CHAPTER X
DEALS WITH AN ESCAPE AND A JOURNEY
Five scouts' lanterns burned smokily in the ground room of the keep whenDickson ushered his charges through its cavernous door. The lightsflickered in the gusts that swept after them and whistled through theslits of window, so that the place was full of monstrous shadows, andits accustomed odour of mould and disuse was changed to a saltyfreshness. Upstairs on the first floor Thomas Yownie had deposited theladies' baggage, and was busy making beds out of derelict iron bedsteadsand the wraps brought from their room. On the ground floor on a heap oflitter covered by an old scout's blanket lay Heritage, with Dougal inattendance.
The Chieftain had washed the blood from the Poet's brow and the touch ofcold water was bringing back his senses. Saskia with a cry flew to him,and waved off Dickson who had fetched one of the bottles of liqueurbrandy. She slipped a hand inside his shirt and felt the beating of hisheart. Then her slim fingers ran over his forehead.
"A bad blow," she muttered, "but I do not think he is ill. There is nofracture. When I nursed in the Alexander Hospital I learnt much abouthead wounds. Do not give him cognac if you value his life."
Heritage was talking now and with strange tongues. Phrases like "lineddigesters" and "free sulphurous acid" came from his lips. He imploredsome one to tell him if "the first cook" was finished, and he upbraidedsome one else for "cooling off" too fast.
The girl raised her head. "But I fear he has become mad," she said.
"Wheesht, Mem," said Dickson, who recognised the jargon. "He's a papermaker."
Saskia sat down on the litter and lifted his head so that it rested onher breast. Dougal at her bidding brought a certain case from herbaggage, and with swift, capable hands she made a bandage and rubbed thewound with ointment before tying it up. Then her fingers seemed to playabout his temples and along his cheeks and neck. She was theprofessional nurse now, absorbed, sexless. Heritage ceased to babble,his eyes shut and he was asleep.
She remained where she was, so that the Poet, when a few minutes laterhe woke, found himself lying with his head in her lap. She spoke first,in an imperative tone: "You are well now. Your head does not ache. Youare strong again."
"No. Yes," he murmured. Then more clearly: "Where am I? Oh, I remember,I caught a lick on the head. What's become of the brutes?"
Dickson, who had extracted food from the Mearns Street box and waspressing it on the others, replied through a mouthful of biscuit: "We'rein the old Tower. The three are lockit up in the House. Are you feelingbetter, Mr. Heritage?"
The Poet suddenly realised Saskia's position and the blood came to hispale face. He got to his feet with an effort and held out a hand to thegirl. "I'm all right now, I think. Only a little dicky on my legs. Athousand thanks, Princess. I've given you a lot of trouble."
She smiled at him tenderly. "You say that when you have risked your lifefor me."
"There's no time to waste," the relentless Dougal broke in. "Comin' overhere, I heard a shot. What was it?"
"It was me," said Dickson. "I was shootin' at the factor."
"Did ye hit him?"
"I think so, but I'm sorry to say not badly. When I last saw him he wasrunning too quick for a sore hurt man. When I fired I thought it was theother man--the one they were expecting."
Dickson marvelled at himself, yet his speech was not bravado but thehonest expression of his mind. He was keyed up to a mood in which hefeared nothing very much, certainly not the laws of his country. If hefell in with the Unknown, he was entirely resolved, if his Makerpermitted him, to do murder as being the simplest and justest solution.And if in the pursuit of this laudable intention he happened to winglesser game it was no fault of his.
"Well, it's a pity ye didn't get him," said Dougal, "him being what weken him to be.... I'm for holding a council o' war, and considerin' thewhole position. So far we haven't done that badly. We've shifted ourbase without serious casualties. We've got a far better position tohold, for there's too many ways into yon Hoose, and here there's justone. Besides, we've fickled the enemy. They'll take some time to findout where we've gone. But, mind you, we can't count on their stayinglong shut up. Dobson's no' safe in the boiler-house, for there's askylight far up and he'll see it when the light comes and maybe before.So we'd better get our plans ready. A word with ye, Mr. McCunn," and heled Dickson aside.
"D'ye ken what these blagyirds were up to," he whispered fiercely inDickson's ear. "They were goin' to pushion the lassie. How do I ken,says you? Because Thomas Yownie heard Dobson say to Lean at the scullerydoor, 'Have ye got the dope?' he says, and Lean says, 'Ay.' Thomasmindit the word for he had heard about it at the Picters."
Dickson exclaimed in horror.
"What d'ye make o' that? I'll tell ye. They wanted to make sure of her,but they wouldn't have thought o' dope unless the men they expectit weredue to arrive any moment. As I see it, we've to face a siege not by thethree but by a dozen or more, and it'll no' be long till it starts. Now,isn't it a mercy we're safe in here?"
Dickson returned to the others with a grave face.
"Where d'you think the new folk are coming from?" he asked.
Heritage answered, "From Auchenlochan, I suppose? Or perhaps down fromthe hills?"
"You're wrong." And he told of Leon's mistaken confidences to him inthe darkness. "They are coming from the sea, just like the old pirates."
"The sea," Heritage repeated in a dazed voice.
"Ay, the sea. Think what that means. If they had been coming by theroads, we could have kept track of them, even if they beat us, and someof these laddies could have stuck to them and followed them up till helpcame. It can't be such an easy job to carry a young lady against herwill along Scotch roads. But the sea's a different matter. If they'vegot a fast boat they could be out of the Firth and away beyond the lawbefore we could wake up a single policeman. Ay, and even if theGovernment took it up and warned all the ports and ships at sea, what'sto hinder them to find a hidy-hole about Ireland--or Norway? I tell you,it's a far more desperate business than I thought, and it'll no' do towait on and trust that the Chief Constable will turn up afore themischief's done."
"The moral," said Heritage, "is that there can be no surrender. We'vegot to stick it out in this old place at all costs."
"No," said Dickson emphatically. "The moral is that we must shift theladies. We've got the chance while Dobson and his friends are locked up.Let's get them as far away as we can from the sea. They're far safertramping the moors, and it's no' likely the new folk will dare to followus."
"But I cannot go." Saskia, who had been listening intently, shook herhead. "I promised to wait here till my friend came. If I leave I shallnever find him."
"If you stay you certainly never will, for you'll be away with theruffians. Take a sensible view, Mem. You'll be no good to your friend oryour friend to you if before night you're rocking in a ship."
The girl shook her head again, gently but decisively. "It was ourarrangement. I cannot break it. Besides, I am sure that he will come intime, for he has never failed----"
There was a desperate finality about the quiet tones and the weary facewith the shadow of a smile on it.
Then Heritage spoke. "I don't think your plan will quite do, Dogson.Supposing we all break for the hinterland and the Danish brig finds thebirds flown, that won't end the trouble. They will get on the Princess'strail, and the whole persecution will start again. I want to see thingsbrought to a head here and now. If we can stick it out here long enough,we may trap the whole push and rid the world of a pretty gang ofmiscreants. Once let them show their hand, and then, if the police arehere by that time, we can jug the lot for piracy or something worse."
"That's all right," said Dougal, "but we'd put up a better fight if wehad the women off our mind. I've aye read that when a castle was goingto be besieged the first thing was to rid get of the civilians."
"Sensible to the last, Dougal," said Dickson approvingly. "That's justwhat I'm saying. I'm strong for a fight, but put
the ladies in a safebit first, for they're our weak point."
"Do you think that if you were fighting my enemies, I would consent tobe absent?" came Saskia's reproachful question.
"'Deed no, Mem," said Dickson heartily. His martial spirit was withHeritage, but his prudence did not sleep, and he suddenly saw a way ofplacating both. "Just you listen to what I propose. What do we amountto? Mr. Heritage, six laddies, and myself--and I'm no more used tofighting than an old wife. We've seven desperate villains against us,and afore night they may be seventy. We've a fine old castle here, butfor defence we want more than stone walls--we want a garrison. I tellyou we must get help somewhere. Ay, but how, says you? Well, coming hereI noticed a gentleman's house away up ayont the railway and close to thehills. The laird's maybe not at home, but there will be men there ofsome kind--gamekeepers and woodmen and such like. My plan is to go thereat once and ask for help. Now, it's useless me going alone, for nobodywould listen to me. They'd tell me to go back to the shop or they'dthink me demented. But with you, Mem, it would be a different matter.They wouldn't disbelieve you. So I want you to come with me and to comeat once, for God knows how soon our need will be sore. We'll leave yourcousin with Mrs. Morran in the village, for bed's the place for her, andthen you and me will be off on our business."
The girl looked at Heritage, who nodded. "It's the only way," he said."Get every man jack you can raise, and if it's humanly possible get agun or two. I believe there's time enough, for I don't see the brigarriving in broad daylight."
"D'you not?" Dickson asked rudely. "Have you considered what day thisis? It's the Sabbath, the best of days for an ill deed. There's no kirkhereaways, and everybody in the parish will be sitting indoors by thefire." He looked at his watch. "In half an hour it'll be light. Hasteyou, Mem, and get ready. Dougal, what's the weather?"
The Chieftain swung open the door, and sniffed the air. The wind hadfallen for the time being, and the surge of the tides below the rocksrose like the clamour of a mob. With the lull, mist and a thin drizzlehad cloaked the world again.
To Dickson's surprise Dougal seemed to be in good spirits. He began tosing to a hymn tune a strange ditty.
"Class-conscious we are, and class-conscious wull be Till our fit's on the neck o' the Boorjoyzee."
"What on earth are you singing?" Dickson inquired.
Dougal grinned. "Wee Jaikie went to a Socialist Sunday school lastwinter because he heard they were for fechtin' battles. Ay, and theytelled him he was to jine a thing called an International, and Jaikiethought it was a fitba' club. But when he fund out there was no magiclantern or swaree at Christmas he gie'd it the chuck. They learned hima heap o' queer songs. That's one."
"What does the last word mean?"
"I don't ken. Jaikie thought it was some kind of a draigon."
"It's a daft-like thing anyway.... When's high water?"
Dougal answered that to the best of his knowledge it fell between fourand five in the afternoon.
"Then that's when we may expect the foreign gentry if they think tobring their boat in to the Garple foot.... Dougal, lad, I trust you tokeep a most careful and prayerful watch. You had better get theDie-Hards out of the Tower and all round the place afore Dobson and Co.get loose, or you'll no' get a chance later. Don't lose your mobility,as the sodgers say. Mr. Heritage can hold the fort, but you laddiesshould be spread out like a screen."
"That was my notion," said Dougal. "I'll detail two Die-Hards--ThomasYownie and Wee Jaikie--to keep in touch with ye and watch for ye comin'back. Thomas ye ken already; ye'll no fickle Thomas Yownie. But don't bemistook about Wee Jaikie. He's terrible fond of greetin', but it's nofright with him but excitement. It's just a habit he's gotten. When yesee Jaikie begin to greet, ye may be sure that Jaikie's gettin'dangerous."
The door shut behind them and Dickson found himself with his two chargesin a world dim with fog and rain and the still lingering darkness. Theair was raw, and had the sour smell which comes from soaked earth andwet boughs when the leaves are not yet fledged. Both the women weremiserably equipped for such an expedition. Cousin Eugenie trailed heavyfurs, Saskia's only wrap was a bright-coloured shawl about hershoulders, and both wore thin foreign shoes. Dickson insisted onstripping off his trusty waterproof and forcing it on the Princess, onwhose slim body it hung very loose and very short. The elder womanstumbled and whimpered and needed the constant support of his arm,walking like a townswoman from the knees. But Saskia swung from the hipslike a free woman, and Dickson had much ado to keep up with her. Sheseemed to delight in the bitter freshness of the dawn, inhaling deepbreaths of it, and humming fragments of a tune.
Guided by Thomas Yownie they took the road which Dickson and Heritagehad travelled the first evening, through the shrubberies on the northside of the House and the side avenue beyond which the ground fell tothe Laver glen. On their right the House rose like a dark cloud, butDickson had lost his terror of it. There were three angry men inside it,he remembered: long let them stay there. He marvelled at his mood, andalso rejoiced, for his worst fear had always been that he might prove acoward. Now he was puzzled to think how he could ever be frightenedagain, for his one object was to succeed, and in that absorption fearseemed to him merely a waste of time. "It all comes of treating thething as a business proposition," he told himself.
But there was far more in his heart than this sober resolution. He wasintoxicated with the resurgence of youth and felt a rapture of audacitywhich he never remembered in his decorous boyhood. "I haven't been doingbadly for an old man," he reflected with glee. What, oh, what had becomeof the pillar of commerce, the man who might have been a Bailie had hesought municipal honours, the elder in the Guthrie Memorial Kirk, theinstructor of literary young men? In the past three days he had levantedwith jewels which had once been an Emperor's and certainly were not his;he had burglariously entered and made free of a strange house; he hadplayed hide-and-seek at the risk of his neck and had wrestled in thedark with a foreign miscreant; he had shot at an eminent solicitor withintent to kill; and he was now engaged in tramping the world with afairy-tale Princess. I blush to confess that of each of his doings hewas unashamedly proud, and thirsted for many more in the same line."Gosh, but I'm seeing life," was his unregenerate conclusion.
Without sight or sound of a human being, they descended to the Laver,climbed again by the cart track, and passed the deserted West Lodge andinn to the village. It was almost full dawn when the three stood in Mrs.Morran's kitchen.
"I've brought you two ladies, Auntie Phemie," said Dickson.
They made an odd group in that cheerful place, where the new-lit firewas crackling in the big grate--the wet undignified form of Dickson,unshaven of cheek and chin and disreputable in garb: the shroudedfigure of Cousin Eugenie, who had sunk into the arm-chair and closed hereyes; the slim girl, into whose face the weather had whipped a glow likeblossom; and the hostess, with her petticoats kilted and an ancientmutch on her head.
Mrs. Morran looked once at Saskia, and then did a thing which she hadnot done since her girlhood. She curtseyed.
"I'm proud to see ye here, Mem. Off wi' your things, and I'll get ye dryclaes. Losh, ye're fair soppin'. And your shoon! Ye maun change yourfeet.... Dickson! Awa' up to the loft, and dinna you stir till I give yea cry. The leddies will change by the fire. And you, Mem"--this toCousin Eugenie--"the place for you's your bed. I'll kinnle a fire benthe hoose in a jiffy. And syne ye'll have breakfast--ye'll hae a cup o'tea wi' me now, for the kettle's just on the boil. Awa' wi' ye,Dickson," and she stamped her foot.
Dickson departed, and in the loft washed his face, and smoked a pipe onthe edge of the bed, watching the mist eddying up the village street.From below rose the sounds of hospitable bustle, and when after sometwenty minutes' vigil he descended, he found Saskia toasting stockingedtoes by the fire in the great arm-chair, and Mrs. Morran setting thetable.
"Auntie Phemie, hearken to me. We've taken on too big a job for two menand six laddies, and help we've got to get, and that this ve
ry morning.D'you mind the big white house away up near the hills ayont the stationand east of the Ayr road? It looked like a gentleman's shooting lodge. Iwas thinking of trying there. Mercy!"
The exclamation was wrung from him by his eyes settling on Saskia andnoting her apparel. Gone were her thin foreign clothes, and in theirplace she wore a heavy tweed skirt cut very short, and thick homespunstockings, which had been made for some one with larger feet than hers.A pair of the coarse low-heeled shoes, which country folk wear in thefarmyard, stood warming by the hearth. She still had her russet jumper,but round her neck hung a grey wool scarf, of the kind known as a"comforter." Amazingly pretty she looked in Dickson's eyes, but with adifferent kind of prettiness. The sense of fragility had fled, and hesaw how nobly built she was for all her exquisiteness. She looked like aqueen, he thought, but a queen to go gipsying through the world with.
"Ay, they're some o' Elspeth's things, rale guid furthy claes," saidMrs. Morran complacently. "And the shoon are what she used to gang aboutthe byres wi' when she was in the Castlewham dairy. The leddy wastellin' me she was for trampin' the hills, and thae things will keep herdry and warm.... I ken the hoose ye mean. They ca' it the Mains ofGarple. And I ken the man that bides in it. He's yin Sir ErchibaldRoylance. English, but his mither was a Dalziel. I'm no weel acquaintwi' his forbears, but I'm weel eneuch acquaint wi' Sir Erchie, and'better a guid coo than a coo o' a guid kind,' as my mither used to say.He used to be an awfu' wild callant, a freend o' puir Maister Quentin,and up to ony deevilry. But they tell me he's a quieter lad since thewar, and sair lamed by fa'in oot o' an airyplane."
"Will he be at the Mains just now?" Dickson asked.
"I wadna wonder. He has a muckle place in England, but he aye used tocome here in the back-end for the shootin' and in Aprile for birds. He'sclean daft about birds. He'll be out a' day at the Craig watchin'solans, or lyin' a' mornin' i' the moss lookin' at bog-blitters."
"Will he help, think you?"
"I'll wager he'll help. Onyway it's your best chance, and better a weebush than nae beild. Now, sit in to your breakfast."
It was a merry meal. Mrs. Morran dispensed tea and gnomic wisdom. Saskiaate heartily, speaking little, but once or twice laying her hand softlyon her hostess's gnarled fingers. Dickson was in such spirits that hegobbled shamelessly, being both hungry and hurried, and he spoke of thestill unconquered enemy with ease and disrespect, so that Mrs. Morranwas moved to observe that there was "naething sae bauld as a blindmear." But when in a sudden return of modesty he belittled hisusefulness and talked sombrely of his mature years he was told that he"wad never be auld wi' sae muckle honesty." Indeed it was very clearthat Mrs. Morran approved of her nephew.
They did not linger over breakfast, for both were impatient to be on theroad. Mrs. Morran assisted Saskia to put on Elspeth's shoes. "'Even ayoung fit finds comfort in an auld bauchle,' as my mother, honest woman,used to say." Dickson's waterproof was restored to him, and for Saskiaan old raincoat belonging to the son in South Africa was discovered,which fitted her better. "Siccan weather," said the hostess, as sheopened the door to let in a swirl of wind. "The deil's aye kind to hisain. Haste ye back, Mem, and be sure I'll tak' guid care o' your leddycousin."
The proper way to the Mains of Garple was either by the station and theAyr road, or by the Auchenlochan highway, branching off half a milebeyond the Garple bridge. But Dickson, who had been studying the map andfancied himself as a pathfinder, chose the direct route across the LongMuir as being at once shorter and more sequestered. With the dawn thewind had risen again, but it had shifted towards the north-west and wasmany degrees colder. The mist was furling on the hills like sails, therain had ceased, and out at sea the eye covered a mile or two of wildwater. The moor was drenching wet, and the peat bogs were brimming withinky pools, so that soon the travellers were soaked to the knees.Dickson had no fear of pursuit, for he calculated that Dobson and hisfriends, even if they had got out, would be busy looking for the truantsin the vicinity of the House and would presently be engaged with the oldTower. But he realised, too, that speed on his errand was vital, for atany moment the Unknown might arrive from the sea.
So he kept up a good pace, half-running, half-striding, till they hadpassed the railway, and he found himself gasping with a stitch in hisside, and compelled to rest in the lee of what had once been asheepfold. Saskia amazed him. She moved over the rough heather like adeer, and it was her hand that helped him across the deeper hags. Beforesuch youth and vigour he felt clumsy and old. She stood looking down athim as he recovered his breath, cool, unruffled, alert as Diana. Hismind fled to Heritage, and it occurred to him suddenly that the Poet hadset his affections very high. Loyalty drove him to speak a word for hisfriend.
"I've got the easy job," he said. "Mr. Heritage will have the whole packon him in that old Tower, and him with such a sore clout on his head.I've left him my pistol. He's a terrible brave man!"
She smiled.
"Ay, and he's a poet too."
"So?" she said. "I did not know. He is very young."
"He's a man of very high ideels."
She puzzled at the word, and then smiled. "I know him. He is like manyof our young men in Russia, the students--his mind is in a ferment andhe does not know what he wants. But he is brave."
This seemed to Dickson's loyal soul but a chilly tribute.
"I think he is in love with me," she continued.
He looked up startled and saw in her face that which gave him a viewinto a strange new world. He had thought that women blushed when theytalked of love, but her eyes were as grave and candid as a boy's. Herewas one who had gone through waters so deep that she had lost thefoibles of sex. Love to her was only a word of ill omen, a threat on thelips of brutes, an extra battalion of peril in an army of perplexities.He felt like some homely rustic who finds himself swept unwittingly intothe moonlight hunt of Artemis and her maidens.
"He is a romantic," she said. "I have known so many like him."
"He's no' that," said Dickson shortly. "Why, he used to be aye laughingat me for being romantic. He's one that's looking for truth and reality,he says, and he's terrible down on the kind of poetry I like myself."
She smiled. "They all talk so. But you, my friend Dickson" (shepronounced the name in two staccato syllables ever so prettily), "youare different. Tell me about yourself."
"I'm just what you see--a middle-aged retired grocer."
"Grocer?" she queried. "Ah, yes, _epicier_. But you are a veryremarkable _epicier_. Mr. Heritage I understand, but you and thoselittle boys--no. I am sure of one thing--you are not a romantic. You aretoo humorous and--and----I think you are like Ulysses, for it would notbe easy to defeat you."
Her eyes were kind, nay affectionate, and Dickson experienced apreposterous rapture in his soul, followed by a sinking, as he realisedhow far the job was still from being completed.
"We must be getting on, Mem," he said hastily, and the two plunged againinto the heather.
The Ayr road was crossed, and the fir wood around the Mains becamevisible, and presently the white gates of the entrance. A wind-blownspire of smoke beyond the trees proclaimed that the house was notuntenanted. As they entered the drive the Scots firs were tossing in thegale, which blew fiercely at this altitude, but, the dwelling itselfbeing more in the hollow, the daffodil clumps on the lawn were butmildly fluttered.
The door was opened by a one-armed butler who bore all the marks of theold regular soldier. Dickson produced a card and asked to see his masteron urgent business. Sir Archibald was at home, he was told, and had justfinished breakfast. The two were led into a large bare chamber which hadall the chill and mustiness of a bachelor's drawing-room. The butlerreturned, and said Sir Archibald would see him. "I'd better go myselffirst and prepare the way, Mem," Dickson whispered and followed the manacross the hall.
He found himself ushered into a fair-sized room where a bright fire wasburning. On a table lay the remains of breakfast, and the odour of foodmingled pleasantly with the scen
t of peat. The horns and heads of biggame, foxes' masks, the model of a gigantic salmon and several bookcasesadorned the wall, and books and maps were mixed with decanters andcigar-boxes on the long sideboard. After the wild out of doors theplace seemed the very shrine of comfort. A young man sat in an armchairby the fire with a leg on a stool; he was smoking a pipe, and readingthe _Field_, and on another stool at his elbow was a pile of new novels.He was a pleasant brown-faced young man, with remarkably smooth hair anda roving humorous eye.
"Come in, Mr. McCunn. Very glad to see you. If, as I take it, you're thegrocer, you're a household name in these parts. I get all my suppliesfrom you, and I've just been makin' inroads on one of your divine hams.Now, what can I do for you?"
"I'm very proud to hear what you say, Sir Archibald. But I've not comeon business. I've come with the queerest story you ever heard in yourlife, and I've come to ask your help."
"Go ahead. A good story is just what I want this vile mornin'."
"I'm not here alone. I've a lady with me."
"God bless my soul! A lady!"
"Ay, a princess. She's in the next room."
The young man looked wildly at him and waved the book he had beenreading.
"Excuse me, Mr. McCunn, but are you quite sober? I beg your pardon. Isee you are. But you know, it isn't done. Princesses don't as a rulecome here after breakfast to pass the time of day. It's more absurd thanthis shocker I've been readin'."
"All the same it's a fact. She'll tell you the story herself, and you'llbelieve her quick enough. But to prepare your mind I'll just give you asketch of the events of the last few days."
Before the sketch was concluded the young man had violently rung thebell. "Sime," he shouted to the servant, "clear away this mess and laythe table again. Order more breakfast, all the breakfast you can get.Open the windows and get the tobacco smoke out of the air. Tidy up theplace for there's a lady comin'. Quick, you juggins!"
He was on his feet now, and, with his arm in Dickson's, was heading forthe door.
"My sainted aunt! And you topped off with pottin' at the factor. I'veseen a few things in my day, but I'm blessed if I ever met a bird likeyou!"