Big Game Part 10

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

AN AWKWARD MEETING.

Being a prudent damsel, and wise in her day and generation, Margot set before herself the subjugation of Mrs McNab as her first duty in Glenaire. To this end she repaired to her bedroom after breakfast on the morning after her arrival, made her bed, carefully put away every article of clothing, and tidied the oddments on the dressing-table; went through the same performance in Ron's little crib adjoining her own, and sailed downstairs in a glow of virtuous satisfaction.

Mrs McNab had apparently only one maid to help her to attend to her eight guests and to keep the inn in its present condition of immaculate order and cleanliness, though a s.h.a.ggy-headed man--presumably the master of the house--could be seen through the staircase window, meekly brushing boots, and cleaning knives in a corner of the flagged yard. He had a small, wizened face, to which the unkempt hair, tufted eyebrows, and straggling whiskers gave a strong resemblance to a Skye terrier dog.

Margot watched him now and then for a minute or two as she pa.s.sed up and down, and heard him speaking once or twice, but he "had the Gaelic,"

and the sing-song voice and mysterious words sounded weirdly in her ears. Sometimes, as he put the final polish on the boots, he would break into song,--a strange, tuneless song which quavered up and down, and ended on long-sustained notes. Once even she saw the slippered feet move in jaunty dance-step to and fro, but at the sound of a clatter of saucepans from the kitchen close at hand he retired into his corner, and polished with redoubled energy. Mrs McNab evidently kept her husband in order, even as she did her house!

Elspeth, the maid, was a girl of eighteen or twenty, with a thin figure encased in a lavender print gown, and flaxen hair pulled so tightly back from her forehead that her eyebrows seemed to be permanently elevated by the process. Her face shone from the effects of constant soaping, and was absolutely void of expression. From morn till night she rushed breathlessly from one duty to another, rated continuously by Mrs McNab's strident voice, with never so much as a bleat of protest. When waiting at table, she snored loudly from nervousness, and the big red fist trembled as she carried the dishes to and fro, but her face remained blankly expressionless as before. Margot smiled at her radiantly every time that they met, and mentally decided to bequeath to her half her own wardrobe before leaving the Glen. In comparison with such a lot of drudgery, her own life seemed inexcusably idle and self- indulgent!

It took a considerable amount of courage to beard in her own den a woman of whom the members of her own household stood in such evident awe, but there was at least no nervousness apparent in Margot's manner as she tapped at the kitchen door at eleven o'clock that first morning, and thrust her pretty face round the opening to request permission to enter.

Mrs McNab had descended from her work upstairs, and surely her heart must be softened by the spectacle of those two immaculately tidy rooms!

"Mrs McNab, I'm cold! May I come in and warm myself by your fire?"

The mistress of the inn turned a stonily surprised face from the table, before which she stood chopping suet with a short-handled knife; she did not suspend her work, but simply heightened her voice to make it heard above the harsh, monotonous noise.

"Cold, are ye? Havers! It's a fine June day. There's no call for any one to feel cold, if they don't sit about idling away their time. Put on yer cloak, and go a turn down the Glen!"

Margot suppressed a thrill of indignation at that accusation of idleness. Had she not made two whole beds, and even stooped to pick stray pins off the carpet? She pushed the door open and walked boldly forward.

"I'll go out as soon as I'm warm. If I caught a chill, I should give a lot of trouble, and you have enough to do without fussing over me. I know you would be a good nurse, Mrs McNab--good housekeepers always are. I know without being told that you have a cupboard chock full of medicines and mixtures, and plasters and liniments, and neat little rolls of lint and oilskins. Is it this one?" She laid her hand on a closed door, drawing the while nearer and nearer to the fire. "What a perfectly beautiful oak chest! That's genuine! One can see it at a glance. The lovely elbow-grease polish can never be imitated. So different from the faked-up, over-carved things glittering with varnish that one sees so often nowadays. What a shame to keep it hidden away in the kitchen!"

Mrs McNab pounded stolidly away at the suet.

"I dinna ken where the shame can be!" she responded drily. "It's my own chest, and my mither's before me, and it's a pity if I mayna keep it where it pleases meself. There's no call that I know of to turn out my things, so that ither folks can have the fun of staring at them!"

Mrs McNab's manner was certainly the reverse of gracious, but, remembering the momentary softening of the grim face which she had witnessed the night before, Margot was determined not to be easily discouraged. Having gone so far, one could not retreat without irrevocably burning one's boats. Now or never victory must be wrested from the enemy!

With a charming little air of domesticity she seated herself upon the polished fender-stool at the side of the open grate, catching up her skirt so that it should not be caught by the blaze, and smiling across the room in her most confiding fashion.

"Please let me stay, Mrs McNab! It's such a lovely cosy kitchen, and my brother is out, and I feel so lost! Couldn't I do something to help?

Are those gooseberries in that basket? Do they need picking? I can't cook, but I can pick gooseberries with any man living. Do let me! You said I was idling away my time. Give me a chance to work!"

Mrs McNab grunted sourly.

"There's no call for you to do anything of the sort. I never was one to take work upon myself that I couldna perform. The girl would have picked them before now, if she didna go about making more work than she gets through. She can do them when she gets downstairs!"

Poor, struggling, machine-like Elspeth! Margot felt a pang of pity for her unappreciated efforts, and the determination to spare her one task at least brought with it renewed courage.

"Let me do them as a pleasure to myself! I should feel so proud when the pie came to table, if I had helped to prepare it, and it would be an excuse to sit by this lovely fire. Please?"

"Kitchen work is no for the likes of you. Ye wouldna like it if ye soiled yer fine new gown!"

"If I asked you very nicely, perhaps you would lend me an ap.r.o.n!"

Mrs McNab threw down her chopper, and turned to wipe her hands on a roller towel. Perhaps she had come to the conclusion that as a pure saving of time it would be wise to give in without further demur; perhaps the twinkling appeal of the brown eyes touched a vulnerable spot in her heart; perhaps the service itself was of some value at the moment.

Margot did not concern herself as to causes, but was content to realise that she had won the victory. She meekly allowed herself to be tied into a coa.r.s.e white ap.r.o.n, and set to work on the big basket of berries with nimble fingers. Picking gooseberries is not a task which requires much skill or experience; perhaps quickness is the criterion by which it can best be tested, and Mrs McNab's sharp glances soon discovered that her new apprentice was no laggard at the work. The little green b.a.l.l.s fell from Margot's fingers into the basin with quite extraordinary quickness. She kept her eyes on her work, but her tongue wagged.

Margot talked, and Mrs McNab grunted, but the grunts grew ever softer and less repellent. The first attempt at a joke was met with a sniff of disdain, but a second effort produced a dry cackle, and that was a triumph indeed! When the suet had been reduced to shreds, there was bread to sift, and eggs to beat; and then Mrs McNab washed her hands and dropped her working ap.r.o.n preparatory to going upstairs to see after "the girl." She made no demur at leaving Margot alone in the kitchen, for, having undertaken a task, she was plainly expected to carry it through.

It was astonishing how much fruit one basket could hold! One wide- lipped basin had already been filled, and another pressed into the service, yet even a vigorous tilt to the side failed to show any signs of the bottom of the basket. Margot had achieved her double purpose of warming herself and breaking the ice of her hostess's reserve, and now was in a fidget to be off to join Ron on the hillside; but the fear of Mrs McNab was strong upon her, and she dare not move until her task was complete.

There she sat upon the low fender-stool, the big white ap.r.o.n concealing the blue tweed dress, her pretty, flushed face bent over her work, to all appearances the most industrious of Cinderellas, while the pendulum of the old oak clock clicked noisily to and fro, and through the open door came a whiff of clean cool air, laden with the scent of flowers and sweet-briar, with the pungent aromatic odour of growing herbs, with the heavy sweetness of the dairy.

Margot thought with a shudder of the gloomy underground regions in Regent's Park, where the servants of the house spent the greater part of their lives. In her own future spells of authority she determined to be very, very indulgent to pleas for "outings"; nay, even to make it a matter of duty to plan days of sunshine and liberty for the patient, uncomplaining workers.

The sun was beginning to peep forth from behind the clouds, and its rays dancing across the kitchen floor were an almost irresistible temptation to one newly escaped from town. Margot gave the basket an impatient shake, and, as another means to the desired end, popped a couple of berries into her mouth. So sweet did they taste, so fresh and ripe, that another two soon followed suit, and henceforth she ate as steadily as she worked. There could be no hesitation in so doing, for in fruit- picking it is an unwritten law that the worker is free to take his toll.

It was while Margot's hand was raised to her mouth for the eighth or ninth time that a footstep sounded on the flagged floor of the scullery behind her back, and a man's voice and laugh startled her into vivid attention. In both was a note which immediately recalled her companion of the night before,--the cheery, warm-hearted pseudo-chieftain of the Glen--yet in both rang a difference which told that the newcomer was not he, but probably one closely connected by birth and a.s.sociation.

_The_ Mr Elgood; the Editor; the all-powerful dispenser of Ronald's fortunes! Margot felt convinced that it could be no one else, and experienced a moment of keen antic.i.p.ation, followed by a shock of disgust, as she grasped the meaning of his words.

"Ah-ha! So I've caught you pilfering again. What will Mrs McNab say when she finds all her good fruit disappearing like this? You'll have to bribe me not to carry tales. Better turn me into a confederate--eh?

Are they ripe?"

A long thin hand descended over Margot's shoulder, the fingers deliberately feeling after the plumpest and yellowest of the berries.

_He had mistaken her for Elspeth_! Stupefaction mingled with wrath,--_Elspeth_! A vision of the square-built, flat-headed, hopelessly graceless figure rose before Margot's outraged vision, and resentment lighted into a blaze. Could any ap.r.o.n in the world be large enough to cause a resemblance between two such diametrically different figures! Margot appreciated her own beauty in an honest, unaffected fashion, as one of the good gifts which had been showered upon her, and for the moment the sense of injury eclipsed that of embarra.s.sment.

With an impetuous movement she turned her face over her shoulder--that vivid pink and white face which made such a startling contrast to Elspeth's stolidity--and stared with widely-opened hazel eyes into that other pair of eyes so near her own.

It was the younger Mr Elgood sure enough,--but seen close at hand, with that mischievous smile curling his lips, he had an extraordinary youthful and boyish appearance. Margot received an instantaneous impression of kindliness and strength, of a glinting sense of humour, before the change came. Such a change! If she had been a wild animal prepared to spring, horror and dismay could not have been more eloquently depicted upon his face. The eyes widened, the features stiffened into a mask, the outstretched hand fell limply to his side.

He opened his lips to say something, several things, but the words were unintelligible; a mere broken stammer of apology, as he wheeled round and walked hastily from the room.

The door slammed behind him; she heard his footsteps over the flagged hall. Poor Margot! Never before in her life had she so keenly desired to make a good impression; never had she so signally failed. It was indeed an unpromising beginning to the campaign!

CHAPTER TWELVE.

A MOORLAND WALK.

A second time that day Margot came into close contact with Mr George Elgood. She was strolling slowly up and down the road with "the Chieftain," waiting for Ron to make his appearance before starting for a ramble over the countryside, when through the doorway of the inn out dashed the "Editor," making in the same direction, in the headlong, unseeing fashion which was plainly a characteristic. When about twenty yards distant, he lifted his eyes from the ground, became suddenly conscious of the two figures slowly strolling towards him, stopped short in the middle of the path, and, wheeling round, darted quickly in the opposite direction.

The cut was too glaring to be ignored. Margot's cheeks flamed with annoyance, which the sound of a low chuckle by her side did not help to subdue. She reared her little head to its haughtiest angle, and spoke in frosty accents.

"I am afraid I am in the way. Pray don't let me interfere with your plans. Won't you join your brother before he goes too far? He is walking very fast--"

There was a note of satire in the last words which made the Chieftain chuckle once more.

"Not I," he replied easily. "I can have his society any time I like.

Yours is infinitely more refreshing. Keeps up a pretty good pace, don't he? Scared, you know. Scared to death! Running to cover like a frightened hare!"

"Scared of what?"

"Of you?"