Inchbracken: The Story of a Fama Clamosa

by Robert Cleland

  CHAPTER XXIX.

  _CONSULTATION_.

  The Laird returned into the room with Roderick, and it was well thathe did so. But for his sturdy arm the young man would have fallen;and, as it was, he dropped breathless and trembling into the nearestchair. Weakened by his illness, the agitation had nearly overcome him,and, but for the salutary presence of the Laird, might have found somehysterical mode of relief. As it was, the pain in his side hadreturned with renewed violence, he gasped for breath, and, with theLaird's assistance, had to throw himself on his bed.

  He, who believed he had been striving after so lofty an ideal, who hadbeen leading, and as he fondly hoped with some success, the majorityof his flock towards the same high standard, to be thus cast down!What must his walk and conversation really have been, notwithstandinghis approving conscience, that he should so lightly have beensuspected of such abominable hypocrisy and vulgar debauchery? Hegroaned as he thought of it; his temples burned, and, despite thepresence of a stranger, the tears at last oozed abundantly through thefingers which he had pressed against his eyes.

  The Laird flourished his large silk handkerchief, bepatterned over inyellow and crimson like a small carpet. He coughed, he blew his noselike a trumpet, and then he crumpled up the handkerchief and moppedhis eyelids in a very suspicious way. 'Hoots! Mr. Roderick!' he said,while he laid his enormous paw as tenderly on the young man's foreheadas Mary might have done. 'Never mind, man! A set of born idiots! Butyou answered them well, lad, and nobody with any sense that knows youwill care a snap o' the thumb for all their havers. Keep up yourheart, man! There's nobody whose good opinion is worth the having willthink a bit the worse of you. Just leave them alone, and if theirwhole case does na fall to pieces like a girdless tub, my name's noJames Sangster! A set o' senseless pridefu' bodies! that dinna kenwhich end o' them's uppermost for pure conceit!'

  Mary came in presently, and behind her was Captain Kenneth. He hadridden over to enquire for his old friend Roderick (that was how heworded it), and arrived just after the 'deputation' had been admittedto the study. Mary received him, and led him for the present 'ben thehouse,' where Eppie, and the baby, and herself were holding a littleconclave of their own. The conference in the adjoining room naturallyfurnished a subject of conversation. Mary was indignant and bitter,but not very precise; and Kenneth imagined that Roderick had becomeunhinged in his theology, and was being set up as a mark to sling atby all the orthodox in the parish, and expressed himself more freelythan reverently on polemical hair-splitting, even girding somewhat atthe Headship, the pet doctrine of the Free Church, but here Eppie'spatience broke down.

  'It's naething o' the kind, sir!' she cried; 'Mister Brown's as soundas a bell on a' p'ints o' doctrine, an' nane has ever ventured to saythe contrar. It's a daftlike story o' ill livin' 'at they're wantin'to pruive on him, an' they canna do 't, an' sae they hae come here tilhimsel', to gar him confess an' save mair fash. I hae heard my grannytellin' the gate they gaed to wark wi' the wutches lang syne, hoo theygarred them confess whether they wad or no, an' I'm thinkin' gin theydaured, they'd be for tryin' sic like on him. Drobbin' him wi' prins,an' what no. But it's a terrible daftlike haver, an I'm thinkin', sir,ye'll hae heard tell o't afore noo.'

  Captain Drysdale had not heard of it, but Eppie very speedily made himacquainted with the whole story, while Mary and the baby were outlooking at his horse tethered to a post hard by.

  Kenneth's entrance brought composure alike to Roderick and the Laird,both from necessitating more self-control, and also from thesatisfaction of seeing that not quite all the world had turned theirbacks on him. Roderick could not speak above a whisper, but the Lairdgave a very full account of the late visitation.

  'There is one point, Captain Drysdale,' he added after a lengthynarrative, 'on which you may be able to throw light. One of the pointsthey made against him was that this story of his exploits hadoriginally come from Inchbracken.'

  'I cannot imagine how that could be. Ah!' he added after a pause, 'itmust be one of my uncle's heavy jokes! I do remember, now I think ofit, his telling us how he had met Roderick carrying home a baby, andthe clumsy joke he made over it. You know my uncle is a very goodfellow, but he can scarcely be called a wit, though he would vastlylike to be thought one, and when by any chance he has struck out somelittle smartness he _will_ repeat it till every one for ten milesround has heard it. I remember it perfectly now, and Tibbie Tirpie'sname got into the conversation about that same time somehow, and sothe servants combined the two. Oh, Rod! He will be so awfully sorry.But this poor little baby who has been the innocent cause of all theannoyance. Such a pretty little thing it is too! How did you come byit?'

  Roderick was lying on the bed, calmer now, and soothed by the friendlysympathy of his two friends, but his voice was weak and the pain inhis side made speaking irksome. He looked to Mary, and she repeated toKenneth the story of the shipwreck and the finding of the baby.

  'And what was the name of the ship?' asked Kenneth; 'was that everdiscovered? To know it would be the first step towards finding out whothe child belongs to, and after all the annoyance it has brought, youwould no doubt be glad to restore it to its lawful guardians.'

  'Indeed, then, we shall be very sorry to part with it. It is thedearest little thing in the world. I should cry my eyes out if it weretaken from us, I do believe. The sweet little pet! And it is sowonderfully pretty. No doubt of its gentle birth, poor little waif! Tothink it has not a relation in the world!'

  'And the name of the ship was?'

  'We saw the ship's name in the _Witness_ the following week. 'The Maidof Cashmere,' was it not, Roddie?'

  Roderick nodded.

  'That,' said Kenneth, 'was the name of the ship in which my poorfriend Jack Steele lost his wife. He is Major in the Dourgapore LightCavalry, and they are not two years married yet. They were both tohave come home in her, but a week before sailing his leave wascancelled, owing to a threatened rising in the Mahratta country. Hiswife was ordered home by the doctors, who said her only chance of lifewas the sea voyage, so she sailed alone with a child only a week ortwo old, I believe, and the nurse. Poor things! both were lost. Aftermaking the voyage round the Cape in safety, to be lost upon the Scotchcoast, within a few hours of home! Was it not sad? The Mahratta alarmdied out as fast as it arose; and six weeks after Mrs. Steele hadsailed, Jack was able to set out himself. He knew nothing of thedisaster till he reached his father's house in Edinburgh, and you maysuppose what a shock it was to him. He arrived at home just threeweeks after his wife's funeral. His, you see, had been a quickpassage, while the ship his wife sailed in was considerably overduebefore the wreck occurred. Poor fellow! when he asked for his wife andchild, and why they had not come to meet him, you may suppose howterrible it was; they had nothing to show him but his wife's grave,and the shock nearly killed him. He was in bed for three weeks afterit, and is only able to creep about now. The old judge took to his bedafter his daughter-in-law's funeral, so you may suppose the dismalhouse it was. Jack is an only child, and the old man had set his hearton having a grandchild, and he was cut up in a way you would not thinkpossible, if you had ever seen the hard grim way he has of dealing outjustice to offenders. It appears that the child was not born till afortnight before Mrs. Steele sailed, and that the letter announcingthat Jack and his wife were going home was posted before its birth;and so the old people did not know they had a grandchild till Jack'sletters, written after his wife had sailed, reached them. They did notknow of its existence, in fact, till after they were assured of itsdeath, but the poor old lady cries and laments, I am told, overthis--I must call it an imaginary bereavement (for she had never seenor even heard of the little thing till after its death) as bitterly asif it were a child of her own she had lost. The body of this child,too, has never been found; and they say it has been a greataggravation of poor Jack's grief, to think what may have become of it.How old would you suppose your baby to be, Mary? Would it not bestrange if it t
urned out to be Jack's little daughter?'

  'We saw in the _Witness_ that Lord Briarhill and Mrs. Steele had goneto Inverlyon and claimed their daughter-in-law and took the body backwith them to Edinburgh; and we advertised in the Witness that we hadpicked up an infant apparently washed ashore from the wreck, but noone took any notice, and we have not had a single enquiry.'

  'It might still be quite possible, nevertheless, that your littlefoundling is the Steeles' lost baby. The old judge was bearing theloss of his daughter-in-law, I understand, with very properresignation. He had never seen her, so that there was no room forpersonal grief or deep feeling, beyond what the melancholy manner ofher death must necessarily call forth, and sympathy for his son. Butthe next mail brought letters which mentioned the birth of the child,and its having accompanied its mother on the homeward voyage, andthen they say the poor old man was completely overcome--took to hisbed--and the old lady sat beside him and cried by the hour. As forJack, he was like one out of his mind when they told him, and he hasbeen very ill since. His oldest friends dare scarcely intrude on himyet; he is so badly cut up. By and bye he will want a change, and Ihave asked him to come to Inchbracken for a few weeks.'

  'And do you think then that he ought to be told about our little waif!I quite dread to tell any one about it now lest he should claim it,and I cannot bear to think of losing our pretty plaything.'

  'Surely he ought to be told, if there is the smallest possibility ofits being his own child; and if you like, Roderick, I will relieve youof that duty. In your present health you will probably not be sorry toavoid unnecessary letter-writing.'

  Roderick nodded.

  'I fear, Captain Drysdale,' interrupted the Laird, 'that is to say ifa stranger can judge correctly in the matter, you will find it rathera difficult piece of news to break to this Major Steele. Do you thinkthe probability of the child being his is sufficiently strong tojustify you in subjecting him to the dreadful disappointment thatwould follow, if it proves not to be his after all? It appears to mescarcely warrantable to raise hopes which, if unfounded, will cause adisappointment more cruel than was the original loss. If I mightsuggest, I would urge very great caution.'

  'I see what you mean, Mr. Sangster, but how are we to avoid it? Nobodyin this country has ever seen the child or could identify it buthimself, and surely it is due both to him and the child that he shouldbe informed of its history, if there be even the slightest possibilityof his being its father.'

  'Undoubtedly, but did you not say just now that you expected him tovisit you at Inchbracken very shortly? Might it not be well to waittill then before saying anything to him whatever? It could then bementioned to him carefully and gradually. Any clothing of the childthat he might perhaps recognize, or even the child itself might beshown him, and then its story could be told. That would spare him themisery of suspense, and the possibility of disappointment; whereas ifyou write, the man will order post horses at once, and set out toinvestigate your story. Think of his impatience and suspense as hesits in the post chaise, thinking and thinking about it till he growsgiddy. It will be twenty-four or perhaps thirty-six hours from thetime he gets your letter till he can reach Glen Effick. He may frethimself into a fever in that time. You say he has been ill already,and he will be sure of a relapse if the child turns out not to behis.'

  'I believe you are right, Mr. Sangster. I will merely write and urgehim to come as early as possible. The season for shooting and visitorsis about over, and he may be as quiet as he likes.'

  'And are you really going to leave us, Mr. Roderick? asked the Laird.'I remarked your saying so to Mr. Geddie, and was really tickled athis unwillingness to let you go away, even while he would not let youstay in the Church. That man would have made a fine grand inquisitorif he had been born in a Catholic country.'

  Roderick smiled, and answered in a low voice--'He is a good man, andvery zealous. But it is quite true. If he had lived two centuries agohe would have wanted to burn every one who saw things differently fromhimself, and he would have thought he did God service in burning them.He thinks if he is right every body who differs from him must bewrong. He does not comprehend toleration, and he has no common sense.As my father would have said--"he wants a wife!" if only to teach himthat there is a world of daily providence and common things, as wellas the world of doctrines and theologies he lives in. But he is aworthy creature!' 'Yes!' he continued, still almost in a whisper. 'Weshall go south--Ventnor or Torquay--for the winter. I shall write toenquire at once; but I am not fleeing from discipline, Mr. Sangster! Ishall appoint an agent to protect my interests before the Presbytery.'

  'Then,' said Mary, 'might we not stop over in Edinburgh, and showMajor Steele the baby?'

  'I did not propose to take it with us. Supposing Major Steele isunable to recognise it, it would have to come back here and raise moretalk; and I fear we should not know what to do with it during ourtravels if we carried it south, so I think we shall have to leave ithere with Eppie for the winter.'

  The tears stood in Mary's eyes. 'Oh, Roderick,' she said, 'I shall beso sorry to part with it.'

  'Could you not remain too, Mary?' whispered Kenneth.

  Mary coloured and shook her head, but a smile peeped from her eyes ina passing glance, which effectually dissipated the threatening shower.'I shall look out poor baby's chain, and the things she was picked upin, and give them to you to show Major Steele. So mind you come forthem before we go.'