CHAPTER XXVIII
I GO IN QUEST OF MY INHERITANCE
I made what change I could in my appearance; and blithe was I to look inthe glass and find the beggar-man a thing of the past, and David Balfourcome to life again. And yet I was ashamed of the change too, and, aboveall, of the borrowed clothes. When I had done, Mr. Rankeillor caught meon the stair, made me his compliments, and had me again into thecabinet.
"Sit ye down, Mr. David," said he, "and now that you are looking alittle more like yourself, let me see if I can find you any news. Youwill be wondering, no doubt, about your father and your uncle? To besure it is a singular tale; and the explanation is one that I blush tohave to offer you. For," says he, really with embarrassment, "the matterhinges on a love-affair."
"Truly," said I, "I cannot very well join that notion with my uncle."
"But your uncle, Mr. David, was not always old," replied the lawyer,"and what may perhaps surprise you more, not always ugly. He had a fine,gallant air; people stood in their doors to look after him, as he wentby upon a mettle horse. I have seen it with these eyes, and, Iingenuously confess, not altogether without envy; for I was a plain ladmyself, and a plain man's son; and in those days it was a case of _Odite, qui bellus es, Sabelle_."
"It sounds like a dream," said I.
"Ay, ay," said the lawyer, "that is how it is with youth and age. Norwas that all, but he had a spirit of his own that seemed to promisegreat things in the future. In 1715, what must he do but run away tojoin the rebels? It was your father that pursued him, found him in aditch, and brought him back _multum gementem_; to the mirth of the wholecountry. However, _majora canamus_--the two lads fell in love, and thatwith the same lady. Mr. Ebenezer, who was the admired and the beloved,and the spoiled one, made, no doubt, mighty certain of the victory; andwhen he found he had deceived himself, screamed like a peacock. Thewhole country heard of it; now he lay sick at home, with his sillyfamily standing round the bed in tears; now he rode from public-house topublic-house, and shouted his sorrows into the lug of Tom, Dick, andHarry. Your father, Mr. David, was a kind gentleman; but he was weak,dolefully weak; took all this folly with a long countenance; and oneday--by your leave!--resigned the lady. She was no such fool, however;it's from her you must inherit your excellent good sense; and sherefused to be bandied from one to another. Both got upon their knees toher; and the upshot of the matter for that while was that she showedboth of them the door. That was in August; dear me! the same year I camefrom college. The scene must have been highly farcical."
I thought myself it was a silly business, but I could not forget myfather had a hand in it. "Surely, sir, it had some note of tragedy,"said I.
"Why, no, sir, not at all," returned the lawyer. "For tragedy impliessome ponderable matter in dispute, some _dignus vindice nodus_; and thispiece of work was all about the petulance of a young ass that had beenspoiled, and wanted nothing so much as to be tied up and soundly belted.However, that was not your father's view; and the end of it was, thatfrom concession to concession on your father's part, and from one heightto another of squalling, sentimental selfishness upon your uncle's, theycame at last to drive a sort of bargain, from whose ill results you haverecently been smarting. The one man took the lady, the other the estate.Now, Mr. David, they talk a great deal of charity and generosity; butin this disputable state of life I often think the happiest consequencesseem to flow when a gentleman consults his lawyer, and takes all the lawallows him. Anyhow, this piece of Quixotry on your father's part, as itwas unjust in itself, has brought forth a monstrous family ofinjustices. Your father and mother lived and died poor folk; you werepoorly reared; and in the meanwhile, what a time it has been for thetenants on the estate of Shaws! And I might add (if it was a matter Icared much about), what a time for Mr. Ebenezer!"
"And yet that is certainly the strangest part of all," said I, "that aman's nature should thus change."
"True," said Mr. Rankeillor. "And yet I imagine it was natural enough.He could not think that he had played a handsome part. Those who knewthe story gave him the cold shoulder; those who knew it not, seeing onebrother disappear, and the other succeed in the estate, raised a cry ofmurder; so that upon all sides he found himself evited. Money was all hegot by his bargain; well, he came to think the more of money. He wasselfish when he was young, he is selfish now that he is old; and thelatter end of all these pretty manners and fine feelings you have seenfor yourself."
"Well, sir," said I, "and in all this, what is my position?"
"The estate is yours beyond a doubt," replied the lawyer. "It mattersnothing what your father signed, you are the heir of entail. But youruncle is a man to fight the indefensible; and it would be likely youridentity that he would call in question. A lawsuit is always expensive,and a family lawsuit always scandalous; besides which, if any of yourdoings with your friend Mr. Thomson were to come out, we might find thatwe had burned our fingers. The kidnapping, to be sure, would be a courtcard upon our side, if we could only prove it. But it may be difficultto prove; and my advice (upon the whole) is to make a very easy bargainwith your uncle, perhaps even leaving him at Shaws, where he has takenroot for a quarter of a century, and contenting yourself in themeanwhile with a fair provision."
I told him I was very willing to be easy, and that to carry familyconcerns before the public was a step from which I was naturally muchaverse. In the meantime (thinking to myself) I began to see the outlinesof that scheme on which we afterwards acted.
"The great affair," I asked, "is to bring home to him the kidnapping?"
"Surely," said Mr. Rankeillor, "and, if possible, out of court. For markyou here, Mr. David: we could no doubt find some men of the _Covenant_who would swear to your reclusion; but once they were in the box, wecould no longer check their testimony, and some word of your friend Mr.Thomson must certainly crop out--which (from what you have let fall) Icannot think to be desirable."
"Well, sir," said I, "here is my way of it." And I opened my plot tohim.
"But this would seem to involve my meeting the man Thomson?" says he,when I had done.
"I think so, indeed, sir," said I.
"Dear doctor!" cries he, rubbing his brow. "Dear doctor! No, Mr. David,I am afraid your scheme is inadmissible. I say nothing against yourfriend Mr. Thomson: I know nothing against him; and if I did--mark this,Mr. David!--it would be my duty to lay hands on him. Now I put it toyou: is it wise to meet? He may have matters to his charge. He may nothave told you all. His name may not be even Thomson!" cries the lawyer,twinkling; "for some of these fellows will pick up names by the roadsideas another would gather haws."
"You must be the judge, sir," said I.
But it was clear my plan had taken hold upon his fancy, for he keptmusing to himself till we were called to dinner and the company of Mrs.Rankeillor; and that lady had scarce left us again to ourselves and abottle of wine, ere he was back harping on my proposal. When and wherewas I to meet my friend Mr. Thomson; was I sure of Mr. T.'s discretion;supposing we could catch the old fox tripping, would I consent to suchand such a term of an agreement--these and the like questions he keptasking at long intervals, while he thoughtfully rolled his wine upon histongue. When I had answered all of them, seemingly to his contentment,he fell into a still deeper muse, even the claret being now forgotten.Then he got a sheet of paper and a pencil, and set to work writing andweighing every word; and at last touched a bell and had his clerk intothe chamber.
"Torrance," said he, "I must have this written out fair againstto-night; and when it is done, you will be so kind as put on your hatand be ready to come along with this gentleman and me, for you willprobably be wanted as a witness."
"What, sir," cried I, as soon as the clerk was gone, "are you to ventureit?"
"Why, so it would appear," says he, filling his glass. "But let us speakno more of business. The very sight of Torrance brings in my head alittle droll matter of some years ago, when I had made a tryst with thepoor oaf at the cross of Edinburgh. Each had gone his proper
errand; andwhen it came four o'clock, Torrance had been taking a glass and did notknow his master, and I, who had forgot my spectacles, was so blindwithout them, that I give you my word I did not know my own clerk." Andthereupon he laughed heartily.
I said it was an odd chance, and smiled out of politeness; but, whatheld me all the afternoon in wonder, he kept returning and dwelling onthis story, and telling it again with fresh details and laughter; sothat I began at last to be quite out of countenance and feel ashamed formy friend's folly.
Towards the time I had appointed with Alan, we set out from the house,Mr. Rankeillor and I arm in arm, and Torrance following behind with thedeed in his pocket and a covered basket in his hand. All through thetown, the lawyer was bowing right and left, and continually beingbutton-holed by gentlemen on matters of burgh or private business; and Icould see he was one greatly looked up to in the county. At last we wereclear of the houses, and began to go along the side of the haven andtowards the "Hawes Inn" and the ferry pier, the scene of my misfortune.I could not look upon the place without emotion, recalling how many thathad been there with me that day were now no more: Ransome taken, I couldhope, from the evil to come; Shuan passed where I dared not follow him;and the poor souls that had gone down with the brig in her last plunge.All these, and the brig herself, I had outlived; and come through thesehardships and fearful perils without scathe. My only thought should havebeen of gratitude; and yet I could not behold the place without sorrowfor others and a chill of recollected fear.
I was so thinking when, upon a sudden, Mr. Rankeillor cried out, clappedhis hand to his pockets, and began to laugh.
"Why," he cries, "if this be not a farcical adventure! After all that Isaid, I have forgot my glasses!"
At that, of course, I understood the purpose of his anecdote, and knewthat if he had left his spectacles at home, it had been done on purpose,so that he might have the benefit of Alan's help without the awkwardnessof recognising him. And indeed it was well thought upon; for now(suppose things to go the very worst) how could Rankeillor swear to myfriend's identity, or how be made to bear damaging evidence againstmyself? For all that, he had been a long while finding out his want, andhad spoken to and recognised a good few persons as we came through thetown; and I had little doubt myself that he saw reasonably well.
As soon as we were past the "Hawes" (where I recognised the landlordsmoking his pipe in the door, and was amazed to see him look no older)Mr. Rankeillor changed the order of march, walking behind with Torranceand sending me forward in the manner of a scout. I went up the hill,whistling from time to time my Gaelic air; and at length I had thepleasure to hear it answered and to see Alan rise from behind a bush. Hewas somewhat dashed in spirits, having passed a long day alone skulkingin the country, and made but a poor meal in an alehouse near Dundas. Butat the mere sight of my clothes he began to brighten up; and as soon asI had told him in what a forward state our matters were, and the part Ilooked to him to play in what remained, he sprang into a new man.
"And that is a very good notion of yours," says he; "and I dare to saythat you could lay your hands upon no better man to put it through thanAlan Breck. It is not a thing (mark ye) that any one could do, but takesa gentleman of penetration.--But it sticks in my head your lawyer-manwill be somewhat wearying to see me," says Alan.
Accordingly I cried and waved on Mr. Rankeillor, who came up alone andwas presented to my friend Mr. Thomson.
"Mr. Thomson, I am pleased to meet you," said he. "But I have forgottenmy glasses; and our friend Mr. David here" (clapping me on the shoulder)"will tell you that I am little better than blind, and that you must notbe surprised if I pass you by to-morrow."
This he said, thinking that Alan would be pleased; but the Highlandman'svanity was ready to startle at a less matter than that.
"Why, sir," says he stiffly, "I would say it mattered the less as we aremet here for a particular end, to see justice done to Mr. Balfour; andby what I can see, not very likely to have much else in common. But Iaccept your apology, which was a very proper one to make."
"And that is more than I could look for, Mr. Thomson," said Rankeillorheartily. "And now as you and I are the chief actors in this enterprise,I think we should come into a nice agreement; to which end, I proposethat you should lend me your arm, for (what with the dusk and the wantof my glasses) I am not very clear as to the path; and as for you, Mr.David, you will find Torrance a pleasant kind of body to speak with.Only let me remind you, it's quite needless he should hear more of youradventures or those of--ahem--Mr. Thomson."
Accordingly these two went on ahead in very close talk, and Torrance andI brought up the rear.
Night was quite come when we came in view of the house of Shaws. Ten hadbeen gone some time; it was dark and mild, with a pleasant, rustlingwind in the south-west that covered the sound of our approach; as wedrew near we saw no glimmer of light in any portion of the building. Itseemed my uncle was already in bed, which was indeed the best thing forour arrangements. We made our last whispered consultation some fiftyyards away; and then the lawyer and Torrance and I crept quietly up andcrouched down beside the corner of the house, and as soon as we were inour places Alan strode to the door without concealment and began toknock.