Part 52 (1/2)
”Hoots! for shame, Mistress Catanach!” he cried, ”Here's my leddy ahin' me, hearin' ilka word!”
”Deil stap her lugs wi' brunstane! What but a curse wad she hae frae me? I sweir by G.o.d i s' gar her pey for this, or my name's no --” She stopped suddenly.
”I thocht as muckle,” said Malcolm with a keen look.
”Ye'll think twise, ye deil's buckie, or ye think richt! Wha are ye to think? What sud my name be but Bawby Catanach? Ye're unco upsettin' sin' ye turned my leddy's flunky! Sorrow taik ye baith!
My dawt.i.t Beauty!--worriet by that h.e.l.l tyke o' hers!”
”Gien ye gang on like that, the markis 'll hae ye drummed oot o'
the toon or twa days be ower,” said Malcolm.
”Wull he than?” she returned with a confident sneer, showing all the teeth she had left. ”Ye'll be far hen wi' the markis, nae doobt!
An' yon donnert auld deevil ye ca' yer gran'father 'ill be fain eneuch to be drummer, I'll sweir. Care 's my case!”
”My leddy, she's ower ill tongued for you to hearken till,”
said Malcolm, turning to Florimel who stood in the door white and trembling. ”Jist gang doon, an' tell my gran'father to sen' the dog up. There's surely some gait o' garrin' her haud her tongue!”
Mrs Catanach threw a terrified glance towards Lady Florimel.
”Indeed I shall do nothing of the kind!” replied Florimel. ”For shame!”
”Hoots, my leddy!” returned Malcolm; ”I only said it to try the effec' o' 't. It seems no that ill.”
”Ye son o' a deevil's soo!” cried the woman; ”I s' hae amen's o'
ye for this, gien I sud ro'st my ain hert to get it.”
”'Deed, but ye re duin that fine a'ready! That foul brute o' yours has gotten his arles (earnest) tu. I wonner what he thinks o sawmon troot noo!--Eh, mem?”
”Have done, Malcolm,” said Florimel. ”I am ashamed of you. If the woman is not hurt, we have no business in her house.”
”Hear till her!” cried Mrs Catanach contemptuously. ”The woman!”
But Lady Florimel took no heed. She had already turned and was going down the stair. Malcolm followed in silence; nor did another word from Mrs Catanach overtake them.
Arrived in the street, Florimel restored his pipes to Duncan --who, letting the dog go, at once proceeded to fill the bag-- and, instead of continuing her way to the harbour, turned back, accompanied by Malcolm, Demon, and Lady Stronach's Strathspey.
”What a horrible woman that is!” she said with a shudder.
”Ay is she; but I doobt she wad be waur gien she didna brak oot that gait whiles,” rejoined Malcolm.
”How do you mean?”
”It frichts fowk at her, an' maybe sometimes pits 't oot o' her pooer to du waur. Gien ever she seek to mak it up wi' ye, my leddy, I wad hae little to say till her, gien I was you.”
”What could I have to say to a low creature like that?”
”Ye wadna ken what she micht be up till, or hoo she micht set aboot it, my leddy. I wad hae ye mistrust her a'thegither. My daddy has a fine moral nose for vermin, an' he canna bide her, though he never had a glimp o' the fause face o' her, an' in trowth never spak till her.”