HER TRUE FRIENDS
Fortune did not favour Isla that day. At any rate her desire for
complete isolation was not gratified.
As she came out of the hotel, after having made her arrangement for
Jamie Forbes to fetch her from Creagh to Lochearnhead Station in the
morning, she encountered Mrs. Rodney Payne, who hailed her with
undisguised delight.
"Dear Miss Mackinnon, we really thought we should never, never see you
any more! Why is it that you have quite deserted Achree?"
"I don't know," answered Isla rather humbly. "It is a long way,
and--and the days go by."
"But it was not kind. And the messages we have sent by your
brother!--has he ever delivered them, I wonder?"
"He has often said to me that you would like me to come oftener to
Achree."
"Well, and so we would. And what have you to say for yourself?"
Isla looked at her and smiled. It was impossible not to smile at the
beautiful creature whose charm could disarm any hostility. Isla was not
hostile to Achree. Only there she must be all or nothing. That was the
truth, scarcely yet admitted to herself. A very woman, she could brook
no rival, and had stayed high and dry upon the Moor of Creagh, because
she would not share Achree and the Rosmeads with Malcolm.
"I am a pig," she said with humility, yet with conviction--a speech
which made Vivien laugh.
"Since you know yourself best, I will not presume to contradict you, my
dear," she said as she thrust a small and confidential hand through
Isla's arm. "Now I have you fast I will lead you to confession. What
have we done to offend?"
"Oh, nothing to offend!" said Isla quickly. "I am not silly in that
way, I hope. But--but----"
"But what? I thought that I had you hard and fast, that day at Creagh
and that, hard to win, Isla Mackinnon, once won, could be kept. Why
have I made such a disastrous mistake? I ask everybody, I even write to
Peter and ask him, but he answers not. It is all a part of this
mysterious life of the glens and of the Scottish character, which no man
or woman from the outside can ever hope to get to the bottom of."
"Oh, come!" said Isla a little shamefacedly, "we are not so black as all
that."
"Black, but comely! But back to Achree I march you to-day, at whatever
cost. Do you know that my mother has been five weeks ill in bed and
that you have never once called to ask for her?"
"But I have sent messages by Malcolm, and even written myself once----"
"It is not the same," broke in Vivien. "To-day you shall be taken in
sackcloth and ashes to beg forgiveness."
"But you have already had too much of the Mackinnons. I would not have
you sicken of the name."
"We should never sicken of you, Isla. It is an ungracious thing to say,
and the words come most ungraciously from your lips."
"But Malcolm does come every day, doesn't he?"
Isla turned her quick, penetrating eyes full on Vivien's glowing face,
and she wondered whether the colour deepened at the question or whether
she merely imagined that it did.
"He has been most kind. He does all sorts of 'cute things for us. We
have scarcely missed Peter since he went away. You should hear my
mother! Your brother has quite won her heart."
"Yes?" said Isla, but her tone was dry.
In the near distance she saw the figure of the stranger lady in the
purple frock coming towards them, and she wondered what would happen.
Vivien, too, saw it, and the smile deepened in her eyes.
"Who can this extraordinary female be? I met her as I came down, and
she put me through a sort of catechism about the Glen, with special
reference to Achree and the Mackinnons."
"I also met her," said Isla, "and she likewise catechized me. Some
chance tourist staying at the Strathyre Hotel and hard up for something
to occupy her time, I suppose."
"It struck me as more than that. And besides, the season for tourists
is past," said Vivien shrewdly. "What garments! And what lack of
fitness! I wonder now whether she thinks that we are badly dressed and
that she could give us points? She has a complacent air, which is at
once my despair and my envy."
Isla made no response. Again the chill premonition of coming evil crept
about her heart--she felt that the purple-clad stranger was a menace to
Achree.
"Now I wonder whether your brother saw her? I am sure she would stop
him if she met him!"
"Malcolm!--but he is not down the Glen? I thought he was going to shoot
over the Moor this morning. He certainly said something about it at
breakfast."
"He was certainly down the Glen, my dear, for I met him on his grey cob.
But where he is now I don't know," said Vivien. "It would have
interested her, I am sure, to have had speech with the actual Laird of
Achree."
"What did she ask you?" asked Isla quickly.
Vivien's colour rose this time without doubt, but she evaded the
question.
"She is greatly concerned about the future of Achree, anyhow, so let us
give her a civil good morning as we pass."
"We needn't stop--we mustn't stop," said Isla a little nervously.
And as the purple figure approached Vivien felt the arm she touched
tremble a little. But the stranger, who now looked tired and bored,
passed them with a languid bow and then seemed to hasten her steps
towards the hotel.
"I am very glad of this chance of going to Achree to say good-bye," said
Isla, "as to-morrow I am going away."
Vivien nodded, as if she had heard a bit of news she fully expected.
"To Wimereaux--to your aunt and uncle? Your brother told us about your
going."
In spite of herself, Isla's face hardened. Malcolm, then, discussed her
with the Rosmeads, had even planned her going and spoken of her transfer
to the Barras Mackinnons as a settled thing. Yet she had not once so
much as said that she would like to go!
"Did Malcolm tell you that I was going to-morrow?" she asked in a low
voice.
"He said it might happen any day," answered Vivien. "And, though we
would have liked to see more of you. we all understand that a change
would be the very best thing in the world for you. I've even had it in
my mind to propose that you and I should take a little trip to Paris
together next month, and that afterwards you might have gone back to
Wimereaux. I have not been in Paris since I was a girl at school."
"You were educated in Paris?"
Vivien laughed rather sadly.
"No--I was what they call finished there," she answered drearily. "A
woman's education is in the school of life. Mine has been hard enough,
heaven knows! I have always hated Paris since, but still I should like
to go there with you. I still have an apartment there. If you could
let me know about what time you wish to come back I could join you or we
could meet on the way, or even in Paris itself."
The idea pleased Isla. If only there had been no obstacles in the way!
"I've never been to Paris. I've seen nothing but Glenogle except--once
in a great while--Barras and London."
"Barras is lonely, isn't it? But the Ogden Dresslers liked it."
"It is an island in the Atlantic. But loneliness belongs not so much to
places as to persons. I am never lonely--in the sense that you mean.
But I think I could be so in a big city."
"How long are you likely to be at Wimereaux?"
"I don't know. I have to get there first."
"Will Sir Thomas and Lady Mackinnon stop there all winter?"
"No. They will go back to Barras at the end of next month, I expect.
My uncle is counting the days."
"Ah, I don't wonder at that from what your brother tells me about him!
We expected Peter home in November, but his last letter to mother is not
very reassuring. They are finding the Delaware Bridge more difficult
than they expected. There is something puzzling about the river-bed.
Peter seems to be working night and day."
"But he will like that. He is never happier than when fighting
obstacles," said Isla with a faint smile of remembrance.
"That is so--at least it used to be so. But we thought from the letter
yesterday that he was getting what we call plumb-tired of it. He wants
to come back to Scotland--anyone can see that--and, of course, my
mother's illness has made us all anxious. But he doesn't say a definite
word about coming home."
Isla was interested in these items of information concerning Peter
Rosmead and his family. She was naturally sociable. It was only the
habit of life forced upon her by circumstances that had fostered her
reserve. With Vivien Rosmead, as with Peter, she always felt her heart
expand.
There was no reproach in Mrs. Rosmead's eyes as, from her bed, she
extended two warm hands of welcome to the desolate girl and drew her
down towards her for a kiss.
"My dear, why is it that you have been so long in coming. Your dear
brother has made every excuse for you, but we wanted you--we wanted you
very much."
Isla's eyes filled with tears. She told herself that she had been wise
to stop away, seeing that the sight of this sweet mother of the gentle
eyes and heart who, from her invalid couch, ruled her family with an
absolute rule, was bad for her and filled her with acute unrest, with a
feeling of rebellion against her own motherless state.
"I forgot to tell you," said Vivien cheerfully, "that Sadie has gone to
Garrion for the day. She and Kitty are inseparable. What a dear,
bright creature Kitty is! And Aunt Betty!--oh, Aunt Betty is a type! I
live for the meeting I hope to arrange between her and my mother, though
they will need an interpreter. Her Scotch is lovely, but
unintelligible."
Again the swift pang of jealousy tore at Isla's heart. While she had
been alone at Creagh nobody had been lonely for her sake. Her point of
view was wholly unreasonable, and it but serves to show how long
brooding on one particular line of thought can distort the mental vision
of the healthiest and sanest person in the world. It was more than time
that Isla left Glenogle--it would have been disastrous for her to stay
much longer.
She remained to luncheon, and thereafter she sat for another half hour
with Mrs. Rosmead, who, while she tried to get Isla to talk about
herself, incidentally talked a good deal about her children, especially
about Peter, for whom her heart was crying out. Isla learned more about
Peter Rosmead from that hour's conversation with his mother than she had
yet known, and all that she learned was to his credit.
"I hope, my dear," said Mrs. Rosmead, "that you will be back at
Christmas at least, for it is our hope that my son may join us then, and
we shall keep it as a family here. Your brother has promised to come to
us, and if you are here, too, then we shall be happy indeed. It is where
you ought to be at Christmas--under your father's roof-tree."
"It is Malcolm's now," said Isla with an effort. "I don't know whether
I shall have returned by then. I have no plans. I am a bit of
drift-wood on the shore now, liable to be floated away by the tide, dear
Mrs. Rosmead. But whether I come or whether I don't I shall think of
you, and I shall be glad that you are here in Achree."
"There is something the matter with that child, Vivien," the old lady
said to her daughter after Isla had gone--"something that has taken the
heart clean out of her. It is something more than her father's death.
Let us hope that the change will do her good."
Meanwhile, Isla was nearing home, having been convoyed on her walk part
of the way by Vivien, who, on parting, had bidden her a most
affectionate farewell.
Vivien was distinctly disappointed in Isla Mackinnon--her persistent
coldness had chilled her. She had proved that Highland hearts can be
very warm and kindly, and she thought that Isla had not met their
advances with corresponding cordiality. But, having herself suffered,
she did not judge any man--much less any woman. She knew she must leave
Isla to realize herself and to work out her own destiny.
It was tea-time when Isla got back, and Malcolm was about the house.
His face was serene and undisturbed. Isla therefore surmised that he
had not encountered the lady of the purple gown. Should she enlighten
him? Was it her duty to warn him that the woman, with whom he
undoubtedly had some slight acquaintance--even if nothing more--was in
the vicinity making inquiries about him? Though he had happened to miss
her that day, she was haunting the neighbourhood, and Strathyre was, so
to speak, but a stone's throw from Glenogle.
"I've been trysting Jamie Forbes for the morning, Malcolm," she said
quietly. "I'm going with the nine-thirty."
"Going where?" he asked with a start.
"To Glasgow, first. I will have just a word with Mr. Cattanach. Then I
will take the two o'clock train."
"For London?"
She nodded. There was no reason why she should hide the first step of
her journey from him--no reason at all.
"And will you go on to Dieppe by the night boat, then?"
She shook her head.
"There is no need for such haste," she answered. "And I am not a
stranger in London. I can find my way about. I'll stop the night at
the Euston Hotel."
"Have you money?" he asked, trying hard to hide his relief.
"I have twenty pounds."
"Oh, you are in clover. It is not a dear fare to Wimereaux, even if you
travel first class. And, of course, it will cost you nothing while you
are there. They seem to be living at heck and manger for next to
nothing, but how Uncle Tom does loathe it! I suppose you'll come back
with them as far as Glasgow when they come north next month?"
"I suppose so," she answered listlessly.
There was no reason why she should either affirm or deny, because she
herself did not know what she might do. Everything would depend. It
might even be on the knees of the gods that she would drift to Wimereaux
in the end.
"I've been to lunch at Achree," she said suddenly. "I met Miss Rosmead
on the road, and she made me go in. Mrs. Rosmead looks very ill, I
think."
"Nothing to what she did look. And they are so accustomed to snatching
her back from the jaws of death," said Malcolm grimly, "that they are
quite satisfied about her."
"Oh!" said Isla. "You go there a great deal, Malcolm. They seem to
think you a splendid sort of fellow."
It was a curious speech and did not sound quite kindly. Malcolm,
however, took it well, though there was a touch of bitterness in his
reply.
"It's the people's way of looking at it, Isla--they are lovely people.
They bring out all that is best in a chap and make him hate the worst.
I'll tell you what. If I had been thrown with that sort at one time of
my life I should have been a different man."
"We did our best," she answered with a wounded air. "Father and I were
as good as we knew how, though, of course, we could not hope to reach
the Rosmead standard."
"I don't mean that, Isla. Gad, how quick and hard you are on a fellow!
Your tongue's like a two-edged sword. I only mean that there's a time
in a chap's life--don't you know?--when, if he gets into a good woman's
hands, she shapes him for good. If he gets into the hands of the other
sort, then God help him!--he hasn't much chance else."
A fleeting pity crossed Isla's face. It was a passionate human appeal.
She began dimly to glimpse the fact of the frightful war between good
and evil which ravages the souls of some, making life a battle-ground
from the cradle to the grave.
She put out a timid hand and touched his arm.
"I'm sorry if I have been hard, Malcolm. I--I didn't understand. But
now----"
"Now I mean to win Vivien Rosmead when I'm clean enough to ask her," he
answered in a voice that gripped.
Isla remembered the heightened colour in Vivien's cheek, the tones and
terms in which Malcolm was spoken of at Achree, and she had no doubt of
the issue. But the woman in the purple frock! Something gripped her by
the throat. She did not know what she wished or hoped for. She did
passionately feel, however, that if Vivien made another venture upon the
sea of matrimony she ought to be very sure of the seaworthiness of her
barque.
"I suppose she divorced her husband. Have you ever heard anything about
the story, Malcolm?"
"Nothing. They never speak of it. Why should they? That sort of thing
is best forgotten."
"She will never forget it. I can't forget how she spoke that day she
came to me--the day when father died. Her eyes are very wide open,
Malcolm. She will take no risks next time."
"But she isn't hard," he said eagerly. "And a woman who has lived--who
has seen life--can make allowances for a man. It's that I'm building
on."
Isla shook her head and rose to her feet with a heavy sigh.
"Life is a most frightful tangle, Malcolm. Sometimes I get so tired of
it!"
"We all do, but we've got to make the best of it. You don't want any
money, then," he added cheerfully. "It's just as well, because I have
hardly a red cent to bless myself with, and I'm counting the days till
the Martinmas audit and till Rosmead sends his cheque. When I get that
I'll send you along something to Wimereaux."
"I'll write if I need it or want it," she said quickly.
Then, as if in spite of herself, the other matter would out.
"Malcolm, did you meet anybody on the road this morning, either in going
or in coming home?"
"I met different folks--Donald Maclure and Long Sandy and Drummond
seeking you. Only he didn't come up when I told him that I thought you
were about Lochearn. Did you see him?"
"No. I suppose I was in Achree at the time. This was a lady--an
extraordinary person in a purple frock. She spoke to me at the Darrach
Bridge, and she had stopped Vivien Rosmead, too, and asked her questions
about Achree."
She saw Malcolm's colour change and his eyes shift.
"What did she say to you, Isla? I suppose she was one of these stray
visitors at the hotel. Miss Macdougall has had some queer specimens
this summer."
"She said she was living at Strathyre, and she asked questions about the
Mackinnons and Achree, as if she knew about them."
"And did she say where she came from or what she wanted here?" asked
Malcolm, and by this time he had walked away beyond the range of Isla's
eyes.
"No. But I knew, Malcolm," said Isla clearly. "I don't know whether I
ought to tell you, but perhaps it will be better that you should know.
She was the woman I met you with that day in the Edgeware Road--the
woman you said you were seeking for Captain Larmer."