MALCOLM'S PROSPECTS
It is the mission of the morning to clear the air, and next morning
things looked brighter. The sun shone out gloriously, and the air was
soft and balmy as a child's kiss.
Isla slept late and rather heavily after a restless night, and she was
horrified when she awakened with a start to find that it was nine
o'clock. She sprang up, threw her window open to the sun, and leaned
over it for a moment to inhale the delicious breath of the morning. She
had taken one of the attic rooms for her own, Margaret Maclaren
occupying the other one, while Diarmid had made shift with a bed in his
pantry.
The attics had storm-windows on the roof, from which you could see
across the angle of the Moor and get a glimpse of Glenogle. Also from
that high coign of vantage there was a fascinating view of Ben Voirlich,
on whose peak still rested the cap of morning mist. But all the little
hills huddled around and below were clear, and the day gave promise of
being fine.
Margaret, who had been up twice to the door, now appeared with her hot
water.
"So glad you had a good rest, Miss Isla. I thought you looked terrible
tired last night. The General is still sleeping. Diarmid says he has
hardly moved all night."
"Oh, I am glad of that--and Mr. Malcolm?"
"Been out since the back of six and had his porridge with Diarmid and
me," answered Margaret proudly. "Now he is asking for his breakfast and
inquiring when you are coming down."
"Serve the breakfast. I'll be as quick as I can," said Isla.
She plunged into her dressing with a will. When she got down to the
dining-room she found Malcolm in a tweed knicker-bocker suit, discussing
the Loch trout that had been sent up from the hotel with Miss
Macdougall's compliments.
"I'm surprised at you, Isla. I thought you would have been down at six
anyway, giving us all points," he said gaily. "I've been up for two
hours and a half and had a tramp across the Moor. It was glorious.
Seen father?"
"Yes, he's just waking up after a good night"
"He doesn't come down to breakfast?"
"No. Diarmid is taking it to him now."
She passed round to her place at the tray, and Malcolm admired her trim
figure with its slender, well-belted waist, the poise of her head, the
glint of her hair, and the clear red-and-white of her complexion.
"You look better here than you did in London, Isla. London doesn't suit
you, and that old black frock you had on at Aunt Jean's in the evening
was an unbecoming rag, if you'll excuse me for saying it. You could
wear vivid colours. I'd like to see you in emerald green--shimmery soft
stuff, don't you know?--with trailing draperies round you?"
Isla laughed outright.
"I'm afraid the chances of that are small. The old black rag has been
my only evening frock since you went away, and I believe I've had it on
only about half a dozen times."
"Poor old girl, what a shame that it can't get pretty clothes! Now, if
I were you I'd have them. By Jove, I would, and let pay who will."
"Yes, I know," she answered quietly. "But I've got into the habit of
paying for my clothes before I wear them. Well, what are you going to
do to-day?"
"Well, the first thing undoubtedly is to rig up a horse and trap of some
kind. I'll go down to Lochearn presently--on my feet, that haven't done
much walking of late, you bet, and see whether Miss Macdougall can fix
me up. It's quite obvious that Creagh isn't livable in unless one is
provided with some means of escape from it. What about the post? Do
the old primitive arrangements still hold good?--half the day gone
before the bag comes in?"
"It's half-past twelve before the postman gets here. I generally walk as
far as Little Shuan to meet him."
"I'll get farther than that this morning--probably all the way," he
said. "What are you to be about? I suppose you have things to see to
in the house after having been away?"
"Yes," said Isla. "I want you to be careful about the letters while you
are here, Malcolm. There are only some my father cares to see, and even
these do not always interest him. But he has gleams of comprehension
and of most disconcerting clearness of vision. Dr. Blair says it is most
imperative that he should not have a shock of any kind, however small,
and in the last year I have been keeping almost everything back from
him. He grasps one bit of a thing, you see, and confuses the rest, and
so might very easily work himself up into a state about nothing."
"I understand," said Malcolm. "So, between us, we have to keep him in
the dark. That's what it amounts to, I suppose."
Isla nodded. "I hate to see it, but it does amount to that."
"I'll make a note of it. But, now that I'm home, the chief cause of
anxiety may perhaps be removed," he said airily. "Well, I'll go, and
don't keep my luncheon for me. If I want anything I'll drop in at the
hotel. It's possible that I may call at Achree as I come up. Of course
it is necessary that I meet this American chap and have a talk with
him."
"I suppose so, but you can't do anything, Malcolm, even if you see
things you don't like at Achree. He has paid the half of his money."
"And where is it."
"In the Bank at Callander, in my name."
Malcolm whistled.
"Rather high-handed, isn't it, Isla?"
"There wasn't anything else to be done. Father can sign cheques, of
course, but I banked Mr. Rosmead's money in my name on Mr. Cattanach's
advice."
"But surely now you'll let me take over the business part of the show,
Isla?"
He pushed back his chair and took out his cigarette case as he put the
question.
Isla looked uncomfortable, and her face even paled a little. She hated
the position in which she was placed, but past experience had shown her
the folly of trusting Malcolm in money matters. He had certainly not
the money-sense nor yet the sense of honour where money was concerned.
"I don't think I can do that, Malcolm. Remember, it is all the money
that we have to live on until the rents become due again at Martinmas."
"Don't any of them pay now?"
"One or two--Roderick Duncan and the farmer at Little Shuan. But these
are crofts, their rent amounting to only a few pounds."
Having lit his cigarette, Malcolm proceeded to turn out his pockets.
"A few coppers, some Indian coins, and two half-sovereigns!" he said
ruefully. "I'm stonybroke, Isla. Have I to come to you for the few
pence that I shall need in the Glen? By Gad I can't do that! I must
speak to the governor about it."
Isla's face reddened where it had been pale before.
"It's a horrible situation," she said almost passionately. "But don't
you see I can't help it? It isn't my doing. Since you left we have
lived on next to nothing at Achree. We haven't bought any butcher's
meat hardly, but have had rabbits and fowls and game of our own killing
and the everlasting trout. I never get any new clothes, as you have
already observed and remarked upon."
"But now that the American has paid you should be a little rougher."
"I'm going to save that money to pay off the mortgage and the--the other
money you owe," she said quite quietly, and he had no idea what fires
blazed beneath that calm exterior. "You'll have to find something to
do, Malcolm, and that soon. You must see that for yourself."
"I see that I'm to have a jolly rotten time here," he said gloomily. "I
must write to Cattanach and tell him to look out an agent's place of
some kind for me."
"But you don't know anything about land or estate management, Malcolm."
"I know as much as some of the fellows of my acquaintance who fill fat
billets. Meanwhile, I simply must have a fiver, Isla. I shan't spend
it, but a fellow can't go about with empty pockets."
She rose and, unlocking the old bureau, counted out five sovereigns from
the little cash-box in the secret drawer. He took them without shame
and even with a twinkle in his eye.
"Pay Saturday! Well, good-bye, old girl. I'll go out on the hunt and
see whether I have any luck. I don't mind telling you I'm rather
building on this American chap. If he's a millionaire I must try and
coax him to disburse a little in this direction. I'll ask him quite
frankly whether he doesn't want a handyman about the place. I could
take on that job and fill it to a T."
Isla did not demur, but her pride rose again in revolt at the thought of
what Malcolm might do. She thought she did not wish to see anything
more of the Americans. She would keep strictly to the letter of their
bargain and leave them at Achree in peace. But if her observation was
to any purpose she told herself that Malcolm would not make very much of
Peter Rosmead, who was far too hard-headed a man to be taken in by his
specious ways.
She had a good many uncomfortable moments during the day, however, while
contemplating possible interviews between Malcolm and Rosmead, all of
which fell short of the actual happening.
Malcolm went up to spend half an hour by his father's bedside, making
himself so charming that the old man was full of it when Isla came to
see how he was getting on.
Then he left the house and set off with a long swinging step to cover
the distance between Creagh and Lochearn. He did not keep to the road.
There was not a hill-path or a sheep-track in the district with which he
had not been familiar since his boyhood. He came out just below Achree,
deciding that he would go on to meet the post first and take it as he
returned. About a quarter of a mile from the Lodge he met Donald
Maclure driving some black-faced ewes in front of him, and he stopped to
pass the time of day.
Donald was a large, slow man, with a stolid face and a shock of red hair
sticking out from under his broad bonnet, and he presented a sharp
contrast to his trig and sonsy wife. Indeed, many had wondered how
Elspeth had ever come to marry him and, above all, who had done the
courting, Donald being the most silent man in the whole of the glens.
"Hallo, Donald, how is the world using you?" cried Malcolm cheerily.
"No sae pad, Maister Malcolm," Donald was forced to answer. "I heard ye
gae by last nicht--at least Elspeth did. She wass oot wavin' her hand."
"I must go in and give her a kiss for that--eh, Donald? Where are you
taking that nice-looking herd to?"
"The other side of the little hill," answered Donald briefly.
"Coining money off the sheep--eh, Donald? It's you farmers who haul in
the shekels in these days. What with taxes and reduced rents and what
not, there's little left for the poor landlord. You needn't shake your
head, my man. We'll thrash it out another day, however. But you can't
get away from the fact that we can't afford to live in our own house."
Donald pulled his forelock and passed on with a mysterious Gaelic
direction to the sheep-dog, which was attended with magical results. He
was neither convinced nor deceived by Malcolm's small hints. He knew
him of yore; also Elspeth, having the most perfect faith in her big,
silent husband, had not failed to confide to him the true story of the
Americans' coming to Achree.
A few steps further on Malcolm saw in the distance two ladies, walking
together, with shepherds' crooks in their bare hands and with no hats
upon their heads.
Their bearing and carriage at once riveted his keen interest. Wherever
there was a petticoat Malcolm Mackinnon was interested, and these ladies
were evidently strangers to the Glen.
One was very tall and slender, the other short in stature but neatly
built, and both wore most workman-like country attire with a grace that
he had never seen excelled.
As he came nearer the face of the taller of the two attracted him still
more. It was exquisitely beautiful, being chiselled on pure classical
lines, and the skin was soft and clear, the colour so pale and delicate,
without giving the smallest suggestion of ill-health, that he had never
seen anything like it. The abundant dark hair, slightly waved in front
and worn simply parted over her ears, gave a look of Madonna-like
simplicity to the face, which, to Malcolm's eyes, seemed most alluring.
The other was more ordinary, though her face had a certain piquant
charm. He wondered who they were and whether he dared make any remark
as they passed, but they solved the difficulty by bidding him a pleasant
good morning.
Instantly his cap was in his hand, and he would have stopped, but they
immediately passed on, evidently slightly surprised at his intention to
detain them. He waited only until they were over the brow of the next
little hill, and then he deliberately entered Donald Maclure's pasture
and crept back after them in shadow of the few scanty trees and shrubs
that lined the road--and all just to watch where they would go!
From the next hillock he could see the gate of Achree in the hollow,
and, having waited sufficiently long, smoking another cigarette the
while, he had the satisfaction of seeing them turn in at the Lodge.
Then did an immense content steal over Malcolm Mackinnon. With two such
charming inmates at Achree, life which had promised to be like a desert,
suddenly began to blossom like the rose.
He hastened on without stopping at the farm-house to pass the time of
day with Elspeth Maclure, and presently his attention was diverted by
the sight of the new railway track which had gradually crept up the side
of the Loch, and which was about to culminate in a big viaduct over the
burn at the lower end of Glenogle. He had not a very keen sense of
beauty, but, somehow, he did not like the ugly scars on the hill-sides
and all the unsightly paraphernalia of the work, though he knew very
well what a boon it would be to them when all was finished.
He was still contemplating it when the post-gig drove up, and then there
was another stop and an exchange of greetings with David, while the
letters were handed over. He glanced at them with a sort of careless
keenness, and, deciding that there was nothing affecting him, he handed
them back and told David to deliver them at Creagh.
Finally he landed in the Hotel, where he spent a good hour at the bar,
hearing all the gossip of the Glen and, incidentally, a good deal that
he wished to know about the new folk at Achree.
"I think I met them, Miss Macdougall. Have they passed by this
morning?"
"Yes. They have been in here, sir--the two young ladies, but they do
say that the big tall one is a married woman that has divorced her
husband. I don't know the story rightly, but that's what they say. She
is very quiet and seems sad-like. The other speaks most of the time and
is very lively. The old lady I have never seen, but they do say that
they are a most superior kind of folk and not like some of them we get
in the Glen in the shooting season."
"Do you happen to know whether Mr. Rosmead himself is in the Glen
to-day?"
"No, he iss not, sir, for the motor went by with him for the nine
o'clock train and syne came back empty."
"Well, I'm not supposed to know, so I think I'll call at the place as I
go up. I have a good enough excuse anyhow, as I have been away so
long."
And thus it came about that this bit of information did not deter
Malcolm from doing that which he had in his mind.
About half-past twelve he passed through the familiar gateway to Achree
and made his way to the house. His pulses scarcely stirred as he did
so. The place of his fathers made no appeal to him. It was merely
stone and lime, and if it had been in his power he would have sold it
for hard cash to any purchaser. In fact, the thought uppermost in his
mind as he approached the door was that, having once caught the
millionaire, he might find it worth while to keep him. He determined to
make himself, somehow, master of the law of entail in order to discover
whether there was any loophole of escape from the disability to sell it.
Not in his father's lifetime, of course. But when Isla and he should be
left, of what use would this great, rambling, uncomfortable old house
and its attendant acres of hungry moor and hill be? Far better convert
it into the money with which they could enjoy life, making choice in the
whole wide world of a place of abode.
A woman-servant opened the door to him, and in answer to his inquiry,
informed him that Mr. Rosmead was not at home. Malcolm's sharp eyes
noted in the hall beyond the flutter of a petticoat, and as he turned to
go he purposely raised his voice.
"I am sorry that I've not a card on me. Will you be so kind as to tell
him that Mr. Malcolm Mackinnon from Creagh called to see him and that he
will call another day?"
"Yes, sir," said the girl.
But at that moment the figure within came towards the door. It was
Sadie, who, having heard the name, advanced with an insatiable
curiosity. She extended a very frank hand.
"So you are Mr. Mackinnon that was expected home from India," she said,
showing her dazzling teeth in her smile. "Won't you come in and have a
bit of lunch with my sister and me? We shall be alone, as my mother
does not yet come down."
"Thank you, Miss Rosmead. But that would be presuming on a very slight
acquaintance--in fact, none at all, wouldn't it?"
"Oh, but we know your sister and that perfectly dear old father of
yours, and, anyway, this is your house and you must want to have a look
at the old place after having been away so long. I've no doubt you are
hating us for being here. Come in. Oh, Vivien, do come here! It was
Mr. Mackinnon whom we met on the road, and I am asking him to lunch."
Malcolm passed into the house, hat in hand, and was duly introduced to
Mrs. Rodney Payne. Seen at closer quarters, she was even more beautiful
than he had thought. The still repose of her manner contrasted strongly
with her sister's vivacity and seemed from the first to cast a sort of
spell over Mackinnon.
"We shall be happy if you will stay to luncheon, Mr. Mackinnon," she
said, obeying the instructions from Sadie's eyes. "My brother will be
very sorry to have missed you. He has gone to the Forth Bridge to-day
to meet the contractors there and have a talk with them. It seems it is
the annual inspection--or something. Anyway, Peter had an invitation to
go. He won't get back till quite late, perhaps not even until
to-morrow."
Malcolm Mackinnon did not care. He was in no hurry to meet Mr. Hylton
P. Rosmead so long as there was such a charming substitute to take his
place. He wouldn't have hesitated about making this glib compliment to
another woman, but there was something about Vivien Rosmead which
repelled any attempt at even the slightest familiarity. She held
herself aloof, and her mouth, made for sweetness, seemed as if it were
chiselled in marble. Malcolm wondered what the experience had been that
had given her that petrified expression, and he longed to be the man to
melt her heart.
Sadie, as usual, did the talking and proved herself an admirable
hostess. But while he answered her gay badinage it was Vivien who had
his whole admiration. He noticed how little she ate and that her eyes
had in them a far-away look which seemed to detach her from the common
things of life. Yet she was not dull. A word now and then indicated
that she was not by any means dead to the possibilities of life or to
the interests of everyday.
"We like your sister so much, Mr. Mackinnon," she said with a sudden
warm flash of interest when Sadie left a moment's breathing space. "We
hope that she is going to allow us to be friendly with her."
"Oh, yes, of course. Why not? She will be only too pleased, I'm sure,"
murmured Malcolm eagerly.
"She was so kind about letting us come here in a hurry that we can never
forget it. And it is so lovely to see her with your father."
As she spoke of the old General, Vivien's eyes grew large and pitiful,
more and more like those of the Madonna.
"It's even more lovely to find how adored she is in the Glen, in all the
glens," said Sadie the irrepressible. "Everywhere you hear nothing but
her praises. Don't you find it a little hard, Mr. Mackinnon," she added
with just a little malicious flash, "to live up to such a sister?"
"Sadie, Sadie, do be careful!" said Vivien softly. "That is not quite
kind."
"It's true, Vivien, and I see from Mr. Mackinnon's face that he admits
it. You and I must be pals, Mr. Mackinnon, for I'm just like that with
my sister. She's so frightfully good that she ought to have a halo, and
she makes all common folks who approach her feel worship in the air."
"I am sure of that," said Malcolm with a queer little bow in the
direction of Vivien who, though she laughed, was a little vexed.
"Mr. Mackinnon will think us very frivolous, Sadie. Suppose we change
the subject and ask him to tell us something about India. Your British
rule in India is so splendid! It stands, just like a great rock, immune
from the assaults of criticism. I'm sure all this talk about sedition
and unrest means nothing. Perhaps you can tell us about it."
Very little did Malcolm Mackinnon know about British rule in India--as
little indeed as any Tommy in the ranks.
"Well, you see," he said with rather an awkward laugh. "I was only a
bit of the system--don't you know?--a small--very small spoke in the big
wheel. My part was to make forced marches in the night and keep an open
eye after stray bullets, and to be all ready when occasion rose."
Sadie's eyes positively glowed with excited interest. She loved the
Army, investing it with colour and romance, and in Malcolm Mackinnon she
pictured to herself a heroic figure--a replica of the fine old father,
of whose valour the Glen had many tales to tell.
But Vivien, the more discriminating of the two, had already decided in
her own clear and quiet mind that the son of Achree occupied a lower
moral plane than the daughter. Her instinct was very swift and fine,
and the feeling of distrust born of that first meeting was never
afterwards wholly dispelled.
Sadie, with her elbows on the table, wagged her unconventional tongue
and asked so many questions about their guest's life in India that he
gave her a very highly coloured version of the same, playing up to her
for all he was worth and deepening her impression of the soldiery who
had upheld Britain's prestige all over the world.
In the midst of this fascinating talk which proceeded almost entirely
between Malcolm and Sadie, Vivien merely listening with an odd air of
cool detachment which was almost critical, a servant entered the room
with a message which she delivered to Sadie. Since Vivien's return to
her mother's house she had taken a secondary place, and, though she
resumed her own name, it was Sadie to whom were accorded the privileges
of the elder daughter.
"Please, Miss Sadie, Mrs. Rosmead would like very much to see Mr.
Mackinnon before he goes if he will come to her room."
Malcolm would have declined if he had had any excuse, but Sadie jumped
up immediately, saying that she would show him the way.
Vivien did not accompany them, and when, after a brief interview with
the beautiful, white-haired old lady who had Vivien's eyes, Sadie and he
returned to the hall-place, she was nowhere to be seen.
"Must you go, Mr. Mackinnon? I don't know where Vivien is. She's like
that, poor dear. Her troubles have quite taken the life out of her.
You'll come again, won't you? In the name of the whole Rosmead folks I
make you free of your own house."
She was so frankly kind and her eyes so beamed on him that Malcolm would
not have been Malcolm had he not made quick response.
He bent low over her white, outstretched hand and murmured certain words
which somewhat heightened Sadie's colour and brought an odd softness to
her eyes.
"I like that man, Vivien. He's perfectly lovely, I think, and all the
things they say about him in the Glen are lies. Don't you think so?"
But Vivien, whom sad experience had made wise, answered not at all.