A Northern Lily: five years of an uneventful life

Front matter

CHAPTER XVI.

' The father cracks of horses, pleughs, and kye, The youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi' joy, But, blate and laithfu', scarce can weel behave ; The mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy What makes the youth sae bashfu' and sae grave. ' A variety of causes combined to detain David at Ardvoira, and he was now chafing with impatience to get away. Had it not been for the wise counsels of his friend Ponsonby, there is no saying what rash step he might not have taken. Ponsonby was some years older than David, and far more a man of the world. He had studied for the bar in early life, and had gone a good deal into society in Lon don. At that time he had met and fallen deeply in love with David's cousin, Rosamond Mortimer, then a beautiful young girl in her first season. Her parents interfered to pre- VOL. II. b vent an engagement, but Ponsonby's affection was fully returned by the young lady herself, with whom he contrived to keep up a cor respondence for some time ; and she pro mised to wait, no matter how long, for him, while he worked to the utmost of his powers in order to realise a sufficient income to maintain a wife in comfort.

The following year he had gone on a walking tour on the Continent with David, just after the latter had passed his prelimi nary examination for Sandhurst, and on their return to England the first news which met Ponsonby's eye was the announcement in a society paper of a marriage shortly to take place between Sir Roger Seathwaite of Seathwaite Hall, Yorkshire, and Miss Rosa mond Mortimer, eldest daughter of Sir Richard and Lady Mary Mortimer, of Wynchcombe, Devon. The letter which Ponsonby at once wrote to Rosamond was returned to him unopened, and very soon afterwards the marriage took place. Ponsonby had never taken any real interest in his profession, and after this blow he threw it up in disgust. He went to Rome and studied painting, for which he had con siderable talent. Not long afterwards he unexpectedly succeeded to a fortune, which, though not large, might have enabled him to marry, had it come in time.

Part I

Ponsonby was in no such hurry to leave Ardvoira. The shooting was good, and the party pleasant ; and had David been, as usual, full of good humour and overflowing with spirits, he could have stayed on con tentedly for weeks. But David in love was not such an agreeable companion as to render a longer sojourn desirable. Both young men, therefore, were glad when the last of the guests had departed, and there was now no absolute need for David to remain ; and one morning towards the end of September they set off together, Ponsonby to pay some visits in Perthshire, intending to meet his friend again on his way south after leaving Rossie. David reached St. Ethernans the same evening, and soon found the Star Hotel, which Elsie, with due forethought, had re commended to him. Here he remained all night, and the next morning after breakfast was eager to set out for Rossie, though half afraid to arrive too early.

He passed Aunt Grizel's house, which he recognised from Elsie's description ; he even stopped in front CHAP. XVI. A LIL Y AMONG THORNS 7 of it, but decided that it would be impossible to intrude upon an old lady at that early hour. After a few minutes of indecision, he set out to walk to Rossie. True, he did not know the way, but he could inquire ; it would be better to lose himself than to arrive there in opportunely. The way for nearly three miles was quite simple, but after passing through the thick wood which lay beyond the moor, the road divided into two branches, and David, after some deliberation, took the wrong turning, though he was now on the Rossie property. He had not proceeded far before he was aware of a great shouting, hallooing, and barking of dogs ; and presently perceived that part of a flock of sheep, which was being driven along the road he had just quitted, had broken away, and that two men were vainly trying to head them.

From his position in front, David saw at once what was needed, and springing over the ' dyke ' into the field, he easily managed to turn the foremost stragglers, so that when

PART I.

the men came up they were soon able to restore the escaped sheep to the main body. This done, David asked whether he was on the right road to Rossie. ' Gang you forrit wi' the sheep, Aang-us,' said one of the men, with a commanding gesture, for he was none other than Sandy Duncan, the Rossie grieve. ' Aweel, sir, gin ye're for Rossie, ye're on the richt enough rod, in wan sense. And gin ye're a freend, I wad jist say, gang east 'hrough yon park, it's rael direck. But if ye're no acquant wi' the faemily, I wad gie ye my advice to turrn aboot an' tak' the public rod. Thae deevils has gien us an awfu' dance, as they hev,' he concluded, taking off his hat, and wiping his forehead. ' Are they Captain Ross's sheep ? ' asked David. ' Ou ay, they're jist some o' wer ain gimmers. Ay! an' it hadna been you, I wadna winder but we'd lost wer tren.

Gude day t'ye, sir,' and as David was moving off, CHAP. XVI. 9 Sandy once more shouted after him, ' Yonder the Laird himsel' ! gin ye speir at him he'll maybe gie ye permeesion to gang 'hrough the park.' The Laird himsel' ! David's heart beat quicker at those words, but taking the bull, so to speak, by the horns, he went straight up to the Laird and accosted him with a friendly smile. 'How do you do, Captain Ross ?' said he. ' I have just had the pleasure of turning your sheep.' The Laird surveyed him from head to foot with a blank countenance. ' I'm obliged to you,' he said at length. ' That shepherd of mine is the greatest idiot that ever drew breath in a body.' ' That is very annoying,' said David. ' But I am glad I met your men, as I had lost my way. I was coming to call upon you, Captain Ross, if you will allow me.

My name is David Lindsay.' ' Oh !' said the Laird, eyeing him again — pretty sharply this time. ' You'd better — - come in and have some luncheon.' A LIL Y AMONG THORNS

PART I.

10 David was relieved at the turn this last sentence had taken, for there had been a distinct pause in the middle of it, and from the expression of the Laird's countenance, it might have been expected that he was going to suggest that his self-invited guest had better go back to wherever he came from. However, they walked to the house together quite amicably, the Laird responding civilly to David's remarks, but not making any on his own account. David was introduced to Mrs. Ross, who rather embarrassed him by her profuse apologies for the scantiness of the luncheon ; and after that meal, he ac companied the Laird to his own den, and sat for a time answering his questions about the farming and sport at Ardvoira, in which his host evinced considerable interest. David was anxious to speak without delay upon the business which had brought him to Rossie, but on making the attempt to do so the Laird changed the subject so decidedly that he was rather at a loss.

At length he rose from his seat. ' It is time for me to go,' he said, 'but I can't do that, Captain Ross, without explaining what I came for.' The Laird took his pipe from his lips, and examined it. ' I am well enough pleased to see you,' he said, ' if that's all.' ' But it is not all,' said David. ' I didn't come only to pay you a visit, Captain Ross.' ' Oh !' said the Laird grimly. ' I thought you did.' He waited a moment, glancing furtively at the young man as if to enjoy his discom fiture ; then he knocked the ashes out of his pipe and rose also from his seat. 'Where are you stopping ?' he asked. 'At the Star Hotel at St. Ethernans,' answered David. ' It seems a good sort of inn.' ' You'd be better here. I'll send for your traps.' ' You are very kind,' said David, colouring with pleasure. ' I shall be most happy ' ' I want the rabbits shot,' interrupted the Laird. ' They're a perfect nuisance.

Have you brought your gun ?' David replied in the affirmative. ' You can take a day at them to-morrow. ' When the necessary orders were given, the Laird strolled out with David to ' take a look round the place,' in a spirit of perfect friendliness and concord. He talked about crops and cattle, and behaved to the young man as if his coming were the most natural thing in the world, and a matter of daily occurrence. David could scarcely believe in his own good fortune, and only hoped that his host would soon of his own accord give him an opportunity of speaking on the subject which he had at heart. But Captain Ross gave him no such encouragement. The rabbits occupied them all the next day, and David, being a good shot, found evident favour in the Laird's eyes, for the latter, though a thorough farmer, had in his heart that respect for sport which befits a country gentleman.

They were thus apparently on the best of terms, and with his hostess David soon established no less friendly relations. Euphemia had been rendered very nervous by David Lindsay's sudden appearance, for although she had now become in some degree accustomed to her new position, having re ceived and returned the visits of her neigh bours, he was the first stranger who had stayed in the house for more than an hour or two since her marriage. In return for her many anxious inquiries after his comfort, David tried to talk to her upon other topics, but the conversation invariably came round to housekeeping, and especially to servants, whose ways were a sore trouble and distress to Mrs. Ross. She soon confided to David many domestic perplexities which were alto gether beyond the range of his experience ; but he, not wishing to be supposed ignorant upon any subject, advised and laid down the law with a gravity of manner which he had picked up from Ponsonby, and which was altogether unnatural to him.

Euphemia's greatest trial at present seemed to be the misconduct of ' tablemaids.' ' Would you believe it, Mr. Lindsay,' she said, ' I have had to part with two gerrls since I came here, and the one I have got now is going away at the term. Two — surely I'm not miscounting. No ! Bella Ritchie was the first ; she was here when I came. A smart gerrl, I'll not deny, but she gave me impidence the very first day !' 'You don't say so!' said David. 'I am shocked to hear of such conduct.' Mrs. Ross shook her head and sighed ' She was an upsetting monkey, but they are all alike, Mr. Lindsay, and that's the truth. You see' — she lowered her voice confidentially — ' I'm not acquaint with their ways, and the Captain, he's hasty. But the Captain will not allow of any impidence to me — no, Mr. Lindsay, that's a thing he will not put up with.

It just sets him dancing wild, and he gave Bella warning on the spot ! The housemaid, Janet Kilgour's not so bad, but then she always needs me at her tail ;' and Euphemia sighed again. ' Does she indeed, Mrs. Ross ?' said David, rather bewildered. ' You wouldn't believe the trouble 1 have with her,' answered Euphemia. ' But I hope, Mr. Lindsay, you're comfortable in your room. I saw the sheets aired myself, and although there was a wee bit out of the soap dish, I thought you'd maybe overlook it.' David felt flattered by the proof of Mrs. Ross's confidence which this conversation evinced. It took place in the evening, after the shooting of the rabbits, and was interrupted at length by the Laird's entrance. Euphemia's whole manner then changed ; she became silent, and retreating to an arm-chair near the table, she began to smooth out her lilac silk gown, glancing nervously at her husband for approval.

When first they were married she had annoyed the Laird by her humility and retir ing manner, and he had been at some pains to direct her as to her behaviour. He had strictly forbidden her to sit upon anything smaller than an easy-chair, or to go to the kitchen for what she wanted \ instead of ring ing the bell ; and, as she herself had told

PART I.

David, was particular that the servants should pay her proper respect. But somehow, poor Euphemia always managed to say and do the wrong thing, partly from nervousness, though her husband, considering his temper, showed wonderful patience and forbearance with her. The next morning, at breakfast, Euphemia, emboldened by the cheerfulness of her guest, became quite lively and chatty ; the Laird, on the contrary, appeared somewhat morose. It was a brilliant autumn morning, and David hazarded a remark that it was fine weather for the harvest. The Laird only grunted discontentedly in reply, so his wife hastened to answer for him. ' I am sure, Mr. Lindsay, it is that, and although the turnips may be needing a drop of rain, we cannot control the weather. It's a fine thing to have a cheerful spirit.

Is the tea to your liking, Captain ? Take a wee drop more cream to yourself now.' ' No, thank you,' said the Laird shortly. ' What excellent tea yours is, Mrs. Ross,' said David. ' Indeed, Mr. Lindsay, I am very proud you like it. The Captain is just extraordi nary partial to it, are you not, Captain ?' ' No,' said the Laird. Euphemia twisted her hands and smiled. 'Oh dear, dear!' said she. 'You've surely risen on your wrong side this morning. This very chest of tea, Mr. Lindsay,' she resumed, ' if you'll believe me, was sent home by my youngest brother Alick from India; he's what they call a tea-planter out there. They say it's a kind of shrub it grows on, but you'll know, Mr. Lindsay, being an Injun yourself. There's surely nothing wrong with your egg, Captain ?' her voice taking a high note of alarm, as the Laird pushed away his egg un tasted. ' It's really a pity to boil the eggs if you're not to eat them, when they're getting scarce with the hens moulting, poor things, and that bare, some of them, they're fair in delicate to look upon.

But your egg's quite good if you'll only try ' — drawing the rejected egg towards her for examination. ' Let it alone, will you ! ' growled the vol. 11. c A LIL Y AMONG THORNS 18

PART I.

Laird. 'It's perfectly rotten;' and hastily finishing his breakfast, he strode out of the room and banged the door. 'It's a pity he's so cankered to-day,' observed Euphemia mournfully, still looking towards the door. ' It's just sometimes, Mr. Lindsay, and /think it's his stommick. He's terribly bawthered with his stommick, and that's the truth. But don't let him put you from the eggs, for they're really very fine.' When his hostess had gone to her household duties, David strolled out at the front door, and stood in the sunshine smoking thoughtfully, and considering what he had better do next. It was all very well to have come here to stay with Elsie's father, and apparently to enjoy his favour ; but it seemed to him that he was no nearer the object of his coming than at first. Some explanation must be arrived at ; but to-day, if the Laird were really indisposed, perhaps it would be in judicious to hasten matters.

As he stood musing, Elsie's many loving descriptions of her old home came into his mind, and he looked round him to try and verify them with his own eyes. Certainly the place looked pleasant enough on that sunny morning, for autumn is the time when Scotland looks her best. There had been an early touch of frost, and the air, though still, was pleasantly bracing, and full of the fresh smell of the sea. The grass, where it was shaded from the sun, was still white with dew and threaded with gossamers ; the rowan trees hung red with berries ; and the robins were twittering their autumn songs from every bush and shrub. A late grasshopper or two were audibly enjoying the sunshine ; and from more than one distant harvest-field the reaping-machines, sounding like magnified grasshoppers, were busily at work.

A heavy footstep was heard on the gravel, and the Laird made his appearance. ' I am going to the barley-field,' said he. David walked beside him in silence, re flecting the while that he might as well go and see Aunt Grizel that day. He had pro- A LILY AMONG THORNS

PART I.

20 mised Elsie to make her acquaintance, and in her he might perhaps find an ally and supporter. Accordingly he intimated his intention of calling on the old lady that afternoon. ' Eh ? I didn't know you knew her,' said the Laird. ' I haven't made her acquaintance yet,' replied David, ' but I ought to, being a — a connection, you know, and in the neighbour hood.' ' She has got plenty of acquaintances, and connections too,' said the Laird suspiciously. ' It's not likely she'll want new ones, at her time of life. But please yourself. You can take the pony if you like.' ' Thank you, very much, Laird,' said David, 'but I think I'll walk.' Miss Grizel received David Lindsay with formal politeness, but her manner became more gracious as soon as she fully understood who he was. He explained to her for what object he had come, and how he had been received at Rossie, and candidly asked her advice.

This pleased the old lady, who liked to look upon a handsome young face ; she thought him ' a fine open lad,' and her sym pathies were soon enlisted on behalf of the young lovers. Still, she would not give David too much encouragement, and only advised him to tell the Laird everything, and trust to time. The interview was long, and when it was over David did some other errands in St. Ethernans, and returned to Rossie in time for dinner. In the smoking-room that evening, while he was meditating how to begin the attack, which he was determined should come off that night, the Laird anticipated him by plunging directly into the subject. ' I understand that you had some con founded — some purpose in coming here ? ' ' My purpose,' replied David, rising and standing with his back against the mantelpiece, ' is connected with your daughter. I came here to ask your consent to marry her.' A LIL Y AMONG THORNS

PART 1.

22 ' You have spoken to her, have you ?' ' Yes,' said David, ' I have spoken to her, and I assure you that her happiness, as well as mine, is involved ' 'You are talking nonsense. Can you keep a wife ? for I don't see what you're to keep her upon.' David hesitated a little. 'At present, certainly,' he said, ' I couldn't very well, without help, support a wife in comfort ; but if I once had your consent, all that might be easily arranged.' ' What is the use of talking in riddles ? ' growled the Laird. ' Who the deuce do you expect help from, and what are your expecta tions ? ' ' General Lindsay has told me plainly that he intends to make me his heir. This, of course, is in confidence, Laird, and I think he would be quite ready to help me now, provided I married Elsie. Then there is Ardvoira, as you know.' ' A very small property,' said the Laird. ' What is the old man's age ? ' ' Eighty-six,' said David shortly. ' He's a fine, hale old gentleman.' ' Hum ! ' said the Laird. ' There'd be the wife's jointure to come off it — same with the General.

You don't mention Corinzean ? ' ' I did not mention Corinzean,' answered David, ' because the young fellow, the Master, may live as long as I do — though to be sure he's an invalid. But it's not a thing I have any right to count upon.' ' I wonder at that,' observed the Laird sarcastically, ' since you and Elsie seem to do nothing else but wait for dead men's shoes. But whoever marries her needn't expect much. Her mother's money is just and it doesn't do more than keep her in clothes. I don't know what she does with them all, to be sure — it's her business.' There was silence for a little while, after which David said, ' Then, Laird, you have no objection to our engagement, provided I can furnish enough to keep Elsie in com fort ? ' ' Objections ? ' said the Laird, ' of course

PART I.

I have objections. Why, the girl doesn't know her own mind. Do you mean to say she wants to go out to India with you ? ' ' Yes,' said David. ' Certainly she does 'She's a fool,' said the Laird. 'She wouldn't keep her health there a month.' And, laying aside his pipe, he took up a newspaper and read, as if determined to put a stop to further conversation. David mean while considered what argument he should next employ, while appearing deeply en grossed in the pages of the North British Agriculturist. After a long interval the Laird put down his paper, refilled his pipe, and demanded abruptly, ' What on earth do you want, a young chap like you, lading yourself with a wife ? Marriage plays the very mischief with a man ; it's the greatest mistake he can commit. No man should marry till he is forty, and he is better to leave it alone then.' David laughed. 'It is too late to give me that advice now, Laird,' said he. ' If I waited to ask Elsie till I was forty, she might have taken some other fellow meanwhile.' ' You had no business to ask her at all, when you are not in a position to marry her.' David thought it more prudent to make no answer, and the Laird sat a while watch ing him furtively from under his shaggy eyebrows. ' I don't know what you think you see in Elsie,' he said presently. ' She's a — a washed-out thing.

I don't suppose any one would call her good-looking ? ' this with a slightly questioning inflection, as though he would rather like to be contradicted. But the young man frowned ; the remark did not please him. ' I don't want anybody to call her good-looking,' he answered very curtly. ' I suppose you have the sense to see for yourself that you can't marry just now, at any rate,' said the Laird. 'You must just go back to India and take your chance. If I thought the girl would make herself miserable about you — but I scarcely think that's possible,' and he eyed David disparagingly. ' What do your own people say to it ? ' ' My mother has not seen Elsie yet, and your consent was the first thing to be ob tained. As to my stepfather I am not re ponsible to him in any way.' ' You expect nothing from your stepfather, then ? ' ' Certainly not ; I am quite independent of him.

If he provides for anybody it will be for my brother.' ' There is no objection, then, on their part ? ' ' I am sure there will be none when once I bring Elsie to see my mother.' ' That's as much as to say she has objec tions now. Why, God bless my soul, young man ! ' said the Laird, bringing his hand down on the table with some violence, ' there's no occasion for the girl to go where she's not wanted. She could always come home, for the matter of that.' ' She shall be made welcome wherever she CHAP. XVI. A LIL Y AMONG THORNS 27 goes, if you trust her to me,' said David. ' This then is clear, Captain Ross — if I obtain the necessary means, and my mother's full consent, you don't withhold yours. I shall go south to-morrow, and ' 'Wait a minute,' said the Laird Then followed a discussion of the amount required to maintain a wife, on which subject there was considerable difference of opinion.

David's proposal to marry upon a year was scornfully rejected by the Laird, who intimated that was the smallest possible income he could for a moment bring himself to contemplate. ' Not that you'll get even that just now,' he said, ' but I suppose you can wait a year or two, if you're bent on making fools of yourselves.' Euphemia had naturally had her suspicions as to the causes which had brought David Lindsay to Rossie, and though she had no knowledge of the facts (for the Laird never, if he could help it, talked to a woman on any subject of importance), had nevertheless made a pretty correct conjecture, and was overflowing with curiosity. She ventured to ask David a few leading questions about her stepdaughter, having found out that he had been staying at Chippingham. She supposed that Elsie had become a very grand young lady now ? she had heard that her uncle, General Lindsay, was a wealthy gentleman.

Did not Mr. Lindsay think her a beautiful gerrl ? so genteel ! David admitted that he did. ' And yet so simple,' continued Euphemia, ' and so affaictionate ! Such pretty letters as she writes me ! Eh ! I hope she'll get a nice husband.' But David did not gratify her curiosity, and finding him impenetrably reserved upon this subject, Euphemia went to confide her surmises to Marjorie, with whom she was on familiar terms, although it was only on the rather rare occasions when Marjorie was in a good humour that the latter condescended to gossip with her mistress. ' I'll wager, Majorie, there'll be a wedding in the family some of these days. You'll see CHAP. XVI. A LILY AMONG THORNS 29 that young gentleman has not come here for nothing.' ' Ay ? ' said Marjorie. ' Will he be coortin' Miss Elsie?' 'Oh, I've no reason to say so, but I can put two and two together, and I think it.

I just mentioned her name to him, to see what he would say, and although he's very discreet, and answered me as mim and as prim — he turned as red as fire all over,' — which was a slight departure from exact truth, but had the effect of fully arousing Marjorie's interest. ' Ay ? ' she said again. ' I wouldna winder. Aweel, he's a wise-like lad, and the Captain's rael ta'en up wi' him.' ' And what a handsome gentleman ! ' ex claimed Euphemia. ' Eh, Marjorie ! what a noble presence ! ' ' He's no ill to look upon,' replied the less enthusiastic Marjorie. ' Miss Elsie will have nae need to think shame for him, for that maitter, if his inward pairts be conforming.' ' D'ye think the Captain's very fond of his daughter, Marjorie ? ' inquired Euphemia. ' Ay is he ! ' was the emphatic reply, ' I 'se warrant he thinks there's few can compare with her.' Euphemia's countenance fell, for there was a lurking jealousy of Elsie in her heart, and she would have liked to suppose that her husband did not care for his daughter in the least.

She sighed wearily, and, as Marjorie did not seem disposed for further conversation, she left the kitchen far less briskly than she had entered it. Thus David, having won favour at Rossie from all whose good opinion was worth culti vating, left the place well satisfied, on the whole, with his reception.

CHAPTER XVII.

' Thou hast never in thy life Show'd thy dear mother any courtesy ; When she (poor hen !) fond of no second brood, Has cluck'd thee to the wars, and safely home, Loaden with honour.' Lady Eleanor Fitzgerald had an afternoon in the week on which she received company. It was a penance, she used to tell her intimate friends, and really she thought it right to practise some sort of penance. Some people go to church on saints' days, and some people eat fish on Fridays, and, if they found them selves the better for it, she saw no reason why they should not. But, for her part, she would receive company on Thursdays, and do her duty to the neighbourhood, however much it bored her. On one particularly wet Thursday after noon in October, Lady Eleanor was sitting, beautifully dressed and very gracious, listening to the conversation of the Reverend Cecil Beaumont, a young curate, who was the only visitor as yet announced. ' Yes, a great change,' said Mr. Beaumont, who had but lately come to the neighbourhood. ' At Gastown, where my late curacy was, I had the entire charge of six thousand souls.