Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland Volume I Part 22

"What!" said I, "was she not of some distinguished house?"

"By no means, sir," replied Mr. Grafton. "She was a person of the humblest birth and station; but this did not hinder her from becoming Countess of Wis...o...b..ry, nor from being one of the best as well as most beautiful that ever bore the t.i.tle."

"Ah, ha!" said I to myself, "here's a story for the 'Tales of the Borders.'" I did not say this to Mr. Grafton, however; but to him I did say--"There must be some interesting story connected with this lady. The history of her singular good fortune must be curious, and well worth hearing."

"Why, it certainly is," replied my conductor, with the air of one who, while he cannot but acknowledge that there is interest in a certain piece of information which he possesses, is yet so familiar with it himself, has owned it so long, and communicated it so often, that his feelings seem to belie his words--the former remaining unmoved by the tale which the latter unfolds. "There is certainly something curious in the Countess's story," said Mr. Grafton; "and, now that we have seen everything that is worth seeing, if you will come with me to my little refectory, I will tell you all about it over a tankard of fine old ale and a slice of cold round."

Need I say, good reader, that I at once and gladly accepted an invitation that so happily combined the intellectual and the sensual?

You will give me credit for more sense; and the following story will prove at once that your good opinion is not misplaced, that I must have been an attentive listener, and, lastly, that I must be blessed with a pretty retentive memory. I relate the story in my own way, but without taking the slightest liberty with any single one of the details given me by my informant, who, from having been upwards of forty-five years in the service of the Earls of Wis...o...b..ry, and, during the greater part of that time their princ.i.p.al and most confidential domestic, was minutely and accurately informed regarding every remarkable event that had occurred in the family for several generations back.

"But, before we leave this part of the house," resumed Mr. Grafton, "be so good as step with me a moment into this small room here, till I show you a certain little article that cuts some figure in the story which I shall shortly tell you."

Saying this, he led the way into the small apartment he alluded to, and, conducting me towards a handsome ebony or blackwood cabinet that occupied one end of the room, he threw open its little folding doors, and exhibited to me, not some rich or rare curiosity, as I had expected, but a small, plain, very plain--or I should, perhaps, rather say very coa.r.s.e--country-looking, blue-painted chest.

"Do you see that little chest, sir?" said Mr. Grafton, smilingly.

"I do," said I; "and it seems a very homely article to be so splendidly entombed, and so carefully kept."

"Yet," replied Mr. Grafton, "homely as it is, and small as is its intrinsic value, that is one of the heir-looms of the family, and one of the most fondly-cherished of them all."

"Indeed!" said I, in some surprise. "Then I am very sure it cannot be for its marketable worth. It wouldn't bring sixpence."

"I verily believe it would not," replied Mr. Grafton. "Yet the Earl of Wis...o...b..ry would not part with that little chest for a good round sum, I warrant ye."

"Pray, explain, my good sir."

"I will. That little, blue-painted chest contained all the worldly wealth--a few articles of female dress--of the lady whose portrait you were just now so much admiring, when she became Countess of Wis...o...b..ry."

"Why, then," said I, "that is proof that riches, at any rate, had nothing to do with her promotion to that high rank."

"They certainly had not," replied my aged friend. "But all this you will learn more particularly in the story which I shall tell you presently.

You will then learn, also, how the little, blue-painted chest comes to figure in the history of a countess."

Saying this, Mr. Grafton shut the doors of the cabinet, when we left the apartment, and, in a few minutes after, I found myself in what my worthy old host called his refectory. This was a snug little room, most comfortably furnished, and in which I observed a very large quant.i.ty of silver plate,--being, I presumed, the depository of that portion of the family's wealth. My good old friend now rung his bell, when a female servant appeared.

"Let's have summut to eat, Betsy," said the old man; and never was order more promptly or more effectively obeyed.

In an instant the table, which occupied the centre of the floor, absolutely creaked under the load of good things with which it was enc.u.mbered. The "slice of cold round," I found, was but a _nomme de guerre_ with the old man, and meant everything in the edible way that was choice and savoury. To this conclusion I came from seeing the table before me covered with a great variety of good things, amongst which rose, conspicuous in the centre, a huge venison pasty. When the _loading_ of the table was completed, and the servant had retired--

"Now," said the old man, looking at me with a significant smile, and at the same time drawing a bunch of small keys from his pocket, from which he carefully singled out one, "since Betsy has done her part so well, let me see if I can't do mine as creditably."

Saying this, he opened what I thought a sly-looking little cupboard, and brought forth from its mysterious recess an aristocratic-looking bottle, sealed with black wax, and whose shoulders were still thickly coated with sawdust. Handling this venerable bottle with a lightness and delicacy of touch which a long practice only could have given, and with a degree of reverence which an _a priori_ knowledge of its contents only could have inspired, my worthy host tenderly brushed off its coating of sawdust, gently inserted the screw, drew the cork, with a calm, cautious, steady pull, and, in the next moment, had filled up two brimmers of the finest old port that the cellars of Oxton Hall could produce. Having done ample justice to the good things before us--

"Now, my good sir, the story, the story, if you please," said I.

"Oh, to be sure," replied my kind host, smiling. "The story you shall have. But first let us take another gla.s.s of wine, to inspire me with fort.i.tude to begin so long a story, and you with patience to listen to it."

The procedure thus recommended having been complied with, the good old man immediately began:--

"About a hundred and thirteen years since," he said, "there lived in the neighbourhood of one of the princ.i.p.al cities in Scotland, a farmer of the name of Flowerdew. He was a man of respectable character, and of sober and industrious habits. His family consisted only of himself, his wife, and an only child--a daughter, named Jessy. Gentle and affectionate, of the most winning manners, and surpa.s.singly beautiful in form and feature, Jessy was not only the darling of her father, but the favourite character of the neighbourhood in which she lived. All yielded the homage of admiration to her supreme loveliness, and of the tenderest esteem to her worth.

For many years, Jessy's father contrived, notwithstanding of an enormous rent, to keep pace with the world, and eventually to raise himself a little above it; but, in despite of all his industry and all his prudence, reverses came. A succession of bad crops was followed by a series of losses of various kinds, and James Flowerdew found himself a ruined man.

'It's not for myself I care,' said the honest man, when speaking one day with his wife of the misfortunes which had overwhelmed them--'it's for our puir bit la.s.sie, guidwife. G.o.d help her! I thought to have left her independent; but it's been ordained otherwise, and we must submit. But what's to become of her I know not. Being brocht up a little abune the common, she cannot be asked to enter into the service of ony o' our neebors; yet, I see nae other way o't. It must come to that in the lang run.'

'I suppose it must, guidman--I suppose it must,' replied his wife, raising the corner of her ap.r.o.n to her eye, and then bursting into tears. 'My puir, dear, gentle la.s.sie,' she exclaimed, 'it's a sad change to her; but I ken she'll meet it cheerfully, and without repining. But, guidman, if to service she must go, and I fancy there's little doot o'

that, wouldna it be better if we could get her into the service of some respectable family in the toon, than to put her wi' ony o' our neebors, where she might be reminded o' her fall, as they will call it?'

'It's a good thought, Lizzy,' replied her husband, musingly, as he gazed in sadness on the fire that burned before him. 'It's a good thought,' he said. 'She will be there unknown, and her feelings saved from the taunts of callous impertinence. I will think of it,' added Flowerdew. 'In the meantime, guidwife, prepare Jessy, the best way you can, for the change of situation in life which she is about to meet with. I canna do it. It would break my heart a'thegither.'

This painful task Mrs. Flowerdew undertook; and, as she expected, found her daughter not only reconciled to the step which was proposed for her, but eager and anxious to be put in a way of doing for herself, and, as she fondly hoped and affectionately said, of aiding her parents.

Shortly after this, the ruin which had overtaken James Flowerdew began to present itself in its most instant and most distressing shapes.

Arrestments were laid on his funds in all quarters. Visits of messengers were frequent, almost daily; and his whole stock and crop were sequestrated by the landlord, and a day for the sale fixed. This last was a sight from which Flowerdew anxiously wished to save his daughter, and he meant to do so, if he could, by finding her 'a place' previous to the day of sale.

The duty of looking out for a situation for Jessy in town Flowerdew took upon himself, from the circ.u.mstance of his having been in the habit for many years of supplying a number of respectable families with the produce of his farm, which he generally delivered himself, his simple character and industrious habits not permitting him to see any degradation in driving his own cart on these occasions. Flowerdew had thus formed a personal acquaintance with many families of the better cla.s.s, which he thought might be useful to him in his present views.

Amongst the oldest and most respected of his customers was a learned professor, whom, to avoid what might be an inconvenient identification of circ.u.mstances, we shall call Lockerby. With this gentleman Flowerdew resolved to begin his inquiries respecting a situation for his daughter.

He did so, and on being introduced to him, explained the purpose of his visit.

'Dear me, Mr. Flowerdew!' said the worthy professor, in surprise at the application, 'I thought--I all along thought, that your circ.u.mstances would ent.i.tle your daughter, whose modesty of demeanour and great beauty of person I have had frequent opportunities of admiring--she having called here frequently, as you know, on various occasions connected with our little traffic--I say, I thought your circ.u.mstances would ent.i.tle your daughter to look for something higher than the situation of a domestic servant.'

'I once thought so myself, professor,' replied Mr. Flowerdew, with a tear standing in his eye; 'but it has turned out otherwise. The truth is, that I have lately met with such reverses as have entirely ruined me. I am about to be ejected from my farm, and must betake myself to daily labour for a subsistence. In this explanation you will see the reason why I apply to you for a situation in your family for my daughter.'

'Too clearly--too clearly,' replied the worthy professor sincerely grieving for the misfortunes of a man whom he had long known, and whose uprightness of conduct and character he had long appreciated. 'I am seriously distressed, Mr. Flowerdew,' he added, 'to learn all this--seriously distressed, indeed; but, in the meantime, let us consult Mrs. Lockerby on the subject of your present visit.' And he rang the bell, and desired the servant who answered it, to request his wife to come to him. She came, and on being informed of Mr. Flowerdew's application in behalf of his daughter, at once agreed to receive her into her service; adding, that she might, if she chose, enter on her duties immediately. It was finally arranged that Jessy should take possession of her situation on the following day.

Highly gratified at having got admission for his daughter into so worthy and respectable a family, Flowerdew returned home with a lighter heart than he had possessed for some time before. He felt that his Jessy was now, in a manner, provided for; and that, although the situation was a humble one, and far short of what he had once expected for her, it was yet a creditable one, and one presenting no mean field for the exercise of some of the best qualities which a woman can possess.

Equally pleased with her father at the opening that had been found for her, the gentle girl lost no time in making such preparations as the impending change in her position in life rendered necessary. Part of these preparations, all cheerfully performed, consisted in packing a small trunk with her clothes, and in other procedures of a similar kind.

In this employment her mother endeavoured to a.s.sist her, but was too much affected by the sadness of the task to afford any very efficient aid, although her daughter did all she could, by a.s.suming a light-heartedness which she could not altogether feel, to a.s.suage the grief to which her mother was every moment giving way.

'Why grieve yourself in that way, mother?' she would say, pausing in her operations, and flinging her arms around her parent's neck. 'I a.s.sure you I am happy at the prospect of being put in a way of doing for myself; I consider it no hardship--not in the least. I will take a pride in discharging my new duties faithfully and diligently; and I hope that, even in the humble sphere in which I am about to move, I shall contrive to make myself both esteemed and respected.'

'_That_ I dinna doubt--that I dinna doubt, my dear la.s.sie,' replied her mother; 'but, oh, it goes to my heart to see you gaun into the service o' ithers. I never expected to see the day. Oh, this is a sad change that's come over us a'!' And again the poor woman burst into a paroxysm of grief.

'Mother,' said the girl, 'you will dishearten me if you go on in this way.' Then smiling through the tears of affection that glistened on her eye, and a.s.suming a tone of affected cheerfulness, 'Come now, dear mother, do drop this desponding tone. There's better days in store for us yet. We'll get above all this by-and-by. In the meantime it is our duty, as Christians, to submit to the destiny that has been decreed us with patience and resignation. Come, mother, I'll sing you the song you used always to like so well to hear me sing.' And, without waiting for any remark in reply, or pausing in her employment, the girl immediately began, in a voice whose richness of tone and deep pathos possessed the most thrilling power:--

'A cheerfu' heart's been always mine, Whatever might betide me, O!

In foul or fair, in shade or shine, I've aye had that to guide me, O!

When luck cam chappin' at my door, Wi' right goodwill I cheered him, O!

And whan misfortune cam, I swore The ne'er a bit I feared him, O!'

'O la.s.sie, la.s.sie!' exclaimed Jessy's mother, here interrupting her, and now smiling as she spoke--'how can ye think o' singing at such a time?

But G.o.d lang vouchsafe ye sae light and cheerfu' a heart! It's a great blessing, Jessy, and canna be prized too highly.'

'I'm aware of it, mother,' replied her daughter, 'and am, I trust, thankful for it. I dinna see, after a', that anything should seriously distress us--but guilt. If we keep free o' _that_, what hae we to fear?

A' ither mischances will mend, or if they dinna, they'll at least smooth doon wi' time.'