Man and Wife Page 41

  The one other way of attaining her object that she could see was

  to arm herself with the influence of Sir Patrick's name. A man,

  placed in her position, would have thought it mere madness to

  venture on such a risk as this. But Blanche--with one act of

  rashness already on her conscience--rushed, woman-like, straight

  to the commission of another. The same headlong eagerness to

  reach her end, which had hurried her into questioning Geoffrey

  before he left Windygates, now drove her, just as recklessly,

  into taking the management of Bishopriggs out of Sir Patrick's

  skilled and practiced hands. The starving sisterly love in her

  hungered for a trace of Anne. Her heart whispered, Risk it! And

  Blanche risked it on the spot.

  "Sir Patrick set me on coming to you," she said.

  The opening hand of Mr. Bishopriggs--ready to deliver the letter,

  and receive the reward--closed again instantly as she spoke those

  words.

  "Sir Paitrick?" he repeated "Ow! ow! ye've een tauld Sir Paitrick

  aboot it, have ye? There's a chiel wi' a lang head on his

  shouthers, if ever there was ane yet! What might Sir Paitrick ha'

  said?"

  Blanche noticed a change in his tone. Blanche was rigidly careful

  (when it was too late) to answer him in guarded terms.

  "Sir Patrick thought you might have found the letter," she said,

  "and might not have remembered about it again until after you had

  left the inn."

  Bishopriggs looked back into his own personal experience of his

  old master--and drew the correct conclusion that Sir Patrick's

  view of his connection with the disappearance of the letter was

  not the purely unsuspicious view reported by Blanche. "The dour

  auld deevil," he thought to himself, "knows me better than

  _that!_"

  "Well?" asked Blanche, impatiently. "Is Sir Patrick right?"

  "Richt?" rejoined Bishopriggs, briskly. "He's as far awa' from

  the truth as John o' Groat's House is from Jericho."

  "You know nothing of the letter?"

  "Deil a bit I know o' the letter. The first I ha' heard o' it is

  what I hear noo."

  Blanche's heart sank within her. Had she defeated her own object,

  and cut the ground from under Sir Patrick's feet, for the second

  time? Surely not! There was unquestionably a chance, on this

  occasion, that the man might be prevailed upon to place the trust

  in her uncle which he was too cautious to confide to a stranger

  like herself. The one wise thing to do now was to pave the way

  for the exertion of Sir Patrick's superior influence, and Sir

  Patrick's superior skill. She resumed the conversation with that

  object in view.

  "I am sorry to hear that Sir Patrick has guessed wrong," she

  resumed. "My friend was anxious to recover the letter when I last

  saw her; and I hoped to hear news of it from you. However, right

  or wrong, Sir Patrick has some reasons for wishing to see

  you--and I take the opportunity of telling you so. He has left a

  letter to wait for you at the Craig Fernie inn."

  "I'm thinking the letter will ha' lang eneugh to wait, if it

  waits till I gae back for it to the hottle," remarked

  Bishopriggs.

  "In that case," said Blanche, promptly, "you had better give me

  an address at which Sir Patrick can write to you. You wouldn't, I

  suppose, wish me to say that I had seen you here, and that you

  refused to communicate with him?"

  "Never think it! " cried Bishopriggs, fervently. "If there's ain

  thing mair than anither that I'm carefu' to presairve intact,

  it's joost the respectful attention that I owe to Sir Paitrick.

  I'll make sae bauld, miss, au to chairge ye wi' that bit caird.

  I'm no' settled in ony place yet (mair's the pity at my time o'

  life!), but Sir Paitrick may hear o' me, when Sir Paitrick has

  need o' me, there." He handed a dirty little card to Blanche

  containing the name and address of a butcher in Edinburgh.

  "Sawmuel Bishopriggs," he went on, glibly. "Care o' Davie Dow,

  flesher; Cowgate; Embro. My Patmos in the weelderness, miss, for

  the time being."

  Blanche received the address with a sense of unspeakable relief.

  If she had once more ventured on taking Sir Patrick's place, and

  once more failed in justifying her rashness by the results, she

  had at least gained some atoning advantage, this time, by opening

  a means of communication between her uncle and Bishopriggs. "You

  will hear from Sir Patrick," she said, and nodded kindly, and

  returned to her place among the guests.

  "I'll hear from Sir Paitrick, wull I?" repeated Bishopriggs when

  he was left by himself. "Sir Paitrick will wark naething less

  than a meeracle if he finds Sawmuel Bishopriggs at the Cowgate,

  Embro!"

  He laughed softly over his own cleverness; and withdrew to a

  lonely place in the plantation, in which he could consult the

  stolen correspondence without fear of being observed by any

  living creature. Once more the truth had tried to struggle into

  light, before the day of the marriage, and once more Blanche had

  innocently helped the darkness to keep it from view.

  CHAPTER THE THIRTY-THIRD.

  SEEDS OF THE FUTURE (THIRD SOWING).

  AFTER a new and attentive reading of Anne's letter to Geoffrey,

  and of Geoffrey's letter to Anne, Bishopriggs laid down

  comfortably under a tree, and set himself the task of seeing his

  position plainly as it was at that moment.

  The profitable disposal of the correspondence to Blanche was no

  longer among the possibilities involved in the case. As for

  treating with Sir Patrick, Bishopriggs determined to keep equally

  dear of the Cowgate, Edinburgh, and of Mrs. Inchbare's inn, so

  long as there was the faintest chance of his pushing his own

  interests in any other quarter. No person living would be capable

  of so certainly extracting the correspondence from him, on such

  ruinously cheap terms as his old master. "I'll no' put myself

  under Sir Paitrick's thumb," thought Bishopriggs, "till I've gane

  my ain rounds among the lave o' them first."

  Rendered into intelligible English, this resolution pledged him

  to hold no communication with Sir Patrick--until he had first

  tested his success in negotiating with other persons, who might

  be equally interested in getting possession of the

  correspondence, and more liberal in giving hush-money to the

  thief who had stolen it.

  Who were the "other persons" at his disposal, under these

  circumstances?

  He had only to recall the conversation which he had overheard

  between Lady Lundie and Mrs. Delamayn to arrive at the discovery

  of one person, to begin with, who was directly interested in

  getting possession of his own letter. Mr. Geoffrey Delamayn was

  in a fair way of being married to a lady named Mrs. Glenarm. And

  here was this same Mr. Geoffrey Delamayn in matrimonial

  correspondence, little more than a fortnight since, with another

  lady--who signed herself "Anne Silvester."

  Whatever his position between the two women might be,
his

  interest in possessing himself of the correspondence was plain

  beyond all doubt. It was equally clear that the first thing to be

  done by Bishopriggs was to find the means of obtaining a personal

  interview with him. If the interview led to nothing else, it

  would decide one important question which still remained to be

  solved. The lady whom Bishopriggs had waited on at Craig Fernie

  might well be "Anne Silv ester." Was Mr. Geoffrey Delamayn, in

  that case. the gentleman who had passed as her husband at the

  inn?

  Bishopriggs rose to his gouty feet with all possible alacrity,

  and hobbled away to make the necessary inquiries, addressing

  himself, not to the men-servants at the dinner-table, who would

  be sure to insist on his joining them, but to the women-servants

  left in charge of the empty house.

  He easily obtained the necessary directions for finding the

  cottage. But he was warned that Mr. Geoffrey Delamayn's trainer

  allowed nobody to see his patron at exercise, and that he would

  certainly be ordered off again the moment he appeared on the

  scene.

  Bearing this caution in mind, Bishopriggs made a circuit, on

  reaching the open ground, so as to approach the cottage at the

  back, under shelter of the trees behind it. One look at Mr.

  Geoffrey Delamayn was all that he wanted in the first instance.

  They were welcome to order him off again, as long as he obtained

  that.

  He was still hesitating at the outer line of the trees, when he

  heard a loud, imperative voice, calling from the front of the

  cottage, "Now, Mr. Geoffrey! Time's up!" Another voice answered,

  "All right!" and, after an interval, Geoffrey Delamayn appeared

  on the open ground, proceeding to the point from which he was

  accustomed to walk his measured mile.

  Advancing a few steps to look at his man more closely,

  Bishopriggs was instantly detected by the quick eye of the

  trainer. "Hullo!" cried Perry, "what do you want here?"

  Bishopriggs opened his lips to make an excuse. "Who the devil are

  you?" roared Geoffrey. The trainer answered the question out of

  the resources of his own experience. "A spy, Sir--sent to time

  you at your work." Geoffrey lifted his mighty fist, and sprang

  forward a step. Perry held his patron back. "You can't do that,

  Sir," he said; "the man's too old. No fear of his turning up

  again--you've scared him out of his wits." The statement was

  strictly true. The terror of Bishopriggs at the sight of

  Geoffrey's fist restored to him the activity of his youth. He ran

  for the first time for twenty years; and only stopped to remember

  his infirmities, and to catch his breath, when he was out of

  sight of the cottage, among the trees.

  He sat down to rest and recover himself, with the comforting

  inner conviction that, in one respect at least, he had gained his

  point. The furious savage, with the eyes that darted fire and the

  fist that threatened destruction, was a total stranger to him. In

  other words, _not_ the man who had passed as the lady's husband

  at the inn.

  At the same time it was equally certain that he _was_ the man

  involved in the compromising correspondence which Bishopriggs

  possessed. To appeal, however, to his interest in obtaining the

  letter was entirely incompatible (after the recent exhibition of

  his fist) with the strong regard which Bishopriggs felt for his

  own personal security. There was no alternative now but to open

  negotiations with the one other person concerned in the matter

  (fortunately, on this occasion, a person of the gentler sex), who

  was actually within reach. Mrs. Glenarm was at Swanhaven. She had

  a direct interest in clearing up the question of a prior claim to

  Mr. Geoffrey Delamayn on the part of another woman. And she could

  only do that by getting the correspondence into her own hands.

  "Praise Providence for a' its mercies!" said Bishopriggs, getting

  on his feet again. "I've got twa strings, as they say, to my boo.

  I trow the woman's the canny string o' the twa--and we'll een try

  the twanging of her."

  He set forth on his road back again, to search among the company

  at the lake for Mrs. Glenarm.

  The dance had reached its climax of animation when Bishopriggs

  reappeared on the scene of his duties; and the ranks of the

  company had been recruited, in his absence, by the very person

  whom it was now his foremost object to approach.

  Receiving, with supple submission, a reprimand for his prolonged

  absence from the chief of the servants, Bishopriggs--keeping his

  one observant eye carefully on the look-out--busied himself in

  promoting the circulation of ices and cool drinks.

  While he was thus occupied, his attention was attracted by two

  persons who, in very different ways, stood out prominently as

  marked characters among the rank and file of the guests.

  The first person was a vivacious, irascible old gentleman, who

  persisted in treating the undeniable fact of his age on the

  footing of a scandalous false report set afloat by Time. He was

  superbly strapped and padded. His hair, his teeth, and his

  complexion were triumphs of artificial youth. When he was not

  occupied among the youngest women present--which was very

  seldom--he attached himself exclusively to the youngest men. He

  insisted on joining every dance. Twice he measured his length

  upon the grass, but nothing daunted him. He was waltzing again,

  with another young woman, at the next dance, as if nothing had

  happened. Inquiring who this effervescent old gentleman might be,

  Bishopriggs discovered that he was a retired officer in the navy;

  commonly known (among his inferiors) as "The Tartar;" more

  formally described in society as Captain Newenden, the last male

  representative of one of the oldest families in England.

  The second person, who appeared to occupy a position of

  distinction at the dance in the glade, was a lady.

  To the eye of Bishopriggs, she was a miracle of beauty, with a

  small fortune for a poor man carried about her in silk, lace, and

  jewelry. No woman present was the object of such special

  attention among the men as this fascinating and priceless

  creature. She sat fanning herself with a matchless work of art

  (supposed to be a handkerchief) representing an island of cambric

  in the midst of an ocean of lace. She was surrounded by a little

  court of admirers, who fetched and carried at her slightest nod,

  like well-trained dogs. Sometimes they brought refreshments,

  which she had asked for, only to decline taking them when they

  came. Sometimes they brought information of what was going on

  among the dancers, which the lady had been eager to receive when

  they went away, and in which she had ceased to feel the smallest

  interest when they came back. Every body burst into ejaculations

  of distress when she was asked to account for her absence from

  the dinner, and answered, "My poor nerves." Every body said,

  "What should we have done without you!"--when she
doubted if she

  had done wisely in joining the party at all. Inquiring who this

  favored lady might be, Bishopriggs discovered that she was the

  niece of the indomitable old gentleman who _would_ dance--or,

  more plainly still, no less a person than his contemplated

  customer, Mrs. Glenarm.

  With all his enormous assurance Bishopriggs was daunted when he

  found himself facing the question of what he was to do next.

  To open negotiations with Mrs. Glenarm, under present

  circumstances, was, for a man in his position, simply impossible.

  But, apart from this, the prospect of profitably addressing

  himself to that lady in the future was, to say the least of it,

  beset with difficulties of no common kind.

  Supposing the means of disclosing Geoffrey's position to her to

  be found--what would she do, when she received her warning? She

  would in all probability apply to one of two formidable men, both

  of whom were interested in the matter. If she went straight to

  the man accused of attempting to marry her, at a time when he was

  already engaged to another woman--Bishopriggs would find himself

  confronted with the owner of that terrible fist, which had justly

  terrified him even on a distant and cursory view. If, on the

  other hand she placed her interests in the care of her

  uncle--Bishopriggs had only to look at the captain, and to

  calculate his chance of imposing terms on a man who owed Life a

  bill of more than sixty years' date, and who openly defied time

  to recover the debt.

  With these serious obstacles standing in the way, what was to be

  done? The only alternative left was to approach Mrs. Glenarm

  under shelter of the dark.

  Reaching this conclusion, Bishopriggs decided to ascertain from

  the servants what the lady's future movements might be; and, thus

  informed,

  to startle her by anonymous warnings, conveyed through the post,

  and claiming their answer through the advertising channel of a

  newspaper. Here was the certainty of alarming her, coupled with

  the certainty of safety to himself! Little did Mrs. Glenarm

  dream, when she capriciously stopped a servant going by with some

  glasses of lemonade, that the wretched old creature who offered

  the tray contemplated corresponding with her before the week was

  out, in the double character of her "Well-Wisher" and her "True

  Friend."

  The evening advanced. The shadows lengthened. The waters of the

  lake grew pitchy black. The gliding of the ghostly swans became

  rare and more rare. The elders of the party thought of the drive

  home. The juniors (excepting Captain Newenden) began to flag at

  the dance. Little by little the comfortable attractions of the

  house--tea, coffee, and candle-light in snug rooms--resumed their

  influence. The guests abandoned the glade; and the fingers and

  lungs of the musicians rested at last.

  Lady Lundie and her party were the first to send for the carriage

  and say farewell; the break-up of the household at Windygates on

  the next day, and the journey south, being sufficient apologies

  for setting the example of retreat. In an hour more the only

  visitors left were the guests staying at Swanhaven Lodge.

  The company gone, the hired waiters from Kirkandrew were paid and

  dismissed.

  On the journey back the silence of Bishopriggs created some

  surprise among his comrades.

  "I've got my ain concerns. to think of," was the only answer he

  vouchsafed to the remonstrances addressed to him. The "concerns"

  alluded to, comprehended, among other changes of plan, his

  departure from Kirkandrew the next day--with a reference, in case

  of inquiries, to his convenient friend at the Cowgate, Edinburgh.

  His actual destination--to be kept a secret from every body--was

  Perth. The neighborhood of this town--as stated on the authority

  of her own maid--was the part of Scotland to which the rich widow

  contemplated removing when she left Swanhaven in two days' time.

  At Perth, Bishopriggs knew of more than one place in which he