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Malcolm, a novel by George MacDonald |
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Chapter 32. The Skipper's Chamber |
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_ CHAPTER XXXII. THE SKIPPER'S CHAMBER One day towards the close of the fishing season, the marquis 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 burn, 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 lortship's crace," said Duncan, "and she would pe proud of ta honour, put it 'll pe too far away from ta shore for her poy'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 aal wass here as it used to wass in ta Highlants, my lort," said Duncan, "when every clansman wass son or prother or father to his chief tat would pe tifferent; put my poy must not co and eat with serfants who haf nothing put teir waches to make tem love and opey your lortship. If her poy serfs another man, it must pe pecause he loves him, and looks upon him as his chief, who will shake haands with him and take ta father's care of him; and her poy must tie for him when ta 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 Mrs 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 could n't trust any one else with." The highlander's pride was nearly satisfied. "So," he said, "it 'll pe his own henchman my lort will pe making of her poy?" "Something like that. We 'll see how it goes. If he does n'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 lort will pe toing ta laad a creat honour," said Duncan. "Put," he added, with a sigh, "she 'll pe lonely, her nainsel!" "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 haf 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 pecome 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 piper to the Marquis of Lossie." He did not venture to allude to wages more definitely. "Well, she'll pe talking to her poy apout 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, and 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 marquis'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 marquis, "have you made up your mind to be my skipper?" "Willin'ly, my lord," answered Malcolm. "Do you know how to manage a sailboat?" "I wad need, my lord." "Shall you want any help?" "That depen's upo' saiveral things--her am size, the wull o' the win', an' whether or no yer lordship or my leddy can tak 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 dressed like a farmer!" said his lordship, looking sharply at the Sunday clothes which Malcolm had donned for the visit. "What was I to du, my lord?" returned Malcolm apologetically. "The only ither claes I hae, are verra fishy, an' neither yersel' nor my leddy cud bide them i' the room aside ye." "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 seafarin' claes. A kilt wadna du ava', my lord." "You cannot surely object to the dress of your own people," said the marquis. "The kilt 's weel eneuch upon a hillside," said Malcolm, "I dinna doobt; but faith! seafarin', my lord, ye wad want the trews as weel." "Well, go to the best tailor in the town, and order a naval suit --white ducks and a blue jacket--two suits you 'll want." "We s' gar ae shuit sair s' (satisfy us) to begin wi', my lord. I 'll jist gang to Jamie Sangster, wha maks a' my claes--no 'at their mony!--an' get him to mizzur me. He'll mak them weel eneuch for me. You 're aye sure o' the worth o' yer siller frae him." "I tell you to go to the best tailor in the town, and order two suits." "Na, na, my lord; there 's nae need. I canna affoord it forbye. We 're no a' made o' siller like yer 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. "Hoots, my lord!" returned Malcolm, "that wad never du. I maun pey for my ain claes. I wad be in a constant terror o blaudin' (spoiling) o' them gien I didna, an' that wad be eneuch to mak a body meeserable. It wad be a' the same, forbye, not an' oot, as weirin' a leevry!" "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 an absolute composure. The marquis burst into a loud laugh. Malcolm stood bewildered for a moment. "I'm thinkin' I 'm gaein' daft (delirious)!" he said at length, putting his hand to his head. "It's time I gaed. Guid mornin', 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 there must have been some joke involved: the behaviour of both indicated as much; and with this conclusion he heartened his dismay. The next morning Duncan called on Mrs Partan, 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 dragonised by Bykes, to whom Malcolm dropped a humorous "Weel 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. "Hae ye dune onything my lord," he said, "aboot Mistress Catanach?" "What do you mean?" "Anent yon cat prowl aboot the hoose, my lord." "No. You have n't discovered anything more--have you?" "Na, my lord; I haena had a chance. But ye may be sure she had nae guid design in 't." "I don't suspect her of any." "Weel, my lord, hae ye ony objection to lat me sleep up yonner?" "None at all--only you'd better see what Mrs Courthope has to say to it. Perhaps you won't be so ready after you hear her story." "But I hae yer lordship's leave to tak ony room I like?" "Certainly. Go to Mrs Courthope, and tell her I wish you to choose your own quarters." Having straightway delivered his lordship's message, Mrs Courthope, wondering a 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 garret 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 martins, vanes 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. "Sic a bee's byke o' rooms!" said Malcolm, making a halt "Wha 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 wad like to see intil 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 in act while she spoke to move on. "And what for that?" asked 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." "Hoo ken ye that, mem? An' hoo can I say mysel' afore ye hae shawn me what the room 's like? It may be the verra place to tak my fancy. Jist open the door, mem, gien ye please, an lat's hae a keek intill 't." "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." "Weel, ye 'll lat me see intil the neist--winna ye? There's nae law agane openin' hit--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." "Lat's luik, ony gait." 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 ceiled, 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 chequered in squares of blue and white. "This is the verra place for me, mem," said Malcolm, reissuing;-- "that is," he added, "gien ye dinna think it's ower gran' for the likes o' me 'at 's no been used to onything half sae guid." "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 Gernon. 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 wondering Malcolm, as he followed her down winding stairs, along endless passages, and round innumerable corners. Arrived at last, she made him sit down, and gave him a glass of home made 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 pry 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 gien he wad heed a word I said!" "Very little sometimes will turn a man either in one direction or the other," said Mrs Courthope. "But surely, mem, ye dinna believe in sic fule auld warld stories as that! It's weel eneuch for a tale, but to think o' a body turnin' 'ae fit oot o' 's gait for 't, blecks (nonplusses) me." "I don't say I believe it," returned Mrs Courthope, a little pettishly; "but there's no good in mere foolhardiness." "Ye dinna surely think, mem, 'at God wad lat onything depen' upo' whether a man opent a door in 's ain hoose or no! It's agane a' rizzon!" 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." "Weel, mem, I maun hae the room neist the auld warlock's, ony gait, for in that I'm gauin' to sleep, an' in nae ither in a' this muckle hoose." Mrs Courthope rose, full of uneasiness, and walked up and down the room. "I'm takin' upo' me naething ayont his lordship's ain word," urged Malcolm. "If you're to go by the very word," rejoined Mrs Courthope, stopping and looking him full in the face, "you might insist on sleeping in Lord Gernon's chamber itself." "Weal, an' sae I micht," 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, mem! ye sanna du that," cried Malcolm. "Sayna a word to ane o' them. I s' wadger I'm as guid's the auld warlock himsel' at makin' a bed. Jist gie me the sheets an' the blankets, an' I'll du 't as trim 's ony lass i' the hoose." "But the bed will want airing," objected the housekeeper. "By a' accoonts, that's the last thing it's likly to want--lyin' neist door to yon chaumer. But I hae sleepit mony 's the time er' noo upo' the tap o' a boat load o' herrin', an' gien that never did me ony ill, it's no likly a guid bed 'll kill me gien it sud be a wee mochy (rather full of moths)." 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 any one 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. "Eh! that's a siller can'lestick, Maister MacPhail," she cried, "an' ye maunna tak a knife till 't, or ye'll scrat it a' dreidfu'." 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 Tuncan's finkers for persons of no etchucation, mem! As if tey couldn't know ta silfer from ta prass! If tey wass so stupid, her nose would pe telling tem so. Efen old Tuncan's knife 'll pe knowing petter than to scratch ta silfer--or ta prass either; old Tuncan's knife would pe scratching nothing petter tan ta skin of a Cawmill." 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 over vaunted his skill: the skene 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 odour 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. _ |
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