Redgauntlet: A Tale Of The Eighteenth Century

I could only atone for the alleged offence by fetching her some refreshment, of which she readily partook.

‘I have been lucky in my partners,’ I said, ‘first that pretty young lady, and then you, Mrs. Martin.’

‘Hout wi’ your fleeching,’ said Dame Martin. ‘Gae wa – gae wa, lad; dinna blaw in folk’s lugs that gate; me and Miss Lilias even’d thegither! Na, na, lad – od, she is maybe four or five years younger than the like o’ me, – bye and attour her gentle havings.’

‘She is the laird’s daughter?’ said I, in as careless a tone of inquiry as I could assume.

‘His daughter, man? Na, na, only his niece – and sib aneugh to him, I think.’

‘Aye, indeed,’ I replied; ‘I thought she had borne his name?’

‘She bears her ain name, and that’s Lilias.’

‘And has she no other name?’ asked I.

‘What needs she another till she gets a gudeman?’ answered my Thetis, a little miffed perhaps – to use the women’s phrase – that I turned the conversation upon my former partner, rather than addressed it to herself.

There was a little pause, which was interrupted by Dame Martin observing, ‘They are standing up again.’

‘True,’ said I, having no mind to renew my late violent CAPRIOLE, and I must go help old Willie.’

Ere I could extricate myself, I heard poor Thetis address herself to a sort of merman in a jacket of seaman’s blue, and a pair of trousers (whose hand, by the way, she had rejected at an earlier part of the evening) and intimate that she was now disposed to take a trip.

‘Trip away, then, dearie,’ said the vindictive man of the waters, without offering his hand; ‘there,’ pointing to the floor, ‘is a roomy berth for you.’

Certain I had made one enemy, and perhaps two, I hastened to my original seat beside Willie, and began to handle my bow. But I could see that my conduct had made an unfavourable impression; the words, ‘flory conceited chap,’ – ‘hafflins gentle,’ and at length, the still more alarming epithet of ‘spy,’ began to be buzzed about, and I was heartily glad when the apparition of Sam’s visage at the door, who was already possessed of and draining a can of punch, gave me assurance that my means of retreat were at hand. I intimated as much to Willie, who probably had heard more of the murmurs of the company than I had, for he whispered, ‘Aye, aye, – awa wi’ ye – ower lang here – slide out canny – dinna let them see ye are on the tramp.’

I slipped half a guinea into the old man’s hand, who answered, ‘Truts pruts! nonsense but I ‘se no refuse, trusting ye can afford it. Awa wi’ ye – and if ony body stops ye, cry on me.’

I glided, by his advice, along the room as if looking for a partner, joined Sam, whom I disengaged with some difficulty from his can, and we left the cottage together in a manner to attract the least possible observation. The horses were tied in a neighbouring shed, and as the moon was up, and I was now familiar with the road, broken and complicated as it is, we soon reached the Shepherd’s Bush, where the old landlady was sitting up waiting for us, under some anxiety of mind, to account for which she did not hesitate to tell me that some folks had gone to Brokenburn from her house, or neighbouring towns, that did not come so safe back again. ‘Wandering Willie,’ she said, ‘was doubtless a kind of protection.’

Here Willie’s wife, who was smoking in the chimney corner, took up the praises of her ‘hinnie,’ as she called him, and endeavoured to awaken my generosity afresh, by describing the dangers from which, as she was pleased to allege, her husband’s countenance had assuredly been the means of preserving me. I was not, however, to be fooled out of more money at this time, and went to bed in haste, full of vanous cogitations.

I have since spent a couple of days betwixt Mount Sharon and this place, and betwixt reading, writing to thee this momentous history, forming plans for seeing the lovely Lilias, and – partly, I think, for the sake of contradiction – angling a little in spite of Joshua’a scruples – though I am rather liking the amusement better as I begin to have some success in it.

And now, my dearest Alan, you are in full possession of my secret – let me as frankly into the recesses of your bosom. How do you feel towards this fair ignis fatuus, this lily of the desert? Tell me honestly; for however the recollection of her may haunt my own mind, my love for Alan Fairford surpasses the love of woman, I know, too, that when you DO love, it will be to

Love once and love no more.

A deep-consuming passion, once kindled in a breast so steady as yours, would never be extinguished but with life. I am of another and more volatile temper, and though I shall open your next with a trembling hand and uncertain heart, yet let it bring a frank confession that this fair unknown has made a deeper impression on your gravity than you reckoned for, and you will see I can tear the arrow from my own wound, barb and all. In the meantime, though I have formed schemes once more to see her, I will, you may rely on it, take no step for putting them into practice. I have refrained from this hitherto, and I give you my word of honour, I shall continue to do so; yet why should you need any further assurance from one who is so entirely yours as D.L.

PS. – I shall be on thorns till I receive your answer. I read, and re-read your letter, and cannot for my soul discover what your real sentiments are. Sometimes I think you write of her as one in jest – and sometimes I think that cannot be. Put me at ease as soon as possible.

LETTER XIII

ALAN FAIRFORD TO DARSIE LATIMER

I write on the instant, as you direct; and in a tragi-comic humour, for I have a tear in my eye and a smile on my cheek. Dearest Darsie, sure never a being but yourself could be so generous – sure never a being but yourself could be so absurd! I remember when you were a boy you wished to make your fine new whip a present to old Aunt Peggy, merely because she admired it; and now, with like unreflecting and inappropriate liberality, you would resign your beloved to a smoke-dried young sophister, who cares not one of the hairs which it is his occupation to split, for all the daughters of Eve. I in love with your Lilias – your Green Mantle – your unknown enchantress! – why I scarce saw her for five minutes, and even then only the tip of her chin was distinctly visible. She was well made, and the tip of her chin was of a most promising cast for the rest of the face; but, Heaven save you! she came upon business! and for a lawyer to fall in love with a pretty client on a single consultation, would be as wise as if he became enamoured of a particularly bright sunbeam which chanced for a moment to gild his bar-wig. I give you my word I am heart-whole and moreover, I assure you, that before I suffer a woman to sit near my heart’s core, I must see her full face, without mask or mantle, aye, and know a good deal of her mind into the bargain. So never fret yourself on my account, my kind and generous Darsie; but, for your own sake, have a care and let not an idle attachment, so lightly taken up, lead you into serious danger.

On this subject I feel so apprehensive, that now when I am decorated with the honours of the gown, I should have abandoned my career at the very starting to come to you, but for my father having contrived to clog my heels with fetters of a professional nature. I will tell you the matter at length, for it is comical enough; and why should not you list to my juridical adventures, as well as I to those of your fiddling knight-errantry?

It was after dinner, and I was considering how I might best introduce to my father the private resolution I had formed to set off for Dumfriesshire, or whether I had not better run away at once, and plead my excuse by letter, when, assuming the peculiar look with which he communicates any of his intentions respecting me, that he suspects may not be altogether acceptable, ‘Alan,’ he said, ‘ye now wear a gown – ye have opened shop, as we would say of a more mechanical profession; and, doubtless, ye think the floor of the courts is strewed with guineas, and that ye have only to stoop down to gather them?’

‘I hope I am sensible, sir,’ I replied, ‘that I have some knowledge and practice to acquire, and must stoop for that in the first place.’

‘It is well said,’ answered my father; and, always afraid to give too much encouragement, added, ‘Very well said, if it be well acted up to – Stoop to get knowledge and practice is the very word. Ye know very well, Alan, that in the other faculty who study the ARS MEDENDI, before the young doctor gets to the bedsides of palaces, he must, as they call it, walk the hospitals; and cure Lazarus of his sores, before he be admitted to prescribe for Dives, when he has gout or indigestion’ —

‘I am aware, sir, that’ —

‘Whisht – do not interrupt the court. Well – also the chirurgeons have a useful practice, by which they put their apprentices and tyrones to work; upon senseless dead bodies, to which, as they can do no good, so they certainly can do as little harm; while at the same time the tyro, or apprentice, gains experience, and becomes fit to whip off a leg or arm from a living subject, as cleanly as ye would slice an onion.’

‘I believe I guess your meaning, sir,’ answered I; ‘and were it not for a very particular engagement’ —

‘Do not speak to me of engagements; but whisht – there is a good lad – and do not interrupt the court.’

My father, you know, is apt – be it said with all filial duty – to be a little prolix in his harangues. I had nothing for it but to lean back and listen.

‘Maybe you think, Alan, because I have, doubtless, the management of some actions in dependence, whilk my worthy clients have intrusted me with, that I may think of airting them your way INSTANTER; and so setting you up in practice, so far as my small business or influence may go; and, doubtless, Alan, that is a day whilk I hope may come round. But then, before I give, as the proverb hath it, “My own fish-guts to my own sea-maws,” I must, for the sake of my own character, be very sure that my sea-maw can pick them to some purpose. What say ye?’

‘I am so far,’ answered I, ‘from wishing to get early into practice, sir, that I would willingly bestow a few days’ —

‘In further study, ye would say, Alan. But that is not the way either – ye must walk the hospitals – ye must cure Lazarus – ye must cut and carve on a departed subject, to show your skill.’

‘I am sure,’ I replied, ‘I will undertake the cause of any poor man with pleasure, and bestow as much pains upon it as if it were a duke’s; but for the next two or three days’ —

‘They must be devoted to close study, Alan – very close study indeed; for ye must stand primed for a hearing, IN PRESENTIA DOMINORUM, upon Tuesday next.’

‘I, sir?’ I replied in astonishment – ‘I have not opened my mouth in the Outer House yet!’

‘Never mind the court of the Gentiles, man,’ said my father; ‘we will have you into the Sanctuary at once – over shoes, over boots.’

‘But, sir, I should really spoil any cause thrust on me so hastily.’

‘Ye cannot spoil it, Alan,’ said my father, rubbing his hands with much complacency; ‘that is the very cream of the business, man – it is just, as I said before, a subject upon whilk all the TYRONES have been trying their whittles for fifteen years; and as there have been about ten or a dozen agents concerned, and each took his own way, the case is come to that pass, that Stair or Amiston could not mend it; and I do not think even you, Alan, can do it much harm – ye may get credit by it, but ye can lose none.’

‘And pray what is the name of my happy client, sir?’ said I, ungraciously enough, I believe.

‘It is a well-known name in the Parliament House,’ replied my father. ‘To say the truth, I expect him every moment; it is Peter Peebles.’ [See Note 4.]

‘Peter Peebles!’ exclaimed I, in astonishment; ‘he is an insane beggar – as poor as Job, and as mad as a March hare!’

‘He has been pleaing in the court for fifteen years,’ said my father, in a tone of commiseration, which seemed to acknowledge that this fact was enough to account for the poor man’s condition both in mind and circumstances.

‘Besides, sir,’ I added, ‘he is on the Poor’s Roll; and you know there are advocates regularly appointed to manage those cases; and for me to presume to interfere’ —

‘Whisht, Alan! – never interrupt the court – all THAT is managed for ye like a tee’d ball’ (my father sometimes draws his similes from his once favourite game of golf); ‘you must know, Alan, that Peter’s cause was to have been opened by young Dumtoustie – ye may ken the lad, a son of Dumtoustie of that ilk, member of Parliament for the county of – , and a nephew of the laird’s younger brother, worthy Lord Bladderskate, whilk ye are aware sounds as like being akin to a peatship [Formerly, a lawyer, supposed to be under the peculiar patronage of any particular judge, was invidiously termed his PEAT or PET.] and a sheriffdom, as a sieve is sib to a riddle. Now, Peter Drudgeit, my lord’s clerk, came to me this morning in the House, like ane bereft of his wits; for it seems that young Dumtoustie is ane of the Poor’s lawyers, and Peter Peebles’s process had been remitted to him of course. But so soon as the harebrained goose saw the pokes [Process-bags.] (as indeed, Alan, they are none of the least) he took fright, called for his nag, lap on, and away to the country is he gone; and so? said Peter, my lord is at his wit’s end wi’ vexation, and shame, to see his nevoy break off the course at the very starting. “I’ll tell you, Peter,” said I, “were I my lord, and a friend or kinsman of mine should leave the town while the court was sitting, that kinsman, or be he what he liked, should never darken my door again.” And then, Alan, I thought to turn the ball our own way; and I said that you were a gey sharp birkie, just off the irons, and if it would oblige my lord, and so forth, you would open Peter’s cause on Tuesday, and make some handsome apology for the necessary absence of your learned friend, and the loss which your client and the court had sustained, and so forth. Peter lap at the proposition like a cock at a grossart; for, he said, the only chance was to get a new hand, that did not ken the charge he was taking upon him; for there was not a lad of two sessions’ standing that was not dead-sick of Peter Peebles and his cause; and he advised me to break the matter gently to you at the first; but I told him you were, a good bairn, Alan, and had no will and pleasure in these matters but mine.’

What could I say, Darsie, in answer to this arrangement, so very well meant – so very vexatious at the same time? To imitate the defection and flight of young Dumtoustie, was at once to destroy my father’s hopes of me for ever; nay, such is the keenness with which he regards all connected with his profession, it might have been a step to breaking his heart. I was obliged, therefore, to bow in sad acquiescence, when my father called to James Wilkinson to bring the two bits of pokes he would find on his table.