Black William
White Heather: A Novel (Volume 1 of 3)
'Yes, I did,' was the answer, 'and he did not tear them down this time, for I told him you showed me how to hang them; but he has tied them back so that they might just as well not be there at all. Come and see, Meenie dear.'
She led the way into her brother's room; and there, sure enough, the window-curtains (which were wholly unnecessary, by the way, except from the feminine point of view, for there was certainly not too much light coming in by the solitary window) had been tightly looped and tied back, so that the view down the loch should be unimpeded.
'No matter,' said Meenie; 'the window is not so bare-looking as it used to be. And I suppose he will let them remain up now.'
'Oh yes, when he was told that you had something to do with them,' was the simple answer.
Meenie went to the wooden mantelpiece, and put the few things there straight, just as she would have done in her own room, blowing the light white peat-dust off them, and arranging them in neater order.
'I wonder, now,' she said, 'he does not get frames for these photographs; they will be spoiled by finger marks and the dust.'
Maggie said shyly —
'That was what he said to me the other day – but not about these – about the one you gave me of yourself. He asked to see it, and I showed him how careful I was in wrapping it up; but he said no – the first packman that came through I was to get a frame if he had one, and glass too; or else that he would send it in to Inverness to be framed. But you know, Meenie, it's not near so nice-looking – or anything, anything like so nice-looking – as you are.'
'Nothing could be that, I am sure,' said Meenie lightly; and she was casting her eyes about the room, to see what further improvements she could suggest.
But Maggie had grown suddenly silent, and was standing at the little writing-table, apparently transfixed with astonishment. It will be remembered that when Ronald, in the morning, heard that the Doctor was at the door of the inn, he had hurriedly hastened away to intercept him; and that, subsequently, in order to save time, he had sent back a lad for his gun and cartridges, while he went on to the farm. Now it was this last arrangement that caused him to overlook the fact that he had left his writing materials – the blotting-pad and everything – lying exposed on the table; a piece of neglect of which he had scarcely ever before been guilty. And as ill-luck would have it, as Maggie was idly wandering round the room, waiting for Meenie to make any further suggestions for the smartening of it, what must she see lying before her, among these papers, but a letter, boldly and conspicuously addressed?
'Well!' she exclaimed, as she took it up. 'Meenie, here is a letter for you! why didna he send it along to you?'
'A letter for me?' Meenie said, with a little surprise. 'No! why should Ronald write a letter to me? – I see him about every day.'
'But look!'
Meenie took the letter in her hand; and regarded the address; and laughed.
'It is very formal,' said she. 'There is no mistake about it. "Miss Wilhelmina Stuart Douglas" – when was I ever called that before? And "Inver-Mudal, Sutherlandshire, N.B." He should have added Europe, as if he was sending it from the moon. Well, it is clearly meant for me, any way – oh, and open too – '
The next minute all the careless amusement fled from her face; her cheeks grew very white, and a frightened, startled look sprang to her eyes. She but caught the first few lines —
'O wilt thou be my dear love?
(Meenie and Meenie)
O wilt thou be my ain love?
(My sweet Meenie)?
and then it was with a kind of shiver that her glance ran over the rest of it; and her heart was beating so that she could not speak; and there was a mist before her eyes.
'Maggie,' she managed to say at length – and she hurriedly folded up the paper again and placed it on the table with the others – 'I should not have read it – it was not meant for me – it was not meant that I should read it – come away, come away, Maggie.'
She took the younger girl out of the room, and herself shut the door, firmly, although her fingers were all trembling.
'Maggie,' she said, 'you must promise never to tell any one that you gave me that letter – that I saw it – '
'But what is the matter, Meenie?' the smaller girl said in bewilderment, for she could see by the strange half-frightened look of Miss Douglas's face that something serious had happened.
'Well, it is nothing – it is nothing,' she forced herself to say. 'It will be all right. I shouldn't have read the letter – it was not meant for me to see – but if you say nothing about it, no harm will be done. That's all; that's all. And now I am going to see if the children are ready that are to go by the mail-car.'
'But I will go with you, Meenie.'
Then the girl seemed to recollect herself; and she glanced round at the interior of the cottage, and at the little girl, with an unusual kind of look.
'No, no, not this morning, Maggie,' she said. 'You have plenty to do. Good-bye – good-bye!' and she stooped and kissed her, and patted her on the shoulder, and left, seeming anxious to get away and be by herself.
Maggie remained there in considerable astonishment. What had happened? Why should she not go to help with the children? and why good-bye – when Meenie would be coming along the road in less than an hour, as soon as the mail-car had left? And all about the reading of something contained in that folded sheet of paper. However, the little girl wisely resolved that, whatever was in that letter, she would not seek to know it, nor would she speak of it to any one, since Meenie seemed so anxious on that point; and so she set about her domestic duties again – looking forward to the end of these and the resumption of her knitting of her brother's jersey.
Well, the winter's day went by, and they had done good work on the hill. As the dusk of the afternoon began to creep over the heavens, they set out for the lower slopes on their way home; and very heavily weighted the lads were with the white creatures slung over their backs on sticks. But the dusk was not the worst part of this descent; the wind was now driving over heavy clouds from the north; and again and again they would be completely enveloped, and unable to see anywhere more than a yard from their feet. In these circumstances Ronald took the lead; the Doctor coming next, and following, indeed, more by sound than by sight; the lads bringing up in the wake in solitary file, with their heavy loads thumping on their backs. It was a ghostly kind of procession; though now and again the close veil around them would be rent in twain, and they would have a glimpse of something afar off – perhaps a spur of Ben Loyal, or the dark waters of Loch Meidie studded with its small islands. Long before they had reached Inver-Mudal black night had fallen; but now they were on easier ground; and at last the firm footing of the road echoed to their measured tramp, as the invisible company marched on and down to the warmth and welcome lights of the inn.
The Doctor, feeling himself something of a truant, went on direct to his cottage; but the others entered the inn; and as Ronald forthwith presented Mrs. Murray with half a dozen of the hares, the landlord was right willing to call for ale for the beaters, who had had a hard day's work. Nor was Ronald in a hurry to get home; for he heard that Maggie was awaiting him in the kitchen; and so he and Mr. Murray had a pipe and a chat together, as was their custom. Then he sent for his sister.
'Well, Maggie, lass,' said he, as they set out through the dark, 'did you see all the bairns safely off this morning?'
'No, Ronald,' she said, 'Meenie did not seem to want me; so I stayed at home.'
'And did you find Harry sufficient company for ye? But I suppose Miss Douglas came and stayed with ye for a while.'
'No, Ronald,' said the little girl, in a tone of some surprise; 'she has not been near the house the whole day, since the few minutes in the morning.'
'Oh,' said he, lightly, 'she may have been busy, now her father is come home. And ye maun try and get on wi' your lessons as well as ye can, lass, without bothering Miss Douglas too much; she canna always spend so much time with ye.'
The little girl was silent. She was thinking of that strange occurrence in the morning of which she was not to speak; and in a vague kind of way she could not but associate that with Meenie's absence all that day, and also with the unusual tone of her 'good-bye.' But yet, if there were any trouble, it would speedily pass away. Ronald would put everything right. Nobody could withstand him – that was the first and last article of her creed. And so, when they got home, she proceeded cheerfully enough to stir up the peats, and to cook their joint supper in a manner really skilful for one of her years; and she laid the cloth; and put the candles on the table; and had the tea and everything ready. Then they sate down; and Ronald was in very good spirits, and talked to her, and tried to amuse her. But the little Maggie rather wistfully looked back to the brilliant evening before, when Meenie was with them; and perhaps wondered whether there would ever again be a supper-party as joyful and friendly and happy as they three had been when they were all by themselves in the big gaily-lit barn.
CHAPTER XII
'WHEN SHADOWS FALL.'
The deershed adjoining the kennels was a gloomy place, with its bare walls, its lack of light, and its ominous-looking crossbeams, ropes, and pulley for hanging up the slain deer; and the morning was dark and lowering, with a bitter wind howling along the glen, and sometimes bringing with it a sharp smurr of sleet from the northern hills. But these things did not seem to affect Ronald's spirits much as he stood there, in his shirt-sleeves, and bare-headed, sorting out the hares that were lying on the floor, and determining to whom and to whom such and such a brace or couple of brace should be sent. Four of the plumpest he had already selected for Mrs. Douglas (in the vague hope that the useful present might make her a little more placable), and he was going on with his choosing and setting aside – sometimes lighting a pipe – sometimes singing carelessly —
'O we aft hae met at e'en, bonnie Peggie, O,
On the banks o' Cart sae green, bonnie Peggie, O,
Where the waters smoothly rin,
Far aneath the roarin' linn,
Far frae busy strife and din, bonnie Peggie, O' —
when the little Maggie came stealing in.
'Ronald,' she said, with an air of reproach, 'why are ye going about on such a morning without your jacket, and bare-headed, too?'
'Toots, toots, lassie, it's a fine morning,' said he indifferently.
'It was Meenie said I was not to let you do such foolish things,' the little lass ventured to say diffidently.
Of course this put a new aspect on the case, but he would not admit as much directly.
'Oh, well,' said he, 'if you bring me out my coat and bonnet I will put them on, for I'm going down to the Doctor's with two or three of the hares.'
And then she hesitated.
'Ronald,' said she, 'I will take them to Mrs. Douglas, if you like.'
'You?' said he.
'For I would give them to her with a nice message from you; and – and – if you take them, you will say nothing at all; and where is the compliment?'
He laughed.
'Ye're a wise little lass; but four big hares are heavy to carry – with the wind against ye; so run away and get me my coat and my Glengarry; and I will take them along myself, compliment or no compliment.'
However, as it turned out, Mrs. Douglas was not the first of the family he was fated to meet that morning. He had scarcely left the deershed when he perceived Meenie coming along the road; and this was an auspicious and kindly event; for somehow the day seemed to go by more smoothly and evenly and contentedly when he had chanced to meet Meenie in the morning, and have a few minutes' chat with her about affairs in general, and an assurance that all was going well with her. So he went forward to meet her with a light heart; and he thought she would be pleased that he was taking the hares to her mother; and perhaps, too, he considered that they might be a little more frank in their friendship after the exceeding good fellowship of the night of the children's party.
He went forward unsuspectingly.
'Good morning, Miss Douglas!' said he, slackening in his pace, for naturally they always stopped for a few seconds or minutes when they met thus.
But to his astonishment Miss Douglas did not seem inclined to stay. Her eyes were bent on the ground as she came along; she but timidly half lifted them as she reached him; and 'Good morning, Ronald!' she said, and would have passed on. And then it seemed as if, in her great embarrassment, she did not know what to do. She stopped; her face was suffused with red; and she said hurriedly – and yet with an effort to appear unconcerned —
'I suppose Maggie is at home?'
'Oh yes,' said he, and her manner was so changed that he also scarce knew what to say or to think.
And again she was going on, and again she lingered – with a sudden fear that she might be thought ungracious or unkind.
'The children all got away safely yesterday morning,' said she – but her eyes never met his; and there was still tell-tale colour in her cheeks.
'So I heard,' he answered.
'I am sure they must have enjoyed the evening,' she said, as if forcing herself to speak.
And then it suddenly occurred to him – for this encounter had been all too brief and bewildering for any proper understanding of it – that perhaps her mother had been reproving her for being too friendly with the people about the inn and with himself, and that he was only causing her embarrassment by detaining her, and so he said —
'Oh yes, I'm sure o' that. Well, good morning, Miss Douglas; I'm going along to give your mother these two or three hares.'
'Good morning,' said she – still without looking at him – and then she went.
And he, too, went on his way; but only for a brief space; presently he sate down on the low stone dyke by the roadside, and dropped the hares on the ground at his feet. What could it all mean? She seemed anxious to limit their acquaintanceship to the merest formalities; and yet to be in a manner sorry for having to do so. Had he unwittingly given her some cause of offence? He began to recall the minutest occurrences of the night of the children's party – wondering if something had then happened to account for so marked a change? But he could think of nothing. The supper-party of three was of her own suggestion; she could not be angry on that account. Perhaps he ought to have asked this person or that person over from the inn to join them, for the sake of propriety? Well, he did not know much about such matters; it seemed to him that they were very happy as they were; and that it was nobody else's business. But would she quarrel with him on that account? Or on account of his smoking in her presence? Again and again he wished that his pipe had been buried at the bottom of the loch; and indeed his smoking of it that evening had given him no enjoyment whatever, except in so far as it seemed to please her; but surely, in any case, that was a trifle? Meenie would not suddenly become cold and distant (in however reluctant a way) for a small matter like that? Nor could she be angry with him for taking her father away for a day on the hill; she was always glad when the Doctor got a day's shooting from anybody. No; the only possible conclusion he could come to was that Mrs. Douglas had more strongly than ever disapproved of Meenie's forming friendships among people not of her own station in life; and that some definite instructions had been given, which the girl was anxious to obey. And if that were so, ought he to make it any the more difficult for her? He would be as reserved and distant as she pleased. He knew that she was a very kindly and sensitive creature; and might dread giving pain; and herself suffer a good deal more than those from whom she was in a measure called upon to separate herself. That was a reason why it should be made easy for her; and he would ask Maggie to get on with her lessons by herself, as much as she could; and when he met Miss Douglas on the road, his greeting of her would be of the briefest – and yet with as much kindness as she chose to accept in a word or a look. And if he might not present her with the polecat's skin that was now just about dressed? – well, perhaps the American gentleman's daughter would take it, and have it made into something, when she came up in March.
The pretty, little, doll-like woman, with the cold eyes and the haughty stare, was at the front-door of the cottage, scattering food to the fowls.
'I have brought ye two or three hares, Mrs. Douglas, if they're of any use to ye,' Ronald said modestly.
'Thank you,' said she, with lofty courtesy, 'thank you; I am much obliged. Will you step in and sit down for a few minutes? – I am sure a little spirits will do you no harm on such a cold morning.'
In ordinary circumstances he would have declined that invitation; for he had no great love of this domineering little woman, and much preferred the society of her big, good-natured husband; but he was curious about Meenie, and even inclined to be resentful, if it appeared that she had been dealt with too harshly. So he followed Mrs. Douglas into the dignified little parlour – which was more like a museum of cheap curiosities than a room meant for actual human use; and forthwith she set on the crimson-dyed table-cover a glass, a tumbler, a jug of water, and a violet-coloured bulbous glass bottle with an electro-plated stopper. Ronald was bidden to help himself; and also, out of her munificence, she put before him a little basket of sweet biscuits.
'I hear the Doctor is away again,' Ronald said – and a hundred times would he rather not have touched the violet bottle at all, knowing that her clear, cold, blue eyes were calmly regarding his every movement.
'Yes,' she said, 'to Tongue. There is a consultation there. I am sure he has had very little peace and quiet lately.'
'I am glad he had a holiday yesterday,' Ronald said, with an endeavour to be agreeable.
But she answered severely —
'It might have been better if he had spent the first day of his getting back with his own family. But that has always been his way; everything sacrificed to the whim of the moment – to his own likings and dislikings.'
'He enjoys a day's sport as much as any man I ever saw,' said he – not knowing very well what to talk about.
'Yes, I daresay,' she answered shortly.
Then she pushed the biscuits nearer him; and returned to her attitude of observation, with her small, neat, white hands crossed on her lap, the rings on the fingers being perhaps just a little displayed.
'Miss Douglas is looking very well at present.' he said, at a venture.
'Williamina is well enough – she generally is,' she said coldly. 'There is never much the matter with her health. She might attend to her studies a little more and do herself no harm. But she takes after her father.'
There was a little sigh of resignation.
'Some of us,' said he good-naturedly, 'were expecting her to come over on Monday night to see the dancing.'
But here he had struck solid rock. In a second – from her attitude and demeanour – he had guessed why it was that Meenie had not come over to the landlord's party: a matter about which he had not found courage to question Meenie herself.
'Williamina,' observed the little dame, with a magnificent dignity, 'has other things to think of – or ought to have, at her time of life, and in her position. I have had occasion frequently of late to remind her of what is demanded of her; she must conduct herself not as if she were for ever to be hidden away in a Highland village. It will be necessary for her to take her proper place in society, that she is entitled to from her birth and her relatives; and of course she must be prepared – of course she must be prepared. There are plenty who will be willing to receive her; it will be her own fault if she disappoints them – and us, too, her own parents. Williamina will never have to lead the life that I have had to lead, I hope; she belongs by birth to another sphere; and I hope she will make the most of her chances.'
'Miss Douglas would be made welcome anywhere, I am sure,' he ventured to say; but she regarded him with a superior look – as if it were not for him to pronounce an opinion on such a point.
'Soon,' she continued – and she was evidently bent on impressing him, 'she will be going to Glasgow to finish in music and German, and to get on with her Italian: you will see she has no time to lose in idle amusement. We would send her to Edinburgh or to London, but her sister being in Glasgow is a great inducement; and she will be well looked after. But, indeed, Williamina is not the kind of girl to go and marry a penniless student; she has too much common sense; and, besides, she has seen how it turns out. Once in a family is enough. No; we count on her making a good marriage, as the first step towards her taking the position to which she is entitled; and I am sure that Lady Stuart will take her in hand, and give her every chance. As for their taking her abroad with them – and Sir Alexander almost promised as much – what better could there be than that? – she would be able to show off her acquirements and accomplishments; she would be introduced to the distinguished people at the ministerial receptions and balls; she would have her chance, as I say. And with such a chance before her, surely it would be nothing less than wicked of her to fling away her time in idle follies. I want her to remember what lies before her; a cottage like this is all very well for-me – I have made my bed and must lie on it; but for her – who may even be adopted by Lady Stuart – who knows? for stranger things have happened – it would be downright madness to sink into content with her present way of life.'
'And when do you think that M – that Miss Douglas will be going away to Glasgow?' he asked – but absently, as it were, for he was thinking of Inver-Mudal, and Clebrig, and Loch Loyal, and Strath-Terry, and of Meenie being away from them all.
'That depends entirely on herself,' was the reply. 'As soon as she is sufficiently forward all round for the finishing lessons, her sister is ready to receive her.'
'It will be lonely for you with your daughter away,' said he.
'Parents have to make sacrifices,' she said. 'Yes, and children too. And better they should make them while they are young than all through the years after. I hope Williamina's will be no wasted life.'
He did not know what further to say; he was dismayed, perplexed, downhearted, or something: if this was a lesson she had meant to read him, it had struck home. So he rose and took his leave; and she thanked him again for the hares; and he went out, and found Harry awaiting him on the doorstep. Moreover, as he went down to the little gate, he perceived that Meenie was coming back – she had been but to the inn with a message; and, obeying some curious kind of instinct, he turned to the left – pretending not to have seen her coming; and soon he was over the bridge, and wandering away up the lonely glen whose silence is broken only by the whispering rush of Mudal Water.
He wandered on and on through the desolate moorland, on this wild and blustering day, paying but little heed to the piercing wind or the driven sleet that smote his eyelids. And he was not so very sorrowful; his common sense had told him all this before; Rose Meenie, Love Meenie, was very well in secret fancies and rhymes and verses; but beyond that she was nothing to him. And what would Clebrig do, and Mudal Water, and all the wide, bleak country that had been brought up in the love of her, and was saturated with the charm of her presence, and seemed for ever listening in deathlike silence for the light music of her voice? There were plenty of verses running through his head on this wild day too; the hills and the clouds and the January sky were full of speech; and they were all of them to be bereft of her as well as he: —
Mudal, that comes from the lonely loch,
Down through the moorland russet and brown,
Know you the news that we have for you? —
Meenie's away to Glasgow town.
See Ben Clebrig, his giant front
Hidden and dark with a sudden frown;
What is the light of the valley to him,
Since Meenie's away to Glasgow town?
Empty the valley, empty the world,
The sun may arise and the sun go down;
But what to do with the lonely hours,
Since Meenie's away to Glasgow town?
Call her back, Clebrig! Mudal, call.
Ere all of the young spring time be flown;
Birds, trees, and blossoms – you that she loved —
O summon her back from Glasgow town!
'Call her back, Clebrig! Mudal, call!' he repeated to himself as he marched along the moorland road; for what would they do without some one to guard, and some one to watch for, and some one to listen for, in the first awakening of the dawn? Glasgow – the great and grimy city – that would be a strange sort of guardian, in the young Spring days that were coming, for this fair Sutherland flower. And yet might not some appeal be made even there – some summons of attention, as it were?
O Glasgow town, how little you know
That Meenie has wandered in
To the very heart of your darkened streets,
Through all the bustle and din.
A Sutherland blossom shining fair
Amid all your dismal haze,
Forfeiting the breath of the summer hills,
And the blue of the northern days.
From Dixon's fire-wreaths to Rollox stalk,
Blow, south wind, and clear the sky,
Till she think of Ben Clebrig's sunny slopes,
Where the basking red-deer lie.
Blow, south wind, and show her a glimpse of blue
Through the pall of dusky brown;
And see that you guard her and tend her well,
You, fortunate Glasgow town!
But then – but then – that strange, impossible time – during which there would be no Meenie visible anywhere along the mountain roads; and Mudal Water would go by unheeded; and there would be no careless, clear-singing girl's voice along Loch Naver's shores – that strange time would surely come to an end, and he could look forward and see how the ending of it would be:
The clouds lay heavy on Clebrig's crest,
For days and weeks together;
The shepherds along Strath-Terry's side
Cursed at the rainy weather;
They scarce could get a favouring day
For the burning of the heather.
When sudden the clouds were rent in twain
And the hill laughed out to the sun;
And the hinds stole up, with wondering eyes,
To the far slopes yellow and dun;
And the birds were singing in every bush
As at spring anew begun,
O Clebrig, what is it that makes you glad,
And whither is gone your frown?
Are you looking afar into the south,
The long, wide strath adown?
And see you that Meenie is coming back —
Love Meenie, from Glasgow town!
He laughed. Not yet was Love Meenie taken away from them all. And if in the unknown future the Stuarts of Glengask and Orosay were to carry her off and make a great lady of her, and take her to see strange places, and perhaps marry her to some noble person, at least in the meantime Ben Clebrig and Ben Loyal and the wide straths between knew that they still held in the mighty hollow of their hand this sweet flower of Sutherlandshire, and that the world and the skies and the woods and lakes seemed fairer because of her presence. And as regarded himself, and his relations with her? Well, what must be must. Only he hoped – and there was surely no great vanity nor self-love nor jealousy in so modest a hope – that the change of her manner towards him was due to the counsels of her mother rather than to anything he had unwittingly said or done. Rose Meenie – Love Meenie – he had called her in verses; but always he had been most respectful to herself; and he could not believe that she thought him capable of doing anything to offend her.
