Inchbracken: The Story of a Fama Clamosa

  CHAPTER XXIV.

  _LUCKIE HOWDEN_.

  Roderick was certainly growing worse, although the rheumatic symptomshad disappeared. His voice was scarcely audible now, and he spoke withgreat difficulty. All through Tuesday there was a look of waiting andanxiety on his face. A step in the passage without, or a passing wheelon the road, and he would turn his eyes to the door, as though heexpected some one. But no one came, wheels and footsteps alike passedon their way; and he would heave a weary sigh, turning his face to thewall. On Wednesday he was more restless, more depressed and certainlyworse. He had not slept the night before, and at early daylight he hadbegun again to watch for coming steps, and to sigh as each passed onwithout turning in to him. Mary sat by him, and sat alone. Exceptingthe Doctor and Eppie Ness, no one came to share her watching, or toenquire how he was--their minister, for whom they had hithertoprofessed such regard, and to whose bounty so many were indebted forsubstantial pecuniary aid.

  'I think it very unkind of Mrs. Sangster never to have come to askafter him,' she said, 'and it is strange as well, seeing that it wasin her service he got so wet; but I am quite confounded at the neglectthe rest of the parishioners are showing him.'

  'Can you account for it, Eppie?'

  'No, mem. Gin it bena just the way o' the world. "Them 'at gets,forgets." It's an auld sayin', and it looks as gin it was a true ane.An' they're a' that gleg, to tak up ilka daftlike clash 'at onydonnart haverel may set rinnin'. Whan a man has gaed out an' in amangthem, an' gien them his strength an' his gear sae free, they michtthink shame.' Here she stopped abruptly and in some confusion, as onewhose tongue had outrun her discretion. She caught the look ofbewildered surprise in Mary's face. 'But I'm thinkin' my ain tongue'srinnin' awa wi' me. I'm just clean angered wi' the doited gomerels.'

  'I don't understand you, Eppie. There must be something going on wedon't know about. What is it?'

  'Hoot, mem, there's just naething ava! But I'm thinkin' ye'll bettergae ben, the minister's steerin!'

  Mary returned to her brother's bedside, but he told her he had notcalled. She took one of his books and strove to interest him byreading aloud, while she ran over in her mind all that had occurred inthe neighbourhood for weeks past, and how it could in any way bear ontheir relations with the people. Roderick grew drowsy in time underthe monotony of her voice, and she herself would shortly have fallenasleep, when the click of the latch was heard.

  Both were awake in a moment, and starting round, beheld KennethDrysdale standing in the doorway.

  'Is any body in?' he exclaimed, as he stepped into the room with alaugh. 'I have knocked three times and got no answer. You must bothhave been asleep. Ah! I see. A good book! That is just like mymother's reading on a Sunday afternoon. Good books give such peace ofmind and repose of conscience, that the body shares in it too. One issure to find her extended on her sofa any time between luncheon andthe dressing bell. 'Meditating with her eyes closed,' she calls it;but from the regularity of her breathing, I would venture to call itby another name. Julia, now, reads French novels, and you won't catch_her_ napping. Roderick, old man! Laid up?'

  Roderick took his old friend's hand in both his own. It was a greatand unexpected pleasure to see him. The stand he had taken on theChurch question appeared to have severed him altogether from thefamily at Inchbracken, and it was by no means the least of thesacrifices he had felt bound to make for the truth. He had heard ofMary's visit to Inchbracken before taking to his bed at Gortonside,but since then his own physical pains, and the misery in his mindabout Sophia's being about to marry the Manchester man, had sopossessed him, that he had not spoken to her on the subject. If hehad, he would have been less surprised at Kenneth's appearance; thatis to say, if she had or could have explained; for in converse wherelooks and tones of the voice go so far to modify and even replacespoken language, it may be doubted whether she would have foundanything she could have reported. _She_ understood, and Kennethunderstood, and each knew that the other understood; and yet what wasthere after all to tell? Until you found it necessary to make adisclosure to your mamma, dear Madam, and the gentleman now yourhusband made a formal statement to your papa,--pray what could youhave said in your own case? And would it not have been impossible foryou to say anything at an earlier period to enlighten your elders andsave them from afterwards moralizing on the remarkable secrecy andcleverness of the young people in managing their tender affairs? Agood deal of the same sort of thing passed on the present occasion.Kenneth talked mostly to Roderick, and both were happy to renew theold friendship. Mary sat by perfectly content. The portion of theconversation that fell to her share was not large, but there werelooks and softenings of the voice, quiet smiles and comings and goingsof a flush, that supplied all she waited to hear or desired to say.

  Roderick felt refreshed by the visit, and when Kenneth, promising tocome again very shortly, at last withdrew, the burden of livingappeared lighter to him, and he lay back armed with new fortitude tobear and wait.

  Kenneth had been gone but a few minutes when Eppie Ness in her turnhad a visitor--an old woman, toothless and bent, limping on a staff,and with a covered basket on her arm. A grizzled elf-lock or two hadescaped from the white sowback mutch which was bound to her head by awinding of broad black ribbon, and hung down over the glitteringbeadlike eyes. A hook nose and projecting chin nearly met in abird-like beak over the fallen-in mouth, whence one surviving fangprotruded with a grim witch-like effect. Her dress was dark bluelinsey, and over it she wore, as on all occasions of ceremony, thescarlet cloak in which she had been 'kirket' as a bride fifty yearsbefore, and had worn unfailingly ever since, summer and winter, tokirk and market. It was Luckie Howden. She pushed open the doorwithout ceremony, and stood in the middle of the kitchen looking abouther. Eppie, with the child in her lap, sat by the fire and wascrooning some old song in the endeavour to make it sleep.

  'Hear til her noo! wi' her daft sinfu' sangs. Wraxin' the thrapple o'her like some screighin' auld craw! "Like draws to like," folk says,an' aiblins ye're no that faur wrang, gude wife, to be skirlin' thelike til a merry-begotten wee din raiser, as that wein's like to turnout. But wadna "Bangor," noo, or "Saunt Neot's," or some douce tunelike that, an' belike ane o' the waesome Psaulms o' penitence befitter baith for the puir bairn an' its ill-doin' faither?'

  'Haud yer lang, ill-scraipet tongue, Luckie Howden! We a' ken whatmaks _ye_ sae bitter on the puir bairn. Gin ye'd gotten the tentin' o'her, an' three shillin's the week forby the feedin', ye'd hae thochtnae wrang; an' ye wadna hae been sae gleg to hearken to senselesslees, 'at ony body no clean doited micht ken better nor mind.'

  'Ye ill-tongued limmer! Hoo daur ye even me to the like?'

  'Ou ay! Ye're rael heigh, are na ye? But ye gaed fleechin' to MissMary for a' that, to get the bairn awa frae me, an' ye said ye'd tenther for half-a-crown. I'm thinkin' she'd no hae fared ower weel, thebonny lamb, gin ye'd hae gotten yer way. Ye'd hae shotten't by, wi'ait meal brue, an' drank the sweet milk yersel'!'

  'An' gin I did speer Miss Brown for the bairn, was there ony wrangkenned anent it than? An' what for suld I no? Wad it no hae been weelfor the bairn gin I had gotten my way! I hae raised twal o' my ain,an' I'm granny to naar twa score. But you! ye ne'er had but ane, an'ye kenned na hoo to guide it--made sae puir a job o't the Lord ne'erchanced ye wi' anither.'

  'The Lord forgie ye! ye ill-tongued witch,' cried Eppie, while herbrimming eyes overflowed. The image of her long-lost darling rosebefore her in all its winsome beauty, and she gathered up the baby inher lap, more closely to her motherly breast, and pressed it fondlyfor the sake of the one that was gone.

  'An' sae gin ye hae the merry-begotten brat, an' the siller, ye maune'en tak the disdain as weel. I'm blythe for mysel' noo, 'at thehalf-crowns didna come my gate. There war nane but decent men's bairnse'er lay in thae arms.' She stretched her spider-like tentacles, whilethe contents of her basket gave a warning rattle, 'An' that minds me Imaun do my errand wi' the youn
g man--I winna ca' him a minister, forthe gown suld be strippet frae his shouthers; an' that's what it willbe afore lang.'

  'My certie! An' ye'se gang nae sic gate,' cried Eppie, rising andpreparing to block the way. 'The minister's lyin' sair sick, an' hemaunna be fashed wi' a randie auld tinkler wife's daft blathers. Setye down! Though I winna say ye're walcome, an' I'se fesh Miss Brown.'

  Miss Brown was fetched accordingly, she had overheard high words, andentered in some surprise.

  'Mrs. Howden,' she said holding out her hand, 'so you have come atlast to ask for the minister. The people seem to have cast us offaltogether. Since he has been sick scarcely one has come to enquirefor him.'

  'Aweel, Miss Mary, an' it's no juist that has brocht me, ill doin' yeken maun bring ill feelin'. Whan folk sees the abomination o'desolation sittin' in the holy place, as the Scripter micht word it,an the steward o' the Kirk's mysteries gien ower to the lusts o' theflesh, the douce Christi'n folk beut to hand awa. Touch not, tastenot, haunel not, ye ken what the word says. An' I hae been thinkin',seein' hoo things hae come round, ye'll be best to tak tent o' yerbits o' dishes yersel', gin Eppie there can gar it gree wi' her walkan' conversation as a Christi'n wumman to mind that ill-faured scarto' a bairn, I see na at she may na keep yer teapat as weel!' So sayingshe lifted the cover of her basket, and proceeded to lay out the cupsand saucers on the dresser.

  Mary was too much astonished to say anything. She was glad to see theware once more brought within reach of use, seeing that hitherto ithad been a mere embellishment to the glass cupboard in the corner ofLuckie Howden's cabin, a testimony to her piety and helpfulness to thechurch; but the cause and the manner of the restitution were beyondher comprehension. She glanced at Eppie for some explanation, butEppie sat with lips compressed in determined silence, a flame ofscarlet indignation burning on either cheek.

  Luckie Howden went on arranging and counting the pieces of crockery.'Twall cups an' twall sacers, four bread plates, an' twa bowls. Ye'llfind that a' richt, Miss Brown. An' here's the bits o' siller things,'producing the teapot, over which she passed her hand with a regretfulstroking motion, 'It's gotten neither clure nor dint i' my haunds. A'siller say ye? An' weel I wat it's bonny. Aiblins it's no sae brichtan' glintin' as it ance was. "Yer goold an' yer siller are become dim,yer garments are moth-eaten," that's what the Prophet Ezekil said tilback-slidin' Isril lang syne, an' it's true yet! Wae's me, Miss Brown!'at the white raiment o' yer puir wanderin' brither, 'at we ancethocht sae clean an' white, suld be spotted wi' the flesh after a'!But what's been dune i' the secret chaumer sall be proclaimed on thehouse heads afore lang. My certie! but he's been the lad to drawiniquity wi' cart ropes! an' to sin wi' the high haund! But it's a'fand out at last, he'll be peuten til open shame, an' be nae mair asteward o' the gospel mysteries in Glen Effick!'

  "Ye'll find that a' richt, Miss Brown." Page 190.]

  'I don't understand one word you say, Mrs. Howden,' cried Mary inopen-eyed amazement. 'If our things are in your way you are perfectlyright to bring them back, and it will not inconvenience us in theleast to have them here. It was kind in you to give them house-roomwhen we came to live in the village, and we are obliged to you forhaving taken such good care of them. But I don't understand whatground of offence my brother can have given you, or why you shouldspeak of him in such extraordinary language.'

  'I'm thinkin' ye'll hae to thole waur langidge nor that afore a'so'er, Miss Brown. An' aiblins ye ken mair nor ye wad like to let-on.I'm no yer judge, but we hae scripter for't, 'at refuges o' lees winnastand.'

  'Think shame, woman!' cried Eppie, unable altogether to keep silence,though she still restrained herself, fearful of provoking a tempestand disturbing the sick man.

  'An' what wad I think shame for? It's the ill doer 'at fears the illword. I hae cleared my skirts this day. I shack the stour frae my veryfeet, an' I'm dune wi' the De'il an' a' his warks!' And shaking outthe folds of her red cloak, with a stamp of either foot, she hobbledaway.

  'What does she mean, Eppie? And whatever it is, the rest of the peoplemust think it too--Don't deny it, Eppie! you know all about it. I haveseen so much as that in your face for several days. What is it?'

  'It's naething ony sensible body wad heed. Just a wheen senselesshavers. Ne'er fash yer thoomb, Miss Mary! It'll a' blaw ower.'

  Miss Mary was resolute, however, and would be told. She sat herselfdown on a stool beside Eppie, and between coaxing and sheerpertinacity she at last prevailed on the old woman to speak. They sattogether for some time with their heads very close, conversing inwhispers.

  'Oh how could any one believe so monstrous an invention?' she cried atlast, her face suffused with crimson, while she kissed the sleepingbaby, the innocent cause of so much confusion, and returned to herbrother's room.