CHAPTER XXIV: THE FEAST
To the entertainment which the marquis and Lady Florimel had
resolved to give, all classes and conditions in the neighbourhood
now began to receive invitations--shopkeepers, there called
merchants, and all socially above them, individually, by notes, in
the name of the marquis and Lady Florimel, but in the handwriting
of Mrs Crathie and her daughters; and the rest generally, by the
sound of bagpipes, and proclamation from the lips of Duncan MacPhail.
To the satisfaction of Johnny Bykes the exclusion of improper
persons was left in the hands of the gatekeepers.
The thing had originated with the factor. The old popularity of
the lords of the land had vanished utterly during the life of the
marquis's brother, and Mr Crathie, being wise in his generation,
sought to initiate a revival of it by hinting the propriety of some
general hospitality, a suggestion which the marquis was anything but
loath to follow. For the present Lord Lossie, although as unready
as most men to part with anything he cared for, could yet cast
away magnificently, and had always greatly prized a reputation for
liberality.
For the sake of the fishermen, the first Saturday after the
commencement of the home fishing was appointed. The few serious
ones, mostly Methodists, objected on the ground of the proximity
of the Sunday; but their attitude was, if possible, of still less
consequence in the eyes of their neighbours that it was well known
they would in no case have accepted such an invitation.
The day dawned propitious. As early as five o'clock Mr Crathie was
abroad, booted and spurred--now directing the workmen who were
setting up tents and tables; now conferring with house steward,
butler, or cook; now mounting his horse and galloping off to the
home farm or the distillery, or into the town to the Lossie Arms,
where certain guests from a distance were to be accommodated, and
whose landlady had undertaken the superintendence of certain of the
victualling departments; for canny Mr Crathie would not willingly
have the meanest guest ask twice for anything he wanted--so
invaluable did he consider a good word from the humblest quarter
--and the best labours of the French cook, even had he reverenced
instead of despising Scotch dishes, would have ill sufficed for the
satisfaction of appetites critically appreciative of hotch potch,
sheep's head, haggis, and black puddings.
The neighbouring nobility and landed gentlemen, the professional
guests also, including the clergy, were to eat with the marquis
in the great hall. On the grass near the house, tents were erected
for the burgesses of the burgh, and the tenants of the marquis's
farms. I would have said on the lawn, but there was no lawn proper
about the place, the ground was so picturesquely broken--in
parts with all but precipices--and so crowded with trees. Hence
its aspect was specially unlike that of an English park and grounds.
The whole was Celtic, as distinguished in character from Saxon.
For the lake-like lawn, for the wide sweeps of airy room in which
expand the mighty boughs of solitary trees, for the filmy gray blue
distances, and the far off segments of horizon, here were the tree
crowded grass, the close windings of the long glen of the burn,
heavily overshadowed, and full of mystery and covert, but leading
at last to the widest vantage of outlook--the wild heathery hill
down which it drew its sharp furrow; while, in front of the house,
beyond hidden river, and plane of treetops, and far sunk shore with
its dune and its bored crag and its tortuous caves, lay the great
sea, a pouting under lip, met by the thin, reposeful--shall I
say sorrowful?--upper lip of the sky.
A bridge of stately span, level with the sweep in front, honourable
embodiment of the savings of a certain notable countess, one end
resting on the same rock with the house, their foundations almost
in contact, led across the burn to more and more trees, their
roots swathed in the finest grass, through which ran broad carriage
drives and narrower footways, hard and smooth with yellow gravel.
Here amongst the trees were set long tables for the fishermen,
mechanics, and farm labourers. Here also was the place appointed
for the piper.
As the hour drew near, the guests came trooping in at every entrance.
By the sea gate came the fisher folk, many of the men in the blue
jersey, the women mostly in short print gowns, of large patterns
--the married with huge, wide filled caps, and the unmarried with
their hair gathered in silken nets:--bonnets there were very
few. Each group that entered had a joke or a jibe for Johnny Bykes,
which he met in varying, but always surly fashion--in that of
utter silence in the case of Duncan and Malcolm, at which the former
was indignant, the latter merry. By the town gate came the people
of Portlossie. By the new main entrance from the high road beyond
the town, through lofty Greekish gates, came the lords and lairds,
in yellow coaches, gigs, and post chaises. By another gate, far up
the glen, came most of the country folk, some walking, some riding,
some driving, all merry, and with the best intentions of enjoying
themselves. As the common people approached the house, they were
directed to their different tables by the sexton, for he knew
everybody.
The marquis was early on the ground, going about amongst his guests,
and showing a friendly offhand courtesy which prejudiced every one
in his favour. Lady Florimel soon joined him, and a certain frank
way she inherited from her father, joined to the great beauty her
mother had given her, straightway won all hearts. She spoke to
Duncan with cordiality; the moment he heard her voice, he pulled
off his bonnet, put it under his arm, and responded with what I can
find no better phrase to describe than a profuse dignity. Malcolm
she favoured with a smile which swelled his heart with pride
and devotion. The bold faced countess next appeared; she took the
marquis's other arm, and nodded to his guests condescendingly and
often, but seemed, after every nod, to throw her head farther back
than before. Then to haunt the goings of Lady Florimel came Lord
Meikleham, receiving little encouragement, but eager after such
crumbs as he could gather. Suddenly the great bell under the highest
of the gilded vanes rang a loud peal, and the marquis having led
his chief guests to the hall, as soon as he was seated, the tables
began to be served simultaneously.
At that where Malcolm sat with Duncan, grace was grievously foiled
by the latter, for, unaware of what was going on, he burst out,
at the request of a waggish neighbour, with a tremendous blast, of
which the company took advantage to commence operations at once,
and presently the clatter of knives and forks and spoons was the
sole sound to be heard in that division of the feast: across the
valley, from the neighbourhood of the house, came now and then a
faint peal of laughter, for there they knew how to be merry while
they ate; but here, the human element was in abeyance, for people
who work hard, seldom talk while they eat. From the end of an
overhanging bough a squirrel looked at them for one brief moment,
wondering perhaps that they should not prefer cracking a nut
in private, and vanished--but the birds kept singing, and the
scents of the flowers came floating up from the garden below, and
the burn went on with its own noises and its own silences, drifting
the froth of its last passion down towards the doors of the world.
In the hall, ancient jokes soon began to flutter their moulted
wings, and musty compliments to offer themselves for the acceptance
of the ladies, and meet with a reception varied by temperament
and experience: what the bold faced countess heard with a hybrid
contortion, half sneer and half smile, would have made Lady Florimel
stare out of big refusing eyes.
Those more immediately around the marquis were soon laughing over
the story of the trick he had played the blind piper, and the
apology he had had to make in consequence; and perhaps something
better than mere curiosity had to do with the wish of several of
the guests to see the old man and his grandson. The marquis said
the piper himself would take care they should not miss him, but he
would send for the young fellow, who was equally fitted to amuse
them, being quite as much of a character in his way as the other.
He spoke to the man behind his chair, and in a few minutes Malcolm
made his appearance, following the messenger.
"Malcolm," said the marquis kindly, "I want you to keep your eyes
open, and see that no mischief is done about the place."
"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 lordship 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 assistance--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 aptitude, 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 distinguishing, amid the
multitude 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 glasses 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 lordship,"
he said. "It's no ilka day we hae the honour o' yer lordship's
company."
"Or I of yours," returned the marquis with hearty courtesy. "I will
do it with pleasure--or at least a glass: my head's not so well
seasoned as some of yours."
"Gien your lordship'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 glass, he rose, and drank to the fishermen
of Portlossie, their wives and their sweethearts, wishing 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, "Damnation 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 amusement, 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
shivered, 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 shiver. Some of the women gathered about him, but he
assured them it was nothing more than a passing 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 brass 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
passed 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 principal staircase, he followed this vaguest
of hints, and bounded to the top of the stair. Entering the first
passage 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
passing 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, passed 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 passage on which he had come after mazy
wandering. Another similar passage 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."
As she ended speaking, she turned to the door, and drew from it a
key, evidently after a foiled attempt to unlock it therewith; for
from a bunch she carried she now made choice of another, and was
already fumbling with it in the keyhole, when Malcolm bethought
himself that, whatever her further intent, he ought not to allow
her to succeed in opening the door. He therefore rose slowly to
his feet, and stepping softly out into the passage, sent his round
blue bonnet spinning with such a certain aim, that it flew right
against her head. She gave a cry of terror, smothered by the sense
of evil secrecy, and dropped her lantern. It went out. Malcolm
pattered with his hands on the floor, and began to howl frightfully.
Her companion had already fled, and Mrs Catanach picked up her
lantern and followed. But her flight was soft footed, and gave sign
only in the sound of her garments, and a clank or two of her keys.
Gifted with a good sense of relative position, Malcolm was able to
find his way back to the hall without much difficulty, and met no
one on the way. When he stepped into the open air a round moon was
visible through the trees, and their shadows were lying across the
sward. The merriment had grown louder; for a good deal of whisky
having been drunk by men of all classes, hilarity had ousted
restraint, and the separation of classes having broken a little,
there were many stragglers from the higher to the lower divisions,
whence the area of the more boisterous fun had considerably widened.
Most of the ladies and gentlemen were dancing in the chequer of
the trees and moonlight, but, a little removed from the rest, Lady
Florimel was seated under a tree, with Lord Meikleham by her side,
probably her partner in the last dance. She was looking at the
moon, which shone upon her from between two low branches, and there
was a sparkle in her eyes and a luminousness upon her cheek which
to Malcolm did not seem to come from the moon only. He passed on,
with the first pang of jealousy in his heart, feeling now for the
first time that the space between Lady Florimel and himself was
indeed a gulf. But he cast the whole thing from him for the time
with an inward scorn of his foolishness, and hurried on from group
to group, to find the marquis.
Meeting with no trace of him, and thinking he might be in the flower
garden, which a few rays of the moon now reached, he descended
thither. But he searched it through with no better success, and at
the farthest end was on the point of turning to leave it and look
elsewhere, when he heard a moan of stifled agony on the other
side of a high wall which here bounded the garden. Climbing up an
espalier, he soon reached the top, and looking down on the other
side, to his horror and rage espied the mad laird on the ground,
and the very men of whom he had been in pursuit, standing over him
and brutally tormenting him, apparently in order to make him get
up and go along with them. One was kicking him, another pulling
his head this way and that by the hair, and the third punching and
poking his hump, which last cruelty had probably drawn from him
the cry Malcolm had heard.
Three might be too many for him: he descended swiftly, found some
stones, and a stake from a bed of sweet peas, then climbing up
again, took such effectual aim at one of the villains that he fell
without uttering a sound. Dropping at once from the wall, he rushed
at the two with stick upheaved.
"Dinna be in sic a rage, man," cried the first, avoiding his blow;
"we're aboot naething ayont the lawfu'. It's only the mad laird.
We're takin' 'im to the asylum at Ebberdeen. By the order o' 's
ain mither!"
At the word a choking scream came from the prostrate victim. Malcolm
uttered a huge imprecation, and struck at the fellow again, who
now met him in a way that showed it was noise more than wounds he
had dreaded. Instantly the other came up, and also fell upon him
with vigour. But his stick was too much for them, and at length
one of them, crying out--"It's the blin' piper's bastard--I'll
mark him yet!" took to his heels, and was followed by his companion.
More eager after rescue than punishment, Malcolm turned to the help
of the laird, whom he found in utmost need of his ministrations--
gagged, and with his hands tied mercilessly tight behind his back.
His knife quickly released him, but the poor fellow was scarcely
less helpless than before. He clung to Malcolm, and moaned piteously,
every moment glancing over his shoulder in terror of pursuit. His
mouth hung open as if the gag were still tormenting him; now and
then he would begin his usual lament and manage to say "I dinna
ken;" but when he attempted the whaur, his jaw fell and hung as
before. Malcolm sought to lead him away, but he held back, moaning
dreadfully; then Malcolm would have him sit down where they were,
but he caught his hand and pulled him away, stopping instantly,
however, as if not knowing whither to turn from the fears on every
side. At length the prostrate enemy began to move, when the laird,
who had been unaware of his presence, gave a shriek, and took to his
heels. Anxious not to lose sight of him, Malcolm left the wounded
man to take care of himself; and followed him up the steep side of
the little valley.
They had not gone many steps from the top of the ascent, however,
before the fugitive threw himself on the ground exhausted, and it
was all Malcolm could do to get him to the town, where, unable to
go a pace further, he sank down on Mrs Catanach's doorstep. A light
was burning in the cottage, but Malcolm would seek shelter for him
anywhere rather than with her, and, in terror of her quick ears,
caught him up in his arms like a child, and hurried away with him
to Miss Horn s.
"Eh sirs!" exclaimed Miss Horn, when she opened the door--for
Jean was among the merrymakers--"wha 's this 'at 's killt noo?"
"It's the laird--Mr Stewart," returned Malcolm. "He's no freely
killt, but nigh han'."
"Na! weel I wat! Come in an' set him doon till we see," said Miss
Horn, turning and leading the way up to her little parlour.
There Malcolm laid his burden on the sofa, and gave a brief account
of the rescue.
"Lord preserve 's, Ma'colm!" cried Miss Horn, as soon as he had
ended his tale, to which she had listened in silence, with fierce
eyes and threatening nose; "isna 't a mercy I wasna made like some
fowk, or I couldna ha' bidden to see the puir fallow misguidet that
gait! It's a special mercy, Ma'colm MacPhail, to be made wantin'
ony sic thing as feelin's."
She was leaving the room as she spoke--to return instantly with
brandy. The laird swallowed some with an effort, and began to
revive.
"Eh, sirs!" exclaimed Miss Horn, regarding him now more narrowly
--"but he's in an awfu' state o' dirt! I maun wash his face an'
han's, an' pit him till 's bed. Could ye help aff wi' 's claes,
Ma'colm? Though I haena ony feelin's, I 'm jist some eerie-like at
the puir body's back."
The last words were uttered in what she judged a safe aside.
As if she had been his mother, she washed his face and hands, and
dried them tenderly, the laird submitting like a child. He spoke
but one word--when she took him by the hand to lead him to the
room where her cousin used to sleep: "Father o' lichts!" he said,
and no more. Malcolm put him to bed, where he lay perfectly still,
whether awake or asleep they could not tell.
He then set out to go back to Lossie House, promising to return
after he had taken his grandfather home, and seen him also safe in
bed.
