I hope you don’t think I’m crazy with all this daydreaming. But I certainly would like to see you again and have a good long talk. We must have a lot of things in common that we never have talked over.
Address your letter to the office unless I let you know otherwise.
As ever, your friend,
Gordon
Rose sat for some minutes over that letter. The very idea of Gordon’s coming to call on her over here fairly took her breath away. It seemed as if she must be reading a fairy story and trying to fit herself into the title role. It didn’t seem real. What would some of the girls at school think if they knew she was corresponding with Gordon McCarroll? Corresponding! Yes, that’s what it could be called now. He had spoken of her future letters as if he expected them to go right on, indefinitely. She was really corresponding with the nicest boy in high school.
Of course high school was almost two years past now, and they were both grown up, but this friendship was so comparatively new and of such rapid growth, that it seemed more like a vision or dream than reality. But Gordon, coming over here to call on her! She could scarcely make herself believe it.
Then suddenly she remembered that they were making jelly in the house and she was supposed to be helping, and she fluttered her letter quickly into its envelope and hurried in.
“Oh, I’m so ashamed!” she said as she came into the kitchen and washed her hands quickly in the basin. “I got a letter from an old schoolmate in America, and I got so interested that I completely forgot what else I was doing. Please forgive me. Shall I stem these currants?” And she seated herself among the rest around the big yellow bowl, with a pan of unstemmed currants in her lap, and began to make her fingers fly nimbly.
“A letter? That’s nice. From an old schoolmate? That would be interesting, of course!” said Aunt Jessie sweetly.
“Ye needna have hoorried. We have a’ the time there is! Was it a school friend you’re verra fond of, lassie?”
Rose’s cheeks flamed rosily.
“Oh,” she said, embarrassed, “why, yes, he’s a good friend. We’re just friends. It happened he was on the ship seeing someone else off as I was leaving. He’s been very nice and friendly.”
“So, that’s the way the land lies,” grinned Kirsty. “I thought you seemed interested the time the last letter came. Or was that frae anither schoolmate?”
Rose gave an answering grin.
“Oh, no. It was the same one. He’s been very kind. He knew my mother was gone, and he thought I was lonely. He’s just being kind, that’s all.”
“Oh, yes?” said Grandmother, suddenly appearing in the doorway. “But yon’s the wy they begeen. We maun look oot or our bairn will be speerited awa.”
Rose laughed gaily, her cheeks still rosy.
“Oh, nothing like that at all, Grandmother. He’s just one of the boys that used to go to high school with me. And I’m out of school now nearly two years. I hadn’t seen him since we graduated until the day I sailed. So you see.”
“That sounds verra weel,” said the grandmother with a twinkle in her eyes, “but it’s weel tae tak warnin’. Juist what sort is this lad wha presoomes tae write tae my gran’cheeld? Is he a lord an’ hes he a castle?”
“No, Grandmother, he’s not a lord, though his people are nice Christian people and I think they have a nice home, though I’ve never been in it. We did not know the family. I only knew the boy in school. We had classes together. We never knew each other well outside of that. But he’s a Christian. He likes to hear about family worship, and the church we go to here. He was considered the brightest boy in high school. He has some kind of a position in business now, though I don’t know what it is. We’ve only written a few friendly letters. It doesn’t mean a thing, Grandmother.”
“Weel, he’d better mean a thing or he’ll be havin’ tae answer tae me! I’d like tae look him over!”
“Well,” laughed Rose, “he said in this letter that maybe sometime he would get over here, and if he did he would come and call on me, so maybe you’ll get a chance to see him yet, who knows? Though probably by that time he’ll have forgotten all about me. Please don’t get worried. Now, Kirsty, are there any more currants to stem?”
“No, they’re all in the kettle now but those. You can help me get the jelly glasses from the cellar, though, if you will. They must be washed and ready.”
So the pleasant bustle of the kitchen work went on and Rose grew happy with the thought of the letter in her pocket. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if Gordon would come over sometime and stop to see her? That was something to dream about, like that parting kiss and the flowers he had sent her on the ship. Something to rest her when she was tired and discouraged. Something that would probably never come true and didn’t seem real at all, but was lovely anyway. She smiled over it and went and put away her letter safely in the little box in her suitcase that locked, whose key she wore about her neck on a fine little chain.
And then, the very next morning, the young Lord MacCallummore drew up at the gate in a shining car and demanded of the grocery boy, who was just going into the gate with an order, that he ask Miss Margaret Galbraith to come out to the car and talk to him. He flung a couple of shillings at the boy as he passed. The grocer’s boy threw the money back into the car, gave him a contemptuous grin, and swung into the gate without a word till he was halfway up the walk. Then he turned and called back in broad Scotch, “Wha d’ya think ye air, onyway?” And when he came out he swung into his truck and rattled noisily away with a wicked, mocking glance backward. And that despite the fact that he was in Kirsty Galbraith’s Sunday school class.
So young Lord MacCallummore sat for several minutes in his sporty chariot and waited for a lady who did not come.
Chapter 16
There were pleasant sounds from the thatched cottage as the work of the day went forward. Low, well-bred voices from what must be the region of the kitchen, the ring of a spoon in a glass, the clatter of a pan that slipped to the floor, the chime of loving voices laughing. All too evidently, there was no one in that house preparing to come out and converse with the young lord in his royal chariot, and Lord MacCallummore grew more and more angry as the minutes went by. Were they daring to ignore his request? Or hadn’t the hoodlum of a boy done his bidding?
He glanced down at the money lying at his feet, finally picked it up and restored it to his pocket, and then stared at the house for another while. At last he remembered his car horn and blew it angrily, but nothing happened. If any heard, no one looked out the windows, for the prim white muslin curtains were not disturbed. Well, was he going to sit all day and wait in front of a mere cottage? Did the girl think she was worth so much that she could treat him like the dust under her pretty feet? She must have a very great fortune indeed to be so haughty. And perhaps all the more was she worth the winning. Lord Warloch had said that, after investigation, without actually putting any more questions to the girl about it, he felt that her fortune must be ample.
So after waiting again, for he carried a sour grim pride in his lank ugly frame, he flung himself from his car and stalked up the front walk to the cottage door, giving it such a thump with his bony fist as sent a thundering noise through the house.
Grandmother looked up from the spiced currants she was concocting and gave a startled look toward her daughter-in-law.
“Wha wud that puir body be?” she asked. “Is it the old lord come back tae resent ma wurruds? Ye’d best tak yir grand’ther’s old gun wi’ ye when ye gang tae answer that knock.”
But Kirsty only laughed and hustled away to the front door.
She appeared before the young lord in her plain little working garb, with a “bit ribband” tying back her brown curls, and her eyes full of laughter at her grandmother.
The visitor looked at her in astonishment. What? Another good-looking young woman! Was she servant, or lassie?
“Is Miss Margaret Galbraith staying here?” he asked, and noted the sudden tilt of the girl’s c
hin in a haughty gesture.
“No,” said Kirsty loftily. “There is a Rose Galbraith, and a Kirsty Galbraith, but no others.”
“Well, I want the girl that came over here from Lord Warloch’s castle, whatever her name might be, and I want her quick. I’ve waited long enough outside. I sent a lad for her, but she did not come, and I want her to come outside and talk to me. I am Lord MacCallummore.”
Kirsty’s eyes were flashing angrily, but her voice was steady as she said with a sweep back from the door, “Will you step inside and sit down till I call my cousin and see if she is willing to talk with you?”
“Willing?” said the visitor. “Willing? She’d better be willing. Tell her it’s very important. No, I will not come in. I wish her to come outside.”
Kirsty left him standing outside the door, with the door standing wide so that he could see the lovely room and could hear the scorn with which his message was delivered to Rose.
“Rose! There’s a puir creatur’ outside the door whinin’ tae see ye an’ talk wi’ ye, verra important business, he says. But he scorns oor hoose, an’ wull no come in. Div ye wish tae see him? His name is Lord Me-cal-no-more! Maun I tell him ye’ll no come, or div ye wish tae do his bidding?”
Rose grinned at her cousin, and then answered in a clear voice that my lord could easily hear. “No, Kirsty, I do not care to see him, nor to talk with him, but you don’t need to give him the message. I’ll go to the door and tell him myself and get the matter over quickly.”
Rose put off her kitchen apron and went all flushed with her happy work into the big room. But there was no grin on her face as she approached the door and saw the gloating look in the gray fishy eyes of the young lord.
“You were calling for me?” she asked coldly.
“Yes,” said the imperious lord. “Come out to my car. I wish to talk with you alone.”
Rose flashed a look at the car standing outside the gate and another of disdain at the man.
“I’m sorry,” she said coolly, “I wouldn’t care to go out and sit in your car, and I have no desire to talk with you alone. If you want to see me, you must come into the house where I am living.”
“But it is a private matter,” he said as he drew nearer the door and gave a keen, searching look about.
“Really?” said Rose. “That wouldn’t make any difference. My relatives are to be trusted.”
“I shouldn’t care to trust anybody with my private affairs,” said Lord MacCallummore scornfully. “Get your hat and we will take a ride. Your aunt would like you to come back to the castle. I told her I would bring you. Come at once. I am in haste. If there is baggage to be brought, we can send for it afterward.”
“It is quite impossible for me to go with you,” answered Rose, “and I do not wish to go back to the castle at present. I am needed here, and here I am staying. You may tell my aunt if you please that if I ever find it right to come back to the castle, I will let her know by letter. But in any case I do not wish to go with you. I have cousins here who can take me if it becomes necessary.”
She looked like a young queen as she stood there in her little cotton print dress, with battle in her eyes. Young Lord MacCallummore had a glint of almost admiration in his eyes. She really could be made to look like a lady. Perhaps it was worthwhile to try for this.
With this thought in mind, he swung into the house and dropped into a chair.
“Well, really, now, you don’t understand me,” he drawled. “In point of fact, I came down here as a favor to your uncle, to get a few facts for some business he had in hand. He was not well enough to come himself. And your aunt particularly asked me to stop and get you. Since your uncle is not well, she says she needs you.”
Rose stiffened again and looked at him with hard, unbelieving eyes. She could not forget his tone of voice and the words he had spoken that night when she came downstairs for her bag and overheard him plotting with her uncle to perpetrate a marriage, with herself as the bride.
“It is quite impossible for me to go,” she said again coldly, “I will write and explain fully to my aunt.”
“Well, I’m sorry you do not see your way clear to going this morning,” said my lord in the nearest to genial he had in the way of a tone of voice. “You see, there are a few questions your uncle needs to know at once, and we can find them out only from you. He said that in case you were unable to come immediately, he would like you to answer those questions. It is a matter of reports and so on. Government reports, you understand, which he has to file at once. It will be necessary for you to fill in the answers to this questionnaire which he has sent by me, and I will convey it to him of course. I can wait while you fill this out.”
He handed her a typewritten sheet containing the questions. She took it with a startled suspicious look at him. Perhaps if she had not overheard that conversation at Warloch Castle she would have thought this merely some modern demand by a foreign country requiring an alien to file a report. But instantly she was on the alert. Looking up quickly, she saw the sly gleam of satisfaction in Lord MacCallummore’s eyes.
There was no heading to the paper except the word “Questionnaire.” Then the questions followed.
1. What is the worth of your entire estate?
2. Where is it now held?
3. How much is in stocks or bonds? (State what kind and names)
4. In what form is the rest invested?
5. Is all your inheritance under your own power, or is all or part of it held in trust? If so, state names and addresses of trustees.
6. Have you a guardian? (If so give name and address)
7. When do you come of age?
8. Will all your property at that time be transferred to your own keeping?
Rose read the paper carefully, slowly through to the end. Then she suddenly held it out to the man.
“I’m not going to make out any such paper as that!” she said crisply. “The answers to those questions are none of my uncle’s business, and they certainly are not things for your government to pry into or for you to know. I am an American citizen, and I do not care to discuss my financial standing with you or anybody else over here. If there is any more of this nonsense, I shall consult someone who has the power to have this stopped. I have a very good friend whose husband is connected with the English Government and I shall appeal to him. I am sure it will not be pleasant for anyone who attempts any further questioning of this sort.”
Rose’s chin was high and her air was assured, though to tell the truth she was mightily frightened. Her habitual method of keeping in the background made it hard for her to maintain this position, for all the time something kept saying what if she was wrong and there was something to all this? She had to keep remembering that night on the stairs and the cold hard words of both men as they speculated on her probable fortune.
She began to fold the paper rapidly and crush it in her hand.
“You can go back and tell my uncle that I have nothing to say about this matter, and I do not wish to discuss it at any future time, either.”
She stood back as if she were waiting for him to go, and he rose slowly, eyeing her strangely, a baffled look in his eyes. Then he stretched out his hand.
“I’ll take that paper, if you please,” he said autocratically.
“No,” said Rose quickly. “I shall keep this to show to my uncle, and to my friend who is connected with the government. I shall have the matter investigated.”
It was a sudden thought, and she was not prepared for the almost fright that came into his light eyes as he took another step toward her. “I warn you that that paper is government property,” he said severely. “You’d better be careful what you do with it.”
“There is nothing on it to show that,” said Rose assuredly, “but I shall take good care of it, and if any fault is found with me I shall be sure to exonerate you by telling the government just where I got this paper and just what you tried to make me do.”
Her voice was almost tremb
ling now, but she was looking steadily at him.
“Give that paper to me!” he demanded in a louder tone, a very harsh, rough tone.
“No,” said Rose. “I’m going to keep it. And you’ll have to excuse me now. I hear my grandmother is awake. I must go to her.” She went swiftly into her grandmother’s room and closed the door sharply. Lord MacCallummore could distinctly hear the old-fashioned wooden button as it turned. But he came in with a stride and took hold of the latch, shaking the door, an ugly look on his face.
“Yes?” said the sweet voice of Mrs. Galbraith as she appeared in the kitchen doorway, “and what wud ye be wantin’ in thae room?”
The man turned with a start of surprise, then saw it was only another woman, and the cunning look came back in his eyes.
“I want that girl. That Galbraith girl. She has something that belongs to me. An important paper. I want it at once, or I shall call the police. I am Lord MacCallummore!”
“Oh!” said Jessie in her mild sweet voice. “Noo, think o’ that! Verra weel! Juist sit doon. I’ll ca my husband. He’s juist driven in. Excuse me.” Jessie vanished into the kitchen again. Lord MacCallummore, with a furtive look behind him, darted out the front door and was into his car and shooting off down the street and out of sight before ever John Galbraith could get into the house.
It was an interesting thing that the very next day Lady Campbell came riding up in her fine car to call on Rose. Grandmother was feeling better that afternoon and had come out to sit with the rest, with her knitting in her hands. Jessie was there with her sewing, and Kirsty and Rose were hemming some new dish towels, made from old homespun linen sheets that were wearing thin in places. They were all laughing and talking and being cozy together, when Lady Campbell came knocking at the door. For she didn’t send her liveried servant up to the door to demand the family’s attendance, nor even to find out if that was the right place. She came herself.
“I was sure this was the place,” she said gaily as Rose came to meet her. “Just from your description in your letter.”
Rose Galbraith Page 18