A Witch of the Hills Volume I Part 10

'You are a Scotchman, so am I. I have been pained by stories of orgies, debaucheries, and general goings on in this neighbourhood.

Tell me, on your word as a fellow-countryman, can these gentlemen and myself, as churchwardens and Sunday-school teachers, enter this house without loss of self-respect?'

'I dinna ken aboot self-respect, gentlemen; but if you don't come in, ye'll stand the loss of a varra good dinner,' answered Ferguson, with a welcoming twinkle in his eyes.

'I am satisfied,' said Fabian, entering precipitately.

And the rest followed without scruple.

At dinner, to my relief, they found other subjects for their tongues to wag upon; for Maurice Browne, never being satisfied long with any topic but literary 'shop,' brought realism up again, and there ensued a triangular battle. For Edgar, who, now that he had pa.s.sed the age and weight for cricket, had grown distressingly intellectual, was an ardent admirer of the modern American school of fiction in which nothing ever happens, and in which n.o.body is anything in particular for long at a time. He hungrily devoured all the works of that desperately clever gentleman who maintains that 'a woman standing by a table is an incident,' and looked down from an eminence of six feet two of unqualified disdain on the 'battle, murder, and sudden death'

school on the one hand, and on the 'all uncleanness' school on the other. Not at all crushed by his scorn, Fabian retorted by calling the American school the 'School of Foolish Talking,' and the battle raged till long past sundown, Mr. Fussell and I watching the case on behalf of the general reader, and pa.s.sing the decanters till the various schools all became 'mixed schools.'

At this point a diversion was created by a fleeting view caught through the door by Fabian, of Janet carrying dishes away to the kitchen. He heaved a sigh of relief, and, with upturned eyes, breathed gently, 'I would trust him another winter!'

I had bought a piano at Aberdeen, as Fabian had spread a report that he could play, while all my guests nursed themselves in the belief that they could sing. The instrument had been placed in a corner of my study against the wall. But the Philistinism of this so shocked Fabian that he instantly directed its removal into the middle of the room.

This necessitated a re-disposal of most of the furniture. The centre table was piled high with my private papers. Fabian looked hastily through these, and, observing, 'I don't see anything here we need keep,' tumbled them all into the grate where the fire, indispensable as evening draws on in the Highlands, was burning. Mechanically, I saved what I could, while Fabian's subversive orders were being carried out round me. After a few minutes' hard work, all my favourite objects were out of sight. Maurice Browne was reclining comfortably in my own particular chair, and most of the rest of the seats having been turned out into the hall as taking up too much room, I had to sit upon To-to's kennel. The curtains were also pulled down in deference to a suggestion of Browne's that they interfered with the full sound of the voice, but I wished they had been left up when the caterwauling began.

Mr. Fussell led off with 'The Stirrup Cup,' in deference to his being the eldest of the party, and also to purchase his non-intervention when the other performers should begin. It was some time before he got a fair start, being afflicted with hoa.r.s.eness, which he attributed to the Highland air, and the rest unanimously to the Highland whiskey.

When at last he warmed to his work, however, and said complacently that he was 'all right' now, they must have heard him at Aberdeen. He had a good baritone voice, the value of which was discounted by his total ignorance of the art of singing, his imperfect acquaintance with both the time and the words of his songs, and his belief that the louder one shouted the better one sang. When at last, crimson and panting, but proud of himself, he sat down amid the astonished comments of the company on the strength of the roof, Maurice Browne wailed forth in a cracked voice a rollicking Irish song to the accompaniment of 'Auld Robin Gray'; Fabian followed with no voice at all, but no end of expression, in a pathetic lovesong of his own composition, during which everybody went to look for some cigars he had in his overcoat pocket. I refused altogether to perform, and n.o.body pressed me; but I had my revenge. When Edgar, strung up to do or die, asked Fabian to accompany him with 'The Death of Nelson,' and rose with the modest belief that he should astonish them with a very fine ba.s.s, the first note was a deep-mouthed roar that broke down the last twig of our forbearance, and we all rose as one man and declared that we had had music enough. Poor Ta-ta, who had been turned out of the room at the beginning of the concert for emulating the first singer by a prolonged howl, was let in again, and relief having been given to everybody's artistic yearnings, we ended the evening with smoke and peace.

Next morning we were all early on the moors, where we distinguished ourselves in various ways. Fabian, who worked himself into a fearful state of excitement over the sport, shot much and often, but brought home nothing at all, and thanked Heaven, when calmness returned with the evening hours, for keeping his fellow-creatures out of the range of his wild gun. Maurice Browne made a good mixed bag of a hedgehog, a pee-wit, and a keeper's leg, and then complained that shooting was monotonous work. Edgar worked hard and gravely, but was so slow that for the most part the grouse were out of sight before he fired. Mr.

Fussell did better, and attributed every failure to bring down his bird to his 'd----d gla.s.ses,' upon which Fabian hastened to ask him if he meant the gla.s.ses of the night before.

However, everybody but the keeper who was shot, declared himself delighted with the day's sport; but on the following morning Fabian and Maurice Browne seceded from the party and amused themselves, the former by sketching, the latter by learning by heart, by means of chats with ostlers and shopkeepers, the _chronique scandaleuse_ of the neighbourhood; in the evening he triumphantly informed me that the morals of the lowest haunts in Paris were immaculate, compared to those of my simple Highland village. I am afraid this startling revelation had less effect upon me than a little incident which I witnessed next day.

I had been congratulating myself upon the fact that, though all my visitors vied with each other in attentions to Mrs. Ellmer, who had become, under the influence of this sudden rush of admirers, gayer and giddier than ever, they looked upon Babiole, as her mother had prophesied, merely as a little girl and of no account. But on the morning referred to, I came upon Fabian and the child together in my garden at the foot of the hill. He was fastening some roses in the front of her blue cotton frock, and when he had done so, and stepped back a few paces to admire the effect, he claimed a kiss as a reward for his trouble. She gave it him shyly but simply. She was only a child, of course, and his little sweetheart of six years ago; and the blush that rose in her cheeks when she caught sight of me was no sign of self-consciousness, for her colour came and went at the faintest emotion of surprise or pleasure. As for Fabian, he drew her hand through his arm, and came skipping towards me like a stage peasant.

'We're going to be married, Babiole and I, as soon as we've saved up money enough,' said he.

And the child laughed, delighted with this extravagant pleasantry.

But, though I laughed too, I didn't see any fun in it at all; for the remembrance that the time would come when this little blossom of youth and happiness and all things fresh and sweet would be plucked from the hillside, was not in the least amusing to me. And when this young artist proceeded to devote his mornings to long rambles with 'the child,' and his afternoons to making sketches of 'the child,' I thought his attentions would be much better bestowed on a grown-up person. But as Mrs. Ellmer saw nothing to censure in all this I could not interfere. It spoilt my yearly holiday for me, though, in an unaccountable fashion; and when at the end of a fortnight my guests went away, no regrets that I felt at their departure were so keen as my ridiculous annoyance on seeing that Fabian's farewell kiss to his little sweetheart left the child in tears.

CHAPTER X

With the departure of my summer visitors, a gloom fell upon us all at Larkhall. Mrs. Ellmer missed her admirers and grew petulant; Babiole had discovered some new haunt and was never to be found; while I felt the wanderer's fever growing strong upon me again. Fabian Scott had cleared up the little mystery concerning the husband and father of my tenants. It appeared that Mr. Ellmer, while neglecting and ill-using his wife without scruple when she was under the same roof with him, was subject to strong fits of conjugal devotion when two or three months of hard work, away from him, gave him reason to think that she would be in possession of a few pounds of carefully-gleaned savings, while he, her lawful and once adored husband, did not know where to turn for a gla.s.s of beer. During the winter before I found them in Aberdeen some friends with whom both mother and child had taken refuge from his drunken fury had had to pay him a heavy ransom for their kindness, besides exposing themselves to the inconvenience of having their house mobbed and their windows broken whenever the tender husband and father, having exhausted the tribute paid to keep him in the public-house, bethought himself of this new way of calling attention to his wrongs.

Fabian told me that a few weeks back he had been accosted in the Strand by Mr. Ellmer, who was looking more tattered and dissipated than ever. This gentleman had experienced great concern at the total disappearance of his wife, had asked Fabian's advice as to the best means of finding her, and had finally let out his conviction that she was 'doing well for herself,' in a tone of bitter indignation. Fabian had said nothing of this meeting to Mrs. Ellmer, being, both for her sake and for mine, anxious not to touch those strings of sentiment which, in the better kind of women, sound so readily for the most good-for-nothing of husbands.

Already Mrs. Ellmer had begun to allude with irritating frequency to the talents and n.o.ble qualities of her 'poor husband,' whom it was the fashion among us all to consider as the 'victim of art,' as if art had been a chronic disease. This fiction had gone on expanding and developing until the ill.u.s.trious artist, to whom absence was so becoming, had eclipsed the entire Royal Academy, and had become to his wife a source of legitimate pride which, if touching by its navete, was also wearisome by its excess.

Between proud reminiscences of her husband and happy memories of her late flirtations with Mr. Fussell and Mr. Browne, Mrs. Ellmer was rather disposed to treat me and my modest friendship as of small account. So the worm turned at last, by which I mean that I spent my days deer-stalking, grouse-shooting, and salmon-fishing, and my evenings with To-to, Ta-ta, and my books. This estrangement helped me to make up my mind to leave Larkhall for Italy before the winter came on, and a sharp frost in the last days of October sent me off to Aberdeen to make inquiries about my proposed journey. I would install Mrs. Ellmer and her daughter at the Hall, if they cared to remain, so that, at any rate, they would be housed out of harm's--that is, Mr.

Ellmer's--way for the winter.

Janet had particularly entreated me to be back early, as there had been ghostly noises of late in the region of the drawing-room; and though her braw laddie, John, was ample protection against bodily intruders, yet, in the case of wraiths, though I only rented the place, and therefore could have no family influence with the spirits of departed owners, I was likely, through my superior social standing, to get a better hearing from the phantoms of gentlefolk than the staunchest man-servant could hope to do.

It was past six, and already dark, when I came back and went into the study, attracted by sounds of a very elementary performance on the piano. But there was perfect silence as I entered, and no human creature to be seen. Ta-ta, however, was hovering about near the piano, now replaced in its original position in a corner against the wall. I suspected the ident.i.ty of the musical ghost, and quietly seated myself by the fireplace to see what would happen. First, Ta-ta ran excitedly backwards and forwards between me and the other side of the table; then slight sounds as of stealthy creeping feet and hands were followed by a fleeting apparition of a female figure on all fours between the table and the screen.

'What are you running away for?' I asked, very gently.

Babiole was so much startled by the voice that she reappeared involuntarily, on her feet this time, from behind the screen.

'I beg your pardon, Mr. Maude, indeed I'm very sorry,' she began, 'I didn't think you would be in so soon.'

'And what have I done that you should be so sorry to see me?'

'Oh no, I didn't mean that. I'm not sorry to see you, I'm always glad to, only we never do now, you know, and I thought perhaps you would be angry at my coming into your study,' said she, recovering confidence, as she saw that I was not displeased.

'Oh, so you took advantage of my being away to do what you thought I should not like?'

I spoke playfully, but Babiole hung her head.

'Well, what have you got to say for yourself?'

After a few moments' silence she raised her head, staring before her with the fixed and desperate earnestness of a sensitive young creature who thinks the slightest blame a terrible thing to bear.

'I don't believe it was so very wrong,' she said at last. 'I was so very careful; I took off my boots that I had been out on the hills in, and put on clean shoes, not to hurt the carpet; and I just put down the notes so lightly I could not have hurt the piano, and I washed my hands before touching the books.'

'The books! What books have you been touching?'

'Oh, I took down several; but I couldn't read all, because they were not English.'

This was satisfactory as far as it went; but then the best English authors are considered scarcely more suitable reading for 'the young person' than the worst French ones.

'And which do you like best of the English ones?'

'I like one I found yesterday, all letters from different people, with the s's like f's.'

I poked the fire into a blaze, and led the girl back to the book-shelves.

'Now, show me which one you mean.'

She hesitated, and looked at me, at first suspecting some trap. As I waited quietly, she at last timidly touched a volume of _The Tattler_.

I pointed to a modern 'popular novel,' with a picture-cover and popular t.i.tle, which was among the lumber of the shelves.

'Have you read that?'

'Yes,' indifferently.

'Didn't you like that better than _The Tattler_?'

'Oh no!' indignantly.

'Why not? It is all about an actress.'