by J. M. Barrie
Chapter Nine.
THE WOMAN CONSIDERED IN ABSENCE--ADVENTURES OF A MILITARY CLOAK.
About six o'clock Margaret sat up suddenly in bed, with the convictionthat she had slept in. To her this was to ravel the day: a dire thing.The last time it happened Gavin, softened by her distress, hadcondensed morning worship into a sentence that she might make up onthe clock.
Her part on waking was merely to ring her bell, and so rouse Jean, forMargaret had given Gavin a promise to breakfast in bed, and remainthere till her fire was lit. Accustomed all her life, however, toearly rising, her feet were usually on the floor before she rememberedher vow, and then it was but a step to the window to survey themorning. To Margaret, who seldom went out, the weather was not ofgreat moment, while it mattered much to Gavin, yet she always thoughtof it the first thing, and he not at all until he had to decidewhether his companion should be an umbrella or a staff.
On this morning Margaret only noticed that there had been rain sinceGavin came in. Forgetting that the water obscuring the outlook was onthe other side of the panes, she tried to brush it away with her fist.It was of the soldiers she was thinking. They might have been awaitingher appearance at the window as their signal to depart, for hardly hadshe raised the blind when they began their march out of Thrums. Fromthe manse she could not see them, but she heard them, and she saw somepeople at the Tenements run to their houses at sound of the drum.Other persons, less timid, followed the enemy with execrations halfwayto Tilliedrum. Margaret, the only person, as it happened, then awakein the manse, stood listening for some time. In the summer-seat of thegarden, however, there was another listener protected from her sightby thin spars.
Despite the lateness of the hour Margaret was too soft-hearted torouse Jean, who had lain down in her clothes, trembling for herfather. She went instead into Gavin's room to look admiringly at himas he slept. Often Gavin woke to find that his mother had slipped into save him the enormous trouble of opening a drawer for a cleancollar, or of pouring the water into the basin with his own hand.Sometimes he caught her in the act of putting thick socks in the placeof thin ones, and it must be admitted that her passion for keeping hisbelongings in boxes, and the boxes in secret places, and the secretplaces at the back of drawers, occasionally led to their being lostwhen wanted. "They are safe, at any rate, for I put them away somegait," was then Margaret's comfort, but less soothing to Gavin. Yet ifhe upbraided her in his hurry, it was to repent bitterly his temperthe next instant, and to feel its effects more than she, temper beinga weapon that we hold by the blade. When he awoke and saw her in hisroom he would pretend, unless he felt called upon to rage at her forself-neglect, to be still asleep, and then be filled with tendernessfor her. A great writer has spoken sadly of the shock it would be to amother to know her boy as he really is, but I think she often knowshim better than he is known to cynical friends. We should be slower tothink that the man at his worst is the real man, and certain that thebetter we are ourselves the less likely is he to be at his worst inour company. Every time he talks away his own character before us heis signifying contempt for ours.
On this morning Margaret only opened Gavin's door to stand and look,for she was fearful of awakening him after his heavy night. Evenbefore she saw that he still slept she noticed with surprise that, forthe first time since he came to Thrums, he had put on his shutters.She concluded that he had done this lest the light should rouse him.He was not sleeping pleasantly, for now he put his open hand beforehis face, as if to guard himself, and again he frowned and seemed todraw back from something. He pointed his finger sternly to the north,ordering the weavers, his mother thought, to return to their homes,and then he muttered to himself so that she heard the words, "And ifthy right hand offend thee cut it off, and cast it from thee, for itis profitable for thee that one of thy members should perish, and notthat thy whole body should be cast into hell." Then suddenly he bentforward, his eyes open and fixed on the window. Thus he sat, for thespace of half a minute, like one listening with painful intentness.When he lay back Margaret slipped away. She knew he was living thenight over again, but not of the divit his right hand had cast, nor ofthe woman in the garden.
Gavin was roused presently by the sound of voices from Margaret'sroom, where Jean, who had now gathered much news, was giving it to hermistress. Jean's cheerfulness would have told him that her father wassafe had he not wakened to thoughts of the Egyptian. I suppose he wasat the window in an instant, unsnibbing the shutters and looking outas cautiously as a burglar might have looked in. The Egyptian was gonefrom the summer-seat. He drew a great breath.
But his troubles were not over. He had just lifted his ewer of waterwhen these words from the kitchen capsized it:--
"Ay, an Egyptian. That's what the auld folk call a gypsy. Weel, Mrs.Dishart, she led police and sojers sic a dance through Thrums as wouldbaffle description, though I kent the fits and fors o't as I dinna.Ay, but they gripped her in the end, and the queer thing is----"
Gavin listened to no more. He suddenly sat down. The queer thing, ofcourse, was that she had been caught in his garden. Yes, and doubtlessqueerer things about this hussy and her "husband" were being bawledfrom door to door. To the girl's probable sufferings he gave no heed.What kind of man had he been a few hours ago to yield to themachinations of a woman who was so obviously the devil? Now he saw hisfolly in the face.
The tray in Jean's hands clattered against the dresser, and Gavinsprang from his chair. He thought it was his elders at the frontdoor.
In the parlour he found Margaret sorrowing for those whose mates hadbeen torn from them, and Jean with a face flushed by talk. On ordinaryoccasions the majesty of the minister still cowed Jean, so that shecould only gaze at him without shaking when in church, and thenbecause she wore a veil. In the manse he was for taking a glance atsideways and then going away comforted, as a respectable woman mayonce or twice in a day look at her brooch in the pasteboard box as ameans of helping her with her work. But with such a to-do in Thrums,and she the possessor of exclusive information, Jean's reverence forGavin only took her to-day as far as the door, where she lingered halfin the parlour and half in the lobby, her eyes turned politely fromthe minister, but her ears his entirely.
"I thought I heard Jean telling you about the capture of the--of anEgyptian woman," Gavin said to his mother, nervously.
"Did you cry to me?" Jean asked, turning round longingly. "But maybethe mistress will tell you about the Egyptian hersel."
"Has she been taken to Tilliedrum?" Gavin asked in a hollow voice.
"Sup up your porridge, Gavin," Margaret said. "I'll have no speakingabout this terrible night till you've eaten something."
"I have no appetite," the minister replied, pushing his plate fromhim. "Jean, answer me."
"'Deed, then," said Jean willingly, "they hinna ta'en her toTilliedrum."
"For what reason?" asked Gavin, his dread increasing.
"For the reason that they couldna catch her," Jean answered. "Shespirited hersel awa', the magerful crittur."
"What! But I heard you say----"
"Ay, they had her aince, but they couldna keep her. It's like a witchstory. They had her safe in the town-house, and baith shirra andcaptain guarding her, and syne in a clink she wasna there. A' nichtthey looked for her, but she hadna left so muckle as a foot-printahint her, and in the tail of the day they had to up wi' their tap intheir lap and march awa without her."
Gavin's appetite returned.
"Has she been seen since the soldiers went away?" he asked, layingdown his spoon with a new fear. "Where is she now?"
"No human eye has seen her," Jean answered impressively. "Whaur is shenow? Whaur does the flies vanish to in winter? We ken they're somegait, but whaur?"
"But what are the people saying about her?"
"Daft things," said Jean. "Old Charles Yuill gangs the length o'hinting that she's dead and buried."
"She could not have buried herself, Jean," Margaret said, mildly.
"I dinna ken. Cha
rles says she's even capable o' that."
Then Jean retired reluctantly (but leaving the door ajar) and Gavinfell to on his porridge. He was now so cheerful that Margaretwondered.
"If half the stories about this gypsy be true," she said, "she must bemore than a mere woman."
"Less, you mean, mother," Gavin said, with conviction. "She is awoman, and a sinful one."
"Did you see her, Gavin?"
"I saw her. Mother, she flouted me!"
"The daring tawpie!" exclaimed Margaret.
"She is all that," said the minister.
"Was she dressed just like an ordinary gypsy body? But you don'tnotice clothes much, Gavin."
"I noticed hers," Gavin said, slowly, "she was in a green and red, Ithink, and barefooted."
"Ay," shouted Jean from the kitchen, startling both of them; "but shehad a lang grey-like cloak too. She was seen jouking up closes in't."
Gavin rose, considerably annoyed, and shut the parlour door.
"Was she as bonny as folks say?" asked Margaret. "Jean says they speakof her beauty as unearthly."
"Beauty of her kind," Gavin explained learnedly, "is neither earthlynor heavenly." He was seeing things as they are very clearly now."What," he said, "is mere physical beauty? Pooh!"
"And yet," said Margaret, "the soul surely does speak through the faceto some extent."
"Do you really think so, mother?" Gavin asked, a little uneasily.
"I have always noticed it," Margaret said, and then her son sighed.
"But I would let no face influence me a jot," he said, recovering.
"Ah, Gavin, I'm thinking I'm the reason you pay so little regard towomen's faces. It's no natural."
"You've spoilt me, you see, mother, for ever caring for another woman.I would compare her to you, and then where would she be?"
"Sometime," Margaret said, "you'll think differently."
"Never," answered Gavin, with a violence that ended the conversation.
Soon afterwards he set off for the town, and in passing down thegarden walk cast a guilty glance at the summer-seat. Something blackwas lying in one corner of it. He stopped irresolutely, for his motherwas nodding to him from her window. Then he disappeared into thelittle arbour. What had caught his eye was a Bible. On the previousday, as he now remembered, he had been called away while studying inthe garden, and had left his Bible on the summer-seat, a pencilbetween its pages. Not often probably had the Egyptian passed a nightin such company.
But what was this? Gavin had not to ask himself the question. Thegypsy's cloak was lying neatly folded at the other end of the seat.Why had the woman not taken it with her? Hardly had he put thisquestion when another stood in front of it. What was to be done withthe cloak? He dared not leave it there for Jean to discover. He couldnot take it into the manse in daylight. Beneath the seat was atool-chest without a lid, and into this he crammed the cloak. Then,having turned the box face downwards, he went about his duties. Butmany a time during the day he shivered to the marrow, reflectingsuddenly that at this very moment Jean might be carrying the accursedthing (at arms' length, like a dog in disgrace) to his mother.
Now let those who think that Gavin has not yet paid toll for takingthe road with the Egyptian, follow the adventures of the cloak.Shortly after gloaming fell that night Jean encountered her master inthe lobby of the manse. He was carrying something, and when he saw herhe slipped it behind his back. Had he passed her openly she would havesuspected nothing, but this made her look at him.
"Why do you stare so, Jean?" Gavin asked, conscience-stricken, andhe stood with his back to the wall until she had retired inbewilderment.
"I have noticed her watching me sharply all day," he said to himself,though it was only he who had been watching her.
Gavin carried the cloak to his bedroom, thinking to lock it away inhis chest, but it looked so wicked lying there that he seemed to seeit after the lid was shut.
The garret was the best place for it. He took it out of the chest andwas opening his door gently, when there was Jean again. She had beenemployed very innocently in his mother's room, but he said tartly--
"Jean, I really cannot have this," which sent Jean to the kitchen withher apron at her eyes.
Gavin stowed the cloak beneath the garret bed, and an hour afterwardswas engaged on his sermon, when he distinctly heard some one in thegarret. He ran up the ladder with a terrible brow for Jean, but it wasnot Jean; it was Margaret.
"Mother," he said in alarm, "what are you doing here?"
"I am only tidying up the garret, Gavin."
"Yes, but--it is too cold for you. Did Jean--did Jean ask you to comeup here?"
"Jean? She knows her place better."
Gavin took Margaret down to the parlour, but his confidence in thegarret had gone. He stole up the ladder again, dragged the cloakfrom its lurking place, and took it into the garden. He very nearlymet Jean in the lobby again, but hearing him coming she fledprecipitately, which he thought very suspicious.
In the garden he dug a hole, and there buried the cloak, but even nowhe was not done with it. He was wakened early by a noise of scrapingin the garden, and his first thought was "Jean!" But peering from thewindow, he saw that the resurrectionist was a dog, which already hadits teeth in the cloak.
That forenoon Gavin left the manse unostentatiously carrying abrown-paper parcel. He proceeded to the hill, and having dropped theparcel there, retired hurriedly. On his way home, nevertheless, he wasover-taken by D. Fittis, who had been cutting down whins. Fittis hadseen the parcel fall, and running after Gavin, returned it to him.Gavin thanked D. Fittis, and then sat down gloomily on the cemeterydyke. Half an hour afterwards he flung the parcel into a Tillylossgarden.
In the evening Margaret had news for him, got from Jean.
"Do you remember, Gavin, that the Egyptian every one is still speakingof, wore a long cloak? Well, would you believe it, the cloak wasCaptain Halliwell's, and she took it from the town-house when sheescaped. She is supposed to have worn it inside out. He did notdiscover that it was gone until he was leaving Thrums."
"Mother, is this possible?" Gavin said.
"The policeman, Wearyworld, has told it. He was ordered, it seems, tolook for the cloak quietly, and to take any one into custody in whosepossession it was found."
"Has it been found?"
"No."
The minister walked out of the parlour, for he could not trust hisface. What was to be done now? The cloak was lying in mason Baxter'sgarden, and Baxter was therefore, in all probability, withinfour-and-twenty hours of the Tilliedrum gaol.
"Does Mr. Dishart ever wear a cap at nichts?" Femie Wilkie asked Sam'lFairweather three hours later.
"Na, na, he has ower muckle respect for his lum hat," answered Sam'l;"and richtly, for it's the crowning stone o' the edifice."
"Then it couldna hae been him I met at the back o' Tillyloss the now,"said Femie, "though like him it was. He joukit back when he saw me."
While Femie was telling her story in the Tenements, mason Baxter,standing at the window which looked into his garden, was shouting,"Wha's that in my yard?" There was no answer, and Baxter closed hiswindow, under the impression that he had been speaking to a cat. Theman in the cap then emerged from the corner where he had beencrouching, and stealthily felt for something among the cabbages andpea sticks. It was no longer there, however, and by-and-by he retiredempty-handed.
"The Egyptian's cloak has been found," Margaret was able to tell Gavinnext day. "Mason Baxter found it yesterday afternoon."
"In his garden?" Gavin asked hurriedly.
"No; in the quarry, he says, but according to Jean he is known not tohave been at the quarry to-day. Some seem to think that the gypsy gavehim the cloak for helping her to escape, and that he has delivered itup lest he should get into difficulties."
"Whom has he given it to, mother?" Gavin asked.
"To the policeman."
"And has Wearyworld sent it back to Halliwell?"
"Yes. He told Jea
n he sent it off at once, with the information thatthe masons had found it in the quarry."
The next day was Sabbath, when a new trial, now to be told, awaitedGavin in the pulpit; but it had nothing to do with the cloak, of whichI may here record the end. Wearyworld had not forwarded it to itsowner; Meggy, his wife, took care of that. It made its reappearance inThrums, several months after the riot, as two pairs of Sabbath breeksfor her sons, James and Andrew.