Complete fictional works.., p.18
Complete Fictional Works of John Buchan (Illustrated), page 18
And now we were joined by a newcomer, no less than Mistress Kate Wishart, as pretty a lass as you will see in a day’s journey. She had been nurtured by her father amid an aroma of learning, and, truly, for a maid, she was wondrous learned, and would dispute and cite instances with a fine grace and a skill which astonished all. To me, who am country-bred and a trifle over-fastidious, she seemed a thought pedantic and proud of her knowledge; but what is hateful in a hard-featured woman is to be pardoned in a fresh lass. Her father brought me to her and presented me, which she acknowledged with a courtsey which became her mightily; but I spoke not two words to her, for the old man led me away down one of the alleys among the trees.
“Kate’ ll look after thae auld dotterels,” said he, speaking in the broadest Scots; “I brocht her out that I micht get a word wi’ ye my lane, for I’m fair deein’ for news frae the auld country. First of a’, how is Saunders Blackett at Peebles — Him and me were aince weel acquant.” And when I had told him, he ran off into a string of inquiries about many folk whom I knew, and whom he once had known, which I answered according to my ability.
“And now,” he says, “I’ve bidden twa-three o’ the officers o’ the Scots brigade to supper the nicht, so ye’ll see some guid Scots physiogs after thae fosy Dutchmen. Ye’ll maybe ken some o’ them.”
I thanked him for his consideration, and after I had answered his many questions, we returned to the others, whom I found busily arguing some point in divinity, with Mistress Kate very disgusted in their midst.
“Gang intil the house wi’ my dochter, John,” said Master Wishart, and, giving her my arm, I did as I was bid, while the others straggled after in twos and threes.
III. — THE STORY OF A SUPPER PARTY
MY FIRST thought on entering the supper-room was one of amazement. The owner of the house, whom I had taken to be a man of simple tastes, here proved himself to be a very Caliph for magnificence. Many choice paintings looked down at us from the sides, richly framed, and fitting into recesses in the panelled walls. The floor was laid with bright-dyed rugs and carpets of Venetian stuff, and the chairs and couches were of finely carven wood. The whole was lit with a long line of waxen candles in silver sconces, which disputed the sovereignty with the departing daylight. But the choicest sight was the table which was laden, nay heaped, with rich dishes and rare meats, while in the glass and metal flagons the wine danced and flamed. I was of country-bred habits, and the display at first all but took the breath from me; indeed it was not a little time ere I could take my eyes from it and turn them on the assembled guests.
Those who had not been present in the garden were gathered at the lower end of the room, whither the master of the place betook himself to greet them.
I marked two or three of the burgher folk by their dress and well-filled bellies, contrasting strangely with the lean figure of a minister who stood among them clothed in some decent, dark stuff, and wearing white bands ostentatiously. There were also some of the officers in the Scots regiment, at least of that portion of it which was then lying at Leyden. Their dress was sober compared with the richness of such soldiery as I had seen in my own land, but against the attire of the citizens, it was gaudiness itself.
I found myself sitting close to the head of the table, on the right hand of my host, betwixt a portly doctor of laws and my worthy Master Quellinus. This latter was now all but recovered from his fatigue, having slept soundly in the arbour. He was in a high good humour at the sight of the many varied dishes before him, and cried out their merits to me in a loud, excited tone, which made my cheeks burn. “There,” he cried, “there is the dish I love above all others. ‘Tis hashed venison with young herbs, and sour wine for a relish. Ah, I have already enjoyed it in anticipation. In a few seconds I shall have enjoyed it in reality. Therefore I argue I have gained two pleasures from it, whereas men of no imagination have but one. And, God bless my eyes! do I see a plate of stewed eels over there before that thick man in the brown coat — Gad! I fear he will devour them all himself, for he looks to have capacity and judgment. Plague take him, I am in a very torment of anxiety. Prithee, my good John, seek out a servant and bid him bring it over here.” I know not how far he might have gone, had not all talking been put an end to by the minister arising and saying a lengthy Latin grace. In the midst of it I stole a glance at my neighbour, and his face wore so comical an expression of mingled disgust and eagerness that I could scarcely refrain from laughing. But all did not conduct themselves so well, for there was a great disputation going on among some of the regiment which much hindered the effect of the minister’s Latin. Indeed, I believe had he spoken another dozen words, the patience of some would have gone altogether.
“Now,” said Master Wishart from the head of the table, “I trust, gentlemen, that ye may find the entertainment to your liking. Fall to heartily, for this weather gives a keen edge to the appetite. Occupet extremum scabies, as Horatius hath it; which being translated into the vulgar idiom is ‘Deil tak the hinmost.’ Know you that proverb, John — Come, Master Quellinus, set to, man, ye’ve had a serious day’s work, and our fleshly tabernacles will not subsist on nothing,” adding in an undertone to me, “though it’s little pressing ye need, for to press ye to eat is like giving a shog to a cairt that’s fa’ in ower the Castle Rock.”
I paid little heed to Master Quellinus’s conversation, which ran chiefly on viands, or to that of my left-hand neighbour, whose mouth was too full for words. But I found great entertainment in watching the faces and listening to the speech of some of the other guests. The table was wide and the light dim, so that I had much ado to make out clearly those opposite me. I marked Mistress Kate, very daintily dressed, talking gaily to some one at her side.
“Well, to tell you the truth, my dear Mistress Kate, this land of yours is not very much to my liking. To be sure a soldier is contented wherever his duty calls him, but there is no fighting to be done, and the sport is not what I have found it elsewhere. I am in such a devilish strict place that. Gad, I cannot have a game with a fat citizen without having to listen to a rigmarole of half an hour’s duration on the next morning. There is so much psalm-singing in the place that an honest gentleman can scarcely raise a merry song without having his voice stopped by half a dozen sour-faced knaves. ‘Faith, I wish I were back in my own land, where there is some work for a cavalier. There is but one thing that I should except,” and he bowed low to his neighbour, “the women, who are as beautiful as the men-folk are hideous. Though, in truth, I believe that the most lovely of them all is a countrywoman of my own”; and again he made her a fine bow.
The voice and the tone were strangely familiar, but for the life of me, I could not give them a name. I could only note that the man was a big, squarely-made fellow, and that he seemed to be in a mind to make love to his host’s daughter. She made some blushing reply to his compliments, and then, as luck would have it, a servant set a light between us, and the faces of both were revealed clearly to me.
I sat bolt upright in my chair with sheer astonishment. For there, dressed in the habiliments of the Scots regiment, and bearing himself with all his old braggadocio, sat my cousin Gilbert.
Then I remembered how I had heard that he had gone abroad to some foreign service, partly to escape the consequences of some scrapes into which he had fallen, partly to get rid of his many debts. And here he was, coming to the one place in Europe to which I had chosen to go, and meeting me at the one table which I had chosen to frequent. In that moment I felt as if the man before me were bound up in some sinister way with my own life.
Almost at the same instant he turned his eyes upon me, and we stared in each other’s face. I saw him start, bend his head toward his companion and ask some question. I judged it to be some query about my name and doings, for the next moment he looked over to me and accosted me with a great semblance of hilarity.
“What,” he cries. “Do I see my cousin John? I had not dared to hope for such a welcome meeting. How came you here?” And he asked me a string of questions.
I answered shortly and with no great cordiality, for I still remembered the doings in Tweeddale, and my heart was still sore in the matter of my father’s death. Forbye this, Gilbert spoke with not a little covert scorn In his tone, which I, who knew his ways well, was not slow to detect. It nettled me to think that I was once more to be made to endure the pleasantries of my cousin.
“And how goes all in Tweeddale, my dear cousin?” said he. “I condole with you on your father’s death. Ah, he was a good man indeed, and there are few like him nowadays. And how does Tam Todd, my friend, who has such a thick skull and merciless arm — And ah, I forgot! Pray forgive my neglect. How is fair Mistress Marjory, the coy maid who would have none of my courtesies?”
The amazing impudence of the fellow staggered me. It almost passed belief that he should speak thus of my father whose death had lain so heavily at his door. This I might have pardoned; but that at a public table he should talk thus of my love irritated me beyond measure. I acted as I do always when thus angered: I gave him a short answer and fell into a state of moody disquietude.
Meanwhile my cousin, with all the gallantry in the world, kept whispering his flatteries into the pretty ears of Mistress Kate. This was ever Gilbert’s way. He would make love to every tavern wench and kiss every village lass on his course. ‘Twas a thing I never could do. I take no credit for the omission, for it is but the way God makes a man. Whenever I felt in the way to trying it, there was always Marjory’s face to come before my eyes and make me think shame of myself.
As I sat and watched these twain I had no eyes for any other. The very sight of Gilbert brought back to me all my boyhood in Tweedside, and a crowd of memories came surging in upon me. I fancied, too, that there was something of Marjory in the little graceful head at my cousin’s elbow, and the musical, quick speech. I felt wretchedly jealous of him, God knows why; for the sight of him revived any old fragments which had long lain lurking in the corners of my mind; and as he chatted gaily to the woman at his side, I had mind of that evening at Barns when I, just returned from Glasgow college, first felt the lust of possession. I sat and moodily sipped my wine. Why had I ever left my own land and suffered my lady to be exposed to manifold perils? for with the first dawnings of jealousy and anger came a gnawing anxiety. I had never felt such a sickness for home before, and I cursed the man who had come to ruin my peace of mind. Yet my feeling toward my cousin was not that of hatred; indeed I could not refrain from a certain pity for the man, for I discerned in him much noble quality, and was he not of my own blood?
“Come now,” I heard Mistress Kate simper, “I do not believe that tale of anyone, and above all, of him; for a soberer does not live. Fie, fie. Master Gilbert, I took you for a more generous man.”
“On my faith, my dear, it is true,” replied my cousin. “For all his docile looks, he is as fond of a game as the rest of us.”
Now I guessed that my frolicsome cousin had been traducing me to the fair Kate, and I grew not a little hot. But his next word changed my heat into fierce anger. For my cousin continued:
“What saith the Latin poet?” and he quoted a couplet from Martial — a jest at the usual amusements of the seemingly decent man.
I know not where he had got hold of it, for he was no scholar; but it was full of the exceeding grossness which is scarcely to be found outside that poet. He thought, I could guess, that the girl understood no Latin, but, as I knew, she had a special proficiency in that tongue. She understood the jest only too well. A deep blush grew over her face from her delicate throat to the very borders of her hair. ‘Twas just in such a way that Marjory had looked when I first told her my love; ‘twas in such a fashion she had bade me farewell. The thought of her raised a great storm of passion in my heart against anyone who would dare thus to put a woman to shame. I strove hard to curb it, but I felt with each second that it would overmaster me.
“Well, John, what think you of my Latinity?” asked my cousin from over the table.
“I think, I think,” I cried, “that you are a damned scurrilous fellow, a paillard, a hound; ‘fore God, Gilbert, I will make you smart for this,” and, ere I well knew what I did, I had seized my glass and hurled it at his head.
It struck him on the cheek, scratching the skin, but doing little hurt.
In a trice he was on his feet with his hand at his sword. One half the table rose and stared at the two of us, while Master Wishart left the head and came rushing to the back of my chair. As for myself, I felt such desperate shame at my conduct that I knew not what to do. I had now made a fool of myself in downright earnest. I felt my cheek tingling and flaming, but I could do naught but look before me.
Then my cousin did a thing which gave him great honour, and completed my shame; for bridling his anger, as I saw with a mighty effort, he said calmly, though his arms were quivering with rage:
“I would ask you to be more careful in your use of glasses. See, yours has flown right over to me and played havoc with my cheek. ‘Faith, it is no light duty to sup opposite you, mon ami. But, indeed, gentlemen,” and he bowed to the company, “‘twas but an unfortunate mischance.”
At this all sat down again, and scarce five minutes after, Gilbert rose to leave, and with him the other gentlemen of his regiment. Master Wishart bade him sit down again, for the night was yet young, but my cousin would not be persuaded. He nodded carelessly to me, kissed his hand to pretty Mistress Kate, and swaggered out.
I sat dazed and meditative. I was raw to many things, but I knew well that Gilbert was not the man to sit down under such an affront. He had shielded me for his own reasons, of which I guessed that family pride was not the least; but he would seek a meeting with all dispatch. And, in truth, I was not averse to it, for I had many accounts to settle with my dear cousin. I fell to thinking about the details of the matter. In all likelihood he would come on the Monday, for the Sabbath was a day of too strict propriety in this land as in my own, to allow of the settling of any such business. Well, come when he might, I should be ready; and I rose from the table, for the sooner I was back in Leyden, the better.
I took farewell of my host, and he could not refrain from whispering in my ear at parting: “Jock, Jock, my man, ye’ve made a bonny mess o’t. Ye’ll hae to fecht for it, and see ye dae’t weel.”
Nicol was waiting at the gate with the horses, and, together, we turned on our homeward way.
IV. — OUR ADVENTURE ON THE ALPHEN ROAD
WE RODE in silence for maybe half a mile, while I turned over the events of the evening in my mind and tried to find some way out of the difficulties in which, by my own folly, I found myself placed. Nicol looked steadfastly before him and said never a word. By and by I found the desire for some one to speak with so overpowering that I up and asked him if he had heard aught of the events of the evening.
“Ay, sir,” said he, “I heard ye had some kind o’ stramash, but that was a’. I trust ye’ re weel oot o’t.”
“Have you heard of my cousin Gilbert?” I asked.
“The wastland lad wha used to come aboot the Barns — Oh, aye! I’ve heard o’ him.”
“I flung a glass at his face to-night,” said I.
“I hope, sir, that he flung anither at yoursel’?” he asked anxiously.
“No. He swallowed the insult and left soon after. He is not the man to let me off so easily.”
“Whew,” said Nicol, “but that’s bad. Wad ye mind. Laird, if I rode on afore ye?”
“Why?” I asked.
“Cousins and sodger-folk are kittle cattle,” said he. “I wadna wonder noo but that Maister Gilbert were ahint a dyke. I’ve heard tell o’ some o’ his pliskies in his ain land, and he’s no the lad to let a midge stick in his throat.”
I drew up my horse angrily.
“Nicol,” I cried, “you are intolerable. My cousin is a gentleman of birth, and do you think he is the man to kill from a dyke-side — Fie on you, you have the notions of a common roost-robber.”
“Weel, away then, my lord,” cries he. “So be it; but I’ve little faith in your Gilberts for a’ their gentrice. I ken their breed ower weel. But I maun ride afore ye, for there are some gey rough bits on the road, and I’m a wee bit mair sure in the saddle than yoursel, wi’ a’ respect to your lairdship.”
So the wilful fellow must needs ride before me, looking sharply to the right and left as though we were in far Muscovy instead of peaceful Holland.
As for me, I felt in no humour to listen to my servant’s tales or do aught than think dolefully on my own matters. The sight of my cousin and of Mistress Kate had made me sore sick for home, and I could have found it in my heart once and again to take ship at the next sailing for Leith. But these thoughts I choked down, for I felt that they were unbecoming to any man. Yet I longed for Marjory as never lover longed for his mistress. Her bright hair was ever before my sight, and her last words on that February evening rang always in my head. I prayed to God to watch over her as I rode through the stiff poplars on the way to Leyden.
As for my quarrel, I cared not a straw for Gilbert and his ill-will, it having never been my nature to be timorous toward men. Nay, I looked forward to meeting him with no little pleasure, for it had long been an open question which of the twain was best at the sword-play.
“Maister John,” said Nicol, suddenly turning round, “I saw twae men creeping roond thae scrunts o’ trees. I wis they maunna be after ony ill.” We were by this time nearing a black, inhospitable part of the land, where the road ran across a moor all covered with ferns and rushes and old trunks of trees.
“Ride on,” said I; “if we turned for every man that crosses the path, we should never leave our own threshold.”
He did as he was ordered, and our horses being put to the canter, covered the ground gallantly, and our stirrup-chains clinked in the silent night.
