CHAPTER XXX
HOW ELSIE DANCED FOR HER LIFE
The white and gold walls of the drawing-room of Deep Moat Grange,though tarnished by time, and with spots of mould beginning to outlinethemselves again for want of Aphra Orrin's careful hand, gave backgaily enough the mellow glow of a hundred candles all of wax.
"Dance, Elsie woman!" cried Mad Jeremy, emptying a tumbler at a gulp."But first drink ye also, lassie. That will bring back your bonniecolour! What has come to ye, bairn? Ye are pale as a bit snaw-drapthat sets its head through a wreath at a dyke-back. But red, red, redas ony rose shall ye be, I'se warrant ye! Dance, lassie, dance!"
And with a jingle of bells he struck in the "Reel o' Bogie." Elsie didno more than set her lips to her glass. But she obeyed, for Jeremy wasin no mood to be countered. Then, taking up her gown daintily on bothsides, as the dance ordains, she danced it alone. And every time asshe turned, her eyes caught the door of the weaving-room, and the heartwithin her became as water for what she had seen through that littleblack mark of exclamation which was the keyhole.
Yet somehow the situation stirred her, too. There is a vast deal ofdesperate courage in a woman. A man laughs at this because he isexempt from the fears of mice and minor creeping things. He may aswell think, as he often does, the better of himself, on the strength ofthe beard on his chin. But in the desperate passes of life, woman isapt to lead the forlorn hopes. And why should she not? Her kind havebeen accustomed to them ever since, in the forlorn coppices outsideEden, one Eve gave birth to her firstborn, and called him--being, likea woman, deceived--"My possession."
And with the blank midnight pressing against the huge windows of thefacade, and the white lights and red candle stems reflected a thousandtimes in the sullen moat, Elsie danced. The irregular wind moanedabout the house, and as the brand-new melodeon whined and crew,flinging a weird rhythm to the tremulous candle flames, something likethe fast-running "Broom o' the Cowdenkynwes," "Logan Braes," "GreenGrows the Rushes," or "Bonnie Dundee," emerged. Elsie danced to themall. She danced as the fluted candles burned down nearer to theirsockets.
And all the while, now with one leg on the table, and swinging his bodyto the time of the music, or crouched in a corner nursing his melodeonagainst him as if he were a beast ready for the spring, Jeremy beat themeasure with his foot.
Sometimes he would spring up and sing a stave which struck him, in ahigh, screeching voice--sometimes drain a cup of wine or spirits out ofthe nearest bottle, stopping in the midst to wave the half-filled glassabout his head, and complete his chant. Sometimes it went like this--
"His mother from the window looked, With all the longing of a mother; His little sister, weeping walked The greenwood path to meet her brother.
"They sought him east, they sought him west, They sought him a' the forest thorough; They only saw the cloud o' nicht, They only heard the roar of Yarrow!"
Then, as the night went past, Elsie prayed for the time to go faster.She saw the candles blink and dwindle; she saw the windows stand outmore blankly. In her brain there grew up a fear of the dark, after thelight should be extinguished, when she should find herself alone withthat wild being who had murdered her grandfather. Her hope was in themorning light. If she could only dance till then!
Well it was for her that, as a child, she had danced, as a gnat over apool, as a butterfly among the flowers of the garden. Light of foot,and ready, she had learned all as by nature. And now, with the candlesgoing out one by one, and the bitterness of death rising like a tide inher heart--barred in, the door locked, utterly forsaken--she had yet tosmile and dance--dance and dance--to the lilt and stress of MadJeremy's noisy instrument.
The jangle of bells thrilled her as he struck with a clash as of steelweapons into "Roy's Wife of Aldevaloch," or an irony of fiendishlaughter as he shouted the refrain of "Duncan Grey," lifting a handfleeringly from the German-silver keys, with a glance of terribleimport.
"Ha, ha, the wooin' o't!"
It was, indeed, a memorable wooing, but Elsie smiled and dancedtirelessly, her young body lithe and swift to the turn, her feet nimbleand dainty. The last tune pleased the madman. With a "Hooch" oftriumph, he sprang to his feet, marching up and down the room, playingall the time with desperate energy.
"This beats fiddlin'!" he cried. "The Herodias quean was leaden-footedto you, lassie! And noo Jeremy will play ye something o' his ain; andyou, wee Elsie, shall dance to the movin' o' the speerit! Wave yourairms and smile, Elsie, for I am the laird, and ye are the leddy!"
With one spring, he landed featly on the tall mantelpiece, where,mopping and mowing, swinging his instrument now high over his head, andnow lower than his knees, Mad Jeremy seemed more like the sculpturedgargoyle of some devil come alive than anything of human stock or humanmothering.
The fire was black out, but on the hearth the shape of the burnedviolin lay in a black heap like a dead, dangerous beast. For the headand neck had twisted themselves back as if in agony, the black pegslooking as if they could sting. They seemed to watch the door of theweaving room into which their destroyer had gone. And certainly theyhad not been unavenged. For their sake, the madman's knife had bittendeep and keen. There was little need now for the head to twist itselfas the tightening strings had pulled it, as the fire had left it. Allwas wiped out. And, as if in recognition of the fact, its masterstirred the black ashes with his toe before he struck into a wildsaturnalia of sound, to which Elsie danced like a Bacchante, with thelast remnants of her girl's strength.
It was still far from the dawn, which is a laggard in Februarythroughout Scotland. The red candles began to go out one by one. Fearsurged tumultuous in Elsie's heart--as, indeed, well it might--to findherself thus shut up with the murderer of her grandfather, whose deadbody she knew lay behind the nearest door, and the red candles goingout one by one.
There remained only the huge centre one, a special purchase of Aphra's.And still the madman grimaced, crossing and uncrossing his legs on thehigh mantel-piece. Still he swung his instrument--still he called onElsie to dance. But now the girl was utterly fatigued. Without a signof giving way, something seemed to crack somewhere--in her head,perhaps, or about her heart. She sank unconscious on the floor in aheap.
Mad Jeremy halted in the middle of a bar; bent forward to look at thegirl to see whether or no she was pretending. Then, leaping down fromthe mantel-shelf with the same graceful ease as he had mounted, hestrode to the last great red candle, fit for a cathedral altar, whichAphra had set in the central candelabra. He took it down, and, afterone keen look at the girl, he stepped over her prostrate body, on hisway to resume his beloved melodeon, which he had left behind him whenhe had leaped down.
A smile of infinite cunning wreathed his lips.
"Baith the twa," he muttered, the smile widening to a grin. "She's abonnie lassie, ay! and if Jeremy had ony thocht o' marryin' she wad bethe lass for him. But it's safer no! Baith the twa will be best dead.That will mak' the last of the Stennises gang tegither. She shall havea braw burial. There shall never be sic a Baalfire as Jeremy willlicht for her--and weel she is deservin' o't. For she danced blitheand brawly, even unto the breakin' o' the day!"
And he went on tiptoe to the door of the weaving room, unlocked it, andlooked in, holding his flambeau high above his head. The light fell onthe dead man, bent forward with his face half hidden in the web.
He held his head first to one side and then to the other, as an artistmay, with pleasure and self-complaisance, admire a completedmasterpiece.
Then he went out. Elsie still lay where she had fallen. The madmanglanced once at her.
"It will e'en be the quicker. I will let her lie. She will neverwauken. Leave the door open, Jeremy. It will mak' a graund draught.Fare ye weel, bairn! Ye danced bonnie, and kind Jeremy is giein' yeyour wages this nicht! The best o' a'--an easy way o' goin'!"
He took the candle in his left hand, and with the melodeon still in hisright he went
down to the chamber beneath. Here he filled his pocketswith bank-notes in rolls, little sacks of gold, and clinking bags froma great safe which stood wide open--the bundle of keys which hadbelonged to its dead owner still in the lock. The Golden Farmer wasplundered of his store.
Then, flinging all the inflammable stuff, furniture, and hangings in aheap in the centre, he drenched the pile with kerosene from a can hebrought from the storehouse, throwing on shavings from his master'sworkshop, kindling-wood from the kitchen, and, indeed, all combustibleshe could lay hands upon.
Bending, he struck a match on the smooth of his corduroy trousers, andin a moment the flame mounted with a roar. Jeremy stood in the doorwaychuckling, long enough to make sure that it had taken.
"Ay, ay, a bonnie funeral pyre! That they will hae, baith the twa!" hesaid. "The last o' the Stennises! A bonnie lass she was--but Jeremycouldna be fashed wi' women folk--na, na, Aphra and her wad neveragree."
The draught drew upward through the silent house. It increased to awind, sucking toward the flames. He could hear the crackling. With areturn of his mad humour he began to dance.
He waved his melodeon, making the bells leap and jangle. And in thepale gleam of the still half-smothered flames he flickered down thestairs in the direction of the hall of Deep Moat Grange.
Mad Jeremy had made an end of the House of Stennis.
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