CHAPTER IX

WE HAVE NEWS OF THE KING’S COMING

It pleased me to meet again at Dysart, Mistress Betty’s grave admirer, Mr. David Pitcairn, for that such he was I never hesitated in my mind to believe. I found that he was the nephew and adopted son of the worthy minister of the First Charge of Dysart (for there were then, as now, two churches in that place), who bore the same name. The elder Mr. Pitcairn was a man of great piety and learning, of most amiable character and uncommonly gentle manners. (I speak of him in the past tense, but I understand he is still living, though something over fourscore years of age.) He had previously been chaplain in Colonel Preston’s regiment, of which his elder brother was at one time an officer; and the latter being killed in action and leaving behind him a young widow and only son, the good gentleman had watched over them with tender kindness, and upon the death of the lady, ten years later, he made the orphan boy his own. Upon his being presented with the living by my Lord Sinclair, his nephew being then at the University of Edinburgh, his kind patron promised that when his education was completed the young man should have a post with him as overseer, or manager, of the workmen engaged in his lordship’s coal-pits and salt-pans round Dysart. This post he had now held for over five years, and living at the manse with his uncle, he had many opportunities of increasing his admiration for the fair Mistress Elizabeth. By her he was treated in a half familiar, half-cavalier manner, which aggravated even while it checked his ardour, and watching them both with bright, youthful eyes, I decided that love and liking were unequally armed for defence.

One morning we had ridden towards Kirkcaldy, Betty having ordered Mr. Pitcairn to meet us thereabouts, and accompany us on our promenade. Just outside the town we halted to wait for him, and turning our horses’ heads towards the sea, she was pointing to the view of the opposite coast. Hearing a horse’s feet on the stones behind us, she cried over her shoulder, without looking round: “At last, David! You did not expect to find us here before you.”

“Faith, no indeed, Mistress Betty!” a strange voice replied, “nor did I look for so friendly a greeting from your High Mightiness.”

At the first word Betty had turned with a great start, and the colour mounting to her face as I had never seen it. A very gallant and handsome gentleman, somewhat past his first youth, sat on horseback facing us with his hat in his hand, and a smile of very pleasant humour in his eyes. His long brown curls hung about a face of which the features still retained much beauty, and the voice with which he spoke had in it the rich tones of a kind and hearty nature. My poor Betty looked more taken aback than ever I had seen her, and she even faltered as she answered.

“Indeed, my lord, the address was not meant for you, as your lordship very well knows, seeing I did not suppose you to be within four hundred miles of me. What brings your lordship so early into Fife?”

“Nay, Mistress Bess, why will you use this haughty tone with me?” said the gentleman, very mildly. “You do yourself injustice, believe me, ever to let yourself be seen in so shrewd a character. But will you not present me to your fair companion?” he continued, turning to me with a smile. “Mayhap she will enlighten me as to the identity of the happy swain who bears my name, and has more than double my privileges.”

“Mistress Barbara Stewart,” cried Betty, now a little recovered, “let me make you acquainted with the most noble the Earl of Wemyss, our next neighbour, the champion of the people, the upholder of all Whig principles, and the most devoted subject of his Hanoverian Majesty, King George.”

The Earl acknowledged my bow with charming courtesy, but he turned to my sarcastic companion with a laugh full of goodnature.

“What!” said he. “Still the old grievance? Still as staunch a Jacobite as ever--”

But Betty interrupted him with a flash of fire in her eyes, and I did not wonder at the admiration which was plain to be seen in his own.

“As staunch a _loyalist_--yes!” she cried, “and ever will be, my lord. But upon that subject we shall never agree. There is but one rightful King, just as there is but one God, and if you say otherwise you are deceiving yourself for the sake of your political ambitions. You can afford to laugh and jeer to-day, but wait, my lord, only wait! Is there not a word in the Scripture that saith, ‘Woe unto you that laugh now, for ye shall mourn and weep!’”

Utterly taken aback by her vehemence, I sat still on my horse gazing at her heated face, and in much uneasiness as to how his lordship would take her rudeness. He was looking at her gravely but very kindly, while the naughty creature stormed and scolded like a common wife in the fish-market. And yet that is a coarse and untrue simile; for Mistress Betty Sinclair, even in her anger, spoke like a high-born lady, and ’twas but the fervour of her warm, true heart that made her words at once so free and so trenchant.

The Earl moved his horse a step or two nearer, and, still uncovered, answered her gently.

“If I tried to tell you how much I admire your loyal and faithful affection to that unfortunate house, Mistress Betty, you would but tell me I was mocking at you; and yet, believe me, no man could see and hear you and remain unmoved. Would to God I could think as you do upon the matter, for otherwise I fear you will never permit me to enjoy your friendship, though you know, I think, how much I desire it. But I have taken my stand upon the other side, and even you would not desire me to turn traitor.”

I admired his brave and temperate words, and already he seemed to me a very perfect and chivalrous gentleman, but Betty tossed her head and turned her burning face away.

“Why do you continually torment me?” she cried petulantly. “Why are you so sure that you are right? The day will come, and that speedily, when you may indeed want my friendship, and that of all the King’s faithful subjects, to put you right with His Majesty. Then, perhaps, you will find it easy to take the other side, my lord!”

“Ah, Betty, Betty!” he cried, “why will you talk of such folly? King George is firm on the British throne, where the will of the people has placed him. The Chevalier de St. George had better remain where he is, for any attempt to dislodge the King will only prove disastrous to us all.”

She fired up again.

“The Elector of Hanover hath scarce had time to settle himself very comfortably on his stolen throne,” she answered, in a contemptuous tone, “and King James has more chance of regaining it than some may think. But, to be sure, my lord, ’tis not likely that you should believe this. You take no interest in our affairs, and ’tis as well that you should not.”

And suddenly her own sunny smile broke through the clouds of petulance that had transformed her, and wheeling her horse beside that of the earl, she announced her intention of accompanying him along the road to Wemyss.

“As for that lazy David,” she cried, “he does not deserve that we should wait for him!”

Just at that moment Mr. Pitcairn joined us from a crossroad, and I judged he had some news to tell us, so eager was the expression of his face. He looked surprised at sight of his lordship, but greeted him very frankly and with great respect; and so we turned and rode back the way that we had come, Betty riding between the gentlemen, and chatting lightly in her wonted manner.

Whatever had been the words upon David Pitcairn’s lips when he met us, it was plain they were not to be spoken in the present company. I noticed that he ever tried to meet Betty’s eye, and though that in itself was nothing out of the common, yet there was in his countenance and manner a sort of suppressed excitement which convinced me that something unusual was afoot. Whatever it was, it was evident he did not desire to rouse the curiosity of my Lord Wemyss, for he conversed with him quietly on commonplace topics, and presently fell silent to listen to Betty’s discourse.

As for me, although I was not discourteously left out of the conversation, I was too busy with my own speculations about this new actor on the scene to care whether they addressed me or no. I tried to recollect all I had heard concerning the Earl of Wemyss, and I was bound to confess he presented a more gallant and interesting figure than I had expected. I knew that he was a widower for the second time, and the father of two tall lads, as fine and promising as any in Scotland. But hearing this, I had settled in my mind that he was old and dull, most likely grave and sad, as would become a man who had been twice bereft of the wife of his bosom--so ran my childish thought; yet here he was, scarce older in appearance than David Pitcairn, as brave and handsome a knight as the most exacting maiden could desire, riding in the sunshine by the side of a lady who, for all her merry speeches, had been ready enough to flout him when first he startled her by appearing at her side.

I stole a look at his face, and was bound to confess to myself that if sorrow had left its traces there they did but add to the attractiveness of his beauty. No man of heart, I knew, could have come through the great tragedy of his lordship’s early years, and remain untouched to sympathy and tenderness. As often as I had heard the tale of the young Countess’s death, my heart had thrilled in pity for her husband’s agony of suffering. You have no doubt been told ere now of how that lady, gentle, lovely, and pious, retired to her praying-closet one evening to engage in private devotion; of how her dress caught fire at the candle while she was on her knees; and how, before help could reach her, she was so terribly burned that, though she lingered in great pain for some days, those who loved her best gave thanks aloud when they saw her eyes close in death. To be young, beautiful, and happy, adored by a tender husband, and the mother of two lovely babes, and yet to be torn from a life so bright by an accident so brutal, did it not require the fortitude of a good Christian to enable the young Earl to retain his reason when he remembered that this was the fate of the being he loved? Nothing, I think, but supreme faith in the Divine wisdom and love, which can somehow turn our cruellest sorrows into blessings, could have sustained any man under a trial so crushing. Yes, I felt certain my Lord of Wemyss was a good man, whatever Betty might think of his political errors, and deserved all the happiness that yet remained to him in life. Of his second Countess, an English lady from Northampton, I knew but little, save that, having no children of her own, she lavished all her tenderness on her husband’s little sons, bringing them up with such wisdom and kindness that they were regarded with admiration and delight by all who knew them.

These thoughts and many more passed through my mind as we rode slowly along towards Wemyss Castle that bright May morning, but suddenly, when we were half-way between that place and Dysart, Mistress Bess took another whim, and pulling up abruptly, she bade his lordship good-morning, saying that she believed her father had need of her.

Now, luckily for himself, the Earl appeared to have an abounding sense of humour and a vast amount of good temper to back it; for after the first moment, when a flicker of surprise crossed his face, he answered with placid courtesy the capricious young lady’s salute, adding, with a twinkle in his eyes which he did not try to conceal,

“Ah, Mistress Betty, it is not every father who is so blest in his daughters as my Lord Sinclair.”

Again the hot colour famed up in Betty’s cheeks, for the tone of his lordship’s address was unmistakable; but for once she had no words to answer him. Instead, she waved her hand as carelessly as she might, and turning round, urged her horse to a gallop, so that Mr. Pitcairn and I had some ado to catch her up. As soon as we were abreast, the gentleman began in a hurried way, “Mistress Betty, I have news!” Betty turned to him quickly.

“David! News--of him? Are they good or bad?”

He bent his head. “He has left Bar-le-duc, and was on his way to the coast when the messenger left St. Malo.”

“Where got you the news?”

“From Mr. Malcome who crossed last night to Burntisland, he having spent some hours in Edinburgh with Mr. Harry Straton.”

Betty drew a long breath; she had grown quite pale.

“God save the King!” she cried softly “Oh, David, Barbara, to think that in a day or two he may be with us. Does it not seem too good to be true?”

Then, turning in her saddle and shaking her whip in the direction of Castle Wemyss, she cried, exultingly, “So, my lord! I was talking folly just now, was I? King George is fixed without fear of dislodgment on the British throne; the Chevalier must stay where he is. Ah ha! we shall see. Oh, I did not dream when we set out this morning, Barbara, how joyfully we should return home. Let us hasten to bring the good news to my lord and Catherine.”

That night, as my little diary reminds me, there was a supper-party held at the Hermitage where many of the neighbouring gentlemen (of whom I recollect the names of three or four: Mr. Malcome of Grange, Mr. Bethune, the Laird of Balfour, Harry Balfour of Dunbog, brother to the Lord Burleigh, and the Laird of Orrock, a gentleman of old though inconsiderable family, and a stanch supporter at all times of the Master of Sinclair) met round my Lord Sinclair’s table and discussed the news from France. The Reverend Mr. Pitcairn was there, grave and courteous as was his wont, taking no part in the discussion, but making his presence felt when any wise advice was needed. His nephew David was my partner, but I cannot remember that he had time to address to me one word, for Betty sat opposite us, and her eyes, shining like stars, were bright enough to attract any man’s attention. The Master of Sinclair, more urbane than I had seen him, spoke much and with an air of authority, which, from his having seen service with the Duke of Marlborough, was allowed to him as his right. So far as we ladies could judge from the effect of his speeches on the other gentlemen, he seemed to have a certain military sense and knowledge, which was not unappreciated by them; and as for my dear Betty, she hung upon his words with affectionate admiration and regard.

“’Tis hoped the King himself will land in Scotland, while the Duke of Ormond raises the West of England,” said Mr. Balfour.

“I would rather, were it possible,” observed the Master, “that the Duke of Berwick headed the expedition. Let him land where he will, the young King is all unproved, and though his courage is well-known, his military skill would not advantage us much.”

“Whoever may lead the affair,” said my lord, gravely, “let us be ready to receive them. The fault this time must not lie with us, and if the rising be but sufficiently advertised, I have little fear of the result.”

“We mean to do our best in Fife, sir,” said his son, stoutly.

“All Fife is ready to mount, my lord,” cried Mr. Malcome. “They do but need the assurance that the affair is genuine to bring them flocking to the King’s Standard.”

“Perth likewise,” cried another, “and the Mearns and Aberdeen. As for the Clans, save the Laird of Grant with some thousand men, and the Laird of MacLeod, who is a young lad and not to be counted on, there is not a chieftain in the Highlands that is not against the present Government.”

“All they want is a leader,” said Mr. Pitcairn, thoughtfully. “Courage, loyalty, self-sacrifice, these are there in plenty, but all may be useless for lack of the personal influence to weld them into the force that makes for victory.”

“The Duke of Berwick would do it,” broke in the Master’s voice, “and I know not another who would. But, gentlemen, one part is clear before us: men, horse, arms and ammunition are all wanted, and cannot be got together at a day’s notice. Let us set about our preparations to-morrow, more especially with regard to providing the beasts, that whoever come among us we may have nothing to reproach ourselves withal.”

This sentiment met with general acclamation, for the company was now in the mood to agree to anything that was proposed, and before a later stage was reached, which might prove a more disputatious one, my lady thought it well that we should withdraw.

Before we departed, however, they insisted that we fill our glasses once more to honour the toast which Mr. Harry Balfour in a witty speech gave us.

“Long life and success to the King!” he ended up gaily, raising his glass on high. “And dire confusion to all his enemies.”

And I think I was the only one to notice how Betty drank but to the first part of that toast. As the second clause was added she gave a furtive glance at the speaker, and perceiving that no one regarded her, she softly replaced her glass upon the table.

Now all that I have written about this one day might lead you to imagine that ’twas the beginning of great events, but alas! it is only given as an example of the many false hopes that were raised in us, and the many disappointments that ensued. In the words of Mistress Betty that morning, though she little meant them to express the truth, the news were “too good to be true.” The message was a false one; the King had not left France, and many weeks and months were to elapse before he landed upon Scottish shores.