by Neil Munro
CHAPTER XXXIX -- BETRAYED BY A BALLAD
Some days passed and a rumour went about the town, in its origin asindiscoverable as the birthplace of the winds. It engaged the seamenon the tiny trading vessels at the quay, and excited the eagerestspeculation in Ludovic's inn. Women put down their water-stoups at thewells and shook mysterious heads over hints of Sim MacTaggart's history.No one for a while had a definite story, but in all the innuendoes theChamberlain figured vaguely as an evil influence. That he had slain aman in some parts abroad was the first and the least astonishing of thecrimes laid to his charge, though the fact that he had never made abrag of it was counted sinister; but, by-and-by, surmise and sheerimagination gave place to a commonly accepted tale that Simon hadfigured in divers escapades in France with the name Drimdarroch; thathe had betrayed men and women there, and that the Frenchman hadcome purposely to Scotland seeking for him. It is the most common ofexperiences that the world will look for years upon a man admiringlyand still be able to recall a million things to his discredit when heis impeached with some authority. It was so in this case. The very folkswho had loved best to hear the engaging flageolet, feeling the springsof some nobility bubble up in them at the bidding of its player,and drunk with him and laughed with him and ever esteemed his freegentility, were the readiest to recall features of his character andincidents of his life that--as they put it--ought to have set honest menupon their guard. The tale went seaward on the gabbards, and landward,even to Lorn itself, upon carriers' carts and as the richest part of thepackman's budget. Furthermore, a song or two was made upon the thing,that even yet old women can recall in broken stanzas, and of one ofthese, by far the best informed, Petullo's clerk was the reputed author.
As usual, the object of the scandal was for a while unconscious. He wentabout experiencing a new aloofness in his umquhile friends, and finallyconcluded that it was due to his poor performance in front of theforeigner on the morning of the ball, and that but made him the morevenomously ruminant upon revenge. In these days he haunted the avenueslike a spirit, brooding on his injuries, pondering the means of aretaliation; there were no hours of manumission in the inn; the reedwas still. And yet, to do him justice, there was even then the frank andsuave exterior; no boorish awkward silence in his ancient gossips madehim lose his jocularity; he continued to embellish his conversation withmorals based on universal kindness and goodwill.
At last the thunder broke, for the scandal reached the castle, and wasthere overheard by the Duchess in a verse of the ballad sung under herwindow by a gardener's boy. She made some inquiries, and thereafter wentstraight to her husband.
"What is this I hear about your Chamberlain?" she asked.
Argyll drew down his brows and sighed. "My Chamberlain?" said he. "Itmust be something dreadful by the look of her grace the Duchess. What isit this time? High treason, or marriage, or the need of it? Or has oldKnapdale died by a blessed disposition and left him a fortune? Thatwould save me the performance of a very unpleasant duty."
"It has gone the length of scurrilous songs about our worthy gentleman.The town has been ringing with scandals about him for a week, and Inever heard a word about it till half-an-hour ago."
"And so you feel defrauded, my dear, which is natural enough, being awoman as well as a duchess. I am glad to know that so squalid a storyshould be so long of reaching your ears; had it been anything toanybody's credit you would have been the first to learn of it. To tellthe truth, I've heard the song myself, and if I have seemed unnaturallyengaged for a day or two it is because I have been in a quandary as towhat I should do. Now that you know the story, what do you advise, mydear?"
"A mere woman must leave that to the Lord Justice-General," she replied."And now that your Chamberlain turns out a greater scamp than I thoughthim, I'm foolish enough to be sorry for him."
"And so am I," said the Duke, and looked about the shelves of bookslining the room. "Here's a multitude of counsellors, a great deal of theworld's wisdom so far as it has been reduced to print, and I'll swear Icould go through it from end to end without learning how I should judgea problem like Sim MacTaggart."
She would have left him then, but he stopped her with a smilinginterrogation. "Well?" he said.
She waited.
"What about the customary privilege?" he went on.
"What is that?"
"Why, you have not said 'I told you so.'"
She smiled at that. "How stupid of me!" said she. "Oh! but you forgavemy Frenchman, and for that I owe you some consideration."
"Did I, faith?" said he. "'Twas mighty near the compounding of a felony,a shocking lapse in a Justice-General. To tell the truth, I was onlytoo glad, in MacTaggart's interest, while he was ill, to postponedisclosures so unpleasant as are now the talk of the country; and likeyou, I find him infinitely worse in these disclosures than I guessed."
The Duchess went away, the Duke grew grave, reflecting on his duty. Whatit clearly was he had not decided until it was late in the evening, andthen he sent for his Chamberlain.