I GO IN QUEST OF MY INHERITANCE
I made what change I could in my appearance; and blithe was I to look in the
glass and find the beggarman a thing of the past, and David Balfour come to life
again. And yet I was ashamed of the change too, and, above all, of the borrowed
clothes. When I had done, Mr. Rankeillor caught me on the stair, made me his
compliments, and had me again into the cabinet.
"Sit ye down, Mr. David," said he, "and now that you are looking a little
more like yourself, let me see if I can find you any news. You will be
wondering, no doubt, about your father and your uncle? To be sure it is a
singular tale; and the explanation is one that I blush to have to offer you.
For," says he, really with embarrassment, "the matter hinges 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 went by upon a mettle
horse. I have seen it with these eyes, and I ingenuously confess, not altogether
without envy; for I was a plain lad myself and a plain man's son; and in those
days it was a case of Odi te, 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. Nor was
that all, but he had a spirit of his own that seemed to promise great things in
the future. In 1715, what must he do but run away to join the rebels? It was
your father that pursued him, found him in a ditch, and brought him back multum
gementem; to the mirth of the whole country. However, majora canamus -- the two
lads fell in love, and that with the same lady. Mr. Ebenezer, who was the
admired and the beloved, and the spoiled one, made, no doubt, mighty certain of
the victory; and when he found he had deceived himself, screamed like a peacock.
The whole country heard of it; now he lay sick at home, with his silly family
standing round the bed in tears; now he rode from public-house to public-house,
and shouted his sorrows into the lug of Tom, Dick, and Harry. Your father, Mr.
David, was a kind gentleman; but he was weak, dolefully weak; took all this
folly with a long countenance; and one day -- by your leave! -- resigned the
lady. She was no such fool, however; it's from her you must inherit your
excellent good sense; and she refused to be bandied from one to another. Both
got upon their knees to her; and the upshot of the matter for that while was
that she showed both of them the door. That was in August; dear me! the same
year I came from college. The scene must have been highly farcical."
I thought myself it was a silly business, but I could not forget my father
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 implies some
ponderable matter in dispute, some dignus vindice nodus; and this piece of work
was all about the petulance of a young ass that had been spoiled, 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, that from concession to concession on your
father's part, and from one height to another of squalling, sentimental
selfishness upon your uncle's, they came at last to drive a sort of bargain,
from whose ill results you have recently been smarting. The one man took the
lady, the other the estate. Now, Mr. David, they talk a great deal of charity
and generosity; but in this disputable state of life, I often think the happiest
consequences seem to flow when a gentleman consults his lawyer, and takes all
the law allows him. Anyhow, this piece of Quixotry on your father's part, as it
was unjust in itself, has brought forth a monstrous family of injustices. Your
father and mother lived and died poor folk; you were poorly reared; and in the
meanwhile, what a time it has been for the tenants on the estate of Shaws! And I
might add (if it was a matter I cared much about) what a time for Mr. Ebenezer!"
"And yet that is certainly the strangest part of all," said I, "that a man'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 knew the story
gave him the cold shoulder; those who knew it not, seeing one brother disappear,
and the other succeed in the estate, raised a cry of murder; so that upon all
sides he found himself evited. Money was all he got by his bargain; well, he
came to think the more of money. He was selfish when he was young, he is selfish
now that he is old; and the latter end of all these pretty manners and fine
feelings you have seen for yourself."
"Well, sir," said I, "and in all this, what is my position?"
"The estate is yours beyond a doubt," replied the lawyer. "It matters nothing
what your father signed, you are the heir of entail. But your uncle is a man to
fight the indefensible; and it would be likely your identity that he would call
in question. A lawsuit is always expensive, and a family lawsuit always
scandalous; besides which, if any of your doings with your friend Mr. Thomson
were to come out, we might find that we had burned our fingers. The kidnapping,
to be sure, would be a court card upon our side, if we could only prove it. But
it may be difficult to prove; and my advice (upon the whole) is to make a very
easy bargain with your uncle, perhaps even leaving him at Shaws where he has
taken root for a quarter of a century, and contenting yourself in the meanwhile
with a fair provision."
I told him I was very willing to be easy, and that to carry family concerns
before the public was a step from which I was naturally much averse. In the
meantime (thinking to myself) I began to see the outlines of 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 mark you
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, we could no longer check their
testimony, and some word of your friend Mr. Thomson must certainly crop out.
Which (from what you have let fall) I cannot think to be desirable."
"Well, sir," said I, "here is my way of it." And I opened my plot to him.
"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 your friend, 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 to you: is it wise to meet?
He may have matters to his charge. He may not have 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 roadside as 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 kept musing 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 a bottle of wine, ere he was
back harping on my proposal. When and where was 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 such and such a term of an agreement -- these and
the like questions he kept asking at long intervals, while he thoughtfully
rolled his wine upon his tongue. 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
and weighing every word; and at last touched a bell and had his clerk into the
chamber.
"Torrance," said he, "I must have this written out fair against to-night; and
when it is done, you will be so kind as put on your hat and be ready to come
along with this gentleman and me, for you will probably be wanted as a witness."
"What, sir," cried I, as soon as the clerk was gone, "are you to venture it?"
"Why, so it would appear," says he, filling his glass. "But let us speak no
more of business. The very sight of Torrance brings in my head a little droll
matter of some years ago, when I had made a tryst with the poor oaf at the cross
of Edinburgh. Each had gone his proper errand; and when it came four o'clock,
Torrance had been taking a glass and did not know his master, and I, who had
forgot my spectacles, was so blind without them, that I give you my word I did
not know my own clerk." And thereupon he laughed heartily.
I said it was an odd chance, and smiled out of politeness; but what held me
all the afternoon in wonder, he kept returning and dwelling on this story, and
telling it again with fresh details and laughter; so that I began at last to be
quite put out of countenance and feel ashamed for my 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 the deed in his
pocket and a covered basket in his hand. All through the town, the lawyer was
bowing right and left, and continually being button-holed by gentlemen on
matters of burgh or private business; and I could see he was one greatly looked
up to in the county. At last we were clear of the houses, and began to go along
the side of the haven and towards the Hawes Inn and the Ferry pier, the scene of
my misfortune. I could not look upon the place without emotion, recalling how
many that had been there with me that day were now no more: Ransome taken, I
could hope, 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 these hardships
and fearful perils without scath. My only thought should have been of gratitude;
and yet I could not behold the place without sorrow for others and a chill of
recollected fear.
I was so thinking when, upon a sudden, Mr. Rankeillor cried out, clapped his
hand to his pockets, and began to laugh.
"Why," he cries, "if this be not a farcical adventure! After all that I said,
I have forgot my glasses!"
At that, of course, I understood the purpose of his anecdote, and knew that
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 awkwardness of recognising
him. And indeed it was well thought upon; for now (suppose things to go the very
worst) how could Rankeillor swear to my friend's identity, or how be made to
bear damaging evidence against myself? For all that, he had been a long while of
finding out his want, and had spoken to and recognised a good few persons as we
came through the town; and I had little doubt myself that he saw reasonably
well.
As soon as we were past the Hawes (where I recognised the landlord smoking
his pipe in the door, and was amazed to see him look no older) Mr. Rankeillor
changed the order of march, walking behind with Torrance and 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 the pleasure to hear it answered and to see Alan
rise from behind a bush. He was somewhat dashed in spirits, having passed a long
day alone skulking in the county, and made but a poor meal in an alehouse near
Dundas. But at the mere sight of my clothes, he began to brighten up; and as
soon as I had told him in what a forward state our matters were and the part I
looked 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 say that
you could lay your hands upon no better man to put it through than Alan Breck.
It is not a thing (mark ye) that any one could do, but takes a gentleman of
penetration. But it sticks in my head your lawyer-man will be somewhat wearying
to see me," says Alan.
Accordingly I cried and waved on Mr. Rankeillor, who came up alone and was
presented to my friend, Mr. Thomson.
"Mr. Thomson, I am pleased to meet you," said he. "But I have forgotten my
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 not be surprised
if I pass you by to-morrow."
This he said, thinking that Alan would be pleased; but the Highlandman's
vanity was ready to startle at a less matter than that.
"Why, sir," says he, stiffly, "I would say it mattered the less as we are met
here for a particular end, to see justice done to Mr. Balfour; and by what I can
see, not very likely to have much else in common. But I accept your apology,
which was a very proper one to make."
"And that is more than I could look for, Mr. Thomson," said Rankeillor,
heartily. "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 propose that you should
lend me your arm, for (what with the dusk and the want of 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 your adventures or those of -- ahem -- Mr. Thomson."
Accordingly these two went on ahead in very close talk, and Torrance and I
brought up the rear.
Night was quite come when we came in view of the house of Shaws. Ten had been
gone some time; it was dark and mild, with a pleasant, rustling wind in the
south-west that covered the sound of our approach; and as we drew near we saw no
glimmer of light in any portion of the building. It seemed my uncle was Already
in bed, which was indeed the best thing for our arrangements. We made our last
whispered consultations some fifty yards away; and then the lawyer and Torrance
and I crept quietly up and crouched down beside the corner of the house; and as
soon as we were in our places, Alan strode to the door without concealment and
began to knock.
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