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
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