A Tangled Web

Chapter I

My name was Marjorie Smith. Perhaps I should say that it was so for a while only — a short time which comprised the most important events of my life. I must explain. Explanations are always difficult. In reading, I make a point of skipping them, but, in writing this veracious account, I positively cannot do without them. It all happened so quickly. It began thus. One cheerless wintry evening I was sitting, my feet tilted on the fender, my rumpled head in the depths of a soft arm-chair, and the London paper on my knee. I had been reading the advertisements ; I love advertisements. A short paragraph specially caught my fancy. It was to this effect : — 'A lady of title residing in an attractive part of South Kensington wishes to chaperone a young lady — Australian or otherwise — to whom she offers a home.

Introduction to the best society. The highest references given and expected. Terms proportionate.' ' Now you see, dear Gallikins,' said I, ' this is the very kind of thing I should like to do.' ' You would like to do ? ' repeated Gallikins interrogatively. I must here explain — another explanation, wheels within wheels — that Gallikins is short for 'old girl,' the affectionate though some what disrespectful appellation I had bestowed on my faithful companion, a distant relative — we are all more or less cousins in the North — a kindly creature who first hastened to me in my sorrow, stayed with me through sympathy, loved, argued with, spoiled me, and who finally, having lost her own poor mite of an income through the sudden failure of a bank, gladly accepted a permanent home in my big desolate house.

What, in truth, should I have done without my Gallikins, better known as ' Miss Lisbeth ' up and down the countryside ? ' Yes, dear old thing,' I continued. ' You see, I am tired of my own sphere. Christmas is just over — Christmas is a truly dreadful time — I have given away gifts enough to pave the floor of Hades — no, by the bye, those were good intentions. I am tired of being different to every other girl.' ' My dearie, my dearie ! Good sakes, how you do run on ! There's many a body would be glad, ay, thankful . . . not to speak of the penniless lassies. . . .' ' I know, I know. But I am even tired of being envied. My hands and feet are bound, and every one cries out: "What delightful liberty ! " Liberty ? Why, that is what I need. Is it not for liberty that men give their lives ungrudgingly ?

Is not priceless liberty the true philosopher's stone ? ' Gallikins shook her head with some decision, but held her peace. 'Above all,' I continued petulantly — 'above all, I am horribly tired of seeing you knit that pink-and-white sock for your nineteenth great-nephew's baby. I am more than tired of this little corner of antiquated northern life, all shut in and planted round and iced over like the curling-pond. I want to break it up with a hammer, to see beneath it, beyond it. I want to see the world, poor ignorant exile that I am, and yet not be labelled "heiress" like a specimen in a museum. I want to lay my own identity aside for a bit, like a country cotton gown shut up in a drawer, till I come back and unlock the drawer.' ' Ay, ay,' murmured Gallikins, bending her head down so that I could not see her face ; 'youth is wilful ; that I know.' ' Youth cannot always endure to sit still.

Oh, Gallikins, you want my youth to stagnate, to hobble on, like Jock's lame mare ! " She's a fine goer, if ye dinna hurry her." And so the mare stands still, or lies down in the field. But this field of mine is overmuch closed in with dykes. It's like a prison of a few acres.' ' You do not mean it,' quoth Gallikins ' But I do — I do ! Can't you understand that I positively long to climb over the stones, and see the living world as others see it ? ' 'And what for? ' ' Why, to be free, to be happy, of course ! To know the joys of other girls, to find my own level, to be liked or disliked for myself, and for nothing else — to find the right road to happiness, in fact.' ' Is that the world ? ' asked my companion, looking up. ' The world and happiness are mostly stranger-like. It's not often that ye'll meet them hand in hand.' ' So you say.

But every one wants to try for his or herself. Other people's experience . . .' 'Ay, ay, I know — worth maybe as much as an old song. And the king's daughters in the fairy tales would never rest at home. Well, try the world, try it, Grisell.' Her thin face— always pale — was calm, encouraging almost, thought I. My heart bounded with a wild joy. The mere promise of freedom was intoxicating. I longed to leap and dance. No, I was surely no longer like Jock's lame mare, but rather like those foolish young foals that frisk down the meadows in summer-time. ' Shall I try ? Would you keep my secret, you dearest, sweetest old thing in the world ? ' I asked. I crossed over to my friend, knocking down a little table in the transit, and for a moment we sat in silence — I on the arm of her chair, she turned towards me — locked in each other's embrace.

Ah ! she was always fond of me, and I — I had nobody else ! 'It would be awful fun, wouldn't it?' I said at last, with a sigh and something like a quaver in my voice. ' Awful fun,' she repeated meekly, and I am quite sure that there was a sudden glistening on her grey eyelashes, though she became immediately so taken up with the dropped stitches in the great-nephew's sock that there seemed no doubt as to the clear ness of her sight. But after a moment she began once more. ' You cannot mean that, truly ? ' ' Yes, truly, seriously.' ' Oh, child, child, you're not fit ! An advertised place is no' for such as you. What do you want with seeing the world ? You'll just break my heart' ' I would not do that for all the untried golden worlds hung high in the heavens,' said I. ' But let me go, Gallikins, help me to go for a bit.

Who knows ? I may return cured of my wildness ; chastened, pining for a quiet life again, ready to reflect on my cousin even.' ' Do not think it,' she sighed. ' Wilfred or no Wilfred, ye'll never come back the same girl that ye went.' ' Better, better, I promise you ! Gallikins dear, let me go. I must dree my weird.' We sat silent. The old hall clock ticked loudly. I could hear my own excited quick breathing echoing each stroke. Presently we were laughing again. ' There are two things which puzzle me especially,' quoth I. ' First, what is an attract ive part of South Kensington ? Is South Kensington generally unattractive, think you ? And would this particular attractiveness attract every visitor, or be solely patent to the owner of the house ? The next thing I don't quite like is the "best society."

Now, what is the best society ? Does it mean the haute noblesse, which can be — mind, Gallikins, I only say can be — distinctly dull ? Or does it represent the Bohemian, which is occasionally — mind, I only say occasionally and from hearsay — doubtful ? Or is it the rich parvenu kind, of which I have some horror — those we read of so often in books — people who have made money in things which mustn't be called " trade " ? And then " terms proportionate." Proportionate to what ? Do you think it can mean the Archbishop of Canterbury, or society of that sort ? ' 'You couldn't get on far in that,' said Gallikins grimly. ' Perhaps not. Still, I wonder how much the " lady of title" {what title ?) would charge as compensation for my meeting the highest dignitaries of the Church say two or three times a week ? ' ' Of course if you joke ' — began Gallikins aggrievedly. ' You always do joke,' she con tinued, yet more aggrievedly. 'Well, joking is the salt of life.

However, too much salt is not wholesome. I have heard that in the North Pole people suffer considerably from eating salt meat. But we are not in the North Pole — at least, not quite. I wish the coal burnt better, though. This coal has a heart of flint, and so has the butler, who practises economy by giving us such small lumps. Now, I'll tell you what — there's no use talking — we'll go to bed. La nnit porte conseil. To-morrow morning at breakfast I'll give you the result of my cogitations — yes or no. And you won't sermonise me, dear — you will help me ? ' ' I suppose I must always do that. Eh, Grisell, but you are very foolish— sadly, sadly wilful ! ' You have told me this often.' ' Yet ye're no' the better for the telling. ' Well, I may learn wisdom presently.' ' Have a care. There's many that learn wisdom and earn a sair heart.

You're like a fairy princess again ; you've slept on silken sheets, you'd feel the rub ofa roseleaf. Child, a wilful woman maun hae her ain way, but yours is no' the right way ; take my word for it. It's sheer madness, that's what I say.' ' Dear Gallikins, listen again. I am very rich, which is a horrid thing for a woman, and so I am born to have my way as far as riches may give it me, which means not at all. That's why I am desperately anxious to try this new road to happiness, if only for a joke, and see what may come of it. After all, I am simply contemplating a visit to London. You shall mind the house here ; no one need be the wiser. And if life's unendurable with the lady of title, well, I'll come back all the sooner. You'll welcome the prodigal, won't you, Gallikins ? Good-night now — good-night.' And our strange compact was sealed with a kiss.

Chapter II

The next day at breakfast, Gallikins was what she would herself have called ' all of a twitter.' I came into the room whilst she was making the tea — making it with a dear trembling old hand that was as determined to put the right number of spoonfuls into the pot as it had ever been to do its difficult and dried-up duty through life. The raised eyes enquired more than the hesitating tongue. ' Marjorie Smith, at your service,' I answered, dropping a little curtsey. ' Marjorie is one of my Christian names, you know. An Australian, rather uneducated, anxious to be chaperoned, brought up with — well, with sheep and kangaroos, or possibly on an ostrich farm.' ' My dear ! ! ! ' ' Don't look so amazed. I'll get old Jock IB to tell me. One of his sons — Geordie I think, the youngest — has owned an ostrich farm these four years, in South Africa or elsewhere.

I know it's a good kind of place. You may wear their feathers and pull out their tails without injuring them.' ' And is that all your knowledge ? ' This last question, par parenthese, was intended for withering scorn. 'Absolutely. In fact, it is rather more than I really do know ; but Jock shall be my instructor, and the lady of title won't be particular. She will want to tell me about London, not to hear about Australia. I have already written her a letter agreeing to terms extortionate — ■ no, proportionate. I have given no address, but mentioned you as my reference, not here, but at Drumcanny Manse. You will make it all right with your sister ? ' ' What, me, my dear ? ' ' Yes, you ! You are the only person who really knows me, although you only know— well, let me see — an inch to the square "yaird," as old Callender would say.' But the poor soul sat and shook her head sadly.

I had dragged her into a very Slough of Despond. She, who was truthful as the day, dreaded anything approaching to a lie, whether agreed to or tacitly intended, even if not spoken. She, who had been, as it were, my mother and controller for years past, could not make up her mind that I, now fairly launched in my twenty-third year, should act for myself — nay, should act with such absolute senselessness, not to say positive folly. Perhaps what I dreaded most of all was my interview with the factor, Mr. Thorns. The servants and tenants would be sufficiently satisfied with the statement that I was going away south for a while to visit some friends, but Mr. Thorns must be in the secret ; it were impossible otherwise. There was the property to consider ; the farms — those ever lasting farms ! It would not even do to plead mystery with him ; such a course would merely evoke suspicion.

He was too shrewd ; he could not be ignored. I had lain awake half the night, wondering how to keep him out of the knowledge of my freak. Alas ! I came back perpetually to the desperate con clusion that he must be in it. All the same, it was one thing to take Mr. Thorns to a secret, and another to make him accept it — yes, and work for it ! Had he not been the factor, or agent and right hand of the estate, for many years past, as his father and grand father were before him ? In he came, having been fetched up from the village by David, the boy. ' A fine morning, ma leddy,' began Mr. Thorns, as I smilingly motioned him to a seat. ' So it is,' I responded ; ' and the sun seems likely to melt the ice.' ' Na, na, the curling's going on at a fine rate.' He looked a little regretfully (as I thought), with keen blue eyes piercing the window panes, across to the park, towards the spot where his favourite recreation was at this very minute in full activity. ' Yon's the grocer from Duplands,' he continued. ' Ye canna see him weel, because of the bushes.

He's a grand player, a fine mon forbye ! I'm thinking he's the best player in these pairts. A strong arm and a straicht eye, and we're sair in need of sich. Sandy Gordon, as ye ken, ma leddy, was taken with paralysis, and canna thraw the stanes the noo — so our side's like to come off badly.' Good Mr. Thorns, in his excitement, was lapsing more and more into the Scottish tongue. He had pulled out his snuff-box, and was tapping it reflectively. It is not so many years past since snuff-boxes were still held in great request by the inhabitants of our old-fashioned slow-revolving corner of Great Britain. Presently Mr. Thorns helped himself to a pinch, sniffed loudly, tapped the box again, closed it, and smiled broadly. ' Duplands is a puir place, ma leddy, but it's michty prood of young Paterson — that's the grocer, ye ken — and the result o' the match will be in a' the Consairvative papers (to say naething o' the Radicals) withoot a cloot.

Maybe it'll be a tie, for Macphairson has been practising the winter through, and he kens the locality — ay, he does that. Ma certie ! but it's a pleasure to see the twa.' I broke in remorselessly. ' I want to explain to you,' I said, with as much dignity as I could assume, ' that I have a plan for going to London, and I must arrange about money and other things — in fact, I want to tell you.' ' Hoots toots, ma leddy, and whom should ye tell but me, that's Morrison Thorns at your sairvice, as his father was at your father's, and your grandfather's too, not to gae back o' years as we micht withoot the need o' ink and paper and the lawyer's clairk.' Well, he listened to my explanation, and then he shook his head ; his bushy eyebrows almost met as he stared at me with keen cold eyes. ' Na, na, ma leddy, it's no' for the like of you.

Ma dear Leddy Grisell ' — and there upon, with many a shuffle in the large chintz covered chair wherein he had disposed his rugged limbs, Mr. Thorns proceeded to expound to me his views of what my life should be. ' Ye ken we're all expecting a deal from ye, ma leddy. It's no' for me to give counsel to your father's daughter, but I'll joost say that a bonnie lad with a tidy pedigree — one of our ain good names, if possible, that hail from the north — is what the whole parish, not to speak of the outlying fairms and townships, looks anxiously for. A braw lad, ma leddy, none the worse if he brings some siller with him — though ye're no' wanting in this special. There's mair than one that's been mentioned the last year or two, and I'll no' say but what the young laird — nevertheless, I say to mysel' : Morrison Thorns, a leddy must be coorted.

There's nae good hurrying these things in a jiffy, over a glass o' toddy or the like — every young woman must bide her ain time wi' her ain wooing. And wha's for to say wi' an earl's daughter ? ' During the good man's monologue, my feelings were strangely mixed. I have always been deeply touched by the affection and interest evinced towards me by those who, born and bred on my father's estate, have viewed me as a being truly, tenderly their own — a being who can hardly do wrong, certainly, but for whom every shred of life must be planned out and settled beforehand, in far-reaching discernment as despotic as it is affectionate. Yet that very kindness of theirs was what drove me forth, with an overwhelming desire to be away and independent. Meanwhile, Mr. Thorns had risen to his feet, and was standing near the fire, tall, ungainly, pale for very eagerness, taking large pinches of snuff with violent and fre quent haste.

He was positively sprinkling the hearthrug with the brown powder that dropped liberally from his trembling excited hands. Tt is not the courting, Mr. Thorns,' I began vaguely, not knowing how to make him share my sentiments ; then I added, with feeble logic : ' You don't understand.' ' Na, na,' he replied soothingly ; ' it would no' become me to try.' As he spoke, his kind weather-beaten face beamed on me from its background of oak panelling ; he passed one gigantic but well shapen old hand across his high forehead and sparse silvery hair. Then he turned to me with a look of extreme caution. ' Ye'll forgive me, ma leddy — I wouldna ask but that ye have it in your mind to leave your affairs to me. Ye've no' heard again from your uncle in the south ? ' ' Don't call him my uncle, Mr. Thorns ! ' I broke out passionately. 'Ma certie, na, for he is not!

He's but the husband of your mother's sister, and a puir creature at best. The Earl, your father, ma leddy, he couldna relish the mere mention of him. It was the twa leddies, the sisters ' — ' He wrote and offered to come, he and his son — ' Ay, there's the knuckle of it.' ' But I refused.' ' And ye did weel, to my thinking. Ye'll forgive plain speaking, ma leddy.' ' My father disliked the family.' ' And richtly. Not a drap o' Scottish bluid in any one father's son of them.' ' I cannot talk about it, Mr. Thorns. My mother and her sister loved each other better, I think, than sisters ever loved. I must remember that.' ' Weel, weel.' ' They could seldom meet owing to that dreadful quarrel between my father and my aunt's husband.' 'And they didna need.' ' Wait, wait. Have you not heard that the two sisters — my mother and my aunt — promised for their children, betrothed them almost ? ' ' It was a heathenish kind o' thocht.' ' No, I cannot let you say that, though my mother, I feel sure, would have given up the idea had she lived.

Still, it is a bond, a kind of bond, and my uncle — as you call him — never fails to remind me of it, by letter, once every two or three months, at least.' ' The mean body ! ' I could not help smiling. ' Don't be afraid, Mr. Thorns ; I do not feel myself to be pledged, though he tells me that to him and to his son it is a solemn bond.' ' It wouldna be so solemn but for your siller, ma leddy.' ' Possibly not. That is why I think but poorly of my relations. Now you see one reason why I wish to go away. My uncle offers to come here — he has long desired it. I have refused.' I was playing my trump card with Mr. Thorns. . _ ' Ou ay, there's no denying. But ye need na gae so far. There's mony in the county would be glad to have ye on a lang visit. There's Sir Archibald and his mother — no' to mention the young laird and his people — and in the Highlands even in winter there's grand fun to be had for young leddies, I'm told.

There's Lord Roseneath noo — I've a nephew that's going to be agent there, and he kens the Master, his lordship's son, a bonnie lad, they say. He's cousin to my nephew, through his mother's family that is, a good family enough — -her father was a writer in Edinburgh, but the old stock itsel' comes from near Nairn. There'd be mony delichted to see ye, ma leddy, and to make it pleasant for ye, that's sure.' But U homme propose, ct la femme dispose. The mental panorama neatly rolled out before me resembled one of those horrid school maps which I have often seen, wherein large empty spaces of shining canvas are only enlivened by a few prickly-looking little green hillocks, and the whole country seems equally dull and uncompromising. I therefore clung to my own plan, and presently brought the old agent round — not to see the wisdom of it, perhaps, but to accede to the foolish whim of the one remaining member of that family which he and his forbears had served and adored for so many generations.

Chapter III

I had said good-bye — absolutely insisting on travelling alone for the first time in my life. I have still a vision of dear Gallikins standing at the hall door of the old house, mopping her eyes with her damp pocket handkerchief, catching a sore throat and all other ills in the chill and murky darkness of early dawn, whilst the servants looked saddened and bewildered. I was to meet a new maid in London. I treasured a goodly number of gold pieces in my purse, and when I needed more, I was to write to Morrison Thorns. Gallikins had pressed on me a small luncheon hamper filled with special dainties : gingerbread, toffee, and so forth. The village fly — for that tyrant the coachman could not take the old horses and still older carriage out in hard frost — carted me to the WEE. 30 station. I easily secured a seat in a railway carriage full of ladies.

At last the long and fatiguing journey was over, and I found myself in abominable prosaic London— a tangible answer to the 'lady of title's' advertisement. I and my luggage and the shut cab, which, despite its joltings, held us together, bumped and rattled up to the door of her house— a meagre-looking ugly dwelling, one of many in a long dull street. Was this really an attractive part of South Kensington ? The rheumatic old cabman got slowly down from the box, and, in the darkness, fumbled at the doorbell — once — twice. At last a footman opened the door and let me in, staring at me much as I stared at him, with an apparently overwhelming desire to gather, by means of that one look, all antecedents and all other details and information. The interior of the house seemed to me exceedingly narrow and dingy.

But then in my old home there was no want of space ; there was so much air about and around us that we could never sufficiently warm it before filling our lungs with it. The difficulty was the procuring enough of coal to unfreeze the big corridors, just as it was difficult to let the large and unproductive farms, or engage enough of cattle to graze on the broad fields and acres which were my heirlooms. Here, the stair case seemed about three inches wide ; the ceiling appeared benevolently to stroke the feathers on my hat. The kitchen, with hospitable intent, sent up strong odours of Irish stew to greet me. My bag and luncheon basket cumbered the tiny hall ; and when the footman invited me to follow him upstairs to her ladyship, I positively felt ashamed to appropriate so much useful space, which should have been filled by oxygen for the use of the inhabitants.

At the end of a stuffy little drawing-room — wherein amidst the fog I could just discern numberless knick-knacks and trivialities, both on the walls and on the many tables and what-nots which filled the apartment — a middle-aged lady was sitting reading by the light of a rose-coloured lamp. But she threw aside the volume of Herbert Spencer, which, by the bye, after-experience convinced me that she had procured in order to impress me, and she advanced with both hands out stretched, possibly in order to impress the footman. ' My dear Miss Smith ! ' she exclaimed, and then again with effusion, as though we had been old friends, ' My dear Miss Smith ! ' I grinned from ear to ear — I really could not help it. I was more nervous than rude. ' Bring some tea, Thomas,' added my hostess. ' My dear child, may I call you Marjorie ?' The door closed upon Thomas, and I laughed outright.

This discomposed Lady Bingham. I have forgotten to say that her name was Bingham, and that she was the widow of an ex-mayor — a mayor of some place in some county which I forget, who was knighted on the interesting occasion of a foundation-stone being laid by some Royal Highness — I am not quite clear which — for the purpose of an institution — but I can remember no more. Lady Bingham looked at me sideways ' You — you are amused ? ' she asked in mild interrogation. 'Oh yes,' I replied, struggling with an increasing desire to giggle. ' Of course, you see, I am not used to London.' ' And it's all new and strange to you, no doubt ? ' ' Oh yes,' I replied again, readily and with veracity. ' Ah, well, that's a good thing,' continued my hostess ; ' so much more amusing for you. I think you only lately came from Australia — the passage isn't much, is it, if you're a good sailor ?

And I daresay you had a good stewardess. Now a stewardess can be a most comfortable person — don't you think, my dear, that a stewardess can be a most comfortable person ? But don't talk — I see you don't want to — you have a little cough — it is the fog, I daresay. You are not used to fogs, perhaps ? You'll get used to them in time. We get used to most things, don't we ? And, as I always say, fogs and good society are preferable to the finest climate, and . . . But here's the tea — not too late, is it? Now, just make yourself comfortable with a cushion in the small of your back. It's the small of the back that takes one after a long journey, and I think you said you had come a long way to-day.' ' I came from some friends,' I stammered. ' Oh yes, in the north. Drum — Drumcanny, was it ? But I don't know Scotland myself.

Romantic, isn't it ? But with no society worth speaking of. Well, you'll like to see something of the old country — that means London only, now-a-days. It must be so interesting to a — a new person like yourself, dear. And I can give you all sorts of little hints — little sous entendus, as the French call them. That's nothing shocking, you know — only just what any stranger wants. I'm not very learned, my dear ; but society — that's my forte. I've never been to Girton or what's the other place — I know nothing of mathematics, nor metaphysics,' continued my hostess, forgetful of her recent reading, ' but I have studied society in all its ramifications (and they are so to speak endless) ever since I was a girl in my teens. What, no sugar ? Well, I suppose you're too young. No young people take sugar.