CHAPTER III
GOING SOUTH
It was a rough stone house, quite bare, only one story high, and withouta tree growing anywhere near it. It stood on the edge of a vast Scotchmoor, and looked over acres and acres of purple heather--acres soextensive that the whole country seemed at that time of year to becovered with a sort of mantle of pinky, pearly gold, something betweenthe violet and the saffron tones of a summer sunset.
Three girls were seated on a little stone bench outside the lonely,neglected-looking house. They were roughly and plainly dressed. Theywore frocks of the coarsest Scotch tweed; and Scotch tweed, when it isblack, can look very coarse, indeed. They clung close together--adesolate-looking group--Betty, the eldest, in the middle; Sylviapressing up to her at one side; Hetty, with her small, cold hand lockedin her sister's, on the other.
"I wonder when Uncle John will come," was Hetty's remark after a pause."Jean says we are on no account to travel alone; so, if he doesn't cometo-night, we mayn't ever reach that fine school after all."
"I am not going to tell him about the packet. I have quite made up mymind on that point," said Betty, dropping her voice.
"Oh, Bet!" The other two looked up at their elder sister.
She turned and fixed her dark-gray eyes first on one face, then on theother. "Yes," she said, nodding emphatically; "the packet is sure tohold money, and it will be a safe-guard. If we find the schoolintolerable we'll have the wherewithal to run away."
"I've read in books that school life is very jolly sometimes," remarkedSylvia.
"Not _that_ school," was Betty's rejoinder.
"But why not that school, Betty?"
Betty shrugged her shoulders. "Haven't you heard that miserablecreature, Fanny Crawford, talk of it? I shouldn't greatly mind goinganywhere else, for if there's a human being whom I cordially detest, itis my cousin, Fanny Crawford."
"I hear the sound of wheels!" cried Sylvia, springing to her feet.
"Ah, and there's Donald coming back," said Betty; "and there is UncleJohn! No chance of escape, girls! We have got to go through it. Poor oldDavid!"--here she alluded to the horse who was tugging a roughly madedogcart up the very steep hill--"he'll miss us, perhaps; and so willFritz and Andrew, the sheep-dogs. Heigh-ho! there's no good being toosorrowful. That money is a rare comfort!"
By this time the old white horse, and Donald, who was driving, and thegentleman who sat at the opposite side of the dogcart, drew up at thetop of the great plateau. The gentleman alighted and walked swiftlytowards the three girls. They rose simultaneously to meet him.
In London, and in any other part of the south of England, the weatherwas warm at this time of the year; but up on Craigie Muir it was cold,and the children looked desolate as they turned in their coarse clothesto meet their guardian.
Sir John came up to them with a smile. "Now, my dears, here I am--Betty,how do you do? Kiss your uncle, child."
Betty raised her pretty lips and gave the weather-beaten cheek of SirJohn Crawford an unwilling kiss. Sylvia and Hetty clasped each other'shands, clung a little more closely together, and remained mute.
"Come, come," said Sir John; "we mustn't be miserable, you know! I hopethat good Jean has got you something for supper, for the air up herewould make any one hungry. Shall we go into the house? We all have tostart at cockcrow in the morning. Donald knows, and has arranged, hetells me, for a cart to hold your luggage. Let's come in, children. Ireally should be glad to get out of this bitter blast."
"It is just lovely!" said Betty. "I am drinking it in all I can, for Isha'n't have any more for many a long day."
Sir John, who had the kindest face in the world, accompanied by thekindest heart, looked anxiously at the handsome girl. Then he thoughtwhat a splendid chance he was giving his young cousins; for, although heallowed them to call him uncle, the relationship between them was notquite so close.
They all entered the sparsely furnished and bare-looking house. Six dealboxes, firmly corded with great strands of rope, were piled one on topof the other in the narrow hall.
"Here's our luggage," said Betty.
"My dear children--those deal boxes! What possessed you to put yourthings into trunks of that sort?"
"They are the only trunks we have," replied Betty. "And I think supperis ready," she continued; "I smell the grouse. I told Jean to haveplenty ready for supper."
"Good girl, good girl!" said Sir John. "Now I will go upstairs and washmy hands; and I presume you will do the same, little women. Then we'llall enjoy a good meal."
A few minutes later Sir John Crawford and the three Misses Vivian wereseated round a rough table, on which was spread a very snowy but coarsecloth. The grouse were done to a turn. There was excellent coffee, thebest scones in the world, and piles of fresh butter. In addition, therewas a small bottle of very choice Scotch whiskey placed on thesideboard, with lemons and other preparations for a comforting drink byand by for Sir John.
The girls were somewhat silent during the meal. Even Betty, who could bea chatterbox when she pleased, vouchsafed but few remarks.
But when the supper-things had been cleared away Sir John saidemphatically, turning to the three girls, "You got my telegram, with itssplendid news?"
"We got your telegram, Uncle John," said Hetty.
"With its splendid news?" repeated Sir John.
Hetty pursed up her firm lips; Sylvia looked at him and smiled; Bettycrossed the room and put a little black kettle on the peat fire to boil.
"You would like some whisky-punch?" Betty said. "I know how to make it."
"Thank you, my dear; I should very much. And do you three lassies objectto a pipe?"
"Object!" said Betty. "No; Donald smokes every night; andsince--since----" Her voice faltered; her face grew pale. After aminute's silence she said in an abrupt tone, "We go into the kitchenmost nights to talk to Donald while he smokes."
"Then to-night you must talk to me. I can tell you, my dears, you arethe luckiest young girls in the whole of Great Britain to have gotadmitted to Haddo Court; and my child Fan will look after you. Youunderstand, dears, that everything you want you apply to me for. I amyour guardian, appointed to that position by your dear aunt. You canwrite to me yourselves, or ask Fan to do so. By the way, I have beenlooking through some papers in a desk which belonged to your dear aunt,and cannot find a little sealed packet which she left there. Do you knowanything about it, any of you?"
"No, uncle, nothing," said Betty, raising her dark-gray eyes and fixingthem full on his face.
"Well, I suppose it doesn't matter," said Sir John; "but in a specialletter to me she mentioned the packet. I suppose, however, it will turnup. Now, my dears, you are in luck. When you get over your very naturalgrief----"
"Oh, don't!" said Betty. "Get over it? We'll never get over it!"
"My dear, dear child, time softens all troubles. If it did not wecouldn't live. I admire you, Betty, for showing love for one soworthy----"
"If you don't look out, Uncle John," suddenly exclaimed Hetty, "you'llhave Betty howling; and when she begins that sort of thing we can't stopher for hours."
Sir John raised his brows and looked in a puzzled way from one girl tothe other. "You will be very happy at Haddo Court," he said; "and youare in luck to get there. Now, off to bed, all three of you, for we haveto make an early start in the morning." Sir John held out his hand as hespoke. "Kiss me, Betty," he said to the eldest girl.
"Are you my uncle?" she inquired.
"No; your father and I were first cousins. But, my poor child, I standin the place of father and guardian to you now."
"I'd rather not kiss you, if you don't mind," said Betty.
"You must please yourself. Now go to bed, all of you."
The girls left the little sitting-room. It was their fashion to holdeach other's hands, and in a chain of three they now entered thekitchen.
"Jean," said Betty, "_he_ says we are to go to bed. I want to ask youand Donald a question, and I want to ask it quickly."
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bsp; "And what is the question, my puir bit lassie?" asked Jean Macfarlane.
"It is this," said Betty--"you and Donald can answer it quickly--if wewant to come back here you will take us in, won't you?"
"Take you in, my bonny dears! Need you ask? There's a shelter always forthe bit lassies under this roof," said Donald Macfarlane.
"Thanks, Donald," said Betty. "And thank you, Jean," she added. "Come,girls, let's go to bed."
The girls went up to the small room in the roof which they occupied.They slept in three tiny beds side by side. The beds were under thesloping roof, and the air of the room was cold. But Betty, Sylvia, andHetty were accustomed to cold, and did not mind it. The three littlebeds touched each other, and the three girls quickly undressed and gotbetween the coarse sheets. Betty, as the privileged one, was in themiddle. And now a cold little hand was stretched out from the left bedtowards her, and a cold little hand from the right bed did ditto.
"Betty," said Sylvia in a choking voice, "you will keep us up? You arethe brave one."
"Except when I cry," said Betty.
"Oh, but, Betty," said Hetty, "you will promise not to! It's awful whenyou do! You will promise, won't you?"
"I will try my best," said Betty.
"How long do you think, Betty, that you and Hetty and I will be able toendure that awful school?" said Sylvia.
"It all depends," said Betty. "But we've got the money to get away withwhen we like. It was left for our use. Now, look, here, girls. I amgoing to tell you a tremendous secret."
"Oh, yes! oh, yes!" exclaimed the other two. "Betty, you're a perfectdarling; you are the most heroic creature in the world!"
"Listen; and don't talk, girls. I told a lie to-night about that packet;but no one else will know about it. There was one day--now don'tinterrupt me, either of you, or I'll begin howling, and then I can'tstop--there was one day when Auntie Frances was very ill. She sent forme, and I went to her; and she said, 'I am able to leave you so verylittle, my children; but there is a nest-egg in a little packet in theright-hand drawer of my bureau. You must always keep it--always untilyou really want it.' I felt so bursting all round my heart, and so chokyin my throat, that I thought I'd scream there and then; but I kept allmy feelings in, and went away, and pretended to dearest auntie that Ididn't feel it a bit. Then, you know, she, she--died."
"She was very cold," said Sylvia. "I saw her--I seem to see her still.Her face made me shiver."
"Don't!" said Betty in a fierce voice. "Do you want me to howl all nightlong?"
"I won't! I won't!" said Sylvia. "Go on, Betty darling--heroine that youare!"
"Well, I went to her bureau straight away, and I took the packet. As amatter of fact, I already knew quite well that it was there; for I hadoften opened auntie's bureau and looked at her treasures, so I could laymy hands on it at once. I never mean to part with the packet. It'sheavy, so it's sure to be full of gold--plenty of gold for us to live onif we don't like that beastly school. When Sir John--or Uncle John, ashe wants us to call him----"
"He's no uncle of mine," said Hetty.
"I like him, for my part," said Sylvia.
"Don't interrupt me," said Betty. "When Uncle John asked me about thepacket I said 'No,' of course; and I mean to say 'No' again, and again,and again, and again, if ever I'm questioned about it. For didn't auntiesay it was for us? And what right has he to interfere?"
"It does sound awfully interesting!" exclaimed Sylvia. "I do hope you'veput it in a very, very safe place, Betty?"
Betty laughed softly. "Do you remember the little, old-fashioned pocketsauntie always wore inside her dress--little, flat pockets made of verystrong calico? Well, it's in one of those; and I mean to secure a saferhiding-place for it when I get to that abominable Court. Now perhapswe'd better go to sleep."
"Yes; I am dead-sleepy," responded Sylvia.
By and by her gentle breathing showed that she was in the land ofslumber. Hetty quickly followed her twin-sister's example. But Betty laywide awake. She was lying flat on her back, and looking out into thesort of twilight which still seemed to pervade the great moors. Her eyeswere wide open, and wore a startled, fixed expression, like the eyes ofa girl who was seeing far beyond what she appeared to be looking at.
"Yes, I have done right," she said to herself. "There must always be anopen door, and this is my open door; and I hope God, and auntie up inheaven, will forgive me for having told that lie. And I hope God, andauntie up in heaven, will forgive me if I tell it again; for I mean togo on telling it, and telling it, and telling it, until I have spent allthat money."
While Betty lay thinking her wild thoughts, Sir John Crawford,downstairs, made a shrewd and careful examination of the differentarticles of furniture which had been left in the little stone house byhis old friend, Miss Frances Vivian. Everything was in perfect order.She was a lady who abhorred disorder, who could not endure it for asingle moment. All her letters and her neatly receipted bills were tiedup with blue silk, and laid, according to date, one on top of the other.Her several little trinkets, which eventually would belong to the girls,were in their places. Her last will and testament was also in the drawerwhere she had told Sir John he would find it. Everything was inorder--everything, exactly as the poor lady had left it, with theexception of the little sealed packet. Where was it? Sir John feltpuzzled and distressed. He had not an idea what it contained; for MissVivian, in her letter to him, had simply asked him to take care of itfor her nieces, and had not made any comment with regard to itscontents. Sir John certainly could not accuse the girls of purloiningit. After some pain and deliberate thought, he decided to go out andspeak to the old servants, who were still up, in the kitchen. Theyreceived him respectfully, and yet with a sort of sour expression whichwas natural to their homely Scotch faces.
Donald rose silently, and asked the gentleman if he would seat himself.
"No, Donald," replied Sir John in his hearty, pleasant voice; "I cannotstay. I am going to bed, being somewhat tired."
"The bit chamber is no' too comfortable for your lordship," said Jean,dropping a profound curtsey.
"The chamber will do all right. I have slept in it before," said SirJohn.
"Eh, dear, now," said Jean, "and you be easy to please."
"I want you, Jean Macfarlane, to call the young ladies and myself notlater than five o'clock to-morrow morning, and to have breakfast readyat half-past five; and, Donald, we shall require the dogcart to drive tothe station at six o'clock. Have you given orders about the youngladies' luggage? It ought to start not later than four to-morrow morningto be in time to catch the train."
"Eh, to be sure," said Donald. "It's myself has seen to all that. Don'tyou fash yourself, laird. Things'll be in time. All me and my wife wantsis that the bit lassies should have every comfort."
"I will see to that," said Sir John.
"We'll miss them, puir wee things!" exclaimed Jean; and there came aglint of something like tears into her hard and yet bright blue eyes.
"I am sure you will. You have, both of you, been valued servants both tomy cousin and her nieces. I wish to make you a little present each."Here Sir John fumbled in his pocket, and took out a couple ofsovereigns.
But the old pair drew back in some indignation. "Na, na!" theyexclaimed; "it isn't our love for them or for her as can be purchasedfor gowd."
"Well, as you please, my good people. I respect you all the more forrefusing. But now, may I ask you a question?"
"And whatever may that be?" exclaimed Jean.
"I have looked through your late mistress's effects----"
"And whatever may 'effects' be?" inquired Donald.
"What she has left behind her."
"Ay, the laird uses grand words," remarked Donald, turning to his wife.
"Maybe," said Jean; "but its the flavor of the Scotch in the speech thatsoftens my heart the most."
"Well," said Sir John quickly, "there's one little packet I cannot find.Miss Vivian wrote to me about it in a letter which I received after her
death. I haven't an idea what it contained; but she seemed to set somestore by it, and it was eventually to be the property of the youngladies."
"Puir lambs! Puir lambs!" said Jean.
"I have questioned them about it, but they know nothing."
"And how should they, babes as they be?" said Jean.
"You'll not be offended, Jean Macfarlane and Donald Macfarlane, if I askyou the same question?"
Jean flushed an angry red for a moment; but Donald's shrewd facepuckered up in a smile.
"You may ask, and hearty welcome," he said; "but I know no more abootthe bit packet than the lassies do, and that's naucht at all."
"Nor me no more than he," echoed Jean.
"Do you think, by any possibility, any one from outside got into thehouse and stole the little packet?"
"Do I think!" exclaimed Jean. "Let me tell you, laird, that a man orwoman as got in here unbeknownst to Donald and me would go out againpretty quick with a flea in the ear."
Sir John smiled. "I believe you," he said. He went upstairs, feelingpuzzled. But when he laid his head on his pillow he was so tired that hefell sound asleep. The sleep seemed to last but for a minute or two whenJean's harsh voice was heard telling him to rise, for it was fiveo'clock in the morning. Then there came a time of bustle and confusion.The girls, with their faces white as sheets, came down to breakfast intheir usual fashion--hand linked within hand. Sir John thought, as heglanced at them, that he had never seen a more desolate-looking littletrio. They hardly ate any of the excellent food which Jean had provided.The good baronet guessed that their hearts were full, and did not worrythem with questions.
The pile of deal boxes had disappeared from the narrow hall and wasalready on its way to Dunstan Station, where they were to meet a localtrain which would presently enable them to join the express for London.There was a bewildered moment of great anguish when Jean caught thelassies to her breast, when the dogs clustered round to be embraced andhugged and patted. Then Donald, leading the horse (for there was no roomfor him to ride in the crowded dogcart), started briskly on the road toDunstan, and Craigie Muir was left far behind.
By and by they all reached the railway station. The luggage was piled upon the platform. Sir John took first-class tickets to London, and thecurious deal boxes found their place in the luggage van. Donald'sgrizzly head and rugged face were seen for one minute as the trainsteamed out of the station. Betty clutched at the side of her dresswhere Aunt Frances' old flat pocket which contained the packet wassecured. The other two girls looked at her with a curious mingling ofawe and admiration, and then they were off.
Sir John guessed at the young people's feelings, and did not troublethem with conversation. By and by they left the small train and got intoa compartment reserved for them in the London express. Sir John dideverything he could to enliven the journey for his young cousins. Butthey were taciturn and irresponsive. Betty's wonderful gray eyes lookedout of the window at the passing landscape, which Sir John was quitesure she did not see; Sylvia and Hester were absorbed in watching theirsister. Sir John had a queer kind of feeling that there was somethingwrong with the girls' dress; that very coarse black serge, made with noattempt at style; the coarse, home-made stockings; the rough, hobnailedboots; the small tam-o'-shanter caps, pushed far back from the littlefaces; the uncouth worsted gloves; and then the deal boxes! He had akind of notion that things were very wrong, and that the girls did notlook a bit at his own darling Fanny looked, nor in the least like theother girls he had seen at Haddo Court. But Sir John Crawford had been awidower for years, and during that time had seen little of women. He hadnot the least idea how to remedy what looked a little out of place evenat Craigie Muir, but now that they were flying south looked much worse.Could he possibly spare the time to spend a day in a London hotel, andbuy the girls proper toilets, and have their clothes put into regulationtrunks? But no, in the first place, he had not the time; in the second,he would not have the slightest idea what to order.
They all arrived in London late in the evening. Sylvia and Hetty hadbeen asleep during the latter part of the journey, but Betty still satbolt upright and wide awake. It was dusk now, and the lamp in thecarriage was lit. It seemed to throw a shadow on the girl's miserableface. She was very young--only the same age as Sir John's dear Fanny;and yet how different, how pale, how full of inexpressible sadness wasthat little face! Those gray eyes of hers seemed to haunt him! He wasthe kindest man on earth, and would have given worlds to comfort her;but he did not know what to do.