CHAPTER XIV

TELLS HOW MISTRESS BETTY HAD A BRILLIANT NOTION, AND OF HOW IT WAS CARRIED OUT

It seemed to us all in those days that Fortune was playing a game of _see-saw_ with us and our hopes. No sooner were we elated by some piece of good luck, than something happened of the reverse order to cast us down into the depths of depression. Two days after the visit of Mr. James Murray, news was sent to Mr. Harry Straton in Edinburgh that, following hard upon his track, came one, Mr. Ezekiel Hamilton to wit, with very evil tidings. The Regent, Orleans, to whom we had been told to look for help, had proved himself the very reverse, for he had caused the ships, of which Mr. Murray had spoken with such confidence, to be unloaded of all the arms and ammunition, and it was added that Admiral Byng had leave from him to search all ships coming from Havre and other ports to Scotland. Here was a blow to our hopes, and we were just where we had been, or perhaps a little lower in the scale of unhappiness in consequence of the severity of our disappointment.

“Ah!” sighed my lady, “you see my dear Sir John was right. He mistrusted the Regent, and indeed feared he would do us harm. Was ever king so unjustly treated, or surrounded by so much treachery!”

“Oh,” cried Betty, “would to God I could do something to help! How terrible it is to be a weak woman in times like these! Come, Barbara, let us at least get to horse, and ride out and hear some news. I shall go mad if I stay cooped in the house another hour.”

Nothing loth, I did as she bade me, and we were soon upon the road. She had refused to take a servant, “for,” said she, “if we hear any secrets we must keep them to ourselves.”

“We are not like to hear many, my dear,” said I, “for there is no one to tell them to us. See, as far as I can look along the road, there is not a soul in sight. How far shall we go? ’tis getting late to be out alone!”

“Oh, fear not, child!” cried Betty, shortly. “Naught can happen to us here, where all the world knows us. Pray do me the favour to be silent. I wish to think.”

It was a quiet bright evening, with the first touch of frost to make the air keen upon our faces. On and on we rode till the houses of Burntisland came in view. When we were near the town, Betty pulled her horse to a walk, and pointing to the harbour, bade me look at a little ship anchored in the roadstead.

“I wonder whence it comes and what it contains,” said she idly; and I wondered at her interest, for there were several vessels in the harbour, and ships were constantly coming and going in the Frith, so that there was nothing to distinguish this in any particular way.

Not deeming it prudent to go into the town, as the evening was darkening down and we two women alone, Betty stopped at a little inn at the entrance of the street, where the wife was one Janet Spiers, who had formerly been cook-maid at the Hermitage. Rapping on the door with her whip-handle, Betty soon brought the good woman out, who, on seeing the quality of her visitors, overwhelmed us with kind requests to come in and rest.

“Why, Jenny,” said Betty, “we do not mean to alight; ’tis close on seven o’clock and the days are growing short. We did but ride this way to take the air, and being so near your house I stopped to ask for your gudeman.”

“Thank ye kindly, Mistress ’Lizabeth,” said the woman, “he’s real weel. The hoast was sair on him a while back, but sin’ the hairst he’s ta’en up fine.”

They chatted together for a few minutes, and upon my remarking on the number of ships in the harbour, Janet Spiers pointed to the very vessel which had attracted the attention of Betty a short while back, and asked her if she knew what it contained.

“Why, no,” said Betty, “nothing very valuable I should say.”

The woman tossed her head with a contemptuous smile.

“Ye wad wonder!” she cried. “What think ye, Mistress Betty? There’s fire-arms intilt, and pouther and bullets and a’, and what for? To send awa’ north to my Lord Sutherland for him tae arm his men and gar them fecht for the English King. Set him up indeed! I’m for King Jamie, ye ken, my leddy, as ye are yersel’.”

“Arms!” cried Betty, in great surprise, “arms and ammunition! But where do they come from, and what do they here?”

“Weel, weel,” said Janet Spiers, “they were shipped at Leith frae the Castle at Edinbro’, but the chiel that’s maister o’ the ship is a Bruntisland man. He lives down bye in the close there, forenent the quay. He’s been awa’ this three weeks, and as he kent the gudewife was near her time, he couldna think tae sail awa’ north without spierin’ for her. Aweel, she was brocht tae bed o’ a fine laddie this morn, and naethin’ wad satisfy the creatur (a spoilt quean she is), but keep her man by her for a wee. An’ he, honest man, was sweer tae leave her, and sae, there he is, and there’s his ship, and there’s nae hurry aboot sailing, that I can see.”

“How long will he stay, think ye, Jenny?” said Betty, and I could hear a thrill of excitement in her voice.

“Till the morn’s nicht at the full o’ the tide, onyway,” said the other, “an’ maybe langer.”

“And how many stands of arms did they tell you the ship contained?” she asked.

“Oh,” said Jenny, doubtfully, “twa-three thoosan’, maybe.”

“Dear me!” cried Betty, “my Lord Sutherland will be lucky to get them. Well, Jenny, we must say good-night, and ride fast to get home before the darkness falls. Come, Barbara.”

And away we went again upon the homeward road, while the land behind us darkened, and the first bright star shone out above us in the pale sky.

So fast rode Betty that I was soon out of breath and called out to her to stop, but she only urged her beast to the utmost, and left me to follow some way behind. What had come to her I wondered; could she be afraid of the approaching night? But no, fear and Betty were not well acquainted, and I soon dismissed the thought. My dear friend was full of whims, and her mind I knew was greatly disturbed. I did my best to keep up with her, and bent my attention on the road we had to follow. It was almost dark when we came abreast of the Town-House of Dysart (for straight into the town we had ridden), and the place was nearly empty. Betty stopped abruptly and seemed to be considering what to do next. A man came out of Quality Street and turned towards us, and in the dim light we both recognised Mr. David Pitcairn.

“David, oh, _David_!” cried Betty, not loud but with an intensity of feeling in her tone which would have carried her words much further, and in a few quick strides he was beside us.

How clearly I remember his appearance as he stood there with his hand upon her horse’s neck, and his fine face lifted to hers in the twilight. So well I knew the devotion that filled his soul, though none had told me of it, that I felt sure, whatever she asked of him, he would then and there consent.

“Dear David,” said Betty, “you are the very man I was hoping to see,” and my heart contracted at the words, knowing what they must mean to him. “I have a project, ’tis formed within the last half-hour. There is something you must do for me--nay, not for me, for the King, David--and if you love me you will not refuse.”

Ah! Betty, was it kind to put it thus? But what woman would have refrained from using her sweetness as a lure in a like case?

“If I love you, Betty!” said he, very gravely. “Have I ever refused you anything you required of me?”

Even at that moment I saw her falter. Was she putting him to a test too hard?

“Then walk with us along the shore, where no envious ears can overhear us. Oh! David, such a chance, such good fortune as never could have been expected! I can scarce restrain myself from laughing aloud. But we must be quiet. It must be kept secret; no one shall know but you, and Barbara, and my lord. ’Tis better so.” So fast she talked, and appeared so excited, that I almost feared her agitation would overcome her, but by-and-bye when we were beyond the houses she spoke more quietly.

“Listen, David. There is lying outside the harbour of Burntisland at this moment, a ship filled with arms and ammunition intended for the Earl of Sutherland in the north. You can guess what he means to do with them. There they are now for anyone to take, for the master, poor fool, is grinning over the cradle of his new-born son; and the crew, I dare swear, are as pleasantly, if less innocently, employed about the town. Now we must, by hook or by crook, get those arms for our own. Three thousand stands, David, and much powder and bullets, think what a haul! Is it not splendid?”

“Magnificent!” said David, smiling. “But do you propose my boarding the vessel alone in the night, and bearing them away on my back, Betty?”

“Nay!” she cried, reproachfully, “I am not so foolish. But this I propose: my brother, the Master, must be told of it; he will know what to do. He will come with a troop from Perth, and take them by force if necessary. But it must be done at once, and in as secret a way as possible. The ship will sail to-morrow at midnight, with the tide. Someone--you, dear David, must go this night to Perth, carrying a despatch from me, which I will write presently; and you must ride in hot haste, so as to be there by daybreak, and lose no time in waking my brother and telling him of the matter. He may have to consult my Lord of Mar, but no one, I think, will be so mad as to neglect this great opportunity.”

David walked along slowly, his eyes on the ground. He was between us, and I listened for his answer as eagerly as Betty. To my surprise it was long of coming, and my companion, still more astonished, broke out again impatiently.

“You will not refuse, David! ’Tis not so hard a task. A night in the saddle cannot mean much to you. Why do you hesitate? I thought--”

Then he lifted his head and looked at her in quiet wonder.

“Do you mean to say you doubt me, Betty! I was but thinking out my best road. And my horse has been out all day.”

So, I suppose, had he, but Betty did not notice the admission.

“You shall have the best horse in my lord’s stables!” she cried, joyfully. “You shall choose for yourself. Oh no, I did not doubt you, David. I _knew_ you would do it. There is no one more faithful and true.”

And she cast upon him a look so sweet and kind that I, not knowing the secrets of this wayward woman-heart, began to think for the first time that, for her patient squire, the reward he wished might not be quite impossible. He lifted the little hand that hung down beside him, and raised it to his lips.

“And what shall my payment be?” he asked.

But even as if he scorned his own question, he hurried forward to push open the gate, and Betty rode up to the house in silence.

My Lord Sinclair was sitting down to supper when we entered the hall, but his daughter, in her impetuous way, swept him with her into a little room which stood empty, and beckoning to David and myself, she bade us enter and shut the door. It did not take long to acquaint my lord with our story, and he was heartily pleased to approve of Betty’s plan. The sole objection that he made was that nothing should be written; papers were dangerous, and Mr. Pitcairn might be waylaid, and even searched.

“Let the message go by word of mouth,” said he. “David has brains enough to deliver it as you give it to him, and my son knows him too well to doubt that he comes from us.”

So it was arranged. David was to sup at the Hermitage, going after to his uncle at the Manse to acquaint him with his intended venture. A good horse was to be provided for him, and as soon as it was dark enough, which would be by ten of the clock, he was to ride out of the town and make his way to Perth. By riding all night, but keeping to unfrequented ways, he would come there by five or six in the morning, and he had instructions to find out the Master’s lodging, and rouse him at once to receive the news.

You may imagine, at supper there were at least two of us with little appetite, and my lady chid her sister for having ridden too far and tired both herself and me. As soon as possible I escaped upstairs, and right glad was I when my cousin joined me, to find that the secret had been imparted to her. Indeed, I believe it might have been discussed openly before all the house without any harm done, the entire household being too faithful to my lord’s interests to breathe a word that would endanger any of them.

As we sat and talked in the half-dark, for the room was lighted but by one small taper, we heard the sounds of preparation in the stable-yard, for upon that my window looked. I opened the casement and we leaned out. A horse, ready saddled, stood there with a groom beside him! By the feeble light of the lanthorn hung on the wall we could see his grand form, and the proud lift of his head, as his nostrils snuffed the cold night air.

“’Tis La Flèche!” my lady whispered, “the best horse my lord has left.”

Out of the low doorway leading from the kitchens came David Pitcairn, booted and spurred, but with his hat in his hand. Behind him tripped Betty, and with a word dismissed the groom, who shuffled back into the stable. As Mr. Pitcairn stood ready to mount, Betty came close to him, and spoke in a tone so low that it did not reach us. When he answered her she took something from her bosom and held it out to him in her open hand. The light gleamed on a little gold heart, and I recognised a trinket that she was fond of wearing. With a smile she let him take it, and with a smile he raised it to his lips. Just then the town-clock struck ten. He caught hold of both her hands and kissed them lingeringly, swung himself into the saddle, and waving his hat with a cheerful “good-bye,” rode out into the darkness. For some minutes we listened to the sound of the horse’s hoofs growing fainter in the distance, and then we drew back into the room and closed the window.

My lady sighed. “Poor David!” she said softly.

“I wish,” cried I, “that Betty could be kinder to him, madam.”

“Alas! child,” said she, “Bess is already far too kind, and yet I know she means no harm. She loves him in every way but one, and he worships her with body, heart, and soul, as it is not good for any woman to be worshipped.”

“You think she would not marry him?” I asked. My lady laughed, but not unkindly.

“Oh, no!” she said. “I do not always understand my sister (I think at times she scarce understands herself) but I am ready to wager my life’s happiness that she will never be David Pitcairn’s wife.”

And at that moment the subject of our talk knocked at the door and entered.

Her face was very pale, and her eyes burned bright with excitement. She came in quietly, and sat down by us in silence. My lady put out her hand, and laid it affectionately on her shoulder. By the glad, uplifted look upon her face, we knew that she was deeply moved.

By-and-bye she spoke gravely, almost solemnly.

“Sister! Barbara! is it not strange that, after all, my passionate desire to do something for the King has been gratified? Do you not see the hand of God in it? What led us to ride in the direction of Burntisland this evening, when we might as easily have gone the other way? What prompted me to ask for Janet Spiers’ gudeman, who, I knew, had lost his cough a month since; and above all, what induced the woman to talk to us about that little ship? Oh, will it not be wonderful if, by my means, the Government Army is defeated, and the Country turned so loyal that when the King comes home he will have nothing to do but ride to Holyrood and receive the loving homage of a united people.” She waved her hands in a sort of delighted ecstasy, and ended with a laugh so joyous that we were fain to join with her.

“God grant your beautiful dream comes true, my Betty!” cried my lady, kissing her. “’Twas well thought out, your plan, and can hardly fail. My brother is the man to attempt the enterprise, and seeing that arms and ammunition are the things most needed, he will move heaven and earth to get them. Let us think now of David Pitcairn riding through the night, and pray that no harm may befall him.”

“Dear, faithful David!” murmured Betty. “I would trust him with all I possess.”

“Except yourself!” said my lady slyly.

“I do not possess myself, sister!” said Betty, somewhat sharply. “Let us go to bed and try to sleep off some of our excitement. It will soon be Sunday morning, and I fear Mr. Pitcairn will have but an inattentive listener in me, if I am calm enough to go to Kirk to-morrow.”

And soon after we parted, and went to bed with our various thoughts and dreams.