FAMILY COUNSELS
"And now," said Sir Tom with a large and partially reproachful
cheerfulness, "we had better address ourselves to the future of you two
children and try to find out just where we are."
He was neither unfeeling nor unsympathetic, but his opinion was that
grief and the lassitude which treads close upon it should in due season
have an end. The affairs of life cannot stand still, even when death
intervenes. They can only be held in abeyance for a little space.
Now that Mackinnon, full of years and honour and followed by the
lamentations and the love of all his people, rich and poor, had been
carried to his last rest, he must become a tender memory to those who
were left.
They had dined together quite alone, and now they sat in the library,
where pipe and tobacco and cigars were on the table, as yet, however,
untouched.
Sir Tom was getting his pipe ready a trifle absently, his eyes fixed on
his niece's face. He was troubled about her. Her white face and her
deep, grief-haunted eyes, which no man could fathom, disconcerted and
disturbed him. He loved her dearly, but he did not always understand
her. Malcolm's apparently simpler nature was better within his grasp
and ken.
It was assuredly Malcolm's place, as the head of the house, to make some
suggestion or statement, but silence lay upon him heavily, and he seemed
ill at ease.
"Has neither of you anything to say? I must be going back to London
to-morrow, if I have to go alone. I'll wait till Wednesday, if I am to
take Isla. What do you say, my dear?"
Isla, a slim, black figure with white, nervous hands interlaced upon her
lap, lifted her eyes to his face from where she sat at the other side of
the fireplace.
"No, thank you, Uncle Tom, I will not go to London just now."
"But, my dear, your aunt will scold me no end if I don't bring you. Her
last words were that I was to bring you back with me. If she had been
well enough nothing would have kept her from Achree just now--and you
know it. But I left her in bed, and the doctor forbade the journey. It
is nothing serious, only requiring a little care. Fact is, these
monkeys have been running her off her feet lately. Three or four
o'clock every morning before she got to her bed after their dancing and
nonsense. The life of a chaperon in the London season is not a happy
one."
"Give Aunt Jean my love, and tell her I can't come just now. Later,
perhaps----"
"Later! Heaven only knows where we may be later. Your aunt talks of
some seaside place on the Brittany or Normandy coast--some God-forsaken
hole, where a man can't get a decent meal of meat. Gad, what it is to
be hard-up! Well, and if you won't come to us may I ask without
impertinence where you do propose to go?"
"Back to the Lodge at Creagh for a few days at least."
"And after the few days--eh, what?" asked Sir Tom, leaning forward a
little, with serious concern in his big, kindly, rather innocent blue
eyes.
She made no answer, though Malcolm from where he stood leaning against
the fireplace seemed to wait a little eagerly for what she might say.
"Speak to her, Malcolm! She has aye been a high-handed miss, doing that
which seemed right in her own eyes. You are the head of the house now.
Can't you put your foot down and bid her come with me to your aunt and
your cousins? It's where she ought to be in these days, among a lot of
kindly, busy women-folk."
"It's what I think, Uncle Tom," said Malcolm in a low voice. "But, as
you say, nobody can dictate to Isla. She will go her own way."
"Then, may I ask what you propose to do?" asked Uncle Tom, suddenly
directing his attention to his nephew. "Of course, for a few days or
weeks there will be things to see to. But, with Cattanach at your back,
they should not take very long to wind up. And with the American folk
coming back to Achree there's nothing for you to do here. I don't
suppose you'll be long content, hanging about the Lodge and the Moor of
Creagh."
Malcolm had no answer for a moment, and the silence seemed to grow.
"Why can't you speak--one of you?" asked Uncle Tom a trifle testily. "I
like folks to show some common-sense, and you have both seen this coming
for long enough. It's not to be thought that you haven't had plans for
the future."
"I haven't any plans," Malcolm admitted.
This answer incensed the old man extremely. He looked at the strong,
well-knit figure of his nephew in the full prime and strength of his
young manhood with critical displeasure.
"Then the sooner you get some, my man, the better it will be for you.
It is a thousand pities that you resigned your commission when you did,
and since it is somebody to make a proposition that you seem to need,
mine is that you apply to the proper authorities and get back to the
army as soon as possible. It's undoubtedly the very best thing you can
do."
The silence deepened. It was broken by the falling of a glowing log
from the bars to the hearth, and, under pretence of restoring it to the
grate, Isla moved and bent towards it.
"I never approved of what you did," went on Sir Tom, "and if anybody's
advice had been asked it would never have been permitted. I don't like
back-draughts, but I can't help saying now, as we're discussing family
business, that I'm sure that your father would have been the very last
man to have sanctioned your sending in your papers--that is to say, if
he'd been in his full mind and faculties. And I think that the best
tribute of respect you can show to his memory is to get back to the army
as soon as possible and try to follow in the steps of the finest fellow
and the bravest soldier that ever earned a sword."
It was a long speech for Sir Tom to make, and at the end he cleared his
throat and dashed something from his eyes. He was glad to have got this
off his chest--as he might have expressed it. It had lain heavily there
for some time; in fact, ever since he had been able to grasp the full
significance of his nephew's action. To him it seemed disastrous,
unnecessary, and foolish in the extreme. For if a man cannot afford to
live on his estate, or if it does not offer him sufficient occupation,
surely it were infinitely better for him to take up some honourable
calling in which he would have a chance to rise and to distinguish
himself.
The Mackinnons, at least the handful that was left, had all been proud
of the gallant old General, and, now that it was open to his son to
carry on the fine traditions of the race, it seemed incredible and
discreditable that he should not be willing and eager to do it.
"I can't do that, Uncle Tom," said Malcolm, shifting uneasily from one
foot to another. "I've left the army for good."
"But that's no reason why you shouldn't go back. If representations to
the proper quarter were made, I can't see any insuperable obstacles in
the way. Can you, Isla?"
She made no answer, and he went on.
"I'll do what I can. I'll go to the Commander-in-Chief myself, if
you're such a baby over it, Malcolm, and lay the whole facts of the case
before him. No reasonable man would refuse to make an open door
somewhere for you, and I don't believe he would--eh, Malcolm?"
"I can't go back, Uncle Tom. Please, say no more about it."
"I'd like to hear a word from Isla on the subject," said Uncle Tom. "I
can't make you out, lassie. I have never thought of you as a person
without opinions. You have an opinion about this, of course, and a
pretty strong one, I could take my affidavit. Let us hear it. Now's the
time, for if you won't travel with me to London, I must go south
to-morrow."
"It is a matter for Malcolm entirely, Uncle Tom," she said, rising with
a sudden sweep to her feet. "Do you mind if I say good-night? I am
very tired, and last night I had no sleep. I'll be up bright and early
for you to-morrow morning, though, of course, it will only be the two
o'clock train you want to catch at Stirling. It will set you down in
London before eleven."
"That will do. You're in a hurry, however--and my last night, too! But
certainly you look tired, lass," said the old man, and he kissed her
with a very real tenderness.
She nodded to Malcolm, said good-night briefly, and went to the door,
which her uncle opened for her.
When he had closed it he turned full face to Malcolm.
"There's something the matter with the bairn, Malcolm. What is there
between her and you? Have you quarrelled about anything?"
"Nothing special--only we don't hit it off, Uncle Tom," said Malcolm,
turning round with evident relief and reaching for the cigars.
"Then the sooner you begin to hit it off the better," said Sir Tom
severely. "It's not decent to behave as you are doing. How do you
propose to live together in the Lodge of Creagh, even for a little
while, if you feel like that?"
"Give it up!" said Malcolm.
And it was as if his whole body and spirit had relaxed now that some
strain was removed.
"There was a dryness between us about the letting of Achree," resumed
Malcolm, seeing that the old man was still staring intently at him, as
if waiting to be enlightened. "Of course, I didn't like it. After all,
it was my business, wasn't it, Uncle Tom? And Isla took it all upon
herself. See how it has complicated things just now!"
"Yes, but the American money is very good," said Uncle Tom drily.
"Barras would be a howling wilderness without it."
"I daresay that Isla and I would have pulled through without it, and I
could have occupied myself in looking after the place. It wants a lot
of pulling together, Uncle Tom. Everything is slack, and the tenants
don't pay what they might--not one of them."
"You can't take the breeks off a Hielandman, lad," was the dry response.
"But it's about Isla I'm chiefly concerned. You can very well fend for
yourself. You'll have to make proper provision for her, Malcolm.
Whoever suffers, she must have enough to live upon. She isn't one who
requires much, but providing for her must be your first duty. I don't
doubt that you will do it."
"I'll do the fair thing, of course. We'll have to have a talk, I
suppose. I do wish she would go with you to London, if it were only for
a few days. I could come to fetch her later. It would clear the air."
"She won't--you can see that in the eyes of her. There's something back
of it all--God knows what--and I suppose you'll have to fight it out
your two selves. But you'll be very gentle with her, Malcolm, for
to-night she looks the most forlorn creature on the face of God's
earth."
He blew his nose as he said this, and he begged Malcolm to bring him a
peg of whisky. They waxed more confidential over their drink, of which,
however, Malcolm partook very abstemiously. Drink had never been his
besetting sin.
About eleven Sir Tom went off to bed, a little reassured concerning the
affairs of the Achree Mackinnons and having no doubt whatever but that
Malcolm would do his duty.
Malcolm certainly at this moment wished to do it, if only he knew how.
He didn't want to leave Glenogle, still less did he want to live under
one roof with his sister. If she refused to leave the Glen he would
have no alternative but to go, and what would be the upshot of it all?
Near to midnight he was still pondering this mighty and seemingly
insoluble problem when the library door was silently pushed open and
Isla in a white dressing-gown, with her long hair tied lightly back and
hanging loosely on her shoulders, came in. Her face looked ghastly pale
against the whiteness of her wrap, and her eyes were shining like stars.
"I heard Uncle Tom go up to bed, Malcolm, and I thought I'd better come
down."
"The fire has gone low," he said, as he sprang up to vacate the most
comfortable chair. "Here's a log. We'll get a blaze in a minute. Sit
down here."
She sat down on the extreme edge of the chair and watched him a little
wistfully while he attended to the fire.
"I thought, perhaps, we had better have a little talk about what we are
going to do," she said a trifle unsteadily. "There is nothing but
Creagh. The question is--Can it hold us both?"
"Don't speak like that, Isla," he said almost pleadingly. "But really
Uncle Tom's plan is the best, considering all things. Couldn't you make
up your mind even yet to go to London with him, if it were only for a
few days?"
Isla shook her head.
"I couldn't, Malcolm. Aunt Jean and the girls would drive me crazy just
now. Don't even mention it again. I--I just want to ask you whether it
wouldn't be better to tell Uncle Tom the truth about how you left the
army before he goes to-morrow? You know how impulsive he is. He will
think nothing of going straight to the War Office or to the
Commander-in-Chief, if he can find him, the moment he gets back to
London."
Malcolm's face fell.
"By Jove, so he might! I never thought of that. But, hang it all, Isla,
I can't tell him."
"Let me do it, then. Don't you see anything would be better in the
circumstances than that he should make a fuss? It would make you look
such a fool, and it would certainly result in newspaper paragraphs
which, through the great kindness of Colonel Martindale, have never
appeared."
"I'll see in the morning. I'll be driving him to the station. Anyhow,
I'll impress on him that the matter must on no account be opened up
again--that nothing would induce me to go back to the army," said
Malcolm, whose policy all through life had ever been to find the easiest
way out.
Isla dropped the subject. For the first time since her father's death
she had schooled herself to try to speak of it naturally.
"As you let Achree to the Rosmeads for the longer term, what are you
going to do? It's impossible that you can live at Creagh for an
indefinite time and without an object."
"I want a little while in which to look round, Isla. I must have at
least six months to inquire into things. I'm going up to Glasgow on
Monday to go over everything with Cattanach. I must see whether the
profits of the place cannot be increased in some directions. I can be
busy enough for the next six months at least in getting the whole thing
into shape. After that I must try to get a berth of some kind. Rosmead
was recommending the Argentine. By the time he comes back I shall be in
a position to go thoroughly into the prospects there."
"And in the meantime, then, you will live at Creagh?"
"I thought of doing so. I am sorry for your sake that it isn't Achree.
But I had no hand in that. You shut yourself out, so to speak."
She leaned her elbow on her knee, dropped her chin, which had become
sadly sharpened of late, on her hand, and looked across the space of the
fireplace at him with the same wistful expression in her eyes.
"Malcolm, you'll try and pay off that money? When father was able to
understand things it worried him most frightfully whenever he thought
about the mortgage. For his sake, promise me that you will try to pay
it off."
"Why, of course I will--the whole of the Rosmead money will go to that,"
he answered lightly. "It won't take much to keep me at Creagh--or both
of us, for the matter of that. But, of course, a bachelor establishment
could be run more cheaply."
"There couldn't be anything much cheaper than Creagh with Margaret
Maclaren and Diarmid to do the work," said Isla drily. "But I won't
remain long there to be a burden on you, Malcolm. I must go out and
find something to do for myself."
"Oh, nonsense," he said loftily. "The only condition on which I should
let you leave Creagh would be that you go either to Barras or abroad
with them. So don't let us talk any more about that. And, really,
Isla, if only you'll be a bit reasonable and not too hard on a fellow,
we might have a fairly good time even at Creagh. The Rosmeads are more
than inclined to be kind, and there isn't any reason why we shouldn't
avail ourselves of what they offer. Then, of course, there are the
Drummonds. What ails Neil at Rosmead? He was positively savage about
him this afternoon when you went out of the drawing-room with him."
Isla did not smile.
"Neil is rather silly about some things," she answered, and there was a
vague regret in her eyes.
She did not forget that, in a moment of keen loneliness and desperation,
she had told Neil Drummond the truth about Malcolm's home-coming, and it
stood to reason that Neil would not forget it either.
Her one desire was that that shameful truth should never come to the
ears of the Rosmeads. She thought of them in the plural number, but it
was Rosmead himself she meant. She already knew that his standard was
very high, and that he might harshly judge a man like Malcolm if he knew
him as he really was.
Isla sat very still, looking rather intently at the open, ruddy face
with the smiling eyes and the weak, mobile mouth, and she wondered
whether there was any ultimate hope of his complete redemption. He had
evidently been able to forget or to put behind him entirely the horror
and the tragedy of that frightful day at Creagh and the word with which
her accusing voice had smitten his ears. His volatile nature took
things so easily and lightly that, in his estimation, practically
nothing but the immediate moment mattered.
Well perhaps, after all, she told herself, his policy was best. She had
borne the burden and heat of the day, had lain awake at nights,
pondering the problem of existence, had worn herself to a shadow for the
honour of Achree and of the name she bore, and where was she left?
Stranded, she told herself, and practically without a friend. She had
proved to the hilt the truism that the world has neither time nor room
for the long face or the tale of woe, and that he who smiles, even if
his heart be shallow or false, will win through at least cost--ay, and
will grasp most of the good things of life as he floats airily by.
Isla was fast becoming cynical and inclined to accept the creed of the
fatalist who says "What is to be will be".
"Well, then, if Uncle Tom leaves to-morrow," she said as she rose to her
feet, "we had better go back to Creagh on Wednesday. I'd rather be gone
before the Rosmeads come back, and I said Thursday to him."
"Oh, do be sociable, Isla! It would only be the kind thing to stop to
welcome them decently and thank them for what they've done. It's the
very least thing we can do, if you ask me."
Isla, whom the Rosmeads had surprised out of her usual reserve, in the
first overwhelming horror of her grief, felt inclined to creep back into
her shell again, but she saw the reasonableness of her brother's words.
"Well, then, I must leave it to you to arrange, I suppose. I mustn't
forget that you are the head of the house. I'll be ready to go up to
Creagh when you like, and as long as I remain there I'll try to make you
comfortable and happy."
She said good-night to him immediately and glided away. But long after
her departure Malcolm sat pondering on the future, by no means elated at
the prospect of a _tete-a-tete_ existence with the sister who knew so
much. He would have been a happier and a more easy-minded man had Isla
been getting ready to accompany her Uncle Tom to London.