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CHAPTER XI: DEMON AND THE PIPES
His plan was to watch the house until he saw some entertainment
going on, then present himself as if he had but just arrived from
her ladyship's country seat. At such a time no one would acquaint
her with his appearance, and he would, as if it were but a matter
of course, at once take his share in waiting on the guests. By this
means he might perhaps get her a little accustomed to his presence
before she could be at leisure to challenge it.
When he put Kelpie in her stall the last time for a season, and
ran into the house to get his plaid for Lizzy, who was waiting him
near the tunnel, he bethought himself that he had better take with
him also what other of his personal requirements he could carry.
He looked about therefore, and finding a large carpet bag in one
of the garret rooms, hurried into it some of his clothes--amongst
them the Highland dress he had worn as henchman to the marquis,
and added the great Lossie pipes his father had given to old Duncan
as well, but which the piper had not taken with him when he left
Lossie House. The said Highland dress he now resolved to put on,
as that in which latterly Florimel had been most used to see him:
in it he would watch his opportunity of gaining admission to the
house.
The next morning Blue Peter made his appearance early. They went
out together, spent the day in sightseeing, and, on Malcolm's part
chiefly, in learning the topography of London.
In Hyde Park Malcolm told his friend that he had sent for Kelpie.
"She'll be the deid o' ye i' thae streets, as fu' o' wheels as the
sea o' fish: twize I've been 'maist gr'un to poother o' my ro'd
here," said Peter.
"Ay, but ye see, oot here amo' the gentry it's no freely sae ill,
an' the ro'ds are no a' stane; an' here, ye see, 's the place whaur
they come, leddies an' a', to ha'e their rides thegither. What I'm
fleyt for is 'at she'll be brackin' legs wi' her deevilich kickin'."
"Haud her upo' dry strae an' watter for a whilie, till her banes
begin to cry oot for something to hap them frae the cauld: that'll
quaiet her a bit," said Peter.
"It's a' ye ken!" returned Malcolm. "She's aye the wau natur'd, the
less she has to ate. Na, na; she maun be weel lined. The deevil in
her maun lie warm, or she'll be neither to haud nor bin'. There's
nae doobt she's waur to haud in whan she's in guid condeetion; but
she's nane sae like to tak' a body by the sma' o' the back, an' shak
the inside oot o' 'im, as she maist did ae day to the herd laddie
at the ferm, only he had an auld girth aboot the mids o' 'im for
a belt, an' he tuik the less scaith."
"Cudna we gang an' see the maister the day?" said Blue Peter,
changing the subject.
He meant Mr Graham, the late schoolmaster of Portlossie, whom the
charge of heretical teaching had driven from the place.
"We canna weel du that till we hear whaur he is. The last time Miss
Horn h'ard frae him, he was changin' his lodgin's, an' ye see the
kin' o' a place this Lon'on is," answered Malcolm.
As soon as Peter was gone, to return to the boat, Malcolm dressed
himself in his kilt and its belongings, and when it was fairly dusk,
took his pipes under his arm, and set out for Portland Place. He
had the better hope of speedy success to his plan, that he fancied
he had read on his sister's lips, in the silent communication that
passed between her and her friend in the crowd, the words come and
tomorrow. It might have been the merest imagination, yet it was
something: how often have we not to be grateful for shadows! Up
and down the street he walked a long time, without seeing a sign
of life about the house. But at length the hall was lighted. Then
the door opened, and a servant rolled out a carpet over the wide
pavement, which the snow had left wet and miry--a signal for the
street children, ever on the outlook for sights, to gather. Before
the first carriage arrived, there was already a little crowd of
humble watchers and waiters about the gutter and curb stone. But
they were not destined to much amusement that evening, the visitors
amounting only to a small dinner party. Still they had the pleasure
of seeing a few grand ladies issue from their carriages, cross the
stage of their Epiphany, the pavement, and vanish in the paradise
of the shining hall, with its ascent of gorgeous stairs. No broken
steps, no missing balusters there! And they have the show all for
nothing! It is one of the perquisites of street service. What one
would give to see the shapes glide over the field of those camerae
obscurae, the hearts of the street Arabs! once to gaze on the
jewelled beauties through the eyes of those shocked haired girls!
I fancy they do not often begrudge them what they possess, except
perhaps when feature or hair or motion chances to remind them of
some one of their own people, and they feel wronged and indignant
that size should flaunt in such splendour, "when our Sally would
set off grand clothes so much better!" It is neither the wealth
nor the general consequence it confers that they envy, but, as I
imagine, the power of making a show--of living in the eyes and
knowledge of neighbours for a few radiant moments: nothing is so
pleasant to ordinary human nature as to know itself by its reflection
from others. When it turns from these warped and broken mirrors
to seek its reflection in the divine thought, then it is redeemed;
then it beholds itself in the perfect law of liberty.
Before he became himself an object of curious interest to the crowd
he was watching, Malcolm had come to the same conclusion with many
a philosopher and observer of humanity before him--that on the
whole the rags are inhabited by the easier hearts; and he would
have arrived at the conclusion with more certainty but for the high
training that cuts off intercourse between heart and face.
When some time had elapsed, and no more carriages appeared, Malcolm,
judging the dinner must now be in full vortex, rang the bell of
the front door. It was opened by a huge footman, whose head was
so small in proportion that his body seemed to have absorbed it.
Malcolm would have stepped in at once, and told what of his tale
he chose at his leisure; but the servant, who had never seen the
dress Malcolm wore, except on street beggars, with the instinct
his class shares with watchdogs, quickly closed the door. Ere it
reached the post, however, it found Malcolm's foot between.
"Go along, Scotchy. You're not wanted here," said the man, pushing
the door hard. "Police is round the corner."
Now one of the weaknesses Malcolm owed to his Celtic blood was an
utter impatience of rudeness. In his own nature entirely courteous,
he was wrathful even to absurdity at the slightest suspicion of
insult. But that, in part through the influence of Mr Graham, the
schoolmaster, he had learned to keep a firm hold on the reins of
action, this foolish feeling would not unfrequently have hurried
him into conduct undignified. On the present occasion, I fear the
main part of his answer, but for the shield of the door, would have
been a blow to fell a bigger man than the one that now glared at
him through the shoe broad opening. As it was, his words were fierce
with suppressed wrath.
"Open the door, an' lat me in," was, however, all he said.
"What's your business?" asked the man, on whom his tone had its
effect.
"My business is with my Lady Lossie," said Malcolm, recovering his
English, which was one step towards mastering, if not recovering,
his temper.
"You can't see her. She's at dinner."
"Let me in, and I'll wait. I come from Lossie House."
"Take away your foot and I'll go and see," said the man.
"No. You open the door," returned Malcolm.
The man's answer was an attempt to kick his foot out of the doorway.
If he were to let in a tramp, what would the butler say?
But thereupon Malcolm set his port vent to his mouth, rapidly
filled his bag, while the man stared as if it were a petard with
which he was about to blow the door to shivers, and then sent from
the instrument such a shriek, as it galloped off into the Lossie
Gathering, that involuntarily his adversary pressed both hands to
his ears. With a sudden application of his knee Malcolm sent the
door wide, and entered the hall, with his pipes in full cry. The
house resounded with their yell--but only for one moment. For
down the stair, like bolt from catapult, came Demon, Florimel's
huge Irish staghound, and springing on Malcolm, put an instant end
to his music. The footman laughed with exultation, expecting to
see him torn to pieces. But when instead he saw the fierce animal,
a foot on each of his shoulders, licking Malcolm's face with long
fiery tongue, he began to doubt.
"The dog knows you," he said sulkily.
"So shall you, before long," returned Malcolm. "Was it my fault
that I made the mistake of looking for civility from you? One word
to the dog, and he has you by the throat."
"I'll go and fetch Wallis," said the man, and closing the door,
left the hall.
Now this Wallis had been a fellow servant of Malcolm's at Lossie
House, but he did not know that he had gone with Lady Bellair when
she took Florimel away: almost everyone had left at the same time.
He was now glad indeed to learn that there was one amongst the
servants who knew him.
Wallis presently made his appearance, with a dish in his hands, on
his way to the dining room, from which came the confused noises of
the feast.
"You'll be come up to wait on Lady Lossie," he said. "I haven't
a moment to speak to you now, for we're at dinner, and there's a
party."
"Never mind me. Give me that dish; I'll take it in: you can go for
another," said Malcolm, laying his pipes in a safe spot.
"You can't go into the dining room that figure," said Wallis, who
was in the Bellair livery.
"This is how I waited on my lord," returned Malcolm, "and this is
how I'll wait on my lady."
Wallis hesitated. But there was that about the fisher fellow was
too much for him. As he spoke, Malcolm took the dish from his hands,
and with it walked into the dining room.
There one reconnoitring glance was sufficient. The butler was at the
sideboard opening a champagne bottle. He had cut wire and strings,
and had his hand on the cork as Malcolm walked up to him. It was
a critical moment, yet he stopped in the very article, and stared
at the apparition.
"I'm Lady Lossie's man from Lossie House. I'll help you to wait,"
said Malcolm.
To the eyes of the butler he looked a savage. But there he
was in the room with the dish in his hands, and speaking at least
intelligibly; the cork of the champagne bottle was pushing hard
against his palm, and he had no time to question. He peeped into
Malcolm's dish.
"Take it round, then," he said. So Malcolm settled into the business
of the hour.
It was some time, after he knew where she was, before he ventured
to look at his sister: he would have her already familiarised with
his presence before their eyes met. That crisis did not arrive
during dinner.
Lord Liftore was one of the company, and so, to Malcolm's pleasure,
for he felt in him an ally against the earl, was Florimel's mysterious
friend.
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