Kitobni o'qish: «White Heather: A Novel (Volume 1 of 3)», sahifa 10

CHAPTER XIII
A NEW ARRIVAL

Very early one Sunday morning, while as yet all the world seemed asleep, a young lady stole out from the little hotel at Lairg, and wandered down by herself to the silent and beautiful shores of Loch Shin. The middle of March it was now, and yet the scene around her was quite summer-like; and she was a stranger from very far climes indeed, who had ventured into the Highlands at this ordinarily untoward time of the year; so that there was wonder as well as joy in her heart as she regarded the fairyland before her, for it was certainly not what she had been taught to expect. There was not a ripple on the glassy surface of the lake; every feature of the sleeping and faintly sunlit world was reflected accurately on the perfect mirror: the browns and yellows of the lower moorland; the faint purple of the birch-woods; the aerial blues of the distant hills, with here and there a patch of snow; and the fleecy white masses of the motionless clouds. It was a kind of dream-world – soft-toned and placid and still, the only sharp bit of colour being the scarlet-painted lines of a boat that floated double on that sea of glass. There was not a sound anywhere but the twittering of small birds; nor any movement but the slow rising into the air of a tiny column of blue smoke from a distant cottage; summer seemed to be here already, as the first light airs of the morning – fresh and clear and sweet – came stealing along the silver surface of the water, and only troubling the magic picture here and there in long trembling swathes.

The young lady was of middle height, but looked taller than that by reason of her slight and graceful form; she was pale, almost sallow, of face, with fine features and a pretty smile; her hair was of a lustrous black; and so, too, were her eyes – which were large and soft and attractive. Very foreign she looked as she stood by the shores of this Highland loch; her figure and complexion and beautiful opaque soft dark eyes perhaps suggesting more than anything else the Spanish type of the Southern American woman; but there was nothing foreign about her attire; she had taken care about that; and if her jet-black hair and pale cheek had prompted her to choose unusual tones of colour, at all events the articles of her costume were all correct – the warm and serviceable ulster of some roughish yellow and gray material, the buff-coloured, gauntleted gloves, and the orange-hued Tam o' Shanter which she wore quite as one to the manner born. For the rest, one could easily see that she was of a cheerful temperament; pleased with herself; not over shy, perhaps; and very straightforward in her look.

However, the best description of this young lady was the invention of an ingenious youth dwelling on the southern shores of Lake Michigan. – 'Carry Hodson,' he observed on one occasion, 'is just a real good fellow, that's what she is.' It was a happy phrase, and it soon became popular among the young gentlemen who wore English hats and vied with each other in driving phantom vehicles behind long-stepping horses. 'Carry Hodson? – she's just the best fellow going,' they would assure you. And how better can one describe her? There was a kind of frank camaraderie about her; and she liked amusement, and was easily amused; and she laboured under no desire at all of showing herself 'bright' – which chiefly reveals itself in impertinence; but, above all, there was in her composition not a trace of alarm over her relations, however frank and friendly, with the other sex; she could talk to any man – old or young, married or single – positively without wondering when he was about to begin to make love to her. For one thing, she was quite capable of looking after herself; for another, the very charm of her manner – the delightful openness and straightforwardness of it – seemed to drive flirtation and sham sentiment forthwith out of court. And if, when those young gentlemen in Chicago called Miss Carry Hodson 'a real good fellow,' they could not help remembering at the same time that she was an exceedingly pretty girl, perhaps they appreciated so highly the privilege of being on good-comrade terms with her that they were content to remain there rather than risk everything by seeking for more. However, that need not be discussed further here. People did say, indeed, that Mr. John C. Huysen, the editor of the Chicago Citizen, was more than likely to carry off the pretty heiress; if there was any truth in the rumour, at all events Miss Carry Hodson remained just as frank and free and agreeable with everybody – especially with young men who could propose expeditions and amusements.

Now there was only one subject capable of entirely upsetting this young lady's equanimity; and it is almost a pity to have to introduce it here; for the confession must be made that, on this one subject, she was in the habit of using very reprehensible language. Where, indeed, she had picked up so much steamboat and backwoods slang – unless through the reading of Texas Siftings– it is impossible to say; but her father, who was about the sole recipient of these outbursts, could object with but little show of authority, for he was himself exceedingly fond, not exactly of slang, but of those odd phrases, sometimes half-humorous, that the Americans invent from day to day to vary the monotony of ordinary speech. These phrases are like getting off the car and running alongside a little bit; you reach your journey's end – the meaning of the sentence – all the same. However, the chief bugbear and grievance of Miss Carry Hodson's life was the Boston girl as displayed to us in fiction; and so violent became her detestation of that remarkable young person that it was very nearly interfering with her coming to Europe.

'But, pappa, dear,' she would say, regarding the book before her with some amazement, 'will the people in Europe think I am like that?'

'They won't think anything about you,' he would say roughly.

'What a shame – what a shame – to say American girls are like that!' she would continue vehemently. 'The self-conscious little beasts – with their chatter about tone, and touch, and culture! And the men – my gracious, pappa, do the people in England think that our young fellows talk like that? "Analyse me; formulate me!" he cries to the girl; "can't you imagine my environment by the aid of your own intuitions?" – I'd analyse him if he came to me; I'd analyse him fast enough: Nine different sorts of a born fool; and the rest imitation English prig. I'd formulate him if he came to me with his pretentious idiotcy; I'd show him the kind of chipmunk I am.'

'You are improving, Miss Carry,' her father would say resignedly. 'You are certainly acquiring force in your language; and sooner or later you will be coming out with some of it when you least expect it; and then whether it's you or the other people that will get fits I don't know. You'll make them jump.'

'No, no, pappa, dear,' she would answer good-naturedly; for her vehemence was never of long duration. 'I have my company manners when it is necessary. Don't I know what I am? Oh yes, I do. I'm a real high-toned North Side society lady; and can behave as sich – when there's anybody present. But when it's only you and me, pappa, I like to wave the banner a little – that's all.'

This phrase of hers, about waving the banner, had come to mean so many different things that her father could not follow half of them, and so it was handy in winding up a discussion; and he could only remark, with regard to her going to Europe, and her dread lest she should be suspected of resembling one of the imaginary beings for whom she had conceived so strong a detestation, that really people in Europe were as busy as people elsewhere, and might not show too absorbing an interest in declaring what she was like; that perhaps their knowledge of the Boston young lady of fiction was limited, and the matter not one of deep concern; and that the best thing she could do was to remember that she was an American girl, and that she had as good a right to dress in her own way and speak in her own way and conduct herself in her own way as any French, or German, or English, or Italian person she might meet. All of which Miss Carry received with much submission – except about dress: she hoped to be able to study that subject, with a little attention, in Paris.

Well, she was standing there looking abroad on the fairy-like picture of lake and wood and mountain – and rather annoyed, too, that, now she was actually in the midst of scenes that she had prepared herself for by reading, she could recollect none of the reading at all, but was wholly and simply interested in the obvious beauty of the place itself – when she became conscious of a slow and stealthy footstep behind her, and, instantly turning, she discovered that a great dun-coloured dog, no doubt belonging to the hotel, had come down to make her acquaintance. He said as much by a brief and heavy gambol, a slow wagging of his mighty tail, and the upturned glance of his small, flat, leonine eyes.

'Well,' she said, 'who are you? Would you like to go for a walk?'

Whether he understood her or no he distinctly led the way – taking the path leading along the shores of the loch towards Inver-shin; and as there did not seem to be any sign yet of anybody moving about the hotel, she thought she might just as well take advantage of this volunteered escort. Not that the mastiff was over communicative in his friendliness; he would occasionally turn round to see if she was following; and if she called to him and spoke to him, he would merely make another heavy effort at a gambol and go on again with his slow-moving pace. Now and again a shepherd's collie would come charging down on him from the hillside, or two or three small terriers, keeping sentry at the door of a cottage, would suddenly break the stillness of the Sunday morning by the most ferocious barking at his approach; but he took no heed of one or the other.

'Do you know that you are an amiable dog – but not amusing?' she said to him, when he had to wait for her to let him get through a swinging stile. 'I've got a dog at home not a quarter as big as you, and he can talk twice as much. I suppose your thoughts are important, though. What do they call you? Dr. Johnson?'

He looked at her with the clear, lionlike eyes, but only for a second; seemed to think it futile trying to understand her; and then went on again with his heavy, shambling waddle. And she liked the freshness of the morning, and the novelty of being all alone by herself in the Scottish Highlands, and of going forward as a kind of pioneer and discoverer; and so she walked on in much delight, listening to the birds, looking at the sheep, and thinking nothing at all of breakfast, and the long day's drive before her father and herself.

And then a sudden conviction was flashed on her mind that something was wrong. There was a man coming rushing along the road after her – with neither coat nor cap on – and as he drew near she could hear him say —

'Ah, you rascal! you rascal! Bolted again?'

He seemed to pay no attention to her; he ran past her and made straight for the mastiff; and in a couple of minutes had a muzzle securely fastened on the beast, and was leading him back with an iron chain.

'Surely that is not a ferocious dog?' said she, as they came up – and perhaps she was curious to know whether she had run any chance of being eaten.

'The master had to pay five pounds last year for his worrying sheep – the rascal,' said the man; and the great dog wagged his tail as if in approval.

'Why, he seems a most gentle creature,' she said, walking on with the man.

'Ay, and so he is, miss – most times. But he's barely three years old, and already he's killed two collies and a terrier, and worried three sheep.'

'Killed other dogs? Oh, Dr. Johnson!' she exclaimed.

'He's sweirt⁶ to begin, miss; but when he does begin he maun kill – there's no stopping him. The rascal! he likes fine to get slippin' away wi' one of the gentlefolks, if he's let off the chain for a few minutes – it's a God's mercy he has done no harm this morning – it was the ostler let him off the chain – and he'd have lost his place if there had been ony mair worrying.'

'No, no, no, he would not,' she said confidently. 'I took the dog away. If any mischief had been done, I would have paid – why, of course.'

'Why, of cois' was what she really said; but all the man knew was that this American young lady spoke with a very pleasant voice; and seemed good-natured; and was well-meaning, too, for she would not have had the ostler suffer. Anyway, the mastiff, with as much dignity as was compatible with a muzzle and an iron chain, was conducted back to his kennel; and Miss Hodson went into the hotel, and expressed her profound sorrow that she had kept breakfast waiting; but explained to her father that it was not every morning she had the chance of exploring the Highlands all by herself – or rather accompanied by a huge creature apparently of amiable nature, but with really dark possibilities attached.

In due course of time the waggonette and horses were brought round to the door of the little hotel; their baggage was put in; and presently they had set forth on their drive through the still, sunlit, solitary country. But this was a far more pleasant journey than his first venturing into these wilds. He had been warning his daughter of the bleak and savage solitude she would have to encounter; but now it appeared quite cheerful – in a subdued kind of way, as if a sort of Sunday silence hung over the landscape. The pale blue waters of Loch Shin, the beech-woods, the russet slopes of heather, the snow-touched azure hills along the horizon – all these looked pretty and were peacefully shining on this fair morning; and even after they had got away from the last trace of human habitation, and were monotonously driving through mile after mile of the wide, boggy, hopeless peatland, the winter colours were really brighter than those of summer, and the desolation far from overpowering. If they met with no human beings, there were other living objects to attract the eye. A golden plover – standing on a hillock not half a dozen yards off, would be calling to his mate; a wild duck would go whirring by; a red-plumed grouse-cock would cease dusting himself in the road, and would be off into the heather as they came along, standing and looking at them as they passed. And so on and on they went, mile after mile, along the fair shining Strath-Terry; the morning air blowing freshly about them; the sunlight lying placidly on those wide stretches of russet and golden bogland; and now and again a flash of dark blue showing where some mountain-tarn lay silent amid the moors.

'And you thought I should be disappointed, pappa dear?' said Miss Carry, 'or frightened by the loneliness? Why, it's just too beautiful for anything! And so this is where the Clan Mackay lived in former days?'

'Is it?' said her father. 'I wonder what they lived on. I don't think we'd give much for that land in Illinois. Give for it? You couldn't get a white man to trade for that sort of land; we'd have to ask Wisconsin to take it and hide it away somewhere.'

'What are those things for?' she asked, indicating certain tall poles that stood at intervals along the roadside.

'Why, don't you know? These are poles to tell them where the road is in snow time.'

'Then it is not always May in these happy latitudes?' she observed shrewdly.

He laughed.

'I heard some dreadful stories when I was here in January – but I don't believe much in weather stories. Anyhow, we've got to take what comes now; and so far there is not much to howl about.'

And at last they came in sight of the ruffled blue waters of Loch Naver; and the long yellow promontories running out into the lake; and the scant birch-woods fringing here and there the rocky shore; with the little hamlet of Inver-Mudal nestling down there in the hollow; and far away in the north the mountain-masses of Ben Hope and Ben Loyal struck white with snow. And she was very curious to see the kind of people who lived in these remote solitudes; and the pretty sloe-black eyes were all alert as the waggonette rattled along towards the two or three scattered houses; and perhaps, as they drove up to the inn, she was wondering whether Ronald the gamekeeper, of whom she had heard so much, would be anywhere visible. But there was scarcely any one there. The Sabbath quiet lay over the little hamlet. Mr. Murray appeared, however, – in his Sunday costume, of course, – and an ostler; and presently Miss Carry and her father were in the sitting-room that had been prepared for them – a great mass of peats cheerfully blazing in the capacious fireplace, and the white-covered table furnished with a substantial luncheon.

'And what do you think of your future maid?' her father asked, when the pretty Nelly had left the room.

'Well, I think she has the softest voice I ever heard a woman speak with,' was the immediate answer. 'And such a pretty way of talking – and looking at you – very gentle and friendly. But she won't do for my maid, pappa; she's too tall; I should want to put a string round her neck and lead her about like a giraffe.'

However, she was pleased with the appearance and manner of the girl, and that was something; for, oddly enough, Mr. Hodson seemed to imagine that he had discovered this remote hamlet, and was responsible for it, and anxious that his daughter should think well of it, and of the people she might meet in it. He called her attention to the scent of the peat; to the neatness with which the joints on the table had been decorated with little paper frills; to the snugness and quiet of the sitting-room; to the spacious character of the views from the windows – one taking in Clebrig and the loch, the other reaching away up to Ben Loyal. All these things he had provided for her, as it were; and it must be said that she was a most excellent travelling-companion, always content, easily interested, never out of humour. So, when he proposed, after luncheon, that they should go along and call on Ronald Strang, she readily consented; no doubt a keeper's dwelling in these wilds would be something curious – perhaps of a wigwam character, and of course filled with all kinds of trophies of his hunting.

Well, they went along to the cottage, and Mr. Hodson knocked lightly on the door. There was no answer. He rapped a little more loudly; then they heard some one within; and presently the door was thrown open, and Ronald stood before them – a book in one hand, a pipe in the other, no jacket covering his shirt-sleeves, and the absence of any necktie showing a little more than was necessary of the firm set of his sun-tanned throat. He had been caught unawares – as his startled eyes proclaimed; in fact, he had been reading Paradise Regained, and manfully resisting the temptation to slip on to the gracious melody of L'Allegro, and Il Penseroso, and Lycidas; and when he heard the tapping he fancied it was merely one of the lads come for a chat or the last newspaper, and had made no preparations for the reception of visitors.

'How are you, Ronald?' said Mr. Hodson. 'I have brought my daughter to see you.'

'Will ye step in, sir?' said Ronald hastily, and with a terrible consciousness of his untidy appearance. 'Ay, in there – will ye sit down for a few minutes – and will ye excuse me – I thought you werena coming till to-morrow – '

'Well, I thought they might object to driving me on a Sunday. I can't make it out. Perhaps what I have read about Scotland is not true. Or perhaps they have altered of late years. Anyhow they made no objection, and here I am.'

In the midst of these brief sentences – each pronounced with a little rising inflexion at the end – Ronald managed to slip away and get himself made a little more presentable. When he returned the apparent excuse for his absence was that he brought in some glasses and water and a bottle of whisky; and then he went to a little mahogany sideboard and brought out a tin case of biscuits.

'You need not trouble about these things for us; we have just had lunch,' Mr. Hodson said.

'Perhaps the young lady – ?' said Ronald timidly, and even nervously, for there was no plate handy, and he did not know how to offer her the biscuits.

'Oh no, I thank you,' she said, with a pretty and gracious smile; and he happened to meet her eyes just at that time; and instantly became aware that they were curiously scrutinising and observant, despite their apparent softness and lustrous blackness.

Now Miss Carry Hodson had an abundance of shrewd feminine perception, and it was easy for her to see that this handsome and stalwart young fellow had been grievously disturbed, and was even now unnerved, through his having been caught in disarray on the occasion of a young lady visiting him; and accordingly, to allow him to recover, she deliberately effaced herself; saying not a word, nor even listening, while her father and he proceeded to talk about the salmon-fishing, and about the distressingly fine weather that threatened to interfere with that pursuit. She sate silent, allowing those observant eyes of hers to roam freely round the room, and indeed wondering how a man of his occupations could so have contrived to rob his home of all distinctive character and to render it so clearly common-place. There was nothing wild or savage about it; not the skin of any beast, nor the plumage of any bird; everything was of a bourgeois neatness and respectability – the ornaments on the mantel-shelf conspicuously so; and what was strangest of all – though this will scarcely be believed – the two roebucks' heads that adorned the wall, in a country where roe abound, were earthenware casts, and very bad casts too, obviously hailing from Germany. She observed, however, that there were a good many books about – some of them even piled in obscure corners; and to judge by the sober character of their cloth binding she guessed them to be of a rather superior class. The pictures on the walls were some cheap reprints of Landseer; a portrait of the Duke of Sutherland, in Highland garb; a view of Dunrobin Castle; and a photograph of Mr. Millais' 'Order of Release.'

After a while she began to know (without looking) that the young man had assumed sufficient courage to glance at her from time to time; and she allowed him to do that; for she considered that the people in Regent Street had fitted her out in Highland fashion in a sufficiently accurate way. But it soon appeared that he was talking about her; and what was this wild proposal?

'It seems a pity,' he was saying, 'if the fish are taking, not to have two boats at the work. And there's that big rod o' yours, sir – you could use that for the trolling; and let the young lady have one o' your grilse rods. Then there's mine – she can have that and welcome – '

'Yes, but the gillies – '

'Oh, I'll take a turn myself; I'm no so busy the now. And I can get one o' the lads to lend a hand.'

'Do you hear this, Carry?' her father said.

'What, pappa?'

'Ronald wants you to start off salmon-fishing to-morrow, in a boat all to yourself —

'Alone?'

'Why, no! He says he will go with you, and one of the lads; and you will have all the best advice and experience – I don't think it's fair, myself – but it's very good-natured anyhow – '

'And do you think there's a chance of my catching a salmon?' she said eagerly, and she turned her eloquent black eyes, all lit up with pleasure, full upon him.

'Oh yes, indeed,' said he, looking down, 'and many and many a one, I am sure, if we could only get a little wet weather.'

'My!' she exclaimed. 'If I caught a salmon, I'd have it stuffed right away – '

'With sage and onions, I suppose,' her father said severely.

'And we begin to-morrow? Why, it's just too delightful – I was looking forward to days and days indoors, with nothing but books. And I shall really have a chance? – '

'I think you might as well thank Ronald for his offer,' her father said. 'I should never have thought of it.'

Well, she hesitated; for it is a difficult thing to make a formal little speech when it is asked for by a third person; but the young keeper quickly laughed away her embarrassment.

'No, no, sir; we'll wait for that till we see how our luck turns out. And we'll have the Duke's boat, mind, that Duncan says is the lucky one; you'll have to look sharp, sir, or we'll have the biggest show on the grass at the end of the day.'

Mr. Hodson now rose to take his leave, for he wanted his daughter to walk down to the shores of the loch where they were next day to begin their labours. And thus it was that Miss Carry – who had looked forward at the most to sitting in the boat with her father and looking on – found herself pledged to a course of salmon-fishing, under the immediate guidance and instruction of the young keeper; and she had noticed that he had already talked of the occupants of the Duke's boat as 'we' – assuming that he and she were in a sort of partnership, and pitted against the others. Well, it would be amusing, she thought. She also considered that he was very good-looking; and that it would be pleasanter to have a companion of that kind than a surly old boatman. She imagined they might easily become excellent friends – at least, she was willing enough; and he seemed civil and good-humoured and modest; and altogether the arrangement promised to work very well.