CHAPTER XVIII.
_THE DELIVERY OF A LETTER_.
It was the next day that Joseph Smiley set out to deliver theminister's letter. His instructions were to give it into the hands ofMiss Sangster herself, if possible, or at least to make sure that itwent direct to her, and to ask if there was any answer. This was amission very much to Joseph's taste. Being a man of diplomatic genius,he loved to attain his purposes by a circuitous path, and to go rounda corner rather than walk straight up to his object.
There was once a minister of the Free Church, of whom a brother divinedeclared in the bitterness of his soul,--for he had just beencircumvented in a cherished scheme,--that he never tied his shoewithout having some ulterior motive. If beadles may, withoutirreverence, be compared with ministers--the very small with theextremely great--Joseph's idiosyncracy was of a like kind. It was wellknown that Mrs. Sangster's was an all-pervading presence atAuchlippie; the very cat must drink her milk in the appointed time andplace, or the mistress would know why; and all comers and goers andtheir business were bound to come within her ken. The house, thedairy, the poultry-yard, these were her domain, but fortunately theywere also its limit. Queen irresponsible in these, her writ would notrun in the adjoining stable and farm-yard. The master had settled thatlong ago. Good-natured and submissive in the house, he tolerated nopetticoat influence beyond its limits; and the mistress, after one ortwo defeats in the attempt to extend her sway, had yielded long ago tothe insuperable, and dwelt at peace in her own kingdom.
As Joseph neared Auchlippie, therefore, he crossed a field or two andmade a circuit, so as to approach it from the rear, with the farm-yardto shelter him while he reconnoitred, and to retreat into in case hewas seen. He likewise carried under his arm his bag of tools, so thatif, later, the lady should come upon him, his errand might appearmanifest enough. There was always shelving to be put up or taken down,doors that would not close, locks that would not open, and Joseph wasthe man to see to it all. The work was well enough, indeed Josephpreferred 'orra jobs,' as he called them, to steady work. Thevariety amused him, and the sight of new faces, besides gossip,drams, and sometimes a share of the kitchen dinner were among therecommendations; but the pay at Auchlippie was not altogethersatisfactory. Mrs. Sangster preferred paying in kind to disbursing hersilver. Joseph would return home at night with an armful of oldclothes, serviceable enough, perhaps, but with the drawback attendingthem, that he could never tell when his accounts were to be consideredsquare. The next time he did an 'orra job' at Auchlippie, he would bereminded of the load of things he had carried away last time, andgiven to understand that the present 'job' was to be looked upon as inpart working out the previous haul.
For these reasons Joseph was not disposed to obtrude his services. Henow went quietly into the stable yard, and fell into chat with the ladwho was rubbing up the gig in which his master would shortly start fora neighbouring market. He kept his eyes well open, and it was not longbefore he descried a petticoat in the distance. It was certainly notSophia. A second look showed it to be Jean Macaulay, the kitchen-maid,returning from the garden with a basketful of green stuff, and Jean,he bethought him, was a very particular friend of his own, and hemight do a trifle of business for himself as well as fulfil hiscommission.
He vaulted lightly over a gate, and with three or four skipsintercepted Jean, just where the blind wall of the dairy interceptedall view from the house.
Here with his gayest smile he caught with both his hands----notJeanie, it was only her disengaged hand held out at arm's length; forshe had seen him in time, and laughed merrily in his face, while sheheld her own well beyond his reach.
Joseph had missed his chance of a salute, and had to content himselfwith a salutation.
'Haud awa! ye caperin' antic!' she cried, 'an' behave yersel' aforefolk. Yonder's Jock Spiers e'y yaird! Lay, by! An' what brings _you_about the town at this time o' day, my mannie?'
'What wad it be, Jean, but yer ain sonsie face? I'm aye thinkin' o'ye, whan I canna see ye! I canna lie quiet i' my lane bed, lassie, forthe thocht o' ye! Sae here I am.'
'Awa, ye leein' haveril! Do you tak me for a fule, to think ye're toblaw the stour i' my e'en that gate? Lay by, now! (Joseph had becomedemonstrative again), or I'll gie ye a gouff i' the lug'll gar'tstound the next half-hour! An' I canna be claverin' here a' day. Awawi' ye!' and she caught up her basket.
'What ails ye, lass? Winna ye bide a wee? It's no often a body gets yeyer lane for a crack. Bide a wee!'
'I canna bide, man, ey noo! Gin the mistress comes ben an' dizna findthe pat on the fire; I'se get my kale through the reek, I'se warrantye!'
'Here, than, Jean! Here's a letter frae the minister to Miss Sophia.An' ye maun gie't to naebody but her ain-sel'. I'se be hingin' roundhere-awa, an' ye maun fesh back the answer belive. Winna ye, noo,lass?'
'We'll see,' said Jean moving off; 'she was bakin' pies whan I gaedout, gin she hae na gaen butt the house, I'se gie her't. Ye'll be herewhan I come out? For I'll no can bide lang.' And folding the letter inher apron she hastened into the house.
Sophia was still in the kitchen, giving the last ornamental touches toher pies, when the letter was brought her.
'From Glen Effick, eh? A note from Mary Brown I suppose. And an answeris wanted? very well.' She slipped it into her pocket, and retired toher room to read it at her leisure.
No one could have been more surprised than was Sophia at the contentsof that letter, and the earnestness and solemnity with which they wereexpressed. She had never received a love-letter in her life, and hadsome indistinct idea from what her mother had occasionally said, thatthe subject was scarcely a proper one in real life. It was somethingthat was to be read about in books, especially in poetry books andtales, but of these she had not read many. Her mother considered themrelaxing to the mind, except when they were of a theological cast, andrefrained from such frivolities as love scenes; the biographies ofserious people, in fact, had been the staple of her reading.
She had been accustomed to look forward to a time when she would bemarried, but the aspect in which the change of state had chieflypresented itself to her mind had been the being mistress of a house ofher own. From the time Mr. Wallowby had been expected to visit them,her mother had spoken to her of the possibility of his wishing tomarry her, and of the wealthy and distinguished position she would inthat case be called on to fill. She had thought of it as somethingthat would be very nice if it took place, though also ratherformidable, and wondered if it would feel very strange anduncomfortable at first; but it had never presented itself to her as athing which she was to make any effort to gain, or that it was amatter in regard to which she would be called on to exercise anyindependent choice. Her parents had arranged everything for herhitherto, and knew what was best and most proper. They had sent her toschool, and decided what she was to study there, and she had studiedit accordingly. In the proper time they would arrange for her beingmarried, and it would be for her to fill as she best could theposition they might decide on as best for her.
And yet Sophia was not a person without character or fullaverage'intelligence, as no doubt some day would be made manifestenough, when at length her individuality should waken up and assertitself. It was only that she had lived in retirement, and been 'verycarefully brought up,' that is to say, in an especially narrow andartificial groove, that she was slow and quiescent herself, and had anunusually energetic and masterful mother.
As regarded Roderick, she liked him very much for a friend, betterthan her own brother Peter, because he was kinder and more attentiveto her, and better than his sister Mary, the only other person she hadknown equally long, because she was 'only a girl;' but that Roderickshould feel for her anything so different from this tepid friendship,was something beyond her comprehension. She read the letter again, athird time, and even a fourth, utterly bewildered by its earnestness,and finally unable to make anything of it all, she carried it to hermother.
Mrs. Sangste
r opened her eyes in surprise. Had a letter reached aninmate of her castle without her knowledge? Had her daughter receivedone without its passing under her censorship? What were things comingto? She took the letter and put on her glasses.
'From? Roderick Brown! as I'm a christian woman! And what? I dodeclare--a love-letter! Oh----!!' Many indignant thoughts swept wildlythrough her soul, many words hurried to her lips. 'The serpent!' Butat the sound of her own voice, she paused. Her daughter knew nothing,no one had ever dared to sully her pure ear with such a tale; andshould her mother's be the hand to rend the veil of innocency, and letin the sad knowledge that there is evil in the world? She could not.And yet she must say something, if only to cover her discomposure.
'And has it come to this, that a daughter of mine has actuallyreceived a love-letter! You! Sophia Sangster! what kind of conduct doyou practise, that a libert---- a----young man feels encouraged to writeyou a love letter, and make you a proposal? Where has been yourmaidenliness? Your common sense of propriety? When I was a youngwoman, no man breathing would have presumed to write about love tome!'
'Mamma! I have done nothing. The letter is as great a surprise to meas it can be to you!'
'But you _ought_ to have done something. If you had behaved withbecoming propriety and decorum, he never would have had the courage towrite. But you never had proper spirit! Go to your room, Miss!'
Sophia withdrew in open-eyed amazement. She was not prone to tears,and under long habitude had become somewhat callous to stronglanguage. Her mother's ebulition merely added an accession to thebewilderment Roderick's letter was already occasioning her. Othergirls in the parish had been married, and it seemed to her, that,somehow, their bridegrooms must have spoken or written to expresstheir wishes, else how came they to be known? and none of these hadbeen more frequent visitors at the homes of their future brides, thanhad Roderick been at her father's. The imputation of unmaidenliness,then, had been only one of her mother's tantrums, things she had beenused to all her life, and knew to contain more noise than mischief.She must not return an answer to the letter--that seemed all theoutburst meant, and it was rather a relief to her to think so, for, totell the truth, she would not have known what to say. Roderick's graveand sacramental way of putting the matter, seemed to make any lightand ordinary answer akin to blasphemy, and how otherwise was one toanswer, where feelings were barely up to the level of commonplace? Soshe sat herself down with her hands in her lap, and thought afreshover her remarkable letter.
Mrs. Sangster walked up and down her room, 'frying,' as her cook wouldhave said, with indignation, at this abandoned young man, who, steepedin iniquity, had yet dared to raise his eyes to her dovecot. She wouldhave liked to hound him through every court of the Church, and to letloose every cur in the parish at his heels; but after what Mr.Sangster had said about actions for libels, and the Court of Session,there was no use thinking of that. She stamped her foot in herimpatience, and anon wiped her eyes, as she thought of the pathetichelplessness of her gentle and interesting sex. No notice should betaken of the letter; that was as much as she could venture on. But howhad it come? That was worth knowing.
Repairing to the kitchen, she learned that the minister's man whobrought it was still hanging about the premises. Then thinking to pumphim more conveniently, she bethought her of a new shelf for thestore-room, and sent for Joseph to give him the order. He appeared,but with no great show of alacrity, and it was not till he had heardorders given for his subsequent refreshment, and had actually fingeredthe lady's coin, that he began to show something like interest.
'And what's the news in Glen Effick, Joseph?'
'No muckle, mem. Tarn Jamieson's coo's gotten a cauf. I'm thinkin'that's about a'.'
'And your master the minister? No news about him?'
'Weel mem, he's lyin' sin' yester mornin', whan he cam hame fraeGortonside. But I'm thinkin' ye ken better about that nor me. Folksays ye an' him got a terrible dookin' e'y burn, up by on Findochart.An' gin it hadna been for him ye'd ne'er hae gotten out ava, mem. An'noo it's a' ower, the folk says he's like to dee o't.'
'Indeed, we had a most trying time, Joseph, and have much cause forthankfulness, in having escaped as we did, and I hope Mr. Brown'sillness will not prove serious. But, tell me, are there no reports orrumours about him circulating in the village?'
'I kenna what ye're drivin' at, mem, I'm sure.'
'There is, then, nothing stirring down the Glen at all?'
'I ken o' naething, mem.'
'Widow Tirpie's girl has come home again I hear, and looks poorly.'Joseph started slightly, and glanced suspiciously under his eyelids,but he answered impassively enough.
'I heard sae, mem, but I haena seen her mysel.'
'And is nobody's name associated in the village with that?' Joseph, inhis discomposure, missed his hammer stroke, and gave himself a severerap on the thumb, which with a gulp he transferred to his mouth.
'I'm no sure 'at I guess what ye're drivin' at, mem.'
'And about her child?' continued Mrs. Sangster, still intent onlearning something.
'I ne'er heard tell that she had ane,' said Joseph, waxing more andmore uneasy.
'Do the people ever remark a likeness between her and the baby MissBrown has adopted, for instance?'
Joseph turned round and looked Mrs. Sangster in the face; he feltrelieved he was safe, but he was also astonished.
'I hae na heard ony body speakin' that gate; an' gin I micht mak saefree, mem, do you see ony yersel?'
'You are a canny man, Joseph, but I think the more of you for it. Itwould not do for you to be disclosing your master's secrets, but youmust remember you are the servant of the church as well, and that shehas the highest claim on your fidelity, and I don't mind saying to youthat I see a very remarkable resemblance, notwithstanding that theeyes are of a different colour, and the hair fair instead of dark.That's what makes it so remarkable! The features are all different,there is nothing that can be set aside as a mere accidentalcoincidence, and yet the likeness is so manifest to me! Do you reallymean that nobody in the village has noticed it?'
'Deed, mem, an' I hae na juist heard quite sae muckle as that. But yesee we're plenn folk down by, an' maun look til our betters forguidance, whiles?'
'Very true. But what are they saying about it all?'
'I hae telled ye a' I ken, mem, an' that's naething.'
'And what do you think yourself, then, of all these rumours andsuspicions that are flying about? Can it really be possible that Mr.Brown is the father of that infant, do you think?'
'God forbid, mem, that our young minister suld hae sae far fa'en fraegrace! I wad houp for the best! But it's an auld an' true sayin', thatthere's aye water whaur the stirk's drooned, an we ken oursels there'snae reek but whaur there's burnin'.'
But come now, Joseph, is not Mr. Brown constantly going to see thosewomen after dark? And does he not give them a great deal of money?'
'He's been there, mem, I ken, but he gangs to a' body; it's his wark.An' he's gien them siller, but he's aye doin' that as weel, whan hethinks folk want it. I see na weel 'at that need tell against him.Hooever, as ye say yersel', the suspeecion wad na licht, athout somegrund. It's a bad job.'
Inchbracken: The Story of a Fama Clamosa Page 18