The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson – Swanston Edition. Volume 15

Brodie. Because I’ve spent the trust-money, and I can’t refund it.

Lawson. Ye reprobate deevil!

Brodie. Have a care, Procurator. No wry words!

Lawson. Do you say it to my face, sir? Dod, sir, I’m the Crown Prosecutor.

Brodie. Right. The Prosecutor for the Crown. And where did you get your brandy?

Lawson. Eh?

Brodie. Your brandy! Your brandy, man! Where do you get your brandy? And you a Crown official and an elder!

Lawson. Whaur the deevil did ye hear that?

Brodie. Rogues all! Rogues all, Procurator!

Lawson. Ay, ay. Lord save us! Guidsake, to think o’ that noo!.. Can ye give me some o’ that Cognac? I’m … I’m sort o’ shaken, William, I’m sort o’ shaken. Thank you, William! (Looking piteously at glass.) Nunc est bibendum. (Drinks.) Troth, I’m set ajee a bit. Wha the deevil tauld ye?

Brodie. Ask no questions, brother. We are a pair.

Lawson. Pair, indeed! Pair, William Brodie! Upon my saul, sir, ye’re a brazen-faced man that durst say it to my face! Tak’ you care, my bonnie young man, that your craig doesna feel the wecht o’ your hurdies. Keep the plainstanes side o’ the gallows. Via trita, via tuta, William Brodie!

Brodie. And the brandy, Procurator? and the brandy?

Lawson. Ay … weel … be’t sae! Let the brandy bide, man, let the brandy bide! But for you and the trust-money … damned! It’s felony. Tutor in rem suam, ye ken, tutor in rem suam. But O man, Deacon, whaur is the siller?

Brodie. It’s gone – O how the devil should I know? But it’ll never come back.

Lawson. Dear, dear! A’ gone to the winds o’ heaven! Sae ye’re an extravagant dog, too. Prodigus et furiosus! And that puir lass – eh, Deacon, man, that puir lass! I mind her such a bonnie bairn.

Brodie (stopping his ears). Brandy, brandy, brandy, brandy, brandy!

Lawson. William Brodie, mony’s the long day that I’ve believed in you; prood, prood was I to be the Deacon’s uncle; and a sore hearing have I had of it the day. That’s past; that’s past like Flodden Field; it’s an auld sang noo, and I’m an aulder man than when I crossed your door. But mark ye this – mark ye this, William Brodie, I may be no’ sae guid’s I should be; but there’s no’ a saul between the east sea and the wast can lift his een to God that made him, and say I wranged him as ye wrang that lassie. I bless God, William Brodie – ay, though he was like my brother – I bless God that he that got ye has the hand of death upon his hearing, and can win into his grave a happier man than me. And ye speak to me, sir? Think shame – think shame upon your heart!

Brodie. Rogues all!

Lawson. You’re the son of my sister, William Brodie. Mair than that I stop not to inquire. If the siller is spent, and the honour tint – Lord help us, and the honour tint! – sae be it, I maun bow the head. Ruin shallna come by me. Na, and I’ll say mair, William; we have a’ our weary sins upon our backs, and maybe I have mair than mony. But, man, if ye could bring half the jointure … (potius quam pereas) … for your mither’s son? Na? You couldna bring the half? Weel, weel, it’s a sair heart I have this day, a sair heart and a weary. If I were a better man mysel’ … but there, there, it’s a sair heart that I have gotten. And the Lord kens I’ll help ye if I can. (Potius quam pereas.) (He goes out.)

SCENE V

Brodie. Sore hearing, does he say? My hand’s wet. But it’s victory. Shall it be go? or stay? (I should show them all I can, or they may pry closer than they ought.) Shall I have it out and be done with it? To see Mary at once (to carry bastion after bastion at the charge) – there were the true safety after all! Hurry – hurry’s the road to silence now. Let them once get tattling in their parlours, and it’s death to me. For I’m in a cruel corner now. I’m down, and I shall get my kicking soon and soon enough. I began it in the lust of life, in a hey-day of mystery and adventure. I felt it great to be a bolder, craftier rogue than the drowsy citizen that called himself my fellow-man. (It was meat and drink to know him in the hollow of my hand, hoarding that I and mine might squander, pinching that we might wax fat.) It was in the laughter of my heart that I tip-toed into his greasy privacy. I forced the strong-box at his ear while he sprawled beside his wife. He was my butt, my ape, my jumping-jack. And now … O fool, fool! (Duped by such knaves as are a shame to knavery, crime’s rabble, hell’s tatterdemalions!) Shorn to the quick! Rooked to my vitals! And I must thieve for my daily bread like any crawling blackguard in the gutter. And my sister … my kind, innocent sister! She will come smiling to me with her poor little love-story, and I must break her heart. Broken hearts, broken lives!.. I should have died before.

SCENE VI

Brodie, Mary

Mary (tapping without). Can I come in, Will?

Brodie. O yes, come in, come in! (Mary enters.) I wanted to be quiet, but it doesn’t matter, I see. You women are all the same.

Mary. O no, Will, they’re not all so happy, and they’re not all Brodies. But I’ll be a woman in one thing. For I’ve come to claim your promise, dear; and I’m going to be petted and comforted and made much of, although I don’t need it, and… Why, Will, what’s wrong with you? You look … I don’t know what you look like.

Brodie. O nothing! A splitting head and an aching heart. Well! you’ve come to speak to me. Speak up. What is it? Come, girl! What is it? Can’t you speak?

Mary. Why, Will, what is the matter?

Brodie. I thought you had come to tell me something. Here I am. For God’s sake out with it, and don’t stand beating about the bush.

Mary. O be kind, be kind to me.

Brodie. Kind? I am kind. I’m only ill and worried, can’t you see? Whimpering? I knew it! Sit down, you goose! Where do you women get your tears?

Mary. Why are you so cross with me? O, Will, you have forgot your sister! Remember, dear, that I have nobody but you. It’s your own fault, Will, if you’ve taught me to come to you for kindness, for I always found it. And I mean you shall be kind to me again. I know you will, for this is my great need, and the day I’ve missed my mother sorest. Just a nice look, dear, and a soft tone in your voice, to give me courage, for I can tell you nothing till I know that you’re my own brother once again.

Brodie. If you’d take a hint, you’d put it off until to-morrow. But I suppose you won’t. On, then, I’m listening. I’m listening!

Mary. Mr. Leslie has asked me to be his wife.

Brodie. He has, has he?

Mary. And I have consented.

Brodie. And…?

Mary. You can say that to me? And that is all you have to say?

Brodie. O no, not all.

Mary. Speak out, sir. I am not afraid.

Brodie. I suppose you want my consent?

Mary. Can you ask?

Brodie. I didn’t know. You seem to have got on pretty well without it so far.

Mary. O shame on you! shame on you!

Brodie. Perhaps you may be able to do without it altogether. I hope so. For you’ll never have it… Mary! … I hate to see you look like that. If I could say anything else, believe me, I would say it. But I have said all; every word is spoken; there’s the end.

Mary. It shall not be the end. You owe me explanation; and I’ll have it.

Brodie. Isn’t my “No” enough, Mary?

Mary. It might be enough for me; but it is not, and it cannot be, enough for him. He has asked me to be his wife; he tells me his happiness is in my hands – poor hands, but they shall not fail him, if my poor heart should break! If he has chosen and set his hopes upon me, of all women in the world, I shall find courage somewhere to be worthy of the choice. And I dare you to leave this room until you tell me all your thoughts – until you prove that this is good and right.

Brodie. Good and right? They are strange words, Mary. I mind the time when it was good and right to be your father’s daughter and your brother’s sister… Now!..