CHAPTER IV
THE MORNING CALL
No red light showed itself at Miss Duggan's window that night--thoughCleek sat up until the soft fingers of the dawn were wreathing the skywith lavender veils and the face of the morning peeped through, likesome goddess stepped down from Olympus to smile upon her lesser fellows.And it was then, and then only, that he sought his bed and the comfortof cool sheets at last.
Dollops, knowing his plan, did not disturb him. And so it came aboutthat the clock upon the mantel had chimed out ten before he opened aneye and looked about him, sleep still dimming his vision and making theunfamiliar room doubly strange.
"What the--how the--Gad! if it isn't ten o'clock, and I've been sleepinglike a noodle ever since dawn," he said, springing out of bed anddonning dressing-gown and slippers to have a first glimpse out of thewindow at that "fairy sight" which Mr. Fairnish had promised him withhis cup of tea. "Well, she _is_ a beauty and no mistake! Good morning toyou, fair Palace of the Mists. What secrets are locked away in yourbreast this morning, I wonder? Well, the night has passed tranquillyenough to be sure, and that poor girl's terrors are stilled for thepresent twelve hours, at any rate. I'll call there after breakfast andscrape acquaintance with the lot of 'em, and judge if Mr. RobertFairnish is as good an observer as he is a talker."
And directly after breakfast that was exactly what he did do. Dollops,armed with fishing-tackle and rods, received his marching orders in fullsight and sound of the inn's proprietor, knowing full well that withinfive minutes of that time all that he had said and done would be ablazeover the village, if he knew aught of that garrulous tongue of his.
"Be off with you, Dollops, and have a look at the river," said Cleekfrom the shelter of the open doorway, as Dollops wended his way slowlydown the path to the wicket-gate which led out on to the road. "And seewhat fish be in those waters. And if you don't come home with atwenty-pounder, you're no angler, my lad!"
Dollops nodded and winked.
"Right you are, sir. As Mr. Asquith says, better 'wait and see.' And ifI don't bring 'ome a twenty-pounder, I'll bring 'ome a twenty-yarder, atany rate. Fer I'm a fair dabster for eels every time."
"Sounds more like boa constrictors and the jungle than Highland riversand modest eels," retorted Cleek, laughing heartily. "And I'm paying acall at the Castle and making my respects to Miss Duggan. So if I'm notback for lunch, Dollops, don't fancy dreadful things and imagine I'vebeen consumed by the ghost-lady who haunts those lovely turrets andtowers, but come home and wait for me."
Dollops stopped in his tracks and sucked in his breath hard, and thefreckled brown of his Cockney countenance took on a queer drabbishshade. He came back again along the path and stopped in front of hismaster, mouth hanging open, eyes wide.
"Ghosts, sir! Did I 'ear you use the word _ghosts_?" he ejaculated witha perceptible shiver. "Br-r-rh. I doesn't mind dealin' wiv any kind of_'uman_--but wiv them in'uman species I'm a reg'lar goner! You ain'tarskin' me ter meet the lidy, are yer, sir?"
"Not yet, my boy," returned Cleek, with a laugh and a shake of the head."So you needn't worry yourself about that. And if I do ask, you may besure I'll be asking nothing that I would not--and will not--partake ofmyself. Get along with you, and don't bother your head. When I want youto call, I'll come, too. You can count upon that."
"Well, so long as I don't 'ave to call alone I doesn't mind so much,"retorted Dollops. Then, swinging round in his tracks, he went off downthe pathway, whistling that very hackneyed but popular tune, "Pack UpYour Troubles in Your Ole Kit-Bag and Smile, Smile, Smile!" WhileCleek, watching him for a moment, felt a sudden warmth of feelingtoward the rough-mannered but warm-hearted youth who had followedhim--willy-nilly--ever since they two had met upon that memorablefar-off day when Cleek had made himself responsible for the boy'ssafety.
A leisurely cigarette smoked in company with the worthy host, and thenCleek took up his soft "squash" hat, seized hold of his blackthornstick, and with a nod and a smile to Mr. Fairnish, swung out into theroadway, monocle screwed into left eye, well-cut tweeds setting off thesplendid figure of him, and looking for all the world like the leisured,perfectly turned-out exquisite who journeys so far out of his beatentrack only in pursuit of a sport which vastly amuses him, and to whomBond Street and the very outer edge of the Western Highlands are all oneand the same thing, so long as he can get a day's amusement out of them.
The walk to the Castle was not as long as he expected. It was, in fact,but a brief fifteen minutes over a rough, hilly road which in parts waslittle more than a track, and which swung up and down so unevenly overthe moor that walking was at times difficult. Halfway there, as Cleekturned the corner of a little ravine and came out upon a full view ofthe valley, with the Inn of the Three Fishers to the left of him andthe Castle to the right, he heard the _thud-thud_ of a horse's hoofs,and in a moment more, drawing up against the bank to allow whoever wascoming to pass, he saw a rider approach from the right and go through agate which led apparently to the Castle grounds. As the rider passed,Cleek stepped out into the path with a sudden impulse and raised hishat.
"I say," said he in his London drawl, as the rider dismounted and,removing his hat, stood before him--a fine figure of a man in Scotchtweeds, measuring a good six-feet-two of staunch muscle and bone, withthe shoulders of a giant and a big-featured, kindly face, and the blueeyes and high hooked nose of the typical Scotsman; the all-observing eyeof Cleek noticed that one of the stranger's fingers was bandaged, as ifit had recently been cut. Cleek instinctively liked him. "Can you tellme," he said--"awfully sorry to stop you and all that--but can youpossibly tell me if this is Aygon Castle? Looks like it from thepictures, b' Jove, but photography's frightfully deceptive--what? Friendof mine--a Miss Duggan--Miss Maud Duggan, I think the name is--livesthere, doesn't she? I happened to come up here yesterday for thefishin'--awfully fond of it and that sort of thing--and promised to callwhenever I was out this way. I'm right, am I not?"
"Perfectly right." Cleek liked the deep, ringing voice which answeredhim, as he liked the shrewd blue eyes that travelled so rapidly over histweeds. Liked, too, the hard, grim mouth which broke into such acharming smile, transfiguring the whole face as though a light had beenset behind it. "And Miss Duggan does live here. You're keen on fishing,I take it. Well, so am I. It's a man's sport, and there's few Scotsmenwho don't like it. My name's Tavish--James Tavish--and I'm agent for SirAndrew Duggan's estates. We'll possibly meet each other up the riversome time, for I spend most of my spare time there."
"Thanks. I'd like it immensely. Fishin's a lonesome game alone. Andthough I've brought my man with me, and he's a dab hand with the tackle,one gets a bit bored sometimes. I'll probably see you up at the Castle,Mr. Tavish, and we'll improve our acquaintance. Many thanks for yourcourtesy."
So saying, Cleek passed on up the rough road, while his new friendremounted the little chestnut mare he rode so magnificently, and wentgalloping off up the incline, making a fine picture against the ruggedscenery of which he seemed such an inseparable part.
Cleek reached the Castle gates at last, rang the huge bell, and waitedwhile the lodge-keeper unfastened them for him and inquired his name,went with him up the long sweep of gravelled driveway with itsbordering of yews and young pine trees lending an air of picturesquegloom to the place even upon that bright morning. And having reached thegreat oaken front door--a monstrous affair scarred by the ruthless handof Time as much as by the mailed fists which must have thudded upon itin far-off days, or by the spears and battle-axes of past Duggans who inthis fashion had left something more definite than a memory for theirancestors to cherish--pulled the chain of the bell, and waited while thejangling echoes of its noise died away into silence before his summonswas answered.
At length the door opened. He caught a glimpse of a dim interior, loftyas a church and dark with the panellings of old oak which flanked itupon all four sides, and then gave his name to the pompous old butler,and was taken into a little ante-room redolent of age--that mothy,cu
rtained odour as of a room but rarely opened and still more rarelyused--and within a moment or two Miss Duggan was standing there beforehim.
"Mr. Deland! How good of you to have come so soon--how very good!" shesaid warmly, extending a hand to him in greeting. "You must surely stayand lunch with us, now that you have come all this distance. And I wantyou to meet my father." Her voice dropped a tone or two. "Paula is withhim now, going over the housekeeping accounts--it is a daily matter uponwhich he is very insistent. Ross is in the laboratory, tinkering oversomething to do with the lights, but he'll be out in a minute. I toldhim I had met you on the train, and that we had got into conversationand found we were congenial friends through Ailsa Lorne. You know herwell, don't you, Mr. Deland?"
He smiled, and for a moment his eyes softened.
"Rather well, I fancy, as she has consented some day to throw in her lotwith me and marry me," he returned in a happy, low-pitched voice. "Andthat is why any friend of hers, you know, must be a friend of mine aswell. I'd like very much to have a look at the Castle, if I might be sopermitted. Architecture interests me immensely. It's a hobby of mine.And this is surely one of the grandest old stately homes that Scotlandpossesses!"
"Isn't it?--isn't it? I can see you have the love of Home and Race inyou, too, Mr. Deland, just as I have it in me," she responded, with alittle happy sigh. "And if only I had not this other trouble which hangsover me like the sword of Damocles itself, life would be a very happything, indeed. For when one loves and is loved----" Her voice trailedoff into silence, and she stood a moment looking out of the window, eyesalight, face aglow.
"Oho!" thought Cleek, with upflung brows. "So Love finds its way eveninto these Highland fastnesses. First James Tavish and Lady Paula'scompanion (if what Mr. Fairnish said was true), and now Miss Dugganherself."
"Who is the happy man?" he said smilingly, as she sighed and turnedtoward him.
"How did you know there was one?"
"How does any one know that any one loves any one else--when oneselfloves?" he returned enigmatically. "Remember I, too, belong to the happyband. He lives close here, Miss Duggan?"
"Yes. Only a couple of miles away. But, alas! my father will hearnothing of him, and has even forbidden him the house."
"And may I ask why?"
"Certainly. Because he is poor. Father's god is Mammon, Mr. Deland. Heknows and acknowledges no other. And Angus Macdonald has received verylittle at the hands of that god."
"But a good deal at the hands of the only God that matters, I take it,"put in Cleek softly, with a smile at her. "Well, they say that Lovelaughs at locksmiths, and always finds a way. Time will give you yourchance, Miss Duggan, and you'll have to be brave enough to take it....There's someone coming, I think."
There _was_ someone coming, for even as Cleek spoke the door swung openand a tall, gaunt, white-haired old man, with a back like a ramrod and aface of granite, and with eyes that shone like pin-points of steel inthe smooth pallor of it, came into the room, followed by a dark-eyed,dark-haired, sallow-complexioned woman with the long nose of the Italianand the brand of the true coquette stamped all over her.
Cleek recognized them at once. Here were the chief actors in the littlecomedy of what was at present a girl's imaginings, and which hesincerely hoped would never become anything else. What a hard face theman had! What a trap-like mouth! What a merciless, seeking eye! And thewoman with him--all soft curves and roundness, with those luminous eyesof southern Italy looking out at him from the frame of her pale,ivory-tinted face, with already a hint of coquetry in their velvetdepths for any well-dressed, well-apportioned specimen of mankind.Beside the something rugged and clear-cut in Maud Duggan'spersonality--the something Scotch and enduring which is the birthrightof those born beyond the boundary-line of England--this woman's palesuavity fell into a kittenish foolishness, became instantly trivial andbeyond recognizance.
At sound of their approach Maud Duggan turned hurriedly and waved a handtoward Cleek.
"Father," said she in her low, level-toned voice, "this is Mr. Deland ofwhom I told you last night. Mr. Deland is engaged to Ailsa Lorne, my oldschool friend at the convent in Paris--and he has come down for thefishing, and did me the honour to call upon me the very first thing. Ihave asked him to stay and lunch with us."
Sir Andrew bowed stiffly and then extended a blue-veined and tremuloushand. Cleek took it and bent over it like a courtier.
"Very pleased indeed to see you, Mr. Deland," said Sir Andrew, in adeep, full-throated voice that spoke more of the man he had been than ofthe man he was now. "You are welcome to our hospitality now and at anyother time."
"I am deeply grateful, sir, and during my short stay in these parts Ishall hope to make fuller acquaintance of you and your family--yourwife? How do you do, Lady Paula? I am enamoured of your charmingsurroundings and your glorious home. May I be permitted to congratulateyou upon both?"
A fleet look flashed from her eyes, a swift warmth of friendship forthis stranger who made her so much _one_ of them who had never yet beenmade one by the family themselves.
"It is beautiful, isn't it?" Smooth as velvet her voice, warm, subtle,alluring as the country that gave her birth. "I love it--_how_ I loveit! Even though I am not of the Scotch blood, yet have I that birthrightof my nation--home-love. Maud, dear, take Mr. Deland round, won't you? Ihave still some matters to arrange with your father, so you must do thehonours in my stead. And when Sir Andrew and I have finished with ourlittle _personal_ matters"--she smiled suddenly, showing a flash ofsnowy teeth between the warm red lips which Time had not yet cooled tothe more even tenor of England's blood--"then we will join you upon theterrace. And be sure and show Mr. Deland the electric-lighting plant,dear. He will be interested."
Maud Duggan flashed her a look of absolute hatred at this, for she sawthe darkening shade upon her father's face, and noted the suddenclenching of the hand upon his stick.
"Cursed modernism and all its extravagant ways!" said the old gentlemanin a bitter voice. "Spending that which he should have saved, sir, upona ridiculous experiment which has ruined the atmosphere of the placeentirely. Wayward fool!"
"But it has improved your reading faculties, anyhow, Father," put inMiss Duggan in a quiet, resolute voice. "Paula is not nearly so busynowadays, when you can read your own papers----"
"As though I _ever_ wanted to do anything but wait upon him--dear man!"struck in Lady Paula reproachfully, and with an arch glance at Cleekwhich did not go unrewarded. "Your father is not so old a man as to bein his dotage. And if there _is_ twenty years between us, Maud, it ishardly kind of you to bring the matter up like this. Perfect love shouldhave no age nor yet youth. It should be as ageless as Eternity, asboundless as the sea, as high as Heaven itself.... Are you ready,Andrew dear?"
She bent toward the flattered and fluttered old man with that somethingin her gesture which has been the gift of every woman of her type alldown the long ages since Scylla tempted Ulysses and Charybdis sent hishead whirling with her lure.
Maud Duggan led Cleek from the room at that, and once out of earshot ofthis ill-assorted pair, whirled round upon him, a spot of anger showingin each cheek.
"You see, Mr. Deland, you see?" she rapped out excitedly, "how shemisleads everything we say, and turns it all to her own ends? Oh, how Ihate her--hate her! and have done so ever since she first set foot inthis dear old home of ours. And Father--did you notice how worn and illhe looks? How his hand shakes so that he cannot steady it? Three monthsago his hand was like a rock; his colour was as healthy as yours ormine. And yet your Mr. Narkom would say that a woman's intuition leadsto nothing but her own foolish imaginings!"
"Hush, my dear young lady--have a care!" threw in Cleek quickly, at thesound of footsteps hurrying toward them, his lips tightening in a waythat suggested that he, too, thought there might be "something in it.""We don't want the whole place to suspect my mission. That is oursecret, if you please. Now, show me the Castle, if you will--andwhatever of interest which you think has bearing upon th
e case. Where isLady Paula's son? Does he live here, or is he away at school just now?"
Miss Duggan shook her head.
"No--Cyril is a delicate boy, and the doctor has advised Father to lethim stay home for a year and just run wild. He is generally with Ross."
"With _Ross_?"
"Yes, the two are sworn friends. Cyril's heart is wrapped up in Ross,Mr. Deland. He never for one moment suspects what his mother is tryingto do--wrest Ross's inheritance from him so that he, Cyril, should haveit instead. It would break his heart, I think. Wherever Ross is to befound you may be sure Cyril will be there also."
"Damon and Pythias, eh? Strange that the son loves what the motherhates, isn't it? I should like to meet this boy."
"You shall--when we reach the laboratory. He's sure to be there helpingRoss. He is like his shadow, that child."
"And he is sixteen, you say?"
"Next October. And a firm believer in our ghost, Mr. Deland."
"Then you have a ghost and all complete?"
"Of course. Hasn't Mr. Fairnish of the Three Fishers told you the storyyet? He is usually to be relied upon to impart every bit of villagegossip within the first five minutes of one's acquaintance!"
Cleek threw back his head and laughed. They had entered a long,low-ceilinged room, panelled in Spanish leather, with casement windowswhich gave upon a little walled-in enclosure surrounded by floweringshrubs and white-starred syringa-bushes that sent their pungent odourupon the air in one long waft of perfume.
"He's told me a good deal, it is true, but----What a delightful room! Alibrary, I take it? And what a curious old instrument that is! I haven'tseen a spinning wheel like that since I was in Wales and one stood inthe corner of the room where I slept at the village inn. A sort ofheirloom, I suppose?"
She nodded, and Cleek crossed over to the thing to examine it, touchinga part here and a part there with reverent fingers.
"Yes, I suppose you _would_ call it that," she responded, crossing overto him and looking down at the thing in question. "Though, really, whyFather has it here I cannot imagine. Its history is certainly not acredit to the line. For it belonged to the very girl I was going to tellyou about. It belonged to the Family Ghost. Here is the story. Thevillagers believe it to this day, and couldn't be persuaded to enter theCastle grounds at night upon any pretext whatever. But of course theeducated folk don't. Early in the sixteenth century a wild head of theMacduggan clan abducted a young--and I imagine beautiful--peasant-girlwhen she was sitting at her wheel, spinning, and ran away withher--wheel and all--and brought her here, so legend says, to this veryroom. The girl, whose name, I believe, was Dhurea, or something likethat, stabbed herself with the sharp-pointed spindle of the wheel, andin doing so laid a curse upon the Macduggan clan. She--she was going tohave a child, Mr. Deland, and as she was dying, she swore that in everygeneration a Duggan should die a violent death, and that the sound ofher spinning wheel should predict the moment when death was near."
"Oho!" said Cleek, in two different tones. "That differs a good dealfrom the story Mr. Fairnish tells. There was a child, I understood, andthis child was stolen by the grandparents. That's not correct, then?"
"There are various interpretations of the legend. No one knows thetruth--only that she killed herself and cursed the family in thatunpleasant manner."
"And has the curse come true?"
For a moment Miss Duggan hesitated. Then she sent startled eyes up intohis face. There was the look of a dog at bay in them.
"I don't believe the story, Mr. Deland! I don't believe a _word_ of it,for such things cannot possibly be, in this civilized country," sheanswered in a scared tone. "And yet--ever since that day, one at leastof each generation has died unnaturally. And now--in _this_ generationthere is only Father and Ross.... This peasant-girl is supposed to hauntour dear Castle, and after midnight to stalk the place over, looking forthe man who dishonoured her and who has been dead these many generationspast."
"H'm! I see. And so, naturally, she cannot find him. A weird story, andmore pleasant in the daylight than in the dark. And this is the lady'sspinning wheel, I take it? Your father has it by his writing-table, Isee. Rather in the way, isn't it?"
"It used to stand over there, in the corner, but Paula declared that itwas too dark there, and that it did not show to its full beauty. So shemoved it. Father lets her do whatever she wishes. And of course it doesshow better there, by the window, doesn't it? And as it's Father's_left_ hand that comes beside it, Mr. Deland, I don't really see that itmuch matters."
"No, I suppose not.... Hello! we've been a long time here, haven't we?And I haven't seen the half of the place yet. Isn't that the luncheongong? Or is it just your tangy Highland air that makes me hungry enoughto imagine it?"
"Neither," said she, laughing. "That's Rhea's bell. It hangs just underthe bronze statue of Rhea--you remember the one I showed you yesterdayas we came home together?--and it rings upon the entrance of any onethrough the great gate. A clumsy contraption, which has never beenaltered in all these years."
"But quite useful--with unwanted visitors," he replied, stoopingsuddenly and picking up something off the carpet. "Hello, what's this?Looks like a bit of flexible electric wire. Something of your brother'shobby, no doubt."
He held it out to her in the open palm of his hand. It was just a littlescrap of crimson-covered flexible wire, and she barely noticed it.
"And ... hello, hello! No electricity used in here, either. I supposethat's because your father doesn't approve?"
"Yes. Ross wired the room--or had it wired with the aid of anelectrician--and then installed the light. But Father was so angry thathe would rarely ever use it. Sticks to the musty old lamp over there,for most things."
"And is the room still wired?"
"Yes. There's a wall plug over there by the door. Why, Mr. Deland?"
"Oh, nothing. Then that would account for this fragment of flexiblewire, wouldn't it? H'm. Yes. I see. I see."
But what he saw he did not at that moment mention, and Miss Duggan hadto guess at his meaning.
"But it was done ten days ago-- I must really speak to the servants andtell them to keep the place cleaner than they do. Fancy leaving oddpieces about like that!" she ejaculated, sensitive to any suggestion ofpoor management upon the part of Castle authorities. But Cleek did nothear. He was standing over by the wall-plug, looking down at it, andthen kneeling, began to examine it minutely. She watched him inamazement, unused to his methods.
"Why, Mr. Deland--"
"Oh, just looking at how your brother does his work. Quite a goodworkman, isn't he?" said Cleek, rising slowly to his feet, and pocketingthe bit of flexible wire forthwith.
And that was the last word she could get out of him upon the subject.