Inchbracken Part 3

Fortunately for Mary, Mrs. Sangster did not appear. It was only her messenger in the person of a bare-foot herd laddie, who brought an invitation to drink tea; so Mary might let her thoughts linger in Egypt as they would. Indeed, in her case the rebuke could hardly be held to apply, seeing it was not the Free Church she had followed into the wilderness, but only the steps of her dear brother, that she might support and minister to him wherever and however he might need her help; consequently her religion manifested itself only as it had always done, in charities and good deeds, and as she had little to say on controversial subjects she was held to be 'juist a wee cauldrife'--a weakly sister after the pattern of Martha, troubled about many things and much serving, but hardly sound on the importance of the Heads.h.i.+p, seeing she was disposed to look on all ministers as alike good, whether they had come out or stayed in.

Mary lingered long over her breakfast, but at length it was concluded, and she rose and returned to the study over the way. In the distance coming down the hill road, she now descried her brother jogging slowly down towards her.

'Eppie,' she cried, 'here comes my brother at last; will you make him some tea?'

'Hoot, mem! He's no wantin' his breakfast, I'm thinkin', or he'd be for makin' mair speed, saw ye e'er a hungry man danderin' down the road like yon? But preserve us a'! What's yon he's carryin' afore him on the bit pownie? It micht e'en be a bairn by the looks o' the bun'le, an' the tent he taks on't.' 'A' weel, sir!' she shouted as he drew near, 'Ye've had a sore traivel. Hoo's a' wi' ye, sir? An' wad ye like a dish o' tea, sir! Or a drap kale? My pat's on this twa hour, an I'm thinkin' there's a hantle mair fus.h.i.+on in that, nor a' yer dribblin' teapats. Tak tent, sir!' she added as he proceeded to alight before the door, 'gie us the bun'le an' ye'll licht easy. Lord sakes!

sir, wha's acht the bairn? A gangin' fit's aye gettin', folk says, but wha'ar gat ye the wein?'

'Well Eppie! It's a poor little s.h.i.+pwrecked sailor, and I believe an orphan. I picked it up among the wreck of a s.h.i.+p that was lost at Effick Mouth last night, and we must care for it till we find out whom it belongs to. Though I fear its parents are among those lost in the s.h.i.+pwreck. Poor little soul! See how it takes to you already, Eppie!'

'The bonny lamb! an' sae it diz, an' it micht tak up wi' waur folk nor Eppie Ness. I'se tent ye, my birdie! Hoot awa! Miss Mary, what ken a young thing like you about fendin' for a bairnie? Young folk hae muckle to learn, an' yer time 'ull come, hinnie, or I'm muckle mistaen. I'll seek out the bit cradle whaur my ain bonny wee lambie lay, 'at's been wi' the Lord noo gaun on twenty year, gin ye'll haud this wee birdie, Miss Mary. An' ye can be seein' til its claes, an'

we'll hae to mak meat til't.'

So the baby was carried into the house, undressed and bathed and fed, and put to sleep in Eppie's cradle. When the shawls were removed they disclosed a little girl dressed in many delicate embroideries, and around its body was entwined part of a gold chain corresponding to the links which Roderick had observed in the grasp of the drowned woman on the beach. These properties they carefully folded up and put away to a.s.sist in the future identification of the child, and Roderick wrote a letter to the _Edinburgh Witness_ describing the waif he had rescued from the sea, in hopes it might meet the eye of some friend or relation.

CHAPTER V.

JULIA.

When Captain John joined the family at dinner that day, it was with feelings of more than his wonted self-content. He had returned from his fis.h.i.+ng only the hour before, and had brought with him the two finest salmon that had been caught that season. The game-keepers and retainers had admired them as in duty bound, but theirs was the admiration that pleases only _faute de mieux_, seeing that it can be counted on, while to-day his nephew, his old rival in field sports, was present to join in the applause.

They sat down, a party of five, the three gentlemen already described, Lady Caroline, and her kinswoman Miss Finlayson. Lady Caroline was the great lady of the neighbourhood. She was tall and dignified, with a thorough appreciation of her own importance; also she was somewhat indolent, and therefore disposed to be good-natured and condescending, whenever her superiority was quietly acquiesced in. She spent a few weeks each summer in London with her husband, but these visits were yearly becoming shorter. There were so many persons of more consequence than herself, and she found herself so much in the position of one in a crowd, that she felt as if losing her sense of personal ident.i.ty, became depressed, and hurried home never to return, or would have done so had it not been for Miss Finlayson, her judicious young friend, who never once presumed to advise or direct, but who yet could influence her in opposition to her own inclination, to remain in town to the end of the season, to return again the next year, and to do any thing else the said Miss Finlayson might desire.

Miss Finlayson was a young lady of five or six-and-twenty, and of slender fortune and accommodating disposition, who could converse or keep silence, read, write, play or sing, laugh or cry in sympathy with the mood of her protectress. In person as in manner she can only be described negatively. She was quite what a young lady should be at all points, or at least, when you come to particularize, nothing that she should not be. Had Madame Contour, her London dressmaker, sent home her person and demeanour, as well as her admirably fitting draperies, she would have been very much as she was. Her figure was tall and well-proportioned, waist small, bust a little flat, easily amenable to the touch of art, arms slender but well rounded and charmingly white, hands and feet adapted to the smallest and daintiest of gloves and slippers. Her complexion was pale but clear, lips thin, mouth long, nose slightly aquiline, eyes somewhat pale, forehead too high, but with the dark hair drawn well over the temples, and long ringlets descending nearly to the waist. Altogether a pale but not unpleasing vision, and what Madame Contour would have called 'very ladylike.' She had come to Inchbracken three years before, on a cousinly visit of a fortnight; but Lady Caroline had found her so delightful and invaluable a companion that she had been induced to prolong her stay from month to month, till at length, after prolonged entreaties, she had consented to sacrifice what she called her independence, and make Inchbracken her home.

Her insight into the character of those about her was unusually distinct, and the tact with which she applied the knowledge so acquired thoroughly artistic. With the General she was all grateful deference and modest trust; hanging on his lips for any occasional oracles of wisdom that chance might issue, but very careful not to bore him with her presence or conversation unsought, and ever ready with a light for his cigar when his own matchbox was mislaid, as it generally was. With Captain John she was gay, always ready with a flippant repartee whenever he attempted to gibe, but still upon her guard. There was a twinkle in the old gentleman's eye whenever they engaged in a pa.s.sage of arms, which suggested that he too had some of the insight on which she depended so much in playing the game of life.

With Lady Caroline, as already said, she was self-adaptive and sympathetic, and yet to all appearance spontaneously so, and without ever sinking her own individuality, or permitting herself to be taken for granted like a dependent. Besides amusing, she contrived to relieve her of many small burdens and domestic cares, and so became altogether indispensable to her indolent kinswoman. She interfered in nothing, and yet there was no part of the household machine that did not run smoother when lubricated by her good offices. The housekeeper, the head gardener, even my lady's own woman came in time to solicit in an emergency the favourable intervention of this best natured of all young ladies, and always with the best results.

Lady Caroline found at length that she need neither think nor act, save when she felt inclined, and she declared with fervour, that Julia Finlayson was as good as a daughter of her own. That amiable person was quite content that it should be so, and indeed was most willing that Lady Caroline should have a full legal claim on her filial duty.

By some deft manipulation of circ.u.mstances, the idea of her becoming a daughter-in-law had been suggested to her ladys.h.i.+p's mind, while the dear disinterested Julia stood immaculate from every suspicion of scheming, and, strange as it may seem, Lady Caroline was disposed to acquiesce. Her Kenneth, she said, would never make a great marriage, and if he would bring home a n.o.body, there was none she would more willingly take to her mother's heart than 'poor Julia.' The adjective is not exactly an enthusiastic one, but narrow circ.u.mstances had taught Miss Finlayson philosophy, and she did not look to gather grapes off thorns. If the thorns would only consent not to scratch till she had made good her hold, she knew she could pick them off at her leisure afterwards; and then for a crackling blaze under the pot!

It would be 'poor thorns' then! But meanwhile, to acquire a mother-in-law, that lady's consent is by no means the essential or only step. 'First catch your hare,' or the pot will be empty, and the thorns to crackle under it will never be required. Though the damsel sit expectant and willing in her bower, what matter, if the wooer comes not? and so far Kenneth had shown no desire to approach Julia's bower in wooer's guise. Most callous of men, and most indifferent of cousins, he had pa.s.sed under all the battery of charms and accomplishments, and never known. In all cousinliness he had taught her to fish, and to row on the loch. When she admitted a curiosity as to men's pursuits and a liking for tobacco smoke, he had welcomed her to the smoking-room, where she felt inclined to study _Bell's Life_, and also to the billiard room, where, in fact, he made her a very tolerable player, but that was all,--he felt to her only as if she had been a very little brother, and wondered what she meant by so many dainty affectations, and why she should bother to do so many things he shrewdly suspected she did not like. As to her clever little leadings, feints, and fencings colloquial, they were so much good brain-power thrown away, and might have been spoken in French or Sanscrit for any idea they conveyed to him. In fact she was altogether too sophisticated and utterly fine for this country-bred swain, and besides, she was always there.

If you had partridge every day for breakfast, partridge for dinner, and partridge again at supper, how long would you continue to relish that dainty food? And so probably in the case of a healthy young man with plenty of social opportunities, a permanent residence under the same roof does not afford the sportswoman the best opportunity to bag her game. So many weapons and devices become useless after a trial or two. What can be the efficacy of a parting glance, for instance, if the glancer has only gone behind the rose-bush at the other end of the garden? And how can one recall a last _tete a tete_, when the partner in it sits in an adjoining chamber, ready to resume? And how can imagination and memory ever come into play, with the fair object always in full view? Miss Finlayson was not only too sophisticated, but she was always there, and so, simple Mary Brown, though probably not so handsome according to Madam Contour's standard, and certainly less clever and accomplished, had taken possession of the young man's affections, and kept them, in spite of all the wiles of the syren.

All this, however, had come to an end two years ago when Kenneth, after long leave and quarters in the nearest garrison town, was ordered with his regiment to Gibraltar. In the meantime Mary Brown had become involved in the disgrace into which every well regulated mind in the Inchbracken circle considered that her brother had sunk. In fact she had so completely fallen out of their world that she need not be considered further, except to keep her out. Wherefore Julia made haste to welcome Kenneth's return, with all the warmth of a cousin, and to intimate as far as a well-bred damsel may, that she was capable, perhaps, of even warmer feelings.

The conversation at dinner that evening ran much on Captain John's successful angling. The appearance of his largest salmon at table gave the ladies an opportunity to join in the applause, which every male inhabitant of the house and offices had already offered.

'If you would only go out oftener, John!' said Lady Caroline. 'None of the men ever seem able to bring home anything larger than a small grilse.'

'Was it above or below the bridge you caught him? Captain Drysdale,'

asked Miss Finlayson.

And so John was launched on an extended narrative of his day's spoil.

Every bolt and plunge and feint and double of his fish was duly recorded, with sufficient local description to make the whole perfectly intelligible. He told his story remarkably well, and quite aroused the interest of his auditors. Too much so, perhaps, if the General's opinion had been asked; but then the General may have been hypercritical, owing to an idea he had of elevating dinner into one of the fine arts. 'You see,' he would say 'one can only dine once in twenty-four hours, that is to say if one is not to be talked about, which would be unpleasant, or to lose use of one's liver, which would be worse. And so, for myself I confess I look forward to dinner as the event of the day, and like to approach it in a proper spirit. There should be some talk of course, because we are neither beasts nor cannibals; but it should be light, gay, and cheerful, for good spirits promote digestion--yet not too engrossing--and especially--no discussion! That distracts the attention, till a man may not know whether it is a quail or a snipe he is eating. We want a cheerful tranquility at dinner, in order to appreciate rightly the dishes submitted; and give due attention to the business before us and that, I take it, is the deglut.i.tion of food.'

On the present occasion, however, the General's views were neither asked nor propounded, and John rambled pleasantly forward through the various events of his day.

'By the way, Kenneth! I met your old crony, young Brown, this morning.

Poor lad! Fanaticism has changed him sadly; long-haired, lank-jawed, and saucer-eyed, that is what he has become. He might be a Covenanter, or a member of the Barebones Parliament. He appeared to be returning home from Inverlyon, where he must have been last night, for it was about eight o'clock when I met him on the road this morning, jogging along, (how he used to gallop about the countryside of old!) and mounted, of all beasts for a douce Free Kirk priest to be astride, on that poaching rascal Patey Soutar's pony!'

'Hm!' said the General,'I always said secession was just inserting the small end of the wedge! They quarrel with our vested right of patronage now, but that is only the beginning. By and by they will question our right to the grouse on our own hills, and want to repeal the game laws! If they had their way, I wonder would they leave us a roof over our heads, or a coat on our backs? That comes of your Reform Bills! and putting the government of the country in the hands of people who have nothing to lose! But I did not expect to see the son of my old friend array himself with such as these. It is very sad.'

'Did he seem cheerful, John?' asked Kenneth.

'He looked as I say, tired, thin, and hollow-eyed. But when I tried mildly to remonstrate, and show that he had made the change for the worse, he fired up briskly enough, and held forth quite at length. He might have been talking still, I daresay, but that just then, there came a squeal from a parcel he carried on his saddle bow. I p.r.i.c.ked up my ears at that, and resolved to take _my_ innings then. He had been discoursing on the solemnity of his avocations, which precluded shooting and fis.h.i.+ng, so here I had a fine opening for chaff, saying that his presbytery might reasonably forbid these, seeing that it allowed other pastimes so much more engrossing, for--saving your presence, Lady Caroline--the bundle contained a baby! Poor fellow, he seemed so put-out, I really did not catch his explanation--though of course there was one, (there always is--) The confusion seemed quite out of proportion, for after all as the French girl said to her priest, "it was such a little one!" Ha, ha!!'

But no one joined in the laugh. The ladies were examining the flowers painted on their plates, and the gentlemen kept a severe silence. You surely went too far there! Captain John! Good man. He loved to make a joke, but it was not often that he achieved one. If desire had been qualification, he would certainly have been a wit; and when he thought he had achieved one, he repeated it till every one he knew had heard it. Hence the repet.i.tion of the morning's rather thread-bare jest.

Perhaps it was only to break an awkward silence that Miss Finlayson took up the word.

'Your woman Briggs tells me, Lady Caroline, that that Tirpie girl, old Tibbie's daughter, has come home again. When Briggs came over from Inverlyon last night, there was some one else in the stage-coach, all wrapped up, who sat and cried the whole way. She got out at Tibbie's cottage. This morning Briggs went over about some sewing, and there was the girl looking so thin and pale. Briggs says it was distressing to see her, she looked so weak and heart-broken. Perhaps you may remember that she was ailing and went away to some friend at a distance. Now she is home again. I fear she is not a good girl, at least not all her mother would wish her to be. But perhaps you could let her have some fine sewing, Briggs says any other kind of work would be too much for her.'

The boisterous unmannerliness of Captain John's remark had caused a sensation, but it was as nothing to the dismay which followed Miss Finlayson's perfectly quiet, evenly uttered, and perhaps charitably intended words. She seemed virtuously unconscious of all evil, but by some occult a.s.sociation of ideas, her statement fell into the minds of her auditors as corroborative and supplementary to what had been meant but as a little verbal horse play by the Captain.

Lady Caroline looked deeply shocked, Kenneth flushed scarlet with indignation, and as his glance met John's, the latter returned it with a twinkle of mingled amus.e.m.e.nt and admiration. He pa.s.sed his napkin across his mouth to hide an uncontrollable grin, and muttered to Kenneth his neighbour--'the scandalous jade!'

William the footman appeared to quiver as if struck. His eye dilated and his jaw fell. The dish he carried would have fallen, and there would have been a catastrophe, had not the butler trodden on his toe and recalled him with a reproving glance to that sublime impa.s.sibility which alone is worthy of a footman on duty.

The General alone remained tranquil. He was eating his dinner. He heard something pa.s.s between the ladies about one of the cottagers, but his thoughts were running on other things, whether, for instance, another clove of garlic, or perhaps an olive would not give a rounder fulness to the sauce on his plate.

There was little or no conversation afterwards. Every one seemed distraught, and following out a train of new and unpleasant ideas, except Miss Finlayson, who seemed securely content, a partic.i.p.ant with the General in his digestive tranquility. Perhaps she had fired her shot and it had sped home to its mark, or perhaps there was no mark and no intention when the winged words flew forth. We read that of old 'a certain man drew a bow at a venture.' The arrow sped, and entering the unguarded joint of a harness, it laid a warrior low. It may be that Julia's arrow was thus unwittingly shot, but Captain John did not think so.

CHAPTER VI.

_SOPHIA_.

Three weeks later, Mrs. Sangster entertained friends. Dinner at Auchlippie took place earlier than at Inchbracken--finished the afternoon rather than began the evening. At its conclusion the master withdrew, to make the round of his stables and cattle sheds, and see that the stock was fitly provided and bestowed for the night. His son, Mr. Peter Sangster of Manchester and his friend Mr. Wallowby, likewise of Manchester, and now in Scotland for a short vacation, also withdrew and lighting their cigars sauntered down the avenue. Only the Rev. Mr.

Dowlas was left within doors in company with Mrs. Sangster and her daughter. The latter sought her embroidery frame in a distant bay window, and soon became engrossed in counting the squares of her Berlin wool work.

The elder lady was left alone to converse with her ghostly friend, and the pair selecting the two easiest and roomiest chairs they could find, drew a long breath and settled themselves for along and confidential 'crack.' There was much to tell and to hear about the fortunes of the 'cause' throughout the several parishes of their presbytery, in which Mr. Dowlas was a guiding spirit; but at length they came round to the lady's own parish of Kilrundle, which she, as ruling lady of the ruling elder and chief adherent, considered as her own in a more especial sense than did any other of the paris.h.i.+oners.

'And I think,' she said, 'Mr. Dowlas, that we here in Kilrundle, have fought the good fight as well as any of you. They tell me there were not two dozen residuaries in Kilrundle Church on Sunday, though the Inchbracken family are far more particular about their servants attending ordinances now than they used to be. And Lady Caroline goes twice every Sunday herself. You know there was many and many a Sabbath day in the old time, that she never darkened the kirk door at all, but now she goes to countenance that sticket dominie that fills good old Doctor Brown's pulpit. Well! poor misguided woman, let us hope she may perhaps get some small enlightenment to her darkened mind! Though, I fear, the motive which draws her to the sanctuary, being only the support of high handed error and worldliness, is one not likely to bring a blessing. It seems _doubtful_ to me too if we have any right to consider the churches of the Establishment as sanctuaries at all.

Just hot-beds of soul-deadening Moderatism and Erastianism, where the word of G.o.d is only permitted, in so far as it can be made to square with Lord Aberdeen's Bill.'

'Well ma'am! they _do_ say that that sinful Act of Parliament is laid on the table of the residuary presbyteries side by side with the word of G.o.d! But I would fain hope that that is an exaggeration. I hear you are having very full meetings at the Muir Foot; times of refres.h.i.+ng, I hope, and sincere milk of the word.'

'We've much to be thankful for. On fine days when the heather's dry, far more turn out than ever I saw in Old Kilrundle Kirk in its best days; and even when it rains, you'd be surprised to see how many sit out the discourse under their plaids and umbrellas. I hope the hearts of the persecutors may be turned before long, however, and that we may get a stanse for a church, before the rough weather sets in. There's a very suitable stanse, just opposite Inchbracken Gates, and in full view of the Old Kirk. That would suit us finely and be a standing testimony against the backslidings in high places, and I want Mr.

Sangster to head a deputation and wait on the General, poor thoughtless worldling, and lay our case before him, simply but faithfully; but I cannot prevail on him to undertake the duty, for I think it is a duty. He says he cannot afford to quarrel with General Drysdale, who has always been a good neighbour, though I cannot say it myself. I have found Lady Caroline always very high with me. I fear, poor woman, she wants some grievous affliction to bring her to a due sense of her unworthiness, and that she'll get it. However, widow Forester has a small free-hold down Glen Effick, and the Deacons'

Court are considering about buying a corner fronting on the high road.

She wants a big price for it though, and they cannot get her to move from her terms. She says the bit of land is all she has in the world, and she must do the best she can with it.'