menu_book Chapter 32

CHAPTER XXXII. THE SKIPPER'S CHAMBER. One day, towards the close of the fishing season, the Marquess called upon Duncan, and was received with a cordial, unembarrassed welcome. "'I want you, Mr. Macphail,' said his lordship, "'to come and live in that little cottage on the banks of the Byrne,

which one of the under-gamekeepers, they tell me, used to occupy. I'll have it put in order for you, and you shall live rent-free as my piper. I thank your lordship's grace, said Duncan, and she would be proud of the honour, but it'll be too far away from the shore for her boy's fishing. I have a design upon him, too, returned the Marquis.

They're building a little yacht for me, a pleasure boat, you understand, at Aberdeen, and I want Malcolm to be skipper. But he is such a useful fellow, and so thoroughly to be depended upon, that I should prefer his having a room in the house. I should like to know he was within call any moment I might want him.

Duncan did not clutch at the proposal. He was silent so long that the Marquis spoke again. You do not quite seem to like the plan, Mr. MacPhail, he said. If all was here as it used to was in the Highlands, my lord, said Duncan, when every clansman was son or brother or father to his chief,

that would be different. But my boy must not go and eat with servants who have nothing but their wages to make them love and obey your lordship. If her boy serves another man, it must be because he loves him and looks upon him as his chief,

who will shake hands with him and take the father's care of him, and her boy must die for him when the time comes. Even a feudal lord cannot be expected to have sympathized with such grand patriarchal ideas. They were much too like those of the kingdom of heaven. And feudalism itself had by this time crumbled away,

not indeed into monthly, but into half-yearly wages. The Marquis, notwithstanding, was touched by the old man's words, matter of fact as his reply must sound after them. I would make any arrangements you or he might wish, he said. he should take his meals with Mistress Courthope, have a bedroom to himself,

and be required only to look after the yacht, and now and then do some bit of business I couldn't trust anyone else with. The Highlander's pride was nearly satisfied. So, he said, it'll be his own henchman my lord will be making of her boy. Something like that. We'll see how it goes.

If he doesn't like it, he can drop it. It's more that I want to have him about me than anything else. I want to do something for him when I have a chance. I like him. My lord will be doing the lad a great honor, said Duncan. But, he added with a sigh, she'll be lonely, her name-sail.

He can come and see you twenty times a day, and stop all night when you particularly want him. We'll see about some respectable woman to look after the house for you. She'll have no womans to look after her, said Duncan fiercely. Oh, very well. Of course not, if you don't wish it, returned the Marquis, laughing. But Duncan did not even smile in return.

He sat thoughtful and silent for a moment, then said, And what'll become of her lamps and her shop? You shall have all the lamps and candlesticks in the house to attend to and take charge of, said the Marquis, who had heard of the old man's whim from Lady Florimel. And for the shop, you won't want that when you're a piper to the Marquis of Lossie.

He did not venture to allude to wages more definitely. Well, she'll be talking to her boy about it, said Duncan, and the Marquis saw that he had better press the matter no further for the time. To Malcolm, the proposal was full of attraction. True, Lord Lossie had once and again spoken so as to offend him,

but the confidence he had shown in him had gone far to atone for that. And to be near Lady Florimel, To have to wait on her in the yacht and sometimes in the house. To be allowed books from the library, perhaps. To have a nice room in those lovely grounds all about him.

It was tempting. The old man also, the more he reflected, liked the idea the more. The only thing he murmured at was being parted from his grandson at night. In vain, Malcolm reminded him that during the fishing season he had to spend most nights alone. Duncan answered that he had but to go to the door and look out to sea,

and there was nothing between him and his boy. But now he could not tell how many stone walls might be standing up to divide them. He was quite willing to make the trial, however, and see if he could bear it. So Malcolm went to speak to the Marquis. He did not altogether trust the Marquis,

but he had always taken a delight in doing anything for anybody. A delight rooted in a natural tendency to ministration, unusually strong, and specially developed by the instructions of Alexander Graham, conjoined with the necessities of his blind grandfather.

While there was an alluring something, it must be confessed, in the Marquess's high position, which let no one set down to Malcolm's discredit, whether the subordination of class shall go to the development of reverence or of servility

depends mainly on the individual nature subordinated. Calvinism itself has produced as loving children as abject slaves, with a good many between partaking of the character of both kinds. Still, as he pondered over the matter on his way, he shrunk a good deal from placing himself at the beck and call of another.

It threatened to interfere with that sense of personal freedom, which is yet dearer, perhaps, to the poor than to the rich. But he argued with himself that he had found no infringement of it under Blue Peter, and that if the Marquis were really as friendly as he professed to be, it was not likely to turn out otherwise with him.

Lady Florimel anticipated pleasure in Malcolm's probable consent to her father's plan, but certainly he would not have been greatly uplifted by a knowledge of the sort of pleasure she expected. For some time the girl had been suffering from too much liberty. Perhaps there is no life more filled with a sense of oppression and lack of freedom than that of those under no external control, in whom duty has not yet gathered sufficient strength to assume the

reins of government, and subject them to the highest law. Their condition is like that of a creature under an exhausted receiver, oppressed from within outwards for want of the counteracting external weight. It was amusement, she hoped for, from Malcolm's becoming, in a sense, one of the family at the house, to which she believed her knowledge of the extremely bare outlines of his history would largely contribute. He was shown at once into the presence of his lordship, whom he

found at breakfast with his daughter. Well, Macphail, said the Marquess, have you made up your mind to be my skipper? Willingly, my lord, answered Malcolm. Do you know how to manage a sailboat? I would need, my lord. Shall you want any help? That depends upon several things, her end size, the will of the wind, and whether or not your lordship or milady can take the tiller. We can't settle about that then till she comes. I hear she'll soon be on her way now.

But I cannot have you dress like a farmer, said his lordship, looking sharply at the Sunday clothes which Malcolm had donned for the visit. What was I to do, my lord? returned Malcolm apologetically. The only other clothes I have are very fishy, and neither your cell nor my lady could bide them in the room beside you.

Certainly not, responded the marquis, as in a leisurely manner he devoured his omelette. I was thinking of your future position as skipper of my boat. What would you say to a kilt now? "'Na, na, my lord,' rejoined Malcolm. "'A kilt's no seafaring clothes.

"'A kilt wouldna do of all, my lord.' "'You cannot surely object to the dress of your own people,' said the Marquis. "'The kilt's well enough upon a hillside,' said Malcolm. "'I do not doubt. "'But faith, seafaring, my lord.

"'You would want the trues as well. "'Well, go to the best tailor in town and order a naval suit. "'White ducks and a blue jacket. "'Two suits you'll want. "'We should get one shoot, sir, as to begin with, my lord.

"'I'll just gang to Jamie Sangster, who makes all my clothes, not at their money, and get him to miser me. "'He'll make them well enough for me. "'Yet I sure are the worth of your siller for him. "'I tell you to go to the best tailor in the town and order two suits. "'Nah, nah, my lord, there's no need.

"'I cannot afford it for by. "'We're not all made a siller like your lordship. "'You booby, do you suppose I would tell you to order clothes I did not mean to pay for?' Lady Florimel found her expectation of amusement not likely to be disappointed. "'Hoot's, my lord,' returned Malcolm.

"'That would never do. I maun pay for my own clothes. I would be in a constant terror of bloodin' o' them, gin I didna, and that would be enough to make a body miserable. It would be all the same for a bye, out and out, as we are in a livery.'

"'Well, well, please your pride and be damned to you,' said the Marquis. Yes, let him please his pride and be damned to him, assented Lady Florimel with perfect gravity. Malcolm started and stared. Lady Florimel kept in absolute composure. The Marquis burst into a loud laugh. Malcolm stood bewildered for a moment. I'm thinking I'm gun-daft, he said at length, putting his hand to his head.

It's time I go'd. Good morning, my lord. He turned and left the room, followed by a fresh peal from his lordship. mingling with which his ear plainly detected the silvery veins of Lady Florimel's equally merry laughter. When he came to himself and was able to reflect, he saw that there must have been some joke involved, the behavior of both indicated as much, and with this conclusion he heartened his dismay.

The next morning Duncan called on Mrs. Parton, and begged her acceptance of his stock in trade, as, having been his lordship's piper for some time, he was now at length about to occupy his proper quarters within the policies. Mrs. Findlay acquiesced, with an air better suited to the granting of slow leave to laboursome petition

than the accepting of such a generous gift. But she made some amends by graciously expressing a hope that Duncan would not forget his old friends now that he was going amongst lords and ladies, to which Duncan returned as courteous answer

as if he had been addressing Lady Florimel herself. Before the end of the week, his few household goods were borne in a cart through the sea-gate dragonized by bikes, to whom Malcolm dropped a humorous, "'Well, Johnny,' as he passed, receiving a nondescript kind of grin in return. The rest of the forenoon was spent in getting the place in order,

and in the afternoon, arrayed in his new garments, Malcolm reported himself at the house. Admitted to his lordship's presence, he had a question to ask, and a request to prefer. Ha' you done anything, my lord, he said, about Mistress Katna? What do you mean? An'n't you on Katprol about the host, my lord?

No. You haven't discovered anything more, have you? Nah, my lord. I ha'na had a chance. But you may be sure she had no good design in it. I don't suspect her of any. Well, my lord, ha' you any objection to let me sleep up your honor?

None at all. Only you'd better see what Mistress Courthope has to say to it. Perhaps you won't be so ready after you hear her story. But I have your lordship's leave to take any room I like. Certainly.

Go to Mrs. Courthope and tell her I wish you to choose your own quarters. Having delivered straightway his lordship's message, Mrs. Courthope, wondering little thereat, proceeded to show him those portions of the house set apart for the servants. He followed her from floor to floor,

last to the upper regions, and through all the confused rambling roofs of the old pile, now descending a sudden steep yawning stair, now ascending another where none could have been supposed to exist, oppressed all the time with a sense of the multitudinous and intricate,

such as he had never before experienced, and such as perhaps only the works of man can produce, the intricacy and variety of those of nature being ever veiled in the grand simplicity which springs from primal unity of purpose. I find no part of an ancient house so full of interest as the Garrett region.

It has all the mystery of the dungeon cellars, with a far more striking variety of form, and a bewildering curiosity of adaptation, the peculiarities of roof shapes, and the consequent complexities of their relations and junctures being so much greater than those of foundation plans. Then the sense of lofty loneliness in the deeps of air, and at the same time of proximity to things aerial, Doves and martens, veins and gilded balls and lightning conductors,

the waves of the sea of wind breaking on the chimneys for rocks, and the crashing roll of the thunder, is in harmony with the highest spiritual instincts. While the clouds and the stars look, if not nearer, yet more germane, and the moon gazes down on the lonely dweller in uplifted places,

as if she had secrets with such. The cellars are the metaphysics, the garrets, the poetry of the house. Mrs. Courthope was more than kind, for she was greatly pleased at having Malcolm for an inmate.

She led him from room to room, suggesting now and then a choice, and listening amusedly to his remarks of liking or disliking, and his marvel at strangeness or extent. At last he found himself following her along the passage

in which was the mysterious door, but she never stayed her step or seemed to intend showing one of the many rooms opening upon it. "'Sick of bees, biker rooms,' said Malcolm, making a halt. "'Who sleeps here?'

"'Nobody has slept in one of these rooms for I dare not say how many years,' replied Mrs. Courthope without stopping, and as she spoke she passed the fearful door. "'I would like to see until this room,' said Malcolm. "'That door is never opened,' answered Mrs. Courthope,

who had now reached the end of the passage, and turned, lingering as an act while she spoke to move on. And what for that, answered Malcolm, continuing to stand before it. I would rather not answer you just here. Come along, this is not a part of the house where you would like to be, I am sure.

How can you that, ma'am? And how can I say myself, afore he has shown me what the room's like? It may be the very place to take my fancy. Just open the door, ma'am, can you please? And let's have a keek into it.

I daren't open it. It's never opened, I tell you. It's against the rules of the house. Come to my room and I'll tell you the story about it. Well, you'll let me see until the next, when are you? There's no law again opening it, is there? Said Malcolm, approaching the door next to the one in dispute. Certainly not, but I'm pretty sure once you've heard the story I have to tell you won't choose to sleep in this part of the house.

Let's look, Anigate. So saying, Malcolm took upon himself to try the handle of the door. It was not locked. He peeped in, then entered. It was a small room, low-sealed, with a deep dormer window in the high pediment of a roof, and a turret recess on each side of the window. It seemed very light after the passage, and looked down upon the burn. It was comfortably

furnished, and the curtains of its tent bed were checkered in squares of blue and white. "'This is the verre place for me, mem,' said Malcolm, reissuing. That is, he added, "'Gin you dinna think it so grand for the likes of me "'it's no been used to anything half so good.'"

"'You're quite welcome to it,' said Mrs. Courthope, "'all but confident he would not care to occupy it "'after hearing the tale of Lord Gurnan. "'She had not moved from the end of the passage "'while Malcolm was in the room.

"'Somewhat hurriedly, she now led the way to her own. "'It seemed half a mile off to the wandering Malcolm "'as he followed her down winding stairs, "'along endless passages and round innumerable corners. corners. Arrived at last, she made him sit down, and gave him a glass of homemade wine to drink,

while she told him the story, much as she had already told it to the Marquis. Adding a hope to the effect that, if ever the Marquis should express a wish to cry into the secret of the chamber, Malcolm would not encourage him in a fancy, the indulgence of which was certainly useless, and might be dangerous. Me? exclaimed Malcolm with surprise. As can he would heed a word I said.

Very little sometimes will turn a man either in one direction or the other, said Mrs. Courthope. But surely, ma'am, you didn't believe in sick fool old-world stories as that. It's well enough for a tale, but to think o' a body turning a foot out o' his gate for it licks me. I don't say I believe it, returned Mrs. Courthope, a little pettishly. But there's no good in mere foolhardiness.

You didn't surely think, ma'am, that God would let anything depend upon whether a man opened a door in his own house or no. It's again our reason, persisted Malcolm. There might be reasons we couldn't understand, she replied. To do what we are warned against from any quarter without good reason must be foolhardy at best. Well, ma'am, I'm on her the room next the old warlock's sunny gate, for in that I'm going to sleep, and in nay either no all this muckle house.

Mrs. Cordhope rose, full of uneasiness. and walked up and down the room. I'm taken upon me nothing to yont his lordship saying word, urged Malcolm.

If you are to go by the very word, rejoined Mrs. Cordhope, stopping and looking him full in the face, you might insist on sleeping in Lord Gurnan's chamber itself.

Well, and so I might, returned Malcolm. The hinted possibility of having to change bad for so much worse

appeared to quench further objection. I must get it ready myself, then, she said resignedly. for the maids won't even go up that stair, and as to going into any of those rooms. "'Deed no, ma'am, you sa'na do that,' cried Malcolm.

"'Say not a word to one of them. I shall wedger I'm as good as the old warlock himself at making a bed. Just give me the sheets and the blankets, and I'll do it as trim as any loss in the hose.' "'But the bed will want airing,' objected the housekeeper. "'By all accounts, that's the last thing it's likely to want, lying at store to yon, Chimer. But I asleep to manis the time ere now upon the top o' a boatload o' hair,

and, again, that never did me any ill, it's no likely a good bed'll kill me, again it should be a wee mochy. Mrs. Courthope yielded, and gave him all that was needful. And before night Malcolm had made his new quarters quite comfortable. He did not retire to them, however, until he had seen his grandfather

laid down to sleep in his lonely cottage. About noon the next day the old man made his appearance in the kitchen. How he had found his way to it, neither he nor anyone else could tell. There happened to be no one there when he entered, and the cook, when she returned, stood for a moment in the door,

watching him as he felt flitting about with huge bony hands, whose touch was yet light as the poise of a butterfly. Not knowing the old man, she fancied at first he was feeling after something in the shape of food, but presently his hands fell upon a brass candlestick. He clutched it and commenced fingering it all over.

Alas, it was clean, and with a look of disappointment he replaced it. Wondering yet more what his quest could be, she watched on. The next instant he had laid hold of a silver candlestick, not yet passed through the hands of the scullery maid. And for a moment she fancied him a thief,

for he had rejected the brass and now took the silver. But he went no farther with it than the fireplace, where he sat down on the end of the large fender and having spread his pocket handkerchief over his kilted knees drew a similar rag from somewhere and commenced cleaning it.

By this time one of the maids who knew him had joined the cook and also stood watching him with amusement. But when she saw the old knife drawn from his stocking and about to be applied to the nozzle to free it from adhering wax it seemed more than time to break the silence.

"'Hey, that's a siller-canded stick, Master MacPhail,' she cried. "'And you maunna take a knaif to it, or you'll scratch it a dreadful?' An angry flush glowed in the withered cheeks of the piper, as without the least start at the suddenness of her interference, he turned his face in the direction of the speaker.

"'You take old Duncan's fingers for persons of no education, mem, as if dey couldn't know de silver from de brass. If dey was so stupid, her nose would be telling dem so. Even old Duncan's knife would be known better than to scratch the silver. Or to press either.

Old Duncan's knife would be scratching nothing better than the skin of a commel. Now the candlestick had no business in the kitchen, and if it were scratched, the butler would be indignant. But the girl was a Campbell, and Duncan's words so frightened her that she did not dare interfere.

She soon saw, however, that the piper had not overvaunted his skill. The skein left not a mark upon the metal. In a few minutes he had melted away the wax he could not otherwise reach, and had rubbed the candlestick perfectly bright, leaving behind him no trace except an unpleasant odor of train oil from the rag.

From that hour he was cleaner of lamps and candlesticks, as well as blower of bagpipes to the house of Lossie, and had everything provided necessary to the performance of his duties with comfort and success. Before many weeks were over, he had proved the possession of such a talent for arrangement and general management,

at least in everything connected with illumination, that the entire charge of the lighting of the house was left in his hands, even to that of its stores of wax and tallow and oil. And great was the pleasure he derived, not only from the trust reposed in him,

but from other, more occult sources connected with the duties of his office. End of chapter 32