The Blue Sapphire

by D. E. Stevenson

  ‘You like to think it, Uncle Randal.’

  ‘Yes, I do. Skene says, “Perhaps there is no more beautiful character recorded in history than that of Margaret.” If you’re interested you can read about her in Skene’s Celtic Scotland.’

  ‘I’m interested in that sort of history—I mean history about places I know—but I never could remember dates,’ said Julia frankly.

  ‘Battle of Hastings, ten sixty-six, and all that!’ said Uncle Randal, laughing. ‘There’s not much glamour about it, is there? History books for schools are too condensed. If they gave you a rousing account of the battle you’d remember it . . . but there’s no time, Julia, no time for anything except names and dates and battles and pacts.’

  ‘I remember a pact called the Diet of Worms,’ said Julia thoughtfully.

  ‘It would be a deal more interesting than my diet, anyway,’ said Uncle Randal ruefully as he went away to have his afternoon rest.

  *

  3

  Julia spent the afternoon weeding the garden (for the rain had cleared and the sun was shining) and she had tea with Mrs. Walker in the kitchen.

  ‘You can say Maggie, Miss Julia,’ said Maggie Walker in an off-hand manner. ‘I’m used to Maggie and it sounds more friendly-like.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I’d like to,’ said Julia, who, to tell the truth, had had some trouble in preventing herself from ‘saying Maggie’ before.

  By the time they had finished tea and Julia had been allowed to dry the dishes her quick ear had caught the rhythm of Maggie’s speech . . . for now that they were friends, doing a little job of work together, Maggie had forgotten to ‘remember to talk proper English’ and was chatting away comfortably in her own comfortable way.

  ‘Sammy Tamson was in this afternoon when you were weeding the gairden,’ said Maggie. ‘No, Miss Julia, dinna bother to put the cups away. I’ll do it later masel’ and then they’ll be on the right hooks. In he came with a fine blue suit and a stiff white collar. Och, he’s a grand man noo by his own way o’ thinking—with a caird in his pouch—and it signed with his name, Samuel Thomson. “My land!” I says, “so they’ve made you an elder!” and he says, all niminy-piminy, “I’m hoping you’ll be coming to church on Sunday, Mrs. Walker. We’ve not seen you for a while.” “And you’ll not see me for a while,” says I. That was the truth, Miss Julia. I’m all for going to the kirk on the Sabbath; I like fine to hear a good sermon and to lift ma voice in a psalm; but if it means I’ve tae leave him his lee lane my hairt’s not in it nor my mind neether and Mr. Johnstone’s fine arguments would just go over ma heid. I’d be sitting wondering whether he’d be well enough; I’d be thinking he’d be up from his bed and getting into some kind o’ pickle with me not there to see to him. “No, no, Sammy Tamson,” I says. “I’m better at hame where I’m needed. I can sit and read a psalm or a parable with my ears open for his step in the passage or the tinkle of his bell.” “But this’ll not do, Mrs. Walker,” he says—and begins his piece about the need for going to church if we’re proper Christians and so on and so forth. I was that riled wi’ the man I could have skelped him. “Och, away!” I says. “I’m not needing you to lairn me my Christian duties, elder or no. They must be haird put to it if they chose you for the job, I mind when you were a bairn wi’ a snotty nose and wet breeks mair often than not.”’

  Julia did not understand all of it, but she had given up asking for explanations because it broke the spell. It reminded Maggie that her listener hailed from south of the Border and her conversation immediately became more conventional and not nearly so amusing. So Julia just listened, putting in a word or two when Maggie paused for breath and giggling softly to herself at intervals. But on this occasion Julia had understood quite enough to realise that Maggie enjoyed going to church if she could go with an easy mind.

  ‘You could go to church on Sunday, couldn’t you?’ suggested Julia. ‘I mean I shall be here. He’d be all right with me, wouldn’t he?’

  ‘Well, it’s an idea,’ admitted Maggie, as she swilled out the sink and hung up the washing-cloth to dry. ‘But there’s the dinner to see to, Miss Julia.’

  ‘I could do it if you told me what to do.’

  ‘He’d maybe not like it,’ said Maggie doubtfully. ‘It would vex him to think of you toiling and moiling in the kitchen. No, Miss Julia, I’m better at hame.’

  ‘Isn’t there an evening service? That would be quite easy, wouldn’t it?’

  Maggie hesitated. ‘Well, I might,’ she said. ‘There’d just be the supper and I could leave it ready set. There’d be nothing except to heat his Bengers. Could you do that, d’you think?’

  Julia professed herself capable of heating his Bengers and promised faithfully not to let it come to the boil, so the matter was settled. And immediately Maggie turned off her iron (which she had just that moment turned on) and began to search all round the kitchen; pulling out the drawers in the dresser; taking down the ornaments on the chimney-piece and peeping inside; looking behind the photograph of her mother which stood on the shelf, and beneath the wireless set in the corner. The search, which had started in a leisurely manner, became more and more frantic, and when she had looked in every conceivable place she began looking in the same places all over again.

  ‘Noo, where did I lay it?’ murmured Maggie to herself. ‘It wis on the table when he left—I mind that. I mind lookin’ at it and thinkin’ I’d no be needin’ it. Did I put it at the back o’ the fire? Na, na, I wouldn’t ha’ din that!’

  ‘Are you looking for something important?’ asked Julia, quite unnecessarily one might think.

  ‘It’s a mystery to me,’ declared Maggie, rummaging wildly in the drawer of the dresser, where already she had rummaged twice. ‘I niver thocht I’d be needin’ it—so I niver bothered. Where, in the name o’ goodness, can I ha’ laid it!’

  Julia had no suggestions to offer. It seemed to her that Maggie had looked in every possible place and as she had no idea what Maggie was looking for—and did not like to ask—she could be of no help whatever.

  This being so she rose and went to the door.

  Maggie was still searching feverishly. She was muttering, ‘I canna gang wantin’ ma caird! Na, na, I canna gang wantin’ ma caird!’

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  When Julia went into the study Uncle Randal was already there, sitting in his usual place with a book upon the adjustable book-rest. He seemed so engrossed that she did not interrupt him but crept in quietly and sat down in the chair opposite without a word. She was thinking about what Maggie had said and wondering what it meant, when Uncle Randal looked up and took off his spectacles.

  ‘Well, Julia, what are you thinking about so seriously?’

  ‘Maggie has lost something,’ replied Julia. ‘I don’t know what it is, but it’s something very important.’

  ‘Did she not tell you what it was?’

  ‘Yes, but I couldn’t understand. Usually I can understand Maggie pretty well, but this afternoon she was worried about the thing she had lost, hunting madly and muttering to herself.’

  ‘It’s the key of the store cupboard,’ suggested Uncle Randal.

  ‘Well—perhaps—but I don’t think so.’

  ‘It’s her post office savings book?’

  ‘No, I’m sure it isn’t that.’

  ‘What did she say?’

  ‘She said,’ replied Julia, trying to reproduce the accent and intonation of Maggie’s incomprehensible mutter, ‘she said, “I canna gang wantin’ ma caird.” She said it twice and I haven’t the slightest——’

  The remainder of the sentence was drowned by Uncle Randal’s laughter. He laughed and laughed; his face became pink all over and tears streamed from his eyes. Julia was quite alarmed; so alarmed that the laughter (which is usually so infectious) did not infect her in the least.

  ‘Oh, Julia!’ sobbed Uncle Randal. ‘Oh, lassie, you’ll be the death of me! It’s the funniest—thing—to hear—poor Maggie—coming from your mouth! Don’
t say it—again! For pity’s sake don’t—say it again—it’s more than—I could bear!’

  She remained silent and waited while he recovered himself. Presently the spasms subsided, and except for an occasional chuckle he was quiet.

  He mopped his eyes. ‘Well, well,’ he said. ‘It’s years since I laughed like that, but it’s done me good. The translation is, “I cannot go without my card.”’ He chuckled again but managed to control himself.

  ‘But I still don’t understand,’ declared Julia in bewilderment.

  ‘Let’s see if I can read the riddle. I’ll make a shot at it, anyway. I wouldn’t wonder if you and Maggie had arranged between you that she would attend kirk on Sunday morning and you would be left at home to mind the baby.’

  ‘How did you guess?’

  ‘I was always a great hand at riddles.’

  ‘But it’s Sunday evening,’ said Julia. ‘You see, she thinks I might be capable of heating your Bengers without letting it come to the boil.’

  ‘Obviously she has a very high opinion of your capabilities.’

  Julia giggled. Now that he was better she had begun to see the funny side of it.

  ‘So now you know all about it,’ declared Uncle Randal.

  ‘Not quite,’ she replied. ‘I mean why must she have a card to go to church? Surely anyone can go whenever they like.’

  ‘Of course they can. She could get a card at the door if she asked for it, but you may have noticed that our friend likes to do the right thing, and the right thing is to hand your card to the elder as you enter the building.’

  ‘Every Sunday?’ asked Julia incredulously.

  ‘No, no. Three times a year on Communion Sunday. It’s just a custom.’

  ‘I see,’ said Julia; it seemed to her rather a queer custom . . . but of course it was Looking-Glass Country.

  ‘Was Neil here this morning?’ asked Uncle Randal after a short silence. ‘I found a book I’d lent him on the table. Did he bring it himself?’

  ‘Yes, he came in on his way to Edinburgh.’

  ‘What do you think of Neil? Nice lad, isn’t he?’

  ‘Very nice,’ agreed Julia. Even as she said it Julia realised the inadequacy of the description. In fact it was ludicrously inapt. There was a fierce power in Neil (like a tiger, thought Julia); he possessed outstanding ability; he was full of humour and intuition . . . and, there was no doubt about it, he had exercised a sort of hypnotic influence upon Julia so that she had been forced to believe every word he said and had agreed to do exactly as he wanted. Yes, thought Julia, Neil Logan was one of the most extraordinary personalities she had ever met with in her life . . . and she had said he was ‘very nice.’

  ‘Well, what’s the verdict?’ asked Uncle Randal.

  Julia woke up. ‘He—puzzled me,’ she said.

  ‘That’s not to be wondered at. He’s a strange mixture, is Neil, but all the ingredients are pretty good. Maggie loves him of course; she used to be his nurse.’

  ‘Oh, that accounts for a lot!’

  ‘Yes, you should hear him chatting to her in her own idiom!’

  ‘I did,’ said Julia, nodding. ‘When he was talking to Maggie he seemed the same sort of person—if you know what I mean.’

  ‘Exactly. Neil’s idea is that you should adapt yourself to your company. If you’re chatting to a tinker on the road, be a tinker on the road. If you’re chatting to an old man like Uncle Ran, be an old man like Uncle Ran. Oh, he can do it, too,’ declared Uncle Randal, chuckling. ‘He’s good company, is Neil. He says you can get on better with people if you speak to them in their own tongue; that’s Neil’s idea.’

  ‘Yes, I see,’ said Julia in doubtful tones. She was thinking of Ellen. Would Ellen be pleased if Julia started speaking to her in her own tongue?

  ‘But you don’t agree?’ suggested Uncle Randal.

  ‘It’s different here,’ said Julia thoughtfully. ‘Everything is different. I feel like Alice Through the Looking-Glass.’

  ‘Everything the wrong way round.’

  ‘The other way round,’ said Julia, smiling.

  Uncle Randal nodded. ‘I’m glad of that. Perhaps you’ll get used to us in time.’

  This was the moment when Julia should have said, ‘I must go home on Tuesday,’ but she hesitated, and the moment passed.

  Uncle Randal was wearing a puzzled frown. ‘Let me see,’ he said. ‘How does it go?

  “You are old, Uncle Randal,” the maiden said,

  “And your hair has become very white,

  And yet you incessantly stand on your head;

  Do you think at your age it is right?”

  “In my youth,” Uncle Randal replied to the girl,

  “I feared it might injure the brain,

  But now I am hoping to make my hair curl

  So I do it again and again.”’

  Julia was laughing and Uncle Randal laughed too; so he could not continue the poem. They were both laughing merrily when Maggie came in with a large tray.

  ‘There, you’re better!’ she exclaimed. ‘I just knew the moment I saw her step off the train that she’d do you more good than all the bottles and pills that Dr. Cairn prescribes.’

  ‘Yes, I’m better,’ admitted Uncle Randal. ‘Prescriptions are never much use for a pain in the wame, are they, Maggie?’

  ‘You should know,’ said Maggie significantly. She added, ‘I’ve brought in your suppers. It’ll be more comfortable for you to take your suppers here by the fire. I’ll push in the table a wee bit.’ She nodded significantly at Julia. ‘I found it,’ she said.

  ‘Oh good! Where did you find it?’

  ‘Beneath the tea-cloth,’ chuckled Maggie. ‘Did you ever hear the like! There was me searching high and low and wondering where I’d laid it . . . and it was there all the time, lying on the table where Sammy Tamson put it down. I’d just let it lie and spread the cloth over it, ye see. You could have knocked me down with a feather when I took the cloth to fold it away in the drawer—and there was ma caird!’

  ‘She’s a good kind soul,’ said Uncle Randal, when Maggie had set the table and gone away. ‘I’m fortunate in my friends, Julia.’

  ‘They’re fortunate in having you,’ she told him. ‘It always works both ways.’

  ‘I’m no use to anybody; just a nuisance.’

  ‘That isn’t true and you know it!’ cried Julia indignantly. ‘Maggie adores you, she enjoys taking care of you, and Neil loves you better than anybody else in the world.’

  ‘Neil—said that?’

  ‘Those very words.’

  ‘Poor laddie,’ said Uncle Randal sadly. ‘Yes, he’s a lonely creature. His parents died years ago and Dunraggit is a big draughty place. He’d be better to let it; he’ll need to let it when he gets his degree and finds a post as assistant to a doctor. Let’s hope he finds one quickly, for he’s not got two pennies to rub together.’

  ‘He’ll get a good post quite easily; he’s frightfully clever. Anyone can see that.’

  ‘Well, maybe. He was always getting prizes at school.’

  ‘Uncle Randal,’ said Julia earnestly. ‘Neil thinks you should consult Mr. MacTavish.’

  ‘Oh, he’s been on at me about that—and now he’s on at you! What a laddie! Can he not let the old horse die in peace in his own stable?’

  ‘No, he can’t, and neither can I!’ cried Julia.

  ‘What! Both of you?’

  ‘Yes, both of us.’

  ‘Surely it’s early days to be allies.’

  ‘I know, but—but he opened his heart to me. He’s desperate.’

  ‘Desperate?’

  ‘Absolutely desperate,’ declared Julia. ‘He lies awake at night thinking out plans to get you to go to Edinburgh and see that man. Uncle Randal, listen! He even thought of kidnapping you and taking you to Edinburgh in his car. Of course, in the morning, he saw it was silly; but it shows how desperate he is.’

  ‘Good heavens!’

  ‘It shows how desperate
he is,’ repeated Julia earnestly.

  Uncle Randal sighed. ‘It shows Neil is nothing but a boy. Cairn is an old friend and an experienced doctor and he’s dead against the idea. He thinks it would be a waste of time.’

  ‘He said that to you!’

  ‘No, no, of course not. He wrapped it all up very carefully, but that’s what he meant.’

  ‘I think it’s disgraceful! If he doesn’t know what’s the matter with you he should advise you to have another opinion.’

  ‘But it’s not that at all, my dear. Cairn knows what’s wrong and wants to spare me the fatigue. He’s a nice kind creature. He comes along in the evenings now and then and sits and chats. Sometimes we play chess together.’ Uncle Randal smiled and added, ‘He’s not what you’d call a first-class chess player, for he never sees beyond the end of his nose, but he does his best.’

  ‘Perhaps he isn’t a first-class doctor, Uncle Randal.’

  He looked at her doubtfully. ‘You mean the two things go together? That’s a bit far-fetched.’

  ‘No, I didn’t mean that exactly. I meant it would be a man’s nature to be far-seeing or not far-seeing,’ she replied.

  Uncle Randal leaned forward and stirred the fire. ‘Well, that’s as may be,’ he said. ‘At any rate he’s a nice kind creature and he’s all for leaving me in peace.’

  Uncle Randal may have thought the argument finished, but Julia had another shot in her locker.

  ‘Perhaps Dr. Cairn doesn’t love you better than anybody else in the world,’ she suggested in a thoughtful voice.

  ‘Good gracious! Of course not! Why should he? The man has his own family——’

  ‘And Neil has nobody but you.’

  Uncle Randal was silent. Julia also was silent; what more could she say? She applied herself to the dissection of the finnan-haddock which Maggie had seen fit to provide for her supper. It was very tasty but it seemed to have an awful lot of bones, and as Julia had not dealt with a finnan-haddock before she was having some difficulty with it. She noticed that her host was toying with a piece of steamed fish, pushing it about his plate as if he loathed the sight of it.