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The Dew of Their Youth, a novel by S. R. Crockett |
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Part 3 - Chapter 37. The Return Of The Serpent To Eden Valley |
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_ PART III CHAPTER XXXVII. THE RETURN OF THE SERPENT TO EDEN VALLEY I did not tell Irma, and I enjoined silence on all about the house. But there was no keeping such a thing, and perhaps it was as well. Jo Kettle's father, always keen to show his wit at the expense of his betters, cried out to me in the hearing of Irma, "How much, besides his pardon, has that uncle of yours gotten in guineas for his treachery?" And when I protested ignorance, he added, "I mean the new grand Government candidate, that has been sae lang in the Netherlands, and was a rebel not so long ago--many is the braw lad's head that he has garred roll in the sawdust, I warrant." For it was currently reported of Lalor in his own day that he had been a spy for the King of France as well as for King George--aye, and afterwards against the emigrants at Coblentz in the service of the Revolution. Indeed, I do think there is little doubt but that, at some time of his life, the man had been in such a desperate way that he had spied and betrayed whoever trusted him to whomsoever would pay for his treachery. "Lalor Maitland--is he, then, in the country?" said Irma, with a white and frightened look. "I must get home--to Baby!" So completely had her heart changed its magnetic pole. Poor Louis, small wonder he was jealous--and rightly, not of me, but of the small and leathern-lunged person who from his cot ruled the order of the house, and made even the cheerful hum of the fireside, the yard cock-crowing of the fowls, and the egg-kekkling in the barn yield to his imperious will. For he had them banished the precincts and shut up till his highness should please to awaken. But when we got to the Heathknowes road-end, we beheld a yellow coach, with four horses, a coachman and two outriders, all three in canary-coloured suits. It was early days for such equipages to be seen in Galloway, where, excluding the post-road on which the Irish mail ran from Dumfries to Stranraer, there were few roads and fewer bridges which would bear a coach-and-four. Owing to the pirn-mill, our bridges were a little stronger than usual, though the roads were worn into deep ruts by the "jankers," or great two-wheeled wagons for the transport of trees out of the woods. The carriage drove right up to the outer gate of the yard of Heathknowes, half the idle laddies of Eden Valley running shouting after it. The "yett," as usual, was barred, and it is more than doubtful whether, even if open, the coach could safely have passed within--so narrow was the space between post and post. But the man inside put his head out of the window and gave a short, sharp order. Whereupon the postilions leaped down and stood to their horses' heads. The canary coachman held his hands high, with the reins drooping upon his knees. A footman jumped out of a little niche by the side of one window in which his life must have been almost shaken out of him. He opened the door with the deepest respect, and out there stepped the bravest and finest-dressed gentleman that had ever been seen. He was middle-sized and slight, no longer young, but of an uncertain age. He wore a powdered wig, with sky-blue coat and shorts, a white waistcoat embroidered with dainty sprig patterns of lavender and forget-me-not. He had on white silk stockings and the most fashionable shoes, tied with blue-and-gold governmental favours instead of ordinary buckles. By his side was a sword with a golden hilt--in short, such a cavalier had never been seen in Galloway within living memory. And at the sight of him Louis ran forward, calling, "Uncle, uncle!" But Irma sank gently down on my shoulder, so that I had to take her in my arms and carry her to her chamber. At first I stood clean dumfounded, as indeed well I might. When Lalor came last to Eden Valley he had been one of the Black Smugglers, a great man on the Golden Hind--little better, to be brief, than a common pirate. He and his had assaulted the house of Marnhoul, with a pretence of legal purpose, no doubt, but really merely levying war in a peaceful country. Now here he was back, arrayed sumptuously, the favourite of the Government at London, the guest of the Lord Lieutenant of the county. I could not explain it, and, indeed, till Irma came to herself, I had little time or inclination to think the matter out. But afterwards many things which had been dark became clear, while others, though still remaining mysterious, began to have a certain dim light cast upon them. What seemed clear was that Lalor had all along benefited by mysterious protections, and the authorities, though apparently anxious for his capture, never really put themselves about in the least. They did not want to catch or imprison Lalor Maitland. He was much more useful to them elsewhere. Whereas the children of a disaffected rebel, considered as claimants to the Maitland estates, were of little account. But the action of Louis Maitland for the first time opened my eyes to another matter. A corner of the veil which had hid a plot was lifted. During all the time that Irma had been with her Aunt Kirkpatrick, ever since Louis entered Sympson's Classic Academy (kept by Dr. Sympson, grandson of the old Restoration Curate of Kirkmabreek), Lalor had been in Edinburgh, pursuing his plans in secret, perhaps (who knows?) with the learned assistance and council of Mr. Wringham Pollixfen Poole, that expert with the loaded riding-whip. We had been far too busy with our own affairs--the marriage, the little house, my work at the Review, and more recently the appearance and providing for of Duncan the Second. We had seen Louis on Saturdays, and on Sundays, too, at times. But, to our shame be it said, we knew very little about his life at school, who were his friends, what his actual thoughts. For this I shall never cease to reproach myself--at least occasionally, when I think about it. But Lalor had appeared in splendour at Dr. Sympson's, had introduced himself as an uncle from abroad. He was in high favour with the Government. He had the most magnificent coach in the city, and, apparently, plenty of money. He had early warned Louis that we--that is, Irma and I--must hear nothing of his visits, otherwise these pleasant jaunts would be stopped--the afternoon treats to Duddingstone and Lochend, the sails on the Firth with young Walter, the Doctor's son, as his companion. For Lalor was so wise that he never asked him out alone. So Louis had been silent, bribed by the liberty and the golden guineas, which were as plentiful with Lalor as they were scarce with Irma and myself. The Doctor was charmed with his visitor, the ex-governor of a great province in the Netherlands (which he looked out in the Encyclopaedia and lectured upon)--and as for Walter, his son, at that date he would have bartered his soul for five hours' absence from the paternal academy and a dozen sticks of toffee. Then with what unwonted and flattering deference the boy's entertainer had treated him. To him he was Sir Louis, the head of the house. He would heir its great properties, the value and extent of which had been hidden from him by Irma and myself. Doubtless we had our own reasons for thus concealing the truth, but Uncle Lalor's position with the Government enabled him to assure Sir Louis that, through his influence, all its ancient dignities would be restored to the family. Hence it was that, at the first sight of the slim man with the powdered wig tied in a gay favour behind his back, Louis had run and flung himself into his arms. Perhaps, also, it had something to do with his disappointment in Irma, and it was in this open way that he chose to punish her. Yet when Lalor Maitland had come into the parlour, and I had spoken with him, the man's frank and smiling recognition of the circumstances, his high, easy manner, an old-world politeness as of one long familiar with courts, yet a kindly gentleman withal, prepossessed me in his favour even against myself. "Well," he said, with that rare smile which distinguished him, "here we have the fortune of war. You and I have met before, sir, and there are few that have faced me as you did, being at the time only a boy--and not myself only, but Dick, the boldest man on the Golden Hind." He tapped a careless tattoo on the table with his fingers. "Ah, they were good days, after all," he said; "mad days--when it was win ten thousand or walk the plank every time the brig put her nose outside the harbour bar!" "It turned out the ten thousand, I presume?" I said, without too much unbending. "Oh," he answered lightly, "as to myself, I was never very deeply entered. I had ever an anchor out to windward. It was rare that I acted without orders, and, having been in a high official position, it was in my power to render certain important services to the Government of this country--for which, I may say, they have not proved themselves less ungrateful than is the way of governments." "So it would seem," I answered. "But," he continued, "I called chiefly to renew my acquaintance with my sometime wards--though one of them has sought another and a better guardian" (here he bowed very gracefully to me), "and the other--well, Louis lad, what have you to say to your old uncle?" The boy came bounding up, and stood close by his chair, smoothing the lace of Lalor's sleeve, his eyes full of happiness and confidence. It was a pretty sight, and for a moment I confess I was baffled. Could it be that after all Louis was right and Irma wrong? Could this man have supposed that the children were being held against their will and interest, or at least fraudulently removed from their legal guardian, when he assaulted the old house of Marnhoul? Perhaps, as I began to surmise, we had on that occasion really owed our lives to him. For had the Golden Hinds all come on at a time, they would undoubtedly, being such a crew of cut-throats, have rushed us and eaten us up in no time. Women, I tried to persuade myself, had dislikes even more inexplicable than their likings. Some early, unforgiven, childish prejudice, perhaps. Women do not easily forgive, except those whom they love, and even these only so long as they continue to love them. For many women the phrase in the Lord's Prayer, "as we forgive them that trespass against us," had better be expunged. It is a dead letter. The exceptions are so rare as to prove the rule--and even they, though they may forgive their enemies, draw the line at forgiving their neighbours. "And am I not to see my fair enemy, Madame--ah, Duncan MacAlpine? I wish to have the honour of felicitating her infinite happiness, and I have taken the liberty of bringing her an old family jewel for her acceptance." "My wife, sir," I said, "is not yet well. She is subject to sudden shock, and I fear----" "Ah, I understand," he said, bowing gravely, and with a touch of melancholy which became him vastly; "I never had the good fortune to please the lady--as you have done." He smiled again, and waved away a clumsy attempt of mine to reply. "But that is my misfortune--perhaps, though unconsciously, my fault. Still, there is the trinket. I leave it in your hands, in trust for those of your wife. My respectful duty and service to her and--to the heir of your house! Come, Louis, will you have a ride in the coach as far as the bridge and back? I have left my Lord Lieutenant there visiting some of his doubtful tenants. I will pick him up when he is ready, and then bring this little friend of mine back." That night Louis wept and stamped in a black anger. "I don't want to stop here," he said; "I want to go with Uncle Lalor in the gilded coach." _ |
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