duty it was too, a
little commission for a pal in India--and, as I'd made up my mind to go
north with you to-morrow if you really are bent on going, this was my
only opportunity."
It sounded a perfectly plausible explanation, and Isla suffered her
somewhat unwilling eyes to dwell for a moment on his smiling face.
Never did man look more innocent and ingenuous. There was not the
flicker of a lid or a tinge of colour to condemn him. Knowing perfectly
well that her scrutiny was judicial, he met it without flinching.
"I did not like the look of the woman, Malcolm," was all she said. "But
please, I don't want to hear any more about it."
It can hardly be said that she was convinced, but only that she realized
the utter futility of trying to get to the bottom of Malcolm's mind or
of ever reaching his real self. What that self would be like when she
reached it she did not ask.
But a little later, watching his matchless manner with his aunt's guests
and the way in which he held his little court of admiring womenkind
about him, she marvelled at his powers. So long as he possessed such
faculties of pleasing and could attract those with whom he came into
contact, nobody need wonder at his gay aplomb. Nothing could greatly
matter, for whoever might suffer or go under, it would not be Malcolm.
He would sail--a little unsteadily perhaps, but still successfully--on
the crest of the wave, and only those who knew him intimately and who
had suffered through him would ever probe the depths of his colossal
selfishness.
This was the estimate of her brother at which Isla had now arrived. The
trials and hardships of the last three years had wrought a great change
in her outlook upon men and things and had made her judgment a little
merciless. In fact this was a very critical moment in the history of
Isla Mackinnon, and but for the timely introduction of some fresh forces
into her life she might have become a really hard woman.
Malcolm airily declined his aunt's rather pressing invitation to stay a
week.
"I'll return, dearest aunt, a little later, when the Glen begins to
pall," he whispered with that little air of personal devotion and
interest which even old women found so charming. "Behold the gloom on
Isla's face! She represents my duty. I shall take her home to-morrow,
Pay my humble respects to the old man, and syne, if you will have me,
I'll be only too glad to come back."
Lady Mackinnon nodded, well pleased.
"Come up in time for the Court. Marjorie and Sheila will never be
satisfied till you see them in all their bravery. And we'll give a ball
for you if you do come!"
"All right, my lady," said Malcolm with extreme satisfaction. "Fix the
date and I'll come."
"I'm so sorry about Isla. I keep telling her not to take life so
seriously," said Lady Mackinnon, her kind eyes wandering in the
direction of her niece. "As I told her last night, it is you who ought
to bear the burden of Achree. It's robbing her of her youth. She has
changed greatly in the last year, don't you think?"
"Yes, and gone off decidedly, but there----"
He gave his shoulders a little shrug which expressed much that he did
not say.
He dined at Belgrave Square that night and showed another side of
him--the grave, quiet, attentive side, which pleased his relatives
equally, if not even more.
"Why am I distrait?" he asked, when Marjorie twitted him with his
quietude. "Well, the windbag was pricked last night. I couldn't sleep
in my hard hotel bed for thinking of all the gas I had let out. It was
pure exuberance of joy at again finding myself in such an atmosphere
after hard service and a month on that beastly boat. Here's to our next
merry meeting! Uncle Tom, Aunt Jean--the best of luck and nothing short
of coronets for these fair heads."
Then they all laughed, and the last memory of the evening was as
pleasant as possible. Next morning the whole family were at Euston to
see the brother and sister off, and they duly departed in the full odour
of family farewells.
"Well, that's over, thank goodness," said Malcolm as he dropped into his
corner. A judicious word and a tip from Uncle Tom had secured them a
compartment to themselves, in which they could talk of their private
affairs. "Now, it'll be the tug-of-war--eh, Isla? Don't look so glum,
old girl. Believe me, there isn't anything in life worth it."
"I don't want to be glum, but I have felt rather mean these two days,
Malcolm. Perhaps we ought to have told Uncle Tom and Aunt Jean. Didn't
you feel that we were there under false pretences? They would have felt
differently, I mean, if they had known that you had sent in your
papers."
He shrugged his shoulders, tossed his cap to the rack, and took out his
cigarette case.
"Do you mind if I take a whiff? I suppose it would have made a
difference, but why intrude unpleasant topics until one can't avoid
them? That's a pretty good and safe philosophy of life, Isla--to lie
low and keep dark about what can't be helped."
"They will know before you go back to London again, that is, if you were
serious about going to them in May."
"Anything may happen between now and the month of May. The thing is to
grease the ropes. Now, what earthly good would it have done to have
told them the real state of affairs? It would only have depressed them
and made us all most beastly uncomfortable. By the by, as we are on the
subject, may I inquire how many people in the Glen you have told?"
"Only Neil Drummond."
"That young, unlicked cub! And why, in Heaven's name, should you have
told him? Are you engaged to him--or what? There must be some reason
why he should be taken into the family's most private counsels."
"I had to tell somebody, and it was in a manner forced on me," she said
rather coldly. "But you need not be afraid of Neil telling anyone. He
feels it too much."
"Very kind of him, I'm sure. Well now, tell me something about this
American chap. Is he a bounder, like the rest of them?"
"No, he's a gentleman, Malcolm."
"It's an elastic term. Do you mean that he wears good clothes and that
sort of thing?"
"No. I don't mean that."
"Then, he's a thorough good chap that a fellow might know?"
Isla, with a vision of Rosmead's calm, strong, fine face in front of
her, sat back suddenly and began to laugh.
"What's the joke?" asked Malcolm, mildly surprised.
But she did not give him any satisfaction. She felt tempted to say that
very probably had Rosmead known the facts of the case he might have
declined the honour of Malcolm's acquaintance. She told herself,
however, that she must try not to break the bruised reed. Yet there was
not much of the appearance of the bruised reed about the airy Malcolm,
who looked as if he had not a care in the world.
He was very kind and amusing on the journey, telling her lots of stories
of his Indian experiences. More than once she felt herself almost
completely succumbing to his spell and inclined to accept without
reservation his own estimate of himself.
It was dark when they reached the station at Lochearnhead, where the
wagonette from the hotel was waiting for them.
Malcolm elected to sit on the driver's seat and to take the reins from
Jamie Forbes, and so Isla was left to her own contemplations in the
roomy space behind. She was not sorry that it was so. Once more back
in the Glen, she experienced a return of all her cares, accentuated,
because the biggest one, embodied in the flesh, was in front, carrying
on an animated conversation with Jamie, from whom, in a few minutes'
time, he wrested the whole gossip of the Glen.
He learned that the hotel business was flourishing exceedingly, now that
the making of the new railway line was coming near the head of the Loch.
It had been started only a year when Malcolm last went away, and now
they were at work on the viaduct, which had just escaped being built on
Achree land.
"If only we'd been a mile lower down the Glen, Isla!" he looked round to
say. "We might have had a haul off the Railway Companies, but that's
just our luck all through. We miss it every time by the skin of our
teeth. Do you mind if I just stop at the hotel and pass the time of day
with Miss Macdougall?"
"Don't stop long, then, Malcolm. I want to get home to father as
quickly as possible."
She sat with what patience she might for ten minutes while he was inside
the hotel getting a drink, and soon after he had resumed his seat they
began the gradual ascent of Glenogle. She was conscious of a quickened
heart-beat as they came near to Achree; and presently the blaze of its
lights could be seen through the trees.
"By Jove, Isla--no stint there!" he called over his shoulder. "Achree
has never been illuminated like that within the memory of man. What are
they saying about the new folk in the Glen, Jamie?"
"They like them not that pad, sir. They are fery civil-spoken and kind,
forpy peing likely to spend a heap of money. They are fery anxious that
whoefer hass things to sell in the Glen shall pring them to Achree.
There are not many like that come now to the Glen, Maister Malcolm. The
most of them do nothing put send for big boxes to come from the store.
They will pe well likit, I'm thinking."
"Oh, yes, it sounds idyllic," said Malcolm drily, the meaning of which
adjective Jamie did not grasp.
"It seems a shame to pass by the old place. I'm down to-morrow if I'm a
living man, Americans or no Americans," said Malcolm to Isla. "Has he
any women-folk?"
"I'll tell you about them later," she answered, and her voice shook a
little, for she too felt a qualm as they passed by the gate and the
little lodge.
It was a long cold climb to the Moor of Creagh, and she was heartily
sick of it before they drew up at the unpretentious white gate from
which a straight, short drive led up to the house.
Diarmid was in the porch to meet and welcome them, and, though there was
an odd shrinking in the old man's eyes as they travelled with a look of
anxious reproach to the young Laird's face, Malcolm himself seemed quite
unaware of it. He grasped the old man's hand cordially, asked for his
welfare, and then passed in to where the old General, holding himself
rather erect and proudly, though leaning hard on his stick, was peering
through the dim light for sight of his son.
There can be no man who is wholly bad, and the sight of big father--that
pathetic and yet noble figure, a brave soldier who had spent himself for
his country, shook Malcolm Mackinnon as his sister's appealing eyes had
altogether failed to do. He now realized that if his father was ever
able to grasp the fact of his dismissal from the Army it would kill him.
He should never know, Malcolm swore to himself, as he bent low and
ashamed over the outstretched hand and saw the quiver of the thin, pale
face.
"How are you, sir?" faltered Malcolm.
And Isla, seeing his expression and noting the tremor in his voice,
placed that bit of genuine feeling to his credit and wiped something off
the slate.
"Glad to see you home, my boy, though this is a queer little house you
are come to. Ask Isla about that. She's the culprit, but it's a very
comfortable place, and I like it well. We'll have some happy days here,
my son. Welcome home."
"Glad to see you well, father," answered Malcolm, though in truth he did
not think the old man looked long for this world.
Then there was a greeting of sheer affection for Isla, and a look passed
between father and daughter which told of a most perfect understanding.
Malcolm had a sniff of scorn for the cramped little house and, when
presently, with the grime of his journey washed off and his
dinner-jacket on, he came to the queer little room for the evening meal,
he looked round rather grimly until his significant gaze rested on his
sister's face.
"You'll never be able to stick it, Isla," he said in his most aggressive
tones. "There isn't room in it to swing a cat."
The old man was in good form. The coming of his son seemed to awaken
him for a little space to a fresh interest in life.
"Was there anything brought up from Achree cellar, Diarmid?" he asked as
the old servant passed the plates.
"Yes, sir," answered Diarmid, not daring to say how very low the cellar
at Achree had fallen and how its precious store had been diminished
without the smallest hope of replenishment.
They were very abstemious folks at Achree, and the General, being
forbidden all stimulants except a little whisky when he needed it, had
hitherto asked no questions.
"A bottle of Pommery, then, to drink Mr. Malcolm's health," he said,
with the air of old times, when there had been big parties round the
table at Achree and when the wine had flowed at his bidding.
Diarmid looked desperately--imploringly at his young mistress, who rose,
smiling slightly.
The Pommery had long since disappeared; but, in anticipation of this
reunion, she had laid in one bottle of champagne in order that her
father might not be disappointed. So it was brought and duly drawn by
Diarmid, who filled the glasses and then helped his master to his feet.
"Welcome home, my son. Long life, good health, and honourable
prosperity to you and to Achree. God bless you and make you a blessing.
Isla, my dear, your best health."
Isla's eyes suddenly swam in tears, and Malcolm had the good feeling to
bend his head in honest shame. The General did little more than taste
from his glass and then set it down with a little sigh of
disappointment.
"It is bad for good wine to be shifted," he said. "Never mind, Malcolm.
When we go back to Achree you shall have your pick of the cellar."
The wine was good. The change was in his palate, which had lost its
verve. He was very tired after dinner, and his rambling thoughts could
not be kept in check. He babbled a good deal of old days, for which
indeed Isla was thankful, since it kept him from asking questions about
the present ones.
She had dreaded what might happen on the night of the home-coming, but
she now clearly saw that her father was less and less likely to disturb
himself about any untoward happenings. He accepted everything--a
circumstance which certainly considerably relieved the strain.
"He looks jolly bad, poor old chap," said Malcolm, when Isla came down
about ten o'clock from seeing him safely in bed. "He can't last long.
It was a pity that you didn't let him see it out at Achree."
"He has not got any worse in the last six months that I can see. Of
course the excitement to-night wore him out. He will be brighter in the
morning."
"I still think it was a beastly shame to bring him up here. There isn't
even decent comfort. This is the only room worth mentioning."
"Well, he has it. He is quite comfortable," said Isla, stoutly. "We
must take what is left."
"In wet weather, of which Glenogle has its full share, we shall fight
like Kilkenny cats," said Malcolm with a grimace.
Isla passed over the vulgarity of the remark in silence, and, after a
moment, said quite straightly. "But surely you won't stop long in the
Glen, Malcolm. You'll try to get an appointment of some kind."
"I'd be glad if you'd mention the sort of appointment I'd be likely to
get," he answered carelessly. "I must say it's very cold cheer you have
for a chap, Isla, after three years' absence. If I weren't the most
unsuspicious of men I might suspect you of having underhand motives."
Isla, staring hard into the crackling embers of the peat-fire, answered
nothing.
"It strikes me from all I can gather that the place wants a good deal of
looking into. I'll make that my first business. I thought them all
slack when I was home before, and Heaven only knows what they'll be like
now. Then, I must be on the spot on account of the way the old man is.
I shouldn't like to be out of the way if anything should happen."
Isla rose to her feet and bade him good night. She had had just about
as much as her tired body and strained mind could stand.
"Dead men's shoes" were the words that beat upon her brain through the
hours of a restless night.