Chapter VIII: Malcolm's Prospects

It is the mission of the morning to clear the air, and next morning things looked brighter. The sun shone out gloriously, and the air was soft and balmy as a child's kiss.

Isla slept late and rather heavily after a restless night, and she was horrified when she awakened with a start to find that it was nine o'clock. She sprang up, threw her window open to the sun, and leaned over it for a moment to inhale the delicious breath of the morning. She had taken one of the attic rooms for her own, Margaret Maclaren occupying the other one, while Diarmid had made shift with a bed in his pantry.

The attics had storm-windows on the roof, from which you could see across the angle of the Moor and get a glimpse of Glenogle. Also from that high coign of vantage there was a fascinating view of Ben Voirlich, on whose peak still rested the cap of morning mist. But all the little hills huddled around and below were clear, and the day gave promise of being fine.

Margaret, who had been up twice to the door, now appeared with her hot water.

"So glad you had a good rest, Miss Isla. I thought you looked terrible tired last night. The General is still sleeping. Diarmid says he has hardly moved all night."

"Oh, I am glad of that--and Mr. Malcolm?"

"Been out since the back of six and had his porridge with Diarmid and me," answered Margaret proudly. "Now he is asking for his breakfast and inquiring when you are coming down."

"Serve the breakfast. I'll be as quick as I can," said Isla.

She plunged into her dressing with a will. When she got down to the dining-room she found Malcolm in a tweed knicker-bocker suit, discussing the Loch trout that had been sent up from the hotel with Miss Macdougall's compliments.

"I'm surprised at you, Isla. I thought you would have been down at six anyway, giving us all points," he said gaily. "I've been up for two hours and a half and had a tramp across the Moor. It was glorious. Seen father?"

"Yes, he's just waking up after a good night"

"He doesn't come down to breakfast?"

"No. Diarmid is taking it to him now."

She passed round to her place at the tray, and Malcolm admired her trim figure with its slender, well-belted waist, the poise of her head, the glint of her hair, and the clear red-and-white of her complexion.

"You look better here than you did in London, Isla. London doesn't suit you, and that old black frock you had on at Aunt Jean's in the evening was an unbecoming rag, if you'll excuse me for saying it. You could wear vivid colours. I'd like to see you in emerald green--shimmery soft stuff, don't you know?--with trailing draperies round you?"

Isla laughed outright.

"I'm afraid the chances of that are small. The old black rag has been my only evening frock since you went away, and I believe I've had it on only about half a dozen times."

"Poor old girl, what a shame that it can't get pretty clothes! Now, if I were you I'd have them. By Jove, I would, and let pay who will."

"Yes, I know," she answered quietly. "But I've got into the habit of paying for my clothes before I wear them. Well, what are you going to do to-day?"

"Well, the first thing undoubtedly is to rig up a horse and trap of some kind. I'll go down to Lochearn presently--on my feet, that haven't done much walking of late, you bet, and see whether Miss Macdougall can fix me up. It's quite obvious that Creagh isn't livable in unless one is provided with some means of escape from it. What about the post? Do the old primitive arrangements still hold good?--half the day gone before the bag comes in?"

"It's half-past twelve before the postman gets here. I generally walk as far as Little Shuan to meet him."

"I'll get farther than that this morning--probably all the way," he said. "What are you to be about? I suppose you have things to see to in the house after having been away?"

"Yes," said Isla. "I want you to be careful about the letters while you are here, Malcolm. There are only some my father cares to see, and even these do not always interest him. But he has gleams of comprehension and of most disconcerting clearness of vision. Dr. Blair says it is most imperative that he should not have a shock of any kind, however small, and in the last year I have been keeping almost everything back from him. He grasps one bit of a thing, you see, and confuses the rest, and so might very easily work himself up into a state about nothing."

"I understand," said Malcolm. "So, between us, we have to keep him in the dark. That's what it amounts to, I suppose."

Isla nodded. "I hate to see it, but it does amount to that."

"I'll make a note of it. But, now that I'm home, the chief cause of anxiety may perhaps be removed," he said airily. "Well, I'll go, and don't keep my luncheon for me. If I want anything I'll drop in at the hotel. It's possible that I may call at Achree as I come up. Of course it is necessary that I meet this American chap and have a talk with him."

"I suppose so, but you can't do anything, Malcolm, even if you see things you don't like at Achree. He has paid the half of his money."

"And where is it."

"In the Bank at Callander, in my name."

Malcolm whistled.

"Rather high-handed, isn't it, Isla?"

"There wasn't anything else to be done. Father can sign cheques, of course, but I banked Mr. Rosmead's money in my name on Mr. Cattanach's advice."

"But surely now you'll let me take over the business part of the show, Isla?"

He pushed back his chair and took out his cigarette case as he put the question.

Isla looked uncomfortable, and her face even paled a little. She hated the position in which she was placed, but past experience had shown her the folly of trusting Malcolm in money matters. He had certainly not the money-sense nor yet the sense of honour where money was concerned.

"I don't think I can do that, Malcolm. Remember, it is all the money that we have to live on until the rents become due again at Martinmas."

"Don't any of them pay now?"

"One or two--Roderick Duncan and the farmer at Little Shuan. But these are crofts, their rent amounting to only a few pounds."

Having lit his cigarette, Malcolm proceeded to turn out his pockets.

"A few coppers, some Indian coins, and two half-sovereigns!" he said ruefully. "I'm stonybroke, Isla. Have I to come to you for the few pence that I shall need in the Glen? By Gad I can't do that! I must speak to the governor about it."

Isla's face reddened where it had been pale before.

"It's a horrible situation," she said almost passionately. "But don't you see I can't help it? It isn't my doing. Since you left we have lived on next to nothing at Achree. We haven't bought any butcher's meat hardly, but have had rabbits and fowls and game of our own killing and the everlasting trout. I never get any new clothes, as you have already observed and remarked upon."

"But now that the American has paid you should be a little rougher."

"I'm going to save that money to pay off the mortgage and the--the other money you owe," she said quite quietly, and he had no idea what fires blazed beneath that calm exterior. "You'll have to find something to do, Malcolm, and that soon. You must see that for yourself."

"I see that I'm to have a jolly rotten time here," he said gloomily. "I must write to Cattanach and tell him to look out an agent's place of some kind for me."

"But you don't know anything about land or estate management, Malcolm."

"I know as much as some of the fellows of my acquaintance who fill fat billets. Meanwhile, I simply must have a fiver, Isla. I shan't spend it, but a fellow can't go about with empty pockets."

She rose and, unlocking the old bureau, counted out five sovereigns from the little cash-box in the secret drawer. He took them without shame and even with a twinkle in his eye.

"Pay Saturday! Well, good-bye, old girl. I'll go out on the hunt and see whether I have any luck. I don't mind telling you I'm rather building on this American chap. If he's a millionaire I must try and coax him to disburse a little in this direction. I'll ask him quite frankly whether he doesn't want a handyman about the place. I could take on that job and fill it to a T."

Isla did not demur, but her pride rose again in revolt at the thought of what Malcolm might do. She thought she did not wish to see anything more of the Americans. She would keep strictly to the letter of their bargain and leave them at Achree in peace. But if her observation was to any purpose she told herself that Malcolm would not make very much of Peter Rosmead, who was far too hard-headed a man to be taken in by his specious ways.

She had a good many uncomfortable moments during the day, however, while contemplating possible interviews between Malcolm and Rosmead, all of which fell short of the actual happening.

Malcolm went up to spend half an hour by his father's bedside, making himself so charming that the old man was full of it when Isla came to see how he was getting on.

Then he left the house and set off with a long swinging step to cover the distance between Creagh and Lochearn. He did not keep to the road. There was not a hill-path or a sheep-track in the district with which he had not been familiar since his boyhood. He came out just below Achree, deciding that he would go on to meet the post first and take it as he returned. About a quarter of a mile from the Lodge he met Donald Maclure driving some black-faced ewes in front of him, and he stopped to pass the time of day.

Donald was a large, slow man, with a stolid face and a shock of red hair sticking out from under his broad bonnet, and he presented a sharp contrast to his trig and sonsy wife. Indeed, many had wondered how Elspeth had ever come to marry him and, above all, who had done the courting, Donald being the most silent man in the whole of the glens.

"Hallo, Donald, how is the world using you?" cried Malcolm cheerily.

"No sae pad, Maister Malcolm," Donald was forced to answer. "I heard ye gae by last nicht--at least Elspeth did. She wass oot wavin' her hand."

"I must go in and give her a kiss for that--eh, Donald? Where are you taking that nice-looking herd to?"

"The other side of the little hill," answered Donald briefly.

"Coining money off the sheep--eh, Donald? It's you farmers who haul in the shekels in these days. What with taxes and reduced rents and what not, there's little left for the poor landlord. You needn't shake your head, my man. We'll thrash it out another day, however. But you can't get away from the fact that we can't afford to live in our own house."

Donald pulled his forelock and passed on with a mysterious Gaelic direction to the sheep-dog, which was attended with magical results. He was neither convinced nor deceived by Malcolm's small hints. He knew him of yore; also Elspeth, having the most perfect faith in her big, silent husband, had not failed to confide to him the true story of the Americans' coming to Achree.

A few steps further on Malcolm saw in the distance two ladies, walking together, with shepherds' crooks in their bare hands and with no hats upon their heads.

Their bearing and carriage at once riveted his keen interest. Wherever there was a petticoat Malcolm Mackinnon was interested, and these ladies were evidently strangers to the Glen.

One was very tall and slender, the other short in stature but neatly built, and both wore most workman-like country attire with a grace that he had never seen excelled.

As he came nearer the face of the taller of the two attracted him still more. It was exquisitely beautiful, being chiselled on pure classical lines, and the skin was soft and clear, the colour so pale and delicate, without giving the smallest suggestion of ill-health, that he had never seen anything like it. The abundant dark hair, slightly waved in front and worn simply parted over her ears, gave a look of Madonna-like simplicity to the face, which, to Malcolm's eyes, seemed most alluring.

The other was more ordinary, though her face had a certain piquant charm. He wondered who they were and whether he dared make any remark as they passed, but they solved the difficulty by bidding him a pleasant good morning.

Instantly his cap was in his hand, and he would have stopped, but they immediately passed on, evidently slightly surprised at his intention to detain them. He waited only until they were over the brow of the next little hill, and then he deliberately entered Donald Maclure's pasture and crept back after them in shadow of the few scanty trees and shrubs that lined the road--and all just to watch where they would go!

From the next hillock he could see the gate of Achree in the hollow, and, having waited sufficiently long, smoking another cigarette the while, he had the satisfaction of seeing them turn in at the Lodge. Then did an immense content steal over Malcolm Mackinnon. With two such charming inmates at Achree, life which had promised to be like a desert, suddenly began to blossom like the rose.

He hastened on without stopping at the farm-house to pass the time of day with Elspeth Maclure, and presently his attention was diverted by the sight of the new railway track which had gradually crept up the side of the Loch, and which was about to culminate in a big viaduct over the burn at the lower end of Glenogle. He had not a very keen sense of beauty, but, somehow, he did not like the ugly scars on the hill-sides and all the unsightly paraphernalia of the work, though he knew very well what a boon it would be to them when all was finished.

He was still contemplating it when the post-gig drove up, and then there was another stop and an exchange of greetings with David, while the letters were handed over. He glanced at them with a sort of careless keenness, and, deciding that there was nothing affecting him, he handed them back and told David to deliver them at Creagh.

Finally he landed in the Hotel, where he spent a good hour at the bar, hearing all the gossip of the Glen and, incidentally, a good deal that he wished to know about the new folk at Achree.

"I think I met them, Miss Macdougall. Have they passed by this morning?"

"Yes. They have been in here, sir--the two young ladies, but they do say that the big tall one is a married woman that has divorced her husband. I don't know the story rightly, but that's what they say. She is very quiet and seems sad-like. The other speaks most of the time and is very lively. The old lady I have never seen, but they do say that they are a most superior kind of folk and not like some of them we get in the Glen in the shooting season."

"Do you happen to know whether Mr. Rosmead himself is in the Glen to-day?"

"No, he iss not, sir, for the motor went by with him for the nine o'clock train and syne came back empty."

"Well, I'm not supposed to know, so I think I'll call at the place as I go up. I have a good enough excuse anyhow, as I have been away so long."

And thus it came about that this bit of information did not deter Malcolm from doing that which he had in his mind.

About half-past twelve he passed through the familiar gateway to Achree and made his way to the house. His pulses scarcely stirred as he did so. The place of his fathers made no appeal to him. It was merely stone and lime, and if it had been in his power he would have sold it for hard cash to any purchaser. In fact, the thought uppermost in his mind as he approached the door was that, having once caught the millionaire, he might find it worth while to keep him. He determined to make himself, somehow, master of the law of entail in order to discover whether there was any loophole of escape from the disability to sell it. Not in his father's lifetime, of course. But when Isla and he should be left, of what use would this great, rambling, uncomfortable old house and its attendant acres of hungry moor and hill be? Far better convert it into the money with which they could enjoy life, making choice in the whole wide world of a place of abode.

A woman-servant opened the door to him, and in answer to his inquiry, informed him that Mr. Rosmead was not at home. Malcolm's sharp eyes noted in the hall beyond the flutter of a petticoat, and as he turned to go he purposely raised his voice.

"I am sorry that I've not a card on me. Will you be so kind as to tell him that Mr. Malcolm Mackinnon from Creagh called to see him and that he will call another day?"

"Yes, sir," said the girl.

But at that moment the figure within came towards the door. It was Sadie, who, having heard the name, advanced with an insatiable curiosity. She extended a very frank hand.

"So you are Mr. Mackinnon that was expected home from India," she said, showing her dazzling teeth in her smile. "Won't you come in and have a bit of lunch with my sister and me? We shall be alone, as my mother does not yet come down."

"Thank you, Miss Rosmead. But that would be presuming on a very slight acquaintance--in fact, none at all, wouldn't it?"

"Oh, but we know your sister and that perfectly dear old father of yours, and, anyway, this is your house and you must want to have a look at the old place after having been away so long. I've no doubt you are hating us for being here. Come in. Oh, Vivien, do come here! It was Mr. Mackinnon whom we met on the road, and I am asking him to lunch."

Malcolm passed into the house, hat in hand, and was duly introduced to Mrs. Rodney Payne. Seen at closer quarters, she was even more beautiful than he had thought. The still repose of her manner contrasted strongly with her sister's vivacity and seemed from the first to cast a sort of spell over Mackinnon.

"We shall be happy if you will stay to luncheon, Mr. Mackinnon," she said, obeying the instructions from Sadie's eyes. "My brother will be very sorry to have missed you. He has gone to the Forth Bridge to-day to meet the contractors there and have a talk with them. It seems it is the annual inspection--or something. Anyway, Peter had an invitation to go. He won't get back till quite late, perhaps not even until to-morrow."

Malcolm Mackinnon did not care. He was in no hurry to meet Mr. Hylton P. Rosmead so long as there was such a charming substitute to take his place. He wouldn't have hesitated about making this glib compliment to another woman, but there was something about Vivien Rosmead which repelled any attempt at even the slightest familiarity. She held herself aloof, and her mouth, made for sweetness, seemed as if it were chiselled in marble. Malcolm wondered what the experience had been that had given her that petrified expression, and he longed to be the man to melt her heart.

Sadie, as usual, did the talking and proved herself an admirable hostess. But while he answered her gay badinage it was Vivien who had his whole admiration. He noticed how little she ate and that her eyes had in them a far-away look which seemed to detach her from the common things of life. Yet she was not dull. A word now and then indicated that she was not by any means dead to the possibilities of life or to the interests of everyday.

"We like your sister so much, Mr. Mackinnon," she said with a sudden warm flash of interest when Sadie left a moment's breathing space. "We hope that she is going to allow us to be friendly with her."

"Oh, yes, of course. Why not? She will be only too pleased, I'm sure," murmured Malcolm eagerly.

"She was so kind about letting us come here in a hurry that we can never forget it. And it is so lovely to see her with your father."

As she spoke of the old General, Vivien's eyes grew large and pitiful, more and more like those of the Madonna.

"It's even more lovely to find how adored she is in the Glen, in all the glens," said Sadie the irrepressible. "Everywhere you hear nothing but her praises. Don't you find it a little hard, Mr. Mackinnon," she added with just a little malicious flash, "to live up to such a sister?"

"Sadie, Sadie, do be careful!" said Vivien softly. "That is not quite kind."

"It's true, Vivien, and I see from Mr. Mackinnon's face that he admits it. You and I must be pals, Mr. Mackinnon, for I'm just like that with my sister. She's so frightfully good that she ought to have a halo, and she makes all common folks who approach her feel worship in the air."

"I am sure of that," said Malcolm with a queer little bow in the direction of Vivien who, though she laughed, was a little vexed.

"Mr. Mackinnon will think us very frivolous, Sadie. Suppose we change the subject and ask him to tell us something about India. Your British rule in India is so splendid! It stands, just like a great rock, immune from the assaults of criticism. I'm sure all this talk about sedition and unrest means nothing. Perhaps you can tell us about it."

Very little did Malcolm Mackinnon know about British rule in India--as little indeed as any Tommy in the ranks.

"Well, you see," he said with rather an awkward laugh. "I was only a bit of the system--don't you know?--a small--very small spoke in the big wheel. My part was to make forced marches in the night and keep an open eye after stray bullets, and to be all ready when occasion rose."

Sadie's eyes positively glowed with excited interest. She loved the Army, investing it with colour and romance, and in Malcolm Mackinnon she pictured to herself a heroic figure--a replica of the fine old father, of whose valour the Glen had many tales to tell.

But Vivien, the more discriminating of the two, had already decided in her own clear and quiet mind that the son of Achree occupied a lower moral plane than the daughter. Her instinct was very swift and fine, and the feeling of distrust born of that first meeting was never afterwards wholly dispelled.

Sadie, with her elbows on the table, wagged her unconventional tongue and asked so many questions about their guest's life in India that he gave her a very highly coloured version of the same, playing up to her for all he was worth and deepening her impression of the soldiery who had upheld Britain's prestige all over the world.

In the midst of this fascinating talk which proceeded almost entirely between Malcolm and Sadie, Vivien merely listening with an odd air of cool detachment which was almost critical, a servant entered the room with a message which she delivered to Sadie. Since Vivien's return to her mother's house she had taken a secondary place, and, though she resumed her own name, it was Sadie to whom were accorded the privileges of the elder daughter.

"Please, Miss Sadie, Mrs. Rosmead would like very much to see Mr. Mackinnon before he goes if he will come to her room."

Malcolm would have declined if he had had any excuse, but Sadie jumped up immediately, saying that she would show him the way.

Vivien did not accompany them, and when, after a brief interview with the beautiful, white-haired old lady who had Vivien's eyes, Sadie and he returned to the hall-place, she was nowhere to be seen.

"Must you go, Mr. Mackinnon? I don't know where Vivien is. She's like that, poor dear. Her troubles have quite taken the life out of her. You'll come again, won't you? In the name of the whole Rosmead folks I make you free of your own house."

She was so frankly kind and her eyes so beamed on him that Malcolm would not have been Malcolm had he not made quick response.

He bent low over her white, outstretched hand and murmured certain words which somewhat heightened Sadie's colour and brought an odd softness to her eyes.

"I like that man, Vivien. He's perfectly lovely, I think, and all the things they say about him in the Glen are lies. Don't you think so?"

But Vivien, whom sad experience had made wise, answered not at all.