AT EARLSHAUGH.
For two or three days before the all-important First of September,
Roland, the old gamekeeper, Gavin Fowler, young Malcolm Skene, and
even the pardoned poacher Jamie Spens, had all been busy in a vivid
and anxious spirit of anticipation as the day approached. Many a
time had they reconnoitered by the King's Wood, the Mains of Dron, in
the Fairy Den, and elsewhere, till they knew every rood of
ground--ground over which Roland's father had last rambled on his old
shooting pony--by stubble field, hedgerow, and scroggy upland slope,
where the coveys of the neighbourhood lay, and knew almost the number
of birds in every covey; and many a time and oft the route of the
first day was planned, schemed out, and enjoyed in imagination; while
the dogs were carefully seen to in their kennels, and the guns and
ammunition inspected in the gunroom, as if a day of battle were at
hand.
Yet, even in the Lowlands of Scotland, the palmy days of shooting are
gone in many places never to return. Muirland after muirland has
been enclosed, marshes reclaimed, and in other parts the hill slopes,
that were lonely, stern, and wild--often all but inaccessible--have
now become the sites of villas, mansions, and new-made railway
villages, till people sometimes may wonder what Cowper meant in his
'Task' when he wrote--
'God made the country, and man made the town!'
But much of this applies more to England than to the sister kingdom.
The last evening of August saw a gay dinner party in the stately old
dining-hall of Earlshaugh, with Roland acting as host, and Mrs.
Lindsay, pale and composed as usual, but brilliant in his mother's
suite of diamonds (heir-looms of the line), too brilliant, he
thought, for the occasion, at the head of the table.
Among other friends who had come for the morrow's shooting were Jack
Elliot and Malcolm Skene, both most prepossessing-looking young
fellows; and the style and bearing of both--but especially of the
former, who had about him that finishing touch which the service,
foreign travel, and good society impart--inspired the heart of Mr.
Hawkey Sharpe with much jealous rancour and envy, and with something
of mortification too.
It may be superfluous to say that in all the elements that make a
perfect gentleman, and one accustomed to the world, he far outshone
the unfortunate Hawkey; and as he sat there, clad in evening costume,
toying with his wine-glass, and conversing in a pleasantly modulated
voice with Annot Drummond, who affected to be deeply interested in
Cairo and Alexandria, Tel-el-Kebir and Kassassin, he had no more
consciousness or idea of finding a rival in such a person than in old
Gavin Fowler, the keeper, or Funnell, the butler, who officiated
behind his chair.
But Deborah--Mrs. Lindsay--was observing Elliot, and thought of her
brother's jealousy, his ambition and avarice, and his recent threats
with secret dread and misgivings, and, knowing of what he was
capable, she glanced at him uneasily from time to time as he sat
silent, almost sullen, and imbibing more wine than was quite good for
him.
The appurtenances of the table, especially so far as plate went, were
all that might be expected in a house of such a style and age as
Earlshaugh, and the great chandelier that hung in the dome-shaped
roof with its profusely parqueted ceiling, shed a soft light over
all--on many a stately but dim portrait on the walls--among others,
one of the Lindsay of the Weird Yett, above the stone mantelpiece, on
which was carved the _fesse-chequy_ of Lindsay, crested by a tent,
with stars overhead, and the motto, _Astra castra, numen lumen_.
In the centre of the board towered a giant silver épergne (the gift
of the Hunt to the late laird) laden with fruit and flowers, a
tableau representing the gallant King James V., the 'Commons King,'
slaying a stag at bay in Falkland Wood.
Several attractive girls were present, but none perhaps were more so
in their different degree than Maude, with her sunny hair and winning
blue eyes; Hester, with her pure complexion, soft bearing, and rich
dark-brown braids; and Annot, with her flower-like face, childish
playfulness of manner, and glorious wealth of shining golden tresses.
Nearly all at the table were young, and the dinner was a happy and
joyous one, save perhaps to Mr. Hawkey Sharpe, who felt himself, with
all his profound assurance, somewhat _de trop_, though he deemed
himself, as he was, certainly 'got up as well as any fellow there.'
He was as vain of the form and whiteness of his hands as ever Lord
Byron was, and he was wont to hold forth his right one, clenching a
cambric handkerchief, with a brilliant sparkling ring of unusual
size. His tie was faultless, his eyeglass arrogant and offensive,
especially to Elliot, after a time; his would-be general air of
stiffness and languid exclusiveness (imitated ill from others) sat as
grotesquely on him as his habit of leaving remarks unanswered, while
to all appearance critically examining the condition of his spiky
finger-nails.
His presence on this particular occasion, though under the auspices
of his sister, at first roused Roland's anger to fever heat, and the
latter took his seat at table with a very black expression in his
handsome face indeed; but he saw or felt the necessity for
dissembling, and ignored his existence. Then after a time, affected
by the geniality of his surroundings, by the bright, pleasant faces
of his friends, the conversation, and the circulation of Mr.
Funnell's good wines--more than all, by the presence of such a sunny
little creature as Annot, who had been consigned to the care of Jack
Elliot--he completely thawed, and acted the host to perfection.
At his back stood old Funnell, his rubicund visage shining like a
harvest moon, radiant to see Roland in his father's chair and place
at the foot of the table, even though she, Mrs. Lindsay (_née_
Deborah Sharpe), was at the head thereof, though 'not Falkland bred,'
an old and unforgotten Fife saying of the days of the princely
James's which conveys much there with reference to birth and breeding.
So Roland tried to forget--perhaps for the time actually forgot--the
probable or inevitable future, and strove to be genial with her,
though it was quite beyond him to be so with her cub of a brother;
and, indeed, he never stooped to address him at all.
From the opposite side of the table Elliot silently enjoyed the
luxury of admiring his merry-eyed and bright-haired Maude, and all
the natural grace of her actions; but Hawkey Sharpe was seated
directly opposite to her too; yet her manner betrayed--even to his
keen and observant eyes--none of the annoyance or constant confusion
which might have shown itself as regarded _him_ and a recent episode,
as she entirely ignored his existence, while the presence of Jack
shed an ægis over her.
After the ladies withdrew, in obedience to a silent sign from Mrs.
Lindsay, the conversation of the gentlemen, as they closed up towards
Roland's chair, developed some unpleasant features; for Hawkey
Sharpe, whose tongue was loosened and his constitutional impudence
encouraged by Funnell's excellent Pomery-greno, evinced an unpleasant
disposition to cavil at and contradict whatever Elliot advanced or
mentioned--rather a risky proceeding on the part of Mr. Sharpe, as
Elliot was what has been described as a 'stand-offish sort of man,
with whom one would not care to joke on an early acquaintance, or
slap on the back and call 'old fellow,' or abbreviate his Christian
name;' so, when the different breeds of sporting dogs and new
fire-arms were under discussion, the steward said abruptly:
'Guns--oh, talking of guns, there is nothing I know for sport like
that with the new grip action, with Schultze powder.'
'Ah! you mean,' said Elliot, 'the one with the only action that works
independently of the top lever spring.'
'Yes.'
'But not for partridges or pheasants.'
'For anything,' said Sharpe curtly.
'Come, you are mistaken,' replied Jack.
'Not at all,' said Sharpe doggedly.
'Excuse me,' said the young officer; 'as a sportsman and an
ex-instructor in musketry, you may permit me to have some knowledge
of fire-arms; but the one you refer to is for big game, and will
neither stick nor jam like the Government rubbish issued to us in
Egypt, and is based on the non-fouling principle.'
'Non-fowling? It will shoot any fowl you aim at,' replied Sharpe,
mistaking his meaning; 'but you don't know what you are talking
about.'
Elliot simply raised his eyebrows and stared at the speaker for a
moment.
'You heard me?' added Sharpe, with an angry gleam in his eye.
Elliot turned to Skene and spoke of something else; but his cool and
steady, yet inoffensive, stare, and his ignoring the last defiant
remark, exasperated Hawkey Sharpe, who had--we have said--imbibed
more wine than he was wont; and, like all men of his class,
particularly felt the quiet contempt implied by the other's silence
and utter indifference to his presence--a spirit of defiance very
humiliating and difficult to grapple with, especially by the
underbred; thus, 'while nursing his wrath to keep it warm,' Sharpe
was determined to pursue a system of aggravation, and when Elliot
remarked to Roland, in pursuance of some general observations, that
shooting, even in the matter of black-game and muirgame, should never
begin till October, as thousands of young partridges that are not
fair game would escape being shot by gentlemen-poachers, or falling a
prey when in the hedges and hassocks to the mere pot-hunter--Hawkey
Sharpe contradicted him bluntly, without knowing what to urge on the
contrary, and made some blundering statements about following young
game into the standing corn, and how jolly it was to pot even young
pheasants in the standing barley during the month of September.
'In these little matters, my good man, you are rather at variance
with Colonel Hawker.'
'Who the devil is Hawker?' said Sharpe.
'A great authority on all such matters, sir,' said young Skene, 'and
not to have heard of him argues that you are--well, imperfectly up in
the subject.'
'Which we had better drop,' said Roland, with a dangerous sparkle in
his dark eyes; 'but pass the decanters, Jack--they stand with you.'
Mr. Hawkey Sharpe gave an audible sniff of contempt, meant,
doubtless, for Elliot, whose cool stare at him was now blended with a
smile indicative of curiosity and amusement, that proved alike
enraging and baffling.
When the gentlemen rose to join the ladies in the drawing-room,
whence came the distant notes of the piano and the voice of Annot
Drummond with her inevitable '_Du du_,' Hawkey Sharpe, with an
unpleasant consciousness that he had been somewhat foolish and had
the worst of his arguments, withdrew to his sanctum in the Beatoun
wing to growl and smoke over his brandy and soda, and was seen no
more for that night.
Pausing in the entrance-hall, Elliot said:
'Pardon me, Roland, but who is that unmitigated cad who contradicted
me so at table?--seemed to want to fix a quarrel, by Jove!'
Roland coloured.
'Why, you redden as if he was a bailiff in disguise--a man in
possession!' said Elliot, laughing.
'You forget, Jack, that such officials are unknown on this side of
the Border.'
'Then who or what is he?' persisted Elliot.
'My overseer--steward.'
'Steward--the devil! and you have a fellow of that kind at table.'
'Mrs. Lindsay has--not I,' replied Roland, with growing confusion and
annoyance. 'There are wheels within wheels here at Earlshaugh,
Jack--a little time and you shall know all, even before the pheasants
you disputed about are ready for potting.'
But before that period came, or the opportunity so lightly referred
to, much was to happen at Earlshaugh that none could at all foresee.