Part 30 (1/2)
”I dinna think there's ane o' oor ain fowk wad dee ony mischeef, my lord,” answered Malcolm; ”but whan ye keep open yett, ye canna be sure wha wins in, specially wi' sic a gowk as Johnny Bykes at ane o' them. No 'at he wad wrang yer lords.h.i.+p a hair, my lord!”
”At all events you'll be on the alert,” said the marquis.
”I wull that, my Lord. There's twa or three aboot a'ready 'at I dinna a'thegither like the leuks o'. They're no like country fowk, an' they're no fisher fowk. It's no far aff the time o' year whan the gipsies are i' the w'y o' payin' 's a veesit, an' they may ha'
come in at the Binn yett (gate), whaur there's nane but an auld wife to haud them oot.”
”Well, well,” said the marquis, who had no fear about the behaviour of his guests, and had only wanted a colour for his request of Malcolm's presence. ”In the meantime,” he added, ”we are rather short handed here. Just give the butler a little a.s.sistance--will you?”
”Willin'ly, my lord,” answered Malcolm, forgetting altogether, in the prospect of being useful and within sight of Lady Florimel, that he had but half finished his own dinner. The butler, who had already had an opportunity of admiring his apt.i.tude, was glad enough to have his help; and after this day used to declare that in a single week he could make him a better servant than any of the men who waited at table. It was indeed remarkable how, with such a limited acquaintance with the many modes of an artificial life, he was yet, by quickness of sympathetic insight, capable not only of divining its requirements, but of distinguis.h.i.+ng, amid the mult.i.tude of appliances around, those fitted to their individual satisfaction.
It was desirable, however, that the sitting in the hall should not be prolonged, and after a few gla.s.ses of wine, the marquis rose, and went to make the round of the other tables. Taking them in order, he came last to those of the rustics, mechanics, and fisher folk.
These had advanced considerably in their potations, and the fun was loud. His appearance was greeted with shouts, into which Duncan struck with a paean from his pipes; but in the midst of the tumult, one of the oldest of the fishermen stood up, and in a voice accustomed to battle with windy uproars, called for silence. He then addressed their host.
”Ye'll jist mak 's prood by drinkin' a tum'ler wi' 's, yer lords.h.i.+p,”
he said. ”It's no ilka day we hae the honour o' yer lords.h.i.+p's company.”
”Or I of yours,” returned the marquis with hearty courtesy. ”I will do it with pleasure--or at least a gla.s.s: my head's not so well seasoned as some of yours.”
”Gien your lords.h.i.+p's hed hed as mony blasts o' nicht win', an' as mony jaups o' cauld sea watter aboot its lugs as oors, it wad hae been fit to stan' as muckle o' the barley bree as the stievest o'
the lot, I s' warran'.”
”I hope so,” returned Lord Lossie, who, having taken a seat at the end of the table, was now mixing a tumbler of toddy. As soon as he had filled his gla.s.s, he rose, and drank to the fishermen of Portlossie, their wives and their sweethearts, wis.h.i.+ng them a mighty conquest of herring, and plenty of children to keep up the breed and the war on the fish. His speech was received with hearty cheers, during which he sauntered away to rejoin his friends.
Many toasts followed, one of which, ”d.a.m.nation to the dogfish,”
gave opportunity to a wag, seated near the piper, to play upon the old man's well known foible by adding, ”an' Cawmill o' Glenlyon;”
whereupon Duncan, who had by this time taken more whisky than was good for him, rose, and made a rambling speech, in which he returned thanks for the imprecation, adding thereto the hope that never might one of the brood accursed go down with honour to the grave.
The fishermen listened with respectful silence, indulging only in nods, winks, and smiles for the interchange of amus.e.m.e.nt, until the utterance of the wish recorded, when, apparently carried away for a moment by his eloquence, they broke into loud applause. But, from the midst of it, a low gurgling laugh close by him reached Duncan's ear: excited though he was with strong drink and approbation, he s.h.i.+vered, sunk into his seat, and clutched at his pipes convulsively, as if they had been a weapon of defence.
”Malcolm! Malcolm, my son,” he muttered feebly, ”tere is a voman will pe laughing! She is a paad voman: she makes me cold!”
Finding from the no response that Malcolm had left his side, he sat motionless, drawn into himself, and struggling to suppress the curdling s.h.i.+ver. Some of the women gathered about him, but he a.s.sured them it was nothing more than a pa.s.sing sickness.
Malcolm's attention had, a few minutes before, been drawn to two men of somewhat peculiar appearance, who, applauding louder than any, only pretended to drink, and occasionally interchanged glances of intelligence. It was one of these peculiar looks that first attracted his notice. He soon discovered that they had a comrade on the other side of the table, who apparently, like themselves, had little or no acquaintance with any one near him. He did not like either their countenances or their behaviour, and resolved to watch them. In order therefore to be able to follow them when they moved, as he felt certain they would before long, without attracting their attention, he left the table and making a circuit took up his position behind a neighbouring tree. Hence it came that he was not, at the moment of his need, by his grandfather's side, whither he had returned as soon as dinner was over in the hall.
Meantime it became necessary to check the drinking by the counter attraction of the dance. Mr Crathie gave orders that a chair should be mounted on a table for Duncan; and the young hinds and fishermen were soon dancing zealously with the girls of their company to his strathspeys and reels. The other divisions of the marquis's guests made merry to the sound of a small bra.s.s band, a harp, and two violins.
When the rest forsook the toddy for the reel, the objects of Malcolm's suspicion remained at the table, not to drink, but to draw nearer to each other and confer. At length, when the dancers began to return in quest of liquor, they rose and went away loiteringly through the trees. As the twilight was now deepening, Malcolm found it difficult to keep them in sight, but for the same reason he was able the more quickly to glide after them from tree to tree. It was almost moonrise, he said to himself, and if they meditated mischief, now was their best time.
Presently he heard the sound of running feet, and in a moment more spied the unmistakeable form of the mad laird, darting through the thickening dusk of the trees, with gestures of wild horror. As he pa.s.sed the spot where Malcolm stood, he cried out in a voice like a suppressed shriek,--”It's my mither! It's my mither! I dinna ken whaur I come frae.”
His sudden appearance and outcry so startled Malcolm that for a moment he forgot his watch, and when he looked again the men had vanished. Not having any clue to their intent, and knowing only that on such a night the house was nearly defenceless, he turned at once and made for it. As he approached the front, coming over the bridge, he fancied he saw a figure disappear through the entrance, and quickened his pace. Just as he reached it, he heard a door bang, and supposing it to be that which shut off the second hall, whence rose the princ.i.p.al staircase, he followed this vaguest of hints, and bounded to the top of the stair. Entering the first pa.s.sage he came to, he found it almost dark, with a half open door at the end, through which shone a gleam from some window beyond: this light was plainly shut off for a moment, as if by some one pa.s.sing the window. He hurried after noiselessly, for the floor was thickly carpeted--and came to the foot of a winding stone stair.
Afraid beyond all things of doing nothing, and driven by the formless conviction that if he stopped to deliberate he certainly should do nothing, he shot up the dark screw like an ascending bubble, pa.s.sed the landing of the second floor without observing it, and arrived in the attic regions of the ancient pile, under low, irregular ceilings, here ascending in cones, there coming down in abrupt triangles, or sloping away to a hidden meeting with the floor in distant corners. His only light was the cold blue glimmer from here and there a storm window or a skylight. As the conviction of failure grew on him, the ghostly feeling of the place began to invade him. All was vague, forsaken, and hopeless, as a dreary dream, with the superadded miserable sense of lonely sleepwalking.
I suspect that the feeling we call ghostly is but the sense of abandonment in the lack of companion life; but be this as it may, Malcolm was glad enough to catch sight of a gleam as from a candle, at the end of a long, low pa.s.sage on which he had come after mazy wandering. Another similar pa.s.sage crossed its end, somewhere in which must be the source of the light: he crept towards it, and laying himself flat on the floor, peeped round the corner. His very heart stopped to listen: seven or eight yards from him, with a small lantern in her hand, stood a short female figure, which, the light falling for a moment on her soft evil countenance, he recognised as Mrs Catanach. Beside her stood a tall graceful figure, draped in black from head to foot. Mrs Catanach was speaking in a low tone, and what Malcolm was able to catch was evidently the close of a conversation.
”I'll do my best, ye may be sure, my leddy,” she said. ”There's something no canny aboot the cratur, an' doobtless ye was an ill used wuman, an' ye're i' the richt. But it's a some fearsome ventur, an' may be luikit intill, ye ken. There I s' be yer scoug. Lippen to me, an' ye s' no repent it.”