"Come! come! " said Arnold to Anne. "There's a comic side to all
this. Try and see it as I do."
Mr. Bishopriggs returned from the window, and announced the
appearance of a new element of embarrassment in the situation at
the inn.
"My certie!" he said, "it's weel ye cam' when ye did. It's ill
getting to this hottle in a storm."
Anne started. and looked round at him. "A storm coming!" she
exclaimed.
"Eh! ye're well hoosed here--ye needn't mind it. There's the
cloud down the valley," he added, pointing out of the window,"
coming up one way, when the wind's blawing the other. The storm's
brewing, my leddy, when ye see that!"
There was another knock at the door. As Arnold had predicted, the
landlady made her appearance on the scene.
"I ha' just lookit in, Sir," said Mrs. Inchbare, addressing
herself exclusively to Arnold, "to see ye've got what ye want."
"Oh! you are the landlady? Very nice, ma'am--very nice."
Mistress Inchbare had her own private motive for entering the
room, and came to it without further preface.
"Ye'll excuse me, Sir," she proceeded. "I wasna in the way when
ye cam' here, or I suld ha' made bauld to ask ye the question
which I maun e'en ask noo. Am I to understand that ye hire these
rooms for yersel', and this leddy here--yer wife?"
Anne raised her head to speak. Arnold pressed her hand warningly,
under the table, and silenced her.
"Certainly," he said. "I take the rooms for myself, and this lady
here--my wife!"
Anne made a second attempt to speak.
"This gentleman--" she began.
Arnold stopped her for the second time.
"This gentleman?" repeated Mrs. Inchbare, with a broad stare of
surprise. "I'm only a puir woman, my leddy--d'ye mean yer husband
here?"
Arnold's warning hand touched Anne's, for the third time.
Mistress Inchbare's eyes remained fixed on her in merciless
inquiry. To have given utterance to the contradiction which
trembled on her lips would have been to involve Arnold (after all
that he had sacrificed for her) in the scandal which would
inevitably follow--a scandal which would be talked of in the
neighborhood, and which might find its way to Blanche's ears.
White and cold, her eyes never moving from the table, she
accepted the landlady's implied correction, and faintly repeated
the words: "My husband."
Mistress Inchbare drew a breath of virtuous relief, and waited
for what Anne had to say next. Arnold came considerately to the
rescue, and got her out of the room.
"Never mind," he said to Anne; "I know what it is, and I'll see
about it. She's always like this, ma'am, when a storm's coming,"
he went on, turning to the landlady. "No, thank you--I know how
to manage her. Well send to you, if we want your assistance."
"At yer ain pleasure, Sir, " answered Mistress Inchbare. She
turned, and apologized to Anne (under protest), with a stiff
courtesy. "No offense, my leddy! Ye'll remember that ye cam' here
alane, and that the hottle has its ain gude name to keep up."
Having once more vindicated "the hottle," she made the
long-desired move to the door, and left the room.
"I'm faint!" Anne whispered. "Give me some water."
There was no water on the table. Arnold ordered it of Mr.
Bishopriggs--who had remained passive in the back-ground (a model
of discreet attention) as long as the mistress was in the room.
"Mr. Brinkworth!" said Anne, when they were alone, "you are
acting with inexcusable rashness. That woman's question was an
impertinence. Why did you answer it? Why did you force me--?"
She stopped, unable to finish the sentence. Arnold insisted on
her drinking a glass of wine--and then defended himself with the
patient consideration for her which he had shown from the first.
"Why didn't I have the inn door shut in your face"--he asked,
good humoredly--"with a storm coming on, and without a place in
which you can take refuge? No, no, Miss Silvester! I don't
presume to blame you for any scruples you may feel--but scruples
are sadly out of place with such a woman as that landlady. I am
responsible for your safety to Geoffrey; and Geoffrey expects to
find you here. Let's change the subject. The water is a long time
coming. Try another glass of wine. No? Well--here is Blanche's
health" (he took some of the wine himself), "in the weakest
sherry I ever drank in my life." As he set down his glass, Mr.
Bishopriggs came in with the water. Arnold hailed him
satirically. "Well? have you got the water? or have you used it
all for the sherry?"
Mr. Bishopriggs stopped in the middle of the room, thunder-struck
at the aspersion cast on the wine.
"Is that the way ye talk of the auldest bottle o' sherry wine in
Scotland?" he asked, gravely. "What's the warld coming to? The
new generation's a foot beyond my fathoming. The maircies o'
Providence, as shown to man in the choicest veentages o' Spain,
are clean thrown away on 'em."
"Have you brought the water?"
"I ha' brought the water--and mair than the water. I ha' brought
ye news from ootside. There's a company o' gentlemen on
horseback, joost cantering by to what they ca' the shootin'
cottage, a mile from this."
"Well--and what have we got to do with it?"
"Bide a wee! There's ane o' them has drawn bridle at the hottle,
and he's speerin' after the leddy that cam' here alane. The
leddy's your leddy, as sure as saxpence. I doot," said Mr.
Bishopriggs, walking away to the window, "_that's_ what ye've got
to do with it."
Arnold looked at Anne.
"Do you expect any body?"
"Is it Geoffrey?"
"Impossible. Geoffrey is on his way to London."
"There he is, any way," resumed Mr. Bishopriggs, at the window.
"He's loupin' down from his horse. He's turning this way. Lord
save us!" he exclaimed, with a start of consternation, "what do I
see? That incarnate deevil, Sir Paitrick himself!"
Arnold sprang to his feet.
"Do you mean Sir Patrick Lundie?"
Anne ran to the window.
"It _is_ Sir Patrick!" she said. "Hide yourself before he comes
in!"
"Hide myself?"
"What will he think if he sees you with _me?"_
He was Blanche's g uardian, and he believed Arnold to be at that
moment visiting his new property. What he would think was not
difficult to foresee. Arnold turned for help to Mr. Bishopriggs.
"Where can I go?"
Mr. Bishopriggs pointed to the bedroom door.
"Whar' can ye go? There's the nuptial chamber!"
"Impossible!"
Mr. Bishopriggs expressed the utmost extremity of human amazement
by a long whistle, on one note.
"Whew! Is that the way ye talk o' the nuptial chamber already?"
"Find me some other place--I'll make it worth your while."
"Eh! there's my paintry! I trow that's some other place; and the
door's at the end o' the passage."
Arnold h
urried out. Mr. Bishopriggs--evidently under the
impression that the case before him was a case of elopement, with
Sir Patrick mixed up in it in the capacity of guardian--addressed
himself, in friendly confidence, to Anne.
"My certie, mistress! it's ill wark deceivin' Sir Paitrick, if
that's what ye've dune. Ye must know, I was ance a bit clerk body
in his chambers at Embro--"
The voice of Mistress Inchbare, calling for the head-waiter, rose
shrill and imperative from the regions of the bar. Mr.
Bishopriggs disappeared. Anne remained, standing helpless by the
window. It was plain by this time that the place of her retreat
had been discovered at Windygates. The one doubt to decide, now,
was whether it would be wise or not to receive Sir Patrick, for
the purpose of discovering whether he came as friend or enemy to
the inn.
CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH.
SIR PATRICK.
THE doubt was practically decided before Anne had determined what
to do. She was still at the window when the sitting-room door was
thrown open, and Sir Patrick appeared, obsequiously shown in by
Mr. Bishopriggs.
"Ye're kindly welcome, Sir Paitrick. Hech, Sirs! the sight of you
is gude for sair eyne."
Sir Patrick turned and looked at Mr. Bishopriggs--as he might
have looked at some troublesome insect which he had driven out of
the window, and which had returned on him again.
"What, you scoundrel! have you drifted into an honest employment
at last?"
Mr. Bishopriggs rubbed his hands cheerfully, and took his tone
from his superior, with supple readiness
"Ye're always in the right of it, Sir Paitrick! Wut, raal wut in
that aboot the honest employment, and me drifting into it. Lord's
sake, Sir, hoo well ye wear!"
Dismissing Mr. Bishopriggs by a sign, Sir Patrick advanced to
Anne.
"I am committing an intrusion, madam which must, I am afraid,
appear unpardonable in your eyes," he said. "May I hope you will
excuse me when I have made you acquainted with my motive?"
He spoke with scrupulous politeness. His knowledge of Anne was of
the slightest possible kind. Like other men, he had felt the
attraction of her unaffected grace and gentleness on the few
occasions when he had been in her company--and that was all. If
he had belonged to the present generation he would, under the
circumstances, have fallen into one of the besetting sins of
England in these days--the tendency (to borrow an illustration
from the stage) to "strike an attitude" in the presence of a
social emergency. A man of the present period, in Sir Patrick's
position, would have struck an attitude of (what is called)
chivalrous respect; and would have addressed Anne in a tone of
ready-made sympathy, which it was simply impossible for a
stranger really to feel. Sir Patrick affected nothing of the
sort. One of the besetting sins of _his_ time was the habitual
concealment of our better selves--upon the whole, a far less
dangerous national error than the habitual advertisement of our
better selves, which has become the practice, public and
privately, of society in this age. Sir Patrick assumed, if
anything, less sympathy on this occasion than he really felt.
Courteous to all women, he was as courteous as usual to Anne--and
no more.
"I am quite at a loss, Sir, to know what brings you to this
place. The servant here informs me that you are one of a party of
gentlemen who have just passed by the inn, and who have all gone
on except yourself." In those guarded terms Anne opened the
interview with the unwelcome visitor, on her side.
Sir Patrick admitted the fact, without betraying the slightest
embarrassment.
"The servant is quite right," he said. "I am one of the party.
And I have purposely allowed them to go on to the keeper's
cottage without me. Having admitted this, may I count on
receiving your permission to explain the motive of my visit?"
Necessarily suspicious of him, as coming from Windygates, Anne
answered in few and formal words, as coldly as before.
"Explain it, Sir Patrick, if you please, as briefly as possible."
Sir Patrick bowed. He was not in the least offended; he was even
(if the confession may be made without degrading him in the
public estimation) privately amused. Conscious of having honestly
presented himself at the inn in Anne's interests, as well as in
the interests of the ladies at Windygates, it appealed to his
sense of humor to find himself kept at arm's-length by the very
woman whom he had come to benefit. The temptation was strong on
him to treat his errand from his own whimsical point of view. He
gravely took out his watch, and noted the time to a second,
before he spoke again.
"I have an event to relate in which you are interested," he said.
"And I have two messages to deliver, which I hope you will not
object to receive. The event I undertake to describe in one
minute. The messages I promise to dispose of in two minutes more.
Total duration of this intrusion on your time--three minutes."
He placed a chair for Anne, and waited until she had permitted
him, by a sign, to take a second chair for himself.
"We will begin with the event," he resumed. "Your arrival at this
place is no secret at Windygates. You were seen on the foot-road
to Craig Fernie by one of the female servants. And the inference
naturally drawn is, that you were on your way to the inn. It may
be important for you to know this; and I have taken the liberty
of mentioning it accordingly." He consulted his watch. "Event
related. Time, one minute."
He had excited her curiosity, to begin with. "Which of the women
saw me?" she asked, impulsively.
Sir Patrick (watch in hand) declined to prolong the interview by
answering any incidental inquiries which might arise in the
course of it.
"Pardon me," he rejoined; "I am pledged to occupy three minutes
only. I have no room for the woman. With your kind permission, I
will get on to the messages next."
Anne remained silent. Sir Patrick went on.
"First message: 'Lady Lundie's compliments to her step-daughter's
late governess--with whose married name she is not acquainted.
Lady Lundie regrets to say that Sir Patrick, as head of the
consents to be guided by his advice in the course she pursues
with the late governess. Lady Lundie, accordingly, foregoes her
intention of calling at the Craig Fernie inn, to express her
sentiments and make her inquiries in person, and commits to Sir
Patrick the duty of expressing her sentiments; reserving to
herself the right of making her inquiries at the next convenient
opportunity. Through the medium of her brother-in-law, she begs
to inform the late governess that all intercourse is at an end
between them, and that she declines to act as reference in case
of future emergency.'--Message textually correc
t. Expressive of
Lady Lundie's view of your sudden departure from the house. Time,
two minutes."
Anne's color rose. Anne's pride was up in arms on the spot.
"The impertinence of Lady Lundie's message is no more than I
should have expected from her," she said. "I am only surprised at
Sir Patrick's delivering it."
"Sir Patrick's motives will appear presently," rejoined the
incorrigible old gentleman. "Second message: 'Blanche's fondest
love. Is dying to be acquainted with Anne's husband, and to be
informed of Anne's married name. Feels indescribable anxiety and
apprehension on Anne's account. Insists on hearing from Anne
immediately. Longs, as she never longed for any thing yet, to
order her pony-chaise and drive full gallop to the inn. Yields,
under irresistible pressure, to t he exertion of her guardian's
authority, and commits the expression of her feelings to Sir
Patrick, who is a born tyrant, and doesn't in the least mind
breaking other people's hearts.' Sir Patrick, speaking for
himself, places his sister-in-law's view and his niece's view,
side by side, before the lady whom he has now the honor of
addressing, and on whose confidence he is especially careful not
to intrude. Reminds the lady that his influence at Windygates,
however strenuously he may exert it, is not likely to last
forever. Requests her to consider whether his sister-in-law's
view and his niece's view in collision, may not lead to very
undesirable domestic results; and leaves her to take the course
which seems best to herself under those circumstances.--Second
message delivered textually. Time, three minutes. A storm coming
on. A quarter of an hour's ride from here to the
shooting-cottage. Madam, I wish you good-evening."
He bowed lower than ever--and, without a word more, quietly left
the room.
Anne's first impulse was (excusably enough, poor soul) an impulse
of resentment.
"Thank you, Sir Patrick!" she said, with a bitter look at the
closing door. "The sympathy of society with a friendless woman
could hardly have been expressed in a more amusing way!"
The little irritation of the moment passed off with the moment.
Anne's own intelligence and good sense showed her the position in
its truer light.
She recognized in Sir Patrick's abrupt departure Sir Patrick's
considerate resolution to spare her from entering into any
details on the subject of her position at the inn. He had given
her a friendly warning; and he had delicately left her to decide
for herself as to the assistance which she might render him in
maintaining tranquillity at Windygates. She went at once to a
side-table in the room, on which writing materials were placed,
and sat down to write to Blanche.
"I can do nothing with Lady Lundie," she thought. "But I have
more influence than any body else over Blanche and I can prevent
the collision between them which Sir Patrick dreads."
She began the letter. "My dearest Blanche, I have seen Sir
Patrick, and he has given me your message. I will set your mind
at ease about me as soon as I can. But, before I say any thing
else, let me entreat you, as the greatest favor you can do to
your sister and your friend, not to enter into any disputes about
me with Lady Lundie, and not to commit the imprudence--the
useless imprudence, my love--of coming here." She stopped--the
paper swam before her eyes. "My own darling!" she thought, "who
could have foreseen that I should ever shrink from the thought of
seeing _you?"_ She sighed, and dipped the pen in the ink, and
went on with the letter.
The sky darkened rapidly as the evening fell. The wind swept in
fainter and fainter gusts across the dreary moor. Far and wide
over the face of Nature the stillness was fast falling which
tells of a coming storm.
CHAPTER THE TWELFTH.