The Raiders: Being Some Passages In The Life Of John Faa, Lord And Earl Of Little Egypt
something was rendering her uneasy. Things were not going just so well. It was one thing for her to abuse her jewels, but quite another to sit and hear an enemy give her sons the rough side of his tongue. Mistress May Maxwell looked on from her perch on the window-sill, but said never a word. Butter would not have melted in her mouth.
‘And as for your son, Mistress MacWhirter, four times I have had to expel him out of my house for ill-bred conduct––’
‘Five! Tell the truth when ye are at it, though ye be a laird!’ corrected little Jerry from the door. ‘I stand upon my rights. Five, by Macmillan’s cup!’1
‘And I declare that I will no longer harbour such a nest of rogues and vagabonds on this Isle of Rathan,’ said I; ‘there has been no peace since any of the names of Allison and MacWhirter came hither. More nor that, I am fully persuaded that they are a’ hand in glove with notorious Freetraders, such as Yawkins and Billy Marshall. And for aught that I ken they may be art and part in supplying undutied stuff to various law-breaking, king-contemning grocers and even baillies. I am resolved that I’ll lodge informations with the officers of His Majesty’s Preventive forces and get the reward.’
When I had finished I took a glint of my eye at May Mischief to see how she was taking it. I was rather proud of that last bit about the smuggling myself, and I thought that she would see the humour of it too, but instead I saw that she was both pale and of a frowning countenance. Then I minded that the Maxwells of Craigdarroch, all the seven big sons of them, and even the dour Cameronian father, were said to be deeper in the Gentle Traffic, as it was called, than any others in the locality.
It was May who spoke first, and her words had a little tremor in them. ‘I wad hae ye ken, Laird Heron,’ she said, ‘that there are many decent men who do not allow that King George has any right to say “Ye shallna brew yersel’ a drap o’ comfort or bring a barrel from the Isle withoot my leave, according to the ancient custom of your fathers,” and yet who have no trokings or comradeship with Yawkins, the Marshalls, and their like.’
She still sat on her perch upon the window-sill, but she did not swing her feet any more. Indeed she leant forward a little anxiously.
‘Mistress May,’ says I, ‘I’m obligated to you for your word. Indeed it would ill become my father’s son to think any such thing. Far be it from me to meddle with decent folk that have their living to get. But what I’m speakin’ of is a very different maitter, here are three or four idle loons coming and sorning on me for months––’
‘Three!’ put in Jerry from the door; ‘I work hard!’ says he.
‘Aye, so does the deil,’ answered I, dryly, for all his work was only slabbering with paint.
The two old ladies stood up together, as you have seen the sentries of a line of geese picking worms and gellecks on the sand, stretch their necks at a sound of alarm.
‘I wad he ye learn, you that miscaa’s my sons, Andra’ and John, that they are decent lads, come of decent people, burgher folk, and your faither’s son wull never be like them.’
‘God forbid!’ said I.
‘Nane o’ your taunts,’ she said. ‘I’m sure nane o’ my lads wull bide a day longer in this house when I tell them what language ye put upon them, puir ill-guided, innocent young things.’
May Mischief seemed to incline her ear, tipping it a little to the side as if to listen. I knew well what was the matter. She was nearest to where these rascals, Andrew, John, and Rab were hid at the back of the hallan-end. I could distinctly hear that loon Rab laughing myself.
‘There’s rats in this hoose, I’ll be bound! Ouch, I see yin!’ she cried, following something with her eye along the dark of the passage as if terrified. ‘Mistress Allison, tak’ care; I doot it’s run in aboot your coaties!’ she cried, pointing at the threatened territory with her finger.
That good dame rose once more with greater agility from her seat than one might have expected from twenty stone weight.
‘Dinna tell me lees, lassie,’ she cried, switching her tails about with great fervour.
By mischance she whisked a ball of grey wool, which we had for darning our stockings, out from under her. It bounded away into the dark passage. The ladies caught a waft of it with the tails of their eyes.
‘Save us!’ cried both of them together, springing upon one chair and clutching one another. ‘There’s a nest o’ them.’
May Mischief by this time was standing on the windowsill as terrified as the rest.
‘Patrick Heron, tell me the truth,’ she cried, with her eyes like coals; ‘tell me the truth – are there rats in this house?’
‘Plenty of them,’ quoth I; ‘they come on to the table at supper-time.’
Now this is a great mystery, for in all else a braver lass never breathed. This I will say, and I should know. She gave me a look that might have bored a hole in an inch board, and drew her skirts very close about her ankles. It is my belief that she started the noise about the rats for mischief, as she does all things; but had gotten a glisk of the grey thing that louped from Mistress Allison’s petticoat into the darkness of the door. Then the terrors that she had prepared for others came home to herself. At this moment through the dark passage at the back there came a noise of scufflings and squeakings such as rats make, and a terrible white beast, with long, scaly tail and red eyes, bounded across the floor past the two stout dames standing on the chair and ran beneath the window-sill upon which the young woman was standing. A treble-tongued and desperate scream went up.
‘Now I’ll bid ye guid afternoon, ladies!’ I said.
‘No, no!’ cried Mistress Allison. ‘I’ll tak’ back every word I said, laird – I wull indeed. I spoke hastily – I own it.’
‘Good-day to you, Mistress MacWhirter,’ I said, quietly, lifting my cap from the table.
There was more squeaking and scuffling, and, I fear, the sound of muffled laughter in the passage. I was only afraid now lest the rogues should overdo the matter, so I made haste to be going.
‘Maister Heron, Maister Heron,’ cried Mistress MacWhirter, ‘my boy can bide here for ever gin he likes. I’se never say a word to hinder him.’
‘Thank ye, mither,’ cried that youth from the door; ‘ye micht send me half a dozen pairs o’ socks when ye gang hame, just for a keepsake.’
On the window-sill May Mischief was standing, the graven image of apprehension.
‘Guid e’en to ye, Mistress Maxwell,’ said I.
The pet white rat, which the rascals in the passage had let loose from its box, gave a squeak of terror underneath. They had pinched its tail before they let it loose. This was more than enough for the young Amazon on the window-sill.
‘Oh, Pat Heron,’ she cried, ‘dinna gang and leave me! Oh, I see the horrid beast! Dinna, Pat, an’ I’ll never caa ye “Adullam” again. Mind the kirkyard o’ Kirk Oswald.’
I made as if to prove hard-hearted, and set one foot past the other in the direction of the door. Then, without a word or a look to forewarn me of her intention, she launched herself from the sill of the window and caught me about the neck.
‘Keep that beast off me, Patrick!’ she cried, clasping me tight.
How we found ourselves outside in the still, silent rebuking sunshine after all this noisy riot, I never could tell. But before I knew where I was May Maxwell broke out on me in anger – she that had taken me soundly and honestly about the neck but a moment before. There is no end to the mystery of woman. Inside the wives were screaming both together; and then, for a change, turn about.
‘Think shame o’ yersel’, ye great hulk; ye think it clever