White Heather: A Novel (Volume 2 of 3)

'Weel ye may say that, Katie,' whined the old woman. 'There never was such a manager as you – never. Ay, and the splendid furniture – it was never thought o' in his time – bless 'm! A good man he was, and a kind man; but no the manager you are, Katie; there's no such another tavern in a' Glesca.'

Now although the cousinship with Ronald claimed by Mrs. Menzies did not exist in actual fact, – there was some kind of remote relationship, however, – still, it must be confessed that it was very ungrateful and inconstant of him to have let the fate and fortunes of the pretty Kate Burnside (as she was in former days) so entirely vanish from his mind and memory. Kate Burnside was the daughter of a small farmer in the Lammermuir district; and the Strangs and Burnsides were neighbours as well as remotely related by blood. But that was not the only reason why Ronald ought to have remembered a little more about the stalwart, black-eyed, fresh-cheeked country wench who, though she was some seven or eight years or more his senior, he had boldly chosen for his sweetheart in his juvenile days. Nay, had she not been the first inspirer of his muse; and had he not sung this ox-eyed goddess in many a laboured verse, carefully constructed after the manner of Tannahill or Motherwell or Allan Cunningham? The 'lass of Lammer Law' he called her in these artless strains; and Kate was far from resenting this frank devotion; nay, she even treasured up the verses in which her radiant beauties were enumerated; for why should not a comely East Lothian wench take pleasure in being told that her cheeks outshone the rose, and that the 'darts o' her bonnie black een' had slain their thousands, and that her faithful lover would come to see her, ay, though the Himalayas barred his way? But then, alas! – as happens in the world – the faithful lover was sent off into far neighbourhoods to learn the art and mystery of training pointers and setters; and Kate's father died, and the family dispersed from the farm; Kate went into service in Glasgow, and there she managed to capture the affections of an obese and elderly publican whom – she being a prudent and sensible kind of a creature – she forthwith married; by and by, through partaking too freely of his own wares, he considerately died, leaving her in sole possession of the tavern (he had called it a public-house, but she soon changed all that, and the place too, when she was established as its mistress); and now she was a handsome, buxom, firm-nerved woman, who could and did look well after her own affairs; who had a flourishing business, a comfortable bank account, and a sufficiency of friends of her own way of thinking; and whose raven-black hair did not as yet show a single streak of gray. It was all this latter part of Kate Burnside's – or rather, Mrs. Menzies's – career of which Ronald was so shamefully ignorant; but she speedily gave him enough information about herself as they drove through the gas-lit streets, for she was a voluble, high-spirited woman, who could make herself heard when she chose.

'Ay,' said she, at length, 'and where have ye left the good wife, Ronald?'

'What goodwife?' said he.

'Ye dinna tell me that you're no married yet?'

'Not that I know of,' said he.

'What have ye been about, man? Ye were aye daft about the lasses; and ye no married yet? What have ye been about, man, to let them a' escape ye?'

'Some folk have other things to think of,' said he evasively.

'Dinna tell me,' she retorted. 'I ken weel what's upper-most in the mind o' a handsome lad like you. Weel, if ye're no married, ye're the next door to it, I'll be bound. What's she like?'

'I'll tell ye when I find her,' said he drily.

'Ye're a dark one; but I'll find ye out, my man.'

She could not continue the conversation, for they were about to cross the bridge over the Clyde, and the congested traffic made her careful. And then again Jamaica Street was crowded and difficult to steer through; but presently she left that for a quieter thoroughfare leading off to the right; and in a few moments she had pulled up in front of a large tavern, close by a spacious archway.

'Auntie, gang you and fetch Alec to take the cob round, will ye?' said she; and then Ronald, surmising that she had now reached home, leapt to the ground, and went to the horse's head. Presently the groom appeared, and Kate Menzies descended from her chariot.

Now in Glasgow, for an establishment of this kind to be popular, it must have a side entrance – the more the merrier, indeed – by which people can get into the tavern without being seen; but besides this it soon appeared that Mrs. Menzies had a private right of way of her own. She bade Ronald follow her; she went through the archway; produced a key and opened a door; and then, passing along a short lobby, he found himself in what might be regarded as the back parlour of the public-house, but was in reality a private room reserved by Mrs. Menzies for herself and her intimate friends. And a very brilliant little apartment it was; handsomely furnished and shining with stained wood, plate glass, and velvet; the gas-jets all aglow in the clear globes; the table in the middle laid with a white cloth for supper, all sparkling with crystal and polished electro-plate. Moreover (for business is business) this luxurious little den commanded at will complete views of the front premises; and there was also a door leading thither; but the door was shut, and the red blinds were drawn over the two windows, so that the room looked quite like one in a private dwelling.

'And now, my good woman,' said Mrs. Menzies, as she threw her hat and cloak and dog-skin gloves into a corner, 'just you mak' them hurry up wi' supper; for we're just home in time; and we'll want another place at the table. And tell Jeannie there's a great friend o' mine come in, if she can get anything special – Lord's sake, Ronald, if I had kent I was going to fall in with you I would have looked after it mysel'.'

'Ye need not bother about me,' said he, 'for supper is not much in my way – not since I came to the town. Without the country air, I think one would as lief not sit down to a table at all.'

'Oh, I can cure ye o' that complaint,' she said confidently; and she rang the bell.

Instantly the door was opened, and he caught a glimpse of a vast palatial-looking place, with more stained wood and plate glass and velvet, and with several smartly-dressed young ladies standing or moving behind the long mahogany counters; moreover, one of these – a tall and serious-eyed maiden – now stood at the partly opened door.

'Gin and bitters, Mary,' said Mrs. Menzies briskly – she was at this moment standing in front of one of the mirrors, complacently smoothing her hair with her hands, and setting to rights her mannish little necktie.

The serious-eyed handmaiden presently reappeared, bringing a small salver, on which was a glass filled with some kind of a fluid, which she presented to him.

'What's this?' said he, appealing to his hostess.

'Drink it and find out,' said she; 'it'll make ye jump wi' hunger, as the Hielanman said.'

He did as he was bid; and loudly she laughed at the wry face that he made.

'What's the matter?'

'It's a devil of a kind of thing, that,' said he; for it was a first experience.

'Ay, but wait till ye find how hungry it will make ye,' she answered; and then she returned from the mirror. 'And I'm sure ye'll no mind my hair being a wee thing camstrairy, Ronald; there's no need for ceremony between auld freens, as the saying is – '

'But, look here, Katie, my lass,' said he – for perhaps he was a little emboldened by that fiery fluid, 'I'm thinking that maybe I'm making myself just a little too much at home. Now, some other time, when ye've no company, I'll come in and see ye – '

But she cut him short at once, and with some pride.

'Indeed, I'll tell ye this, that the day that Ronald Strang comes into my house – and into my own house too – that's no the day that he's gaun out o't without eating and drinking. Ma certes, no! And as for company, why there's none but auld mother Paterson – I ca' her auntie; but she's no more my auntie than you are – ye see, my man, Ronald, a poor, unprotected helpless widow woman maun look after appearances – for the world's unco given to leein', as Shakespeare says. There, Ronald, that's another thing,' she added suddenly – 'ye'll take me to the theatre! – my word, we'll have a box!'

But these gay visions were interrupted by the reappearance of Mrs. Paterson, who was followed by a maidservant bearing a dish on which was a large sole, smoking hot. Indeed, it soon became apparent that this was to be a very elaborate banquet, such as Ronald was not at all familiar with; and all the care and flattering attention his hostess could pay him she paid him, laughing and joking with him, and insisting on his having the very best of everything, and eager to hand things to him – even if she rather ostentatiously displayed her abundant rings in doing so. And when mother Paterson said —

'What will ye drink, Katie dear? Some ale – or some porter?'

The other stormily answered —

'Get out, ye daft auld wife! Ale or porter the first day that my cousin Ronald comes into my own house? Champagne's the word, woman; and the best! What will ye have, Ronald – what brand do ye like? – Moett and Shandon?'

Ronald laughed.

'What do I know about such things?' said he. 'And besides, there's no reason for such extravagance. There's been no stag killed the day.'

'There's been no stag killed the day,' she retorted, 'but Ronald Strang's come into my house, and he'll have the best that's in it, or my name's no Kate Burnside – or Kate Menzies, I should say, God forgie me! Ring the bell, auntie.'

This time the grave-eyed barmaid appeared.

'A bottle of Moett and Shandon, Mary.'

'A pint bottle, m'm?'

'A pint bottle – ye stupid idiot?' she said (but quite good-naturedly). 'A quart bottle, of course!'

And then when the bottle was brought and the glasses filled, she said —

'Here's your health, Ronald; and right glad am I to see you looking so weel – ye were aye a bonnie laddie, and ye've kept the promise o't – ay, indeed, the whole o' you Strangs were a handsome family – except your brother Andrew, maybe – '

'Do ye ever see Andrew?' Ronald said; for a modest man does not like to have his looks discussed, even in the most flattering way.

Then loudly laughed Kate Menzies.

'Me? Me gang and see the Reverend Andrew Strang? No fears! He's no one o' my kind. He'd drive me out o' the house wi' bell, book, and candle. I hae my ain friends, thank ye – and I'm going to number you amongst them so long as ye stop in this town. Auntie, pass the bottle to Ronald!'

And so the banquet proceeded – a roast fowl and bacon, an apple-tart, cheese and biscuits and what not following in due succession; and all the time she was learning more and more of the life that Ronald had led since he had left the Lothians, and freely she gave him of her confidences in return. On one point she was curiously inquisitive, and that was as to whether he had not been in some entanglement with one or other of the Highland lasses up there in Sutherlandshire; and there was a considerable amount of joking on that subject, which Ronald bore good-naturedly enough; finding it on the whole the easier way to let her surmises have free course.

'But ye're a dark one!' she said at length. 'And ye would hae me believe that a strapping fellow like you hasna had the lasses rinnin' after him? I'm no sae daft.'

'I'll tell ye what it is, Katie,' he retorted, 'the lasses in the Highlands have their work to look after; they dinna live a' in clover, like the Glasgow dames.'

'Dinna tell me – dinna tell me,' she said.

And now, as supper was over and the table cleared, she went to a small mahogany cabinet and opened it.