The Barton House Conspiracy: a tale of 1886

Chapter I

jj§§i[j|T seven o'clock on the evening of MM Wednesday, the 16th of June 1886, the ' Flying Scotsman ' steamed into the Waverley Station at Edinburgh. When the train stopped, two young men jumped out of a smoking compartment, collected their luggage, hailed a cab, and told the cabman to drive as fast as possible to Barton House. ' It takes about half-an-hour,' said John Westlake to his companion, Charles Holm, ' and we shall be in time for dinner.' Westlake was a member of the English Bar, and about thirty-two years of age. At Oxford, from the first evening on which he rose in the Union, witb much inward trepi dation, though with apparent self-confidence, B to deliver his maiden speech in that famous nursery of orators, down to the end of his last term, he had always been regarded as one of the best speakers the University had ever turned out.

He took a good degree; and after he was called to the Bar, all the men of his time said he was sure to succeed. H,is University reputation, his industry, and his gift of speech had given him a chance which he was too ambitious to throw away; and now, after only seven years of practice, he was a rising man. Westlake's personal appearance was good. He was tall, with a fine figure, and, although not exactly handsome, he had not only a gentleman-like, but even a distinguished air. Holm was about the same age as West lake, and between the two an unbroken friend ship had existed for years. At Eton and at Oxford they had been bosom friends; and perhaps this friendship had been all the closer, because they had never been rivals. West lake, though possessed of ample means (he had lost his father before leaving school), had always been a reading man.

Holm, on the other hand, declared that he preferred to study men rather than books. He was full of shrewd common-sense, and from his boy hood had an amount of tact and discretion which had always enabled him to hold his own in any company. Of these qualities Westlake was fully aware, and he had the highest opinion of his friend's judgment. ' In a difficulty,' he used to say, ' I'd rather have Charlie Holm's advice than that of any man I know.' In town, Holm, who was a confirmed and settled bachelor, had rooms in Mount Street, and Westlake lived at his chambers, which were in Pump Court; and they were equally at home in both places, where they smoked each other's cigars, and used each other's writing-paper, in an easy and communistic fashion. Barton House was the house of Westlake's uncle, General Murray.

The founder of the Barton family, a distinguished Scottish lawyer of last century, had purchased the estate, after the fashion of his times, with the gains which he had accumulated during a long and successful career at the Bar, and had, after his promotion to the Bench, spent the closing years of his life in the enjoyment of literary ease, the improvement of his property, and the collection of a fine library. The gradual rise in the value of land, and several fortunate marriages, had increased the possessions of the Murray family, until the descendants of Lord Barton, as the old Judge was called in accordance with the Scottish custom, found themselves among the wealthiest families in the County of Midlothian. William Murray had succeeded to the estate in 1859, having just served through the Crimean War and the Indian Mutiny, and was now, in his sixty fifth year, a widower with two daughters.

The elder daughter, Gertrude, married to Lord Kilcoyne, was a woman of twenty-five; and the younger, Edith, was just twenty-two, her birthday being on the 16th of June, the day on which this story opens. This journey to Scotland had been made at Westlake's suggestion. A few days before he had said to Holm, ' I'm going down to Barton, and am sure they'll be very glad to see you too. You haven't been there for years. The 16th is my cousin Edith's birth day, and there's a tenants' ball or something of that sort. You'd better let me write and say I'm bringing you.' To this proposal Holm agreed. He was, however, rather sur prised to find Westlake leaving London before the Courts had risen. He knew that his friend had long ago lost his heart to his cousin Edith ; but hitherto he had never left London so early in the season, and Holm chaffed him about it.

But Westlake denied that he was going down to Scotland merely to see his cousin. ' I have another reason,' he said, ' and I shall keep it dark, in order to give you a surprise.' The truth was that, not long before, on the night of the 7th of June, Westlake had dined at the House of Commons with his friend Mr N. Prius, Q.C, M.P. A great, a crucial division was soon to take place. Mr Prius, who supported the Government, and was looking forward to office, was very anxious and excited, and, as they smoked on the terrace, said to Westlake, ' Look here, why don't you go into Parliament? As sure as fate, we shall be beaten to-night. Whip tells me they will have a majority of between thirty and forty. He has told Gladstone so. There will be a dissolution at once, and I'd strongly advise you to stand for somewhere.

Why not go for one of the Scotch seats? They are in want of candidates, and Whip could easily find you some place to fight. Even if you are beaten, it will do you all the good in the world. Whip is too busy to-night, but I'll see him about it before he leaves town.' It ended by Westlake taking this advice; and just as, after a long talk, he said, ' All right, you can speak to him, and say I'll stand if he can find me a place,' the bells rang. It was now about one in the morning. ' Here we are,' exclaimed Mr Prius, as he rushed off to vote, ' you stay here till I come back.' Westlake paced up and down the terrace, smoking his cigar, watching the lights upon the river, and wondering how the division had gone, until, at last, he was joined by Mr Prius, who said shortly, 'Thirty against us. Come along.' The House had risen; the lobbies and Westminster Hall were crowded, as they went out; and the telegraph wires were carrying all over the kingdom the news that the Home Rule Bill had been thrown out on the second reading.

Mr Prius was as good as his word; and, as soon as Parliament was dissolved, Westlake made arrangements to run down to Scotland, armed with introductions to those who were managing the elections on behalf of the Government. He had timed his journey so as to reach Barton House on the evening of his cousin's birthday ; and he fully intended to try if he could not win what Holm would have called ' the double event,' a bride and a seat in Parliament. The travellers soon found themselves driving up a winding avenue, bordered by spacious parks, adorned by fine old timber; and they presently alighted at a broad flight of steps which led up to the front door of Barton House, a large and handsome building, which revealed the hand of Adam, the Scottish archi tect, in its massive and extended outlines.

On one side lay the famous Barton bowling green, surrounded by a thick hedge of yew trees, on which grave senators of the College of Justice had often disported themselves after the early dinners of the eighteenth century; and on the other side was a shrubbery, inter sected with a maze of pathways, and now rich with the bloom of hawthorn and rhodo dendrons. The two men were at once taken to their rooms. Holm dressed rapidly, and found his way to the drawing-room. The Barton drawing-room was a large square apartment, lighted by three long windows, extending from the floor almost to the ceiling, and opening on to an old fashioned maze, or wilderness, as it was sometimes called, which lay at that side of the house. A soft dark carpet covered the floor, and the room was furnished with carved chairs and old-fashioned cabinets and tables.

The walls were lined all round with book shelves full of volumes, richly bound in calf or vellum, which had formed old Lord Barton's library, the gatherings of many years spent in antiquarian and literary research. There were choice editions of the classics, and many works on Scottish history and topography, together with volumes of rare pamphlets, and a fine collection of valuable manuscripts. There were many presentation copies of the works of eminent Scotsmen, for the old Judge had been the personal friend of those who had, during his lifetime, made Scotland famous in the annals of British literature. Among them were the 'Wealth of Nations,' bearing the autograph of Adam Smith, and the first edition of the poems of Robert Burns, pro bably one of the last books which Lord Barton had acquired.

Boswell had sent him the ' Life of Johnson,' with a letter in which he expressed the well-founded hope that ' the work may be found not the least interesting in your Lordship's famous collection.' There was also a copy of 'Taxation no Tyranny,' with the Doctor's signature on the title-page, and close at hand stood a rare print of Baretti's ' Easy Lessons in Italian and English,' with an inscription, ' For Miss Murray's acceptance,' in Boswell's handwriting, and a note by the old Judge, ' 'Tis said the preface is from the pen of Boswell's illustrious friend. Dec. 1775.' Round the room, in panels sunk among the books, were family pictures, and those of many local celebrities — Viscount Stair, the greatest of Scottish lawyers ; his son, that versatile statesman whose name calls up the memory of Glencoe, but to whom Scotland is indebted for the Act of Union ; David Hume and John Home, the massive head of ' Jupiter ' Carlyle, the thoughtful brow of Jeffrey, the rugged features of John Clerk of Eldin, and the imposing presence of Lord Melville; while over the carved mantelpiece hung a portrait of Lord Barton himself, as a Judge of the High Court of Justiciary, on whose crimson robes shone the evening sunlight, streaming in through the long narrow windows which opened out upon the rich foliage of the maze.

In this quaint room, redolent of the past, but full of modern comfort, was seated a young lady, who rose as Holm entered, and greeted him frankly. ' How do you do,' she said, ' I don't think you have been here since the time of the carriage accident. ' ' That was,' replied Holm, ' let me see, seven years ago.' ' It makes one feel quite ancient, and all the more as this is my birthday.' ' So Jack told me. Many happy returns.' Seven years before, Edith Murray had been a girl of fifteen, whose tall, lithe figure, golden hair, and merry laughter Holm remembered perfectly, and she had now grown up into a very graceful and charming woman. Her figure, without losing any of its old symmetry, had become fuller, and her hair was a shade darker, but the deep violet eyes and the lovely complexion were the same.

Reflections, highly favourable to the young lady, were passing through Holm's mind, when Westlake entered. ' How are you, Edith,' he said. ' Many happy returns of the day. This is my small offering,' and he presented a riding whip mounted in gold. 'Oh, thanks, Jack, I've just got a new horse from papa, such a beauty, and this will do to thrash him with. We might ride to-morrow.' ' Who are here?' asked Westlake. ' Kilcoyne and Gertrude are here, and Sir Robert Monk.' 'How do you do, Holm, glad to see you, and you too, Jack,' said General Murray, entering the room, and looking the same straight, well preserved man, Holm thought, that he was seven years before. 'Any news from town? Nothing but politics and the dissolution, I suppose. This is Sir Robert Monk,' he added, as a tall handsome man of some forty years, with a bronzed face and a heavy moustache, came in. ' Oh, Holm and I know each other,' said Monk, and they began to talk.

Presently the door opened again, and a lady and gentleman entered. 'Last as usual, Gertrude,' said General Murray. Lady Kilcoyne had the same fair hair, blue eyes, and graceful figure as her sister. Her face was paler, and she was three years older, but, though they were hke each other, the common opinion was that the married sister was the handsomer of the two. 'Kilcoyne,' said the General, 'this is Mr Holm, Jack Westlake's friend.' Lord Kilcoyne, to whom Holm was thus introduced, was a short clean-shaved man, con siderably older than his wife. He had served in the navy for a number of years, and had the weather-beaten face and frank manners of a sailor. He shook hands with Holm, saying, 'I think you know my wife abeady?' ' We met here years ago,' answered Holm. Dinner was announced. A large door at one end of the room was flung open, and they passed into another apartment, which like the drawing-room looked out upon the shrubbery.

It had been cleared of furniture, and the carpet had been lifted. The dining room was beyond. ' This is where they dance,' said Westlake to Holm, as they followed the rest of the party, 'and you can step into the open air, and sit out with your partners. How warm it is.' 'There is no time to be wasted,' said Miss Murray, turning round. 'They begin at half-past nine, and have supper in the dining-room at eleven. This is a special occasion.' Before they had finished dinner, there were sounds of talking in the adjoining room. ' Holm,' said General Murray, ' you and West lake must do great things, and dance with all the housemaids and the farmers' daughters.' 'The dancing,' said Edith, 'is very extraordinary, and there is an immense deal of ceremony.' As soon as dinner was over they left the dining-room, and passed out into the flower gardens, which lay beyond the bowling-green.

Westlake and his cousin Edith strolled off by themselves, while the rest of the party sat down on an old stone seat, which stood in a shaded circle, in the midst of which a fountain was playing. Through an opening in the trees they could see Arthur's Seat and the Pentland Hills beyond, bathed in the dusky stillness of a summer evening. ' You remember this seat, Holm,' said the General ; ' it was my ancestor Lord Barton's favourite resting-place. He used to sit here, in his old age, writing and reading on the summer days ; and I believe that those lines, which he had carved on the back of the seat, are the only verses ever composed by any member of our family. They are getting worn away, but I can read them still. Here they are — ' Thou futuro lord, whoe'er thou art, Of trees, of lawns, which once were mine, Oh, use them with a bounteous heart, "With cheerful gratitude resign." ' ' The sentiments of an old man, evidently, said Sir Robert Monk. ' I like these stone seats.

I haven't seen any iron or wooden ones at Barton.' ' There are none,' said the General. ' These fountains and seats are all very old. Why, Dr Johnson sat here more than a hundred years ago. When he was in Edinburgh, on his way back from the Hebrides, he dined and spent the afternoon here. Boswell was with him, and we have a tradition that the old Judge's claret proved too strong for Bozzy, who got tipsy, as very likely some of the other guests did, and made a fool of himself on this very spot, to the annoy ance of Lord Barton and Dr Johnson, who were sitting here engaged in a learned dis putation.' ' How times are changed,' said Lady Kil coyne. 'Who was it that said he would like to live one day in each century since the Christian era? I should like to be trans ported back to Edinburgh and Midlothian just a hundred years ago.' ' Yes, what a change,' said her father ; ' but even during the last few years a new town has grown up at the west end of Edinburgh, those, hideous streets and crescents where the people who double their incomes and their names at the same time go to.' 'Don't you think it is time for us to show at the dance?' said Edith Murray, who now returned with Westlake ; and the party presently went into the house.

The ball-room was crowded ; and, though the windows were all open, the heat was excessive. There were not only the servants, but many of the Barton tenantry, and the dancing was in full swing. Holm was soon introduced to a partner, with whom he performed in a country dance. of the figures in whicli he was profoundly ignorant. She was carefully enveloped in a garment resembling an opera cloak, which she laid aside on rising to dance, and put on again as soon as Holm led her back to her seat. 'Just like a horse after a race,' he said. Jack danced the first waltz with his cousin ; but both he and Holm obeyed the General's orders, and made themselves immensely popular in consequence. At supper the health of Miss Murray was proposed and drunk amidst much applause ; and General Murray thanked them for their kindness, and then his health was drunk.

Then there were reels, and such reels, fast and furious, though the room was hotter than ever. About midnight, Holm began to long for a cigar and some fresh air. The long windows, which opened down to the ground, led out into the maze, which looked quiet and in viting. So be stepped out into the dark ness, where tha laurels and rhododendrons, unmoved by even a breath of wind, glimmered faintly in the light which shone from the windows of the house. In front of the window by which Holm had come out lay a long straight path, intersected at intervals by other paths which, winding in all directions throughout the shrubbery, formed the maze. On both sides of the path were thick masses of laurel, growing close down to the ground, and almost meeting overhead. It was very dark for the season of the year, that night, and Holm came to the conclusion that he might smoke in peace.

About fifty yards from the house he found a seat, with a high back of carved stone-work, embowered among the laurels. Here he sat down, and was about to light his cigar, when something made him look in the direction of the house. A lady and gentleman, whose figures he could see distinctly against the brilliant light of the large window behind them, were coming slowly down the path towards him, evidently engaged in confidential talk. He rose. 'I'll let them pass,' he thought, 'no use of interrupting a quiet flirtation.' And he slipped quietly and rapidly behind the back of the seat. The footsteps were heard approaching. They paused in front of where Holm was concealed. Though himself com pletely hidden, he was able to see dimly through the carving in front of him. ' Hullo ! ' he said to himself, 'Monk and Edith Murray!' ' No one can see us here,' said Monk ; and they sat down. 'This is very awkward,' thought Holm, ' I really can't show.

I'd look such a fool.' The night was sultry, and the air was laden with the scent of flowers, whose fragrance fingered all around, though the sun had long set ; and from the house came the sound of music. Holm fully expected to be the un willing witness of a love scene. But he saw nothing of the sort. They began at once to talk in a low tone, so that very little could be heard. Some scraps, however, of their conversation reached his ear. 'He is such a good fellow. I have always liked him,' said the lady, in a tone of regret. 'My position, you know, is desperate,' replied her companion. Such were some of the fragments of what they said ; but one sentence at last reached his ear distinctly. 'I have a scheme in my head which will do it effec tually,' said Monk, ' only you must stand true to me.' ' I will,' was the answer.

Then they rose, and, without another word moved silently away. 'Thank goodness, that's over,' muttered Holm, as he emerged from behind the seat. 'Poor Jack! Monk and Miss Murray evidently understand each other.' On entering the ball-room, a few minutes later, he found Monk talking to General Murray ; while Edith, with a flushed face and sparkling eyes, was just beginning to dance with Westlake. Holm found Lady Kilcoyne in the supper-room, and asked for a dance. 'Isn't it too hot?' she said; 'what do you say to sitting out in the maze, and you can smoke, if you like. I really think we have done enough duty.' ' The very thing I should like,' replied Holm ; and they found their way into the laurel walk. ' There's a seat near this,' said Lady Kil coyne, and they were soon at the place which Holm had just left. 'Now, I call this very kind of you,' he said, as he lit his cigar with a match which lighted up the darkness, as it burned steadily in the hot still air. 'What fun we had the last time I was at Barton!

You remember the day the waggonette was upset. I was re minding your sister of it.' 'No, what was that?' 'Why, you remember the time Jack West lake and I stayed here for nearly a month, just after he was called to the Bar.' ' Yes, about seven years ago ; before my marriage.' ' Well, you were both going away, your sister to school, and you on a visit some where. Jack said he'd drive you to the station, and he drove the trap into the ditch. It was the last train, and you had to come back. Your sister got another day at home, and your ankle turned out to have been strained, and you never went away at all' ' Oh, of course, 1 remember now.' Well, Jack went into that ditch on purpose ' 'Did he? I always thought so; and I'll tell you something ; my strained ankle was all sham. But who comes here?' ' Isn't it jolly out here?' said Edith Murray, who with Westlake in attendance, now made her appearance. ' Awfully,' replied Westlake, ' let's sit down.' 'Who's here?' he added, noticing that the seat was already occupied; ' oh, you, Gertrude, and Holm, we never saw you ; one is quite blind at first, coming out of that bright room.' 'The Merchant of Venice!' exclaimed Lady Kilcoyne, ' scene, the avenue of Portia's house.

Enter Lorenzo and Jessica.' 'Thanks for the comparison,' said Edith. ' How sweet the moonlight sleeps on yonder bank — only, unfortunately, there's none to night.' 'In such a night as this,' said Westlake ' How does it go on?' 'It is nearly one o'clock,' said Lady Kil coyne, with a laugh. 'I'm going to bed. I suppose you've had enough of it, Edith? I know Mr Holm and Jack are dying to get away to the smoking-room, and I fancy father, and Sir Robert, and Kilcoyne are there already.' Westlake and Holm put on their smoking things, and went to the smoking-room, where they found the rest of the pasty, clad in garments of diverse hues, and wreathed in an atmosphere of fragrant tobacco. They sat down apart from the others, at an open window, from which they saw the first dim grey light of an early dawn beginning to spread among the trees and pathways.

For some time they talked about the dance, and the various incidents of the evening ; but all the time Jack Westlake was evidently thinking about something else. Now and then he hardly listened to what Holm said ; and, at last, he rose, went to a table which stood in the middle of the room, helped him self to a good strong brandy-and-soda, and, coming back to where Holm was, sat down and began to talk. 'Now,' said he, 'I'll tell you something.' I can guess what it is,' said Holm. What is it then?' asked Jack. ' Monk and your cousin are engaged.' Holm said this, not because he imagined for a moment that that was what West lake was about to tell him, but because he wished to give his friend a hint. He had resolved to say nothing about the awkward position in which he had found himself in the laurel walk ; but he had for a long time known that Jack regarded his cousin with warmer feelings than those of mere cousinly affection, and he was anxious to suggest the possibility of there being a rival in the field.

Jack's answer was just what he expected. 'Monk!' he exclaimed, 'what could put that into your head? My dear fellow, I'm nearly as good as engaged to her myself. That's what I was going to tell you. I was just coming to the point when we stumbled upon you and Gertrude sitting in the dark there. But I shall bring matters to a crisis to-morrow morning. Monk! what made you think of that?' ' Onlookers,' replied Holm, ' see most of the game, and I think they seem rather good friends, if not something more.' There was a pause of some minutes, during which both men smoked in silence. Then Jack spoke. ' Look here, Charlie,' he said, 'you're not a random talker, old man. What do you mean?' 'I'm not a learned counsel,' replied Holm, 'but you take my tip, and look after Monk. That's all I've got to say. The birds are beginning to wake up. I'm off to bed.'

Chapter II

j||If§)HERE are mornings when you wake up iUJs with no special sensations except an affection for your bed and a disinclination, which only a strong sense of social duty can over come, to leave it. But on other mornings there passes through the brain, on being roused from slumber, a vague idea that there is something to think about. Sometimes it is the folly loss of your money painful interview of cannot be avoided. of yesterday, the recent or your friend, or the the coming day, which Sleep had banished thought ; and at first there is only a vague consciousness of something disagree able pressing on the mind. But all of a sudden a complete consciousness of what it is breaks forth clear and distinct. At other times it is different. You waken with a sense of elation, of pleasurable anticipation, and you gradually remember something, per haps of a very trivial nature, which is to happen during the day.

Then you are eager to be up and doing ; and the very sense of hving is in itself a pleasure. So, on the morning after the Barton dance, Jack Westlake woke in a brisk and active frame of mind, for on this day he was going to ask his cousin Edith a very important question. In a cheerful voice he asked the servant, whose entrance had roused him from a profound sleep, what sort of a day it was. 'Nine o'clock, sir,' was the man's irrelevant reply, as he passed into Holm's room, which opened out of that in which Westlake slept. Jack sprang from bed, and looked out of the window. It was another glorious summer day. Holm was already awake and reading the ' Scotsman.' ' When do they breakfast?' he asked. ' About ten, I think,' answered Westlake ; ' get up, you lazy beggar.' ' Teach me to live that I may dread my tub as httle as my bed,' said Holm. 'They make The Bard a hot favourite for the Manchester Cup.

I suppose I'd better get up in a little,' he added, as Jack shut the door, and proceeded to splash in his bath. Westlake was first in the dining-room, breakfasted alone, and had gone out before the rest of the party assembled. Soon after Westlake had left the house, the others began to appear and take their places at the breakfast table. ' I see Mr Gladstone leaves London to day,' said Lady Kilcoyne, who was reading a newspaper. ' I wish he had never come to Midlothian,' replied General Murray. The General had always been a Liberal, as his father had been before him ; but he had lately felt inclined to say with Mercutio, 'a plague o' both your houses.' For many years after the first Reform Bill the Con servatives in Scotland had been in a feeble and disorganised condition, compared to which the state of their brethren in England was one of high prosperity.

The Reform Act of had brought about far greater changes in Scottish than in English politics. The ruin of the Scottish Conservative party had been more disastrous, owing to the height from which it fell ; and nothing could have been more hopeless than its situation during the Ministries of Lord Melbourne, Sir Robert Peel, Lord John Russell, Lord Aberdeen, and Lord Palmerston. And when, on the death of Lord Palmerston, Parliamentary Reform became once more a question of practical politics, Conservatism became almost more unpopular than ever in Scotland, owing to the resistance whicli greeted the proposal to lower the franchise. In the summer of 1866 the position of the party was one of simple opposition to any change. But the genius of Lord Beaconsfield, then Mr Disraeli, triumphed; and the men who in 1866 wTere declaiming against even an instalment of Reform, however moderate, found themselves, in 1867, promoting the introduction of house hold suffrage in the towns.