Chapter XXVII

THE MISS MACKINNONS’ HARMONIOUS LITTLE ARRANGEMENT.

To begin with, something closed the Miss Mackinnons’ lips on this point, and not a word was said among them of the defrauding of Miss Mackinnon and Miss Janet to enrich Miss Bethia, sitting with downcast eyes, wringing the hands hidden in her lap.

At last Miss Janet said, not so much bitterly as with forced gaiety:

‘You are up in the buckle [exalted], Betheye--an heiress; you’ll no be speaking to me and Meye.’

‘Oh, Janet!’ burst out Miss Bethia, breaking down and sobbing with mingled pain and shame. ‘Do you think I would touch the money? I’ll gie it back, every penny, to you and Meye, the moment I’ve got it into my fingers.’

‘But there’s twa and whiles three at a bargain-making,’ said Miss Janet, with wounded pride in her voice. ‘Do you think we would tak’ from anither--though she happened to be our sister--what was ours, but had been wulled awa’ from us?’

‘But that would be cruel!’ protested Miss Bethia, in still greater distress. ‘How could I help it? An ill-kinded man! Gude guide us!’ pausing in horror; ‘to think that I should speak ill of him, and him hardly in the mools. But I never set een on him, never.’

‘You gowk, what does that signify?’ Miss Janet was provoked into treating the heiress with little courtesy.

‘What ails her?’ cried Miss Mackinnon wrathfully. ‘Is she pretendin’ to greet for the man, now that he has left her the maist of his money? I cannot stand such hypocrisy.’

Miss Bethia wept on, regardless of the good fortune, which was misfortune to her, and equally unrestrained by the manner in which her sorrow was misunderstood.

‘What can I do?’ she lamented. ‘I never wanted your shares; I never thocht money would come between me and you and Meye.’

Miss Janet was a little softened.

‘You can do nothing--as long as the paper stands, the money’s yours. But we’re no blaming you, save for being silly--and we’ll tak’ the will for the deed.’

‘Oh, thank you! thank you, Janet!’ said Miss Bethia gratefully. ‘If only Meye and you will not tak’ me for a traitor and hypocrite--and me never to have seen the man!--I’ll no mind so muckle. But is there no way to gie back the money, and share and share alike as we should have done? Why can I not do as I like with my ain, as he did?’

‘You’re fast enough with your ain,’ said Miss Janet, in fresh displeasure. ‘It has not been yours mair than an hour. I’ll tell you what, Betheye,’ the speaker relapsed into a sardonic mood, ‘it’s a’ very weel to say what you’ll do or not do the noo; but it’s as likely as not that the word o’ the sillar will bring some fair-spoken blackguard of a man after you. You’ll marry him fast; then Meye and me will be left in the lurch, and he’ll help you to spend the money that should have been ours.’

‘Never!’ declared Miss Bethia; and she failed to simper as of old, but a dull-red rose in her lined face and spread over it. She had, as she would have said, given up all thought of a man for many a day; but mercenary as were the notions attributed to this man, the sudden revival of the vision brought a shy, guilty sense of gratification, which the next moment covered poor Miss Bethia with confusion and remorse. Would she sacrifice her sisters even for the best man that ever breathed? ‘I wonder at you, Janet!’ she said, so vehemently that there was a suspicion of weakness and fear in the vehemence; ‘an auld maid like me.’

‘There’s nae fules like old anes,’ said Miss Janet jauntily; ‘and you’ll cease to be an auld maid when the scamp has made you a young wife. Ye ken you’ll be young among the mawtrons, though you’re auld among the maidens.’

‘It’s cruel,’ repeated Miss Bethia, with an ominous intensity of distress in the kindling fire of temptation. ‘Oh! I wish I had the horrible money to fling it into the fire, or cast it into Clyde.’

‘What good would that do?’ demanded the matter-of-fact Miss Janet, ‘unless you wanted him to loup in and fish it out.’

Miss Bethia groaned.

‘Stop her greetin’,’ broke in Miss Mackinnon, in greater disgust than before. ‘I canna bide sic false pretences, Betheye; it’s like haudin’ an ingan [onion] to your een. Hoo can ye try sic a trick upon Janet and me?’

‘I wull greet,’ Miss Bethia suddenly turned upon her sisters; ‘I have cause to greet. I thocht my ain sisters liked and trusted me, and I was prood to slave wi’ them and for them; but I find I was mista’en when they’re ready to misdoubt me, for nae faut o’ mine, and to tant me because of the wrongdoing of another.’

Miss Janet was taken aback by this new attitude of Miss Bethia, and the feelings reflected on her face were quickly caught up by her elder sister. They both paused, irresolute what to say next.

‘We dinna misdoubt you, Betheye,’ said Miss Janet, in a more subdued tone. ‘But you maun grant this has been a shock as well as a hardship to us--the younger to be served out of the elders’ portions--the elder to be dependent on the younger’s generosity, or whatever you like to ca’t.’

‘Oh, it is maist abominable!’ admitted Miss Bethia, with all her heart. ‘But it is no generosity--it’s justice which ocht to be done; and surely I’ll be helped to do’t, though I’ve to get the Queen to back me.’

‘It’s an expensive road to the Queen, though her Majesty is very gude and kind,’ said Miss Janet, not affording any encouragement to the scheme, but refraining from the strong derision she had been practising. The next moment she added: ‘I think there may be an easier plan--it has just flashed upon me--if you’re in earnest, Betheye, as I do not question.’

‘Try me,’ said Miss Bethia, with trembling eagerness.

‘Weel, I apprehend there’s just this parchment binding you doon--I said, as long as the paper stands we’ve but to submit. But what is to hinder us from making awa’ wi’t? The wull concerns nane but oorsel’s and the servants--that dour, sly jaud of a housekeeper and her man. We are perfectly agreed, and we can easily settle wi’ servants; we’ll pay them every bawbee of their legacy, though it’s twice as muckle as it need have been--and that is all they’ll care for. What need is there to keep the paper and fash our heads with it? We’ll tear it up, and think nae mair o’t, while we divide Jean Mackinnon’s money fair among oorsel’s.’

‘The very thing,’ said Miss Bethia, with a great sigh of relief and of lurking regret that the legacy had not been ten thousand or ten hundred. In that case, even the third fraction of it might have constituted her an heiress, with all an heiress’s privileges and trials. She might have been courted, she might have needed to stand firm, to decline to be wooed, to give her suitors a dignified yet amiable dismissal. There was glamour in the prospect, but it was not for Miss Bethia. ‘To destroy the wull,’ she hammered on at Miss Janet’s project, ‘which deals just with the servants, to whom we can make their legacy gude, while we are fully agreed on a fresh division of Jean Mackinnon’s money, is so easy and natural. I wonder it did not occur to us at aince. Let us do it this minute, Janet, before Mr. Mair or ony of the gentlemen come back.’ Miss Bethia was opposed to the least delay. ‘Shall I tak’ out the paper and tear it?’ she cried.

‘On second thochts, it had better be brunt, and then there will be no trouble with the fragments,’ said Miss Janet, gratified with having been the originator of a good idea, and full of importance in putting it into execution. ‘I believe I have heard,’ continued Miss Janet dogmatically, ‘that, when a wull is brunt in this way, the parties interested stand round a can’le, and each holds a corner of the dockiment over the lowe, so as to mak’ sure they’re all consenting to the destruction; then if any wyte [blame] is incurred, it will fa’ on all alike.’

‘But is there ony fear o’ wyte?’ asked Miss Bethia, startled. ‘Maybe, after a’, we had better wait and ask Mr. Mair.’

‘Maybe, after a’, we had better let the wull stand,’ said Miss Janet scornfully, for the resource hit upon had by this time recommended itself thoroughly to her. It would restore her own and Miss Mackinnon’s birthright, by the curl of a flame, if not by the stroke of a pen, and thus immediately wipe out the insult and loss inflicted upon them. And the act would prevent any danger of Miss Bethia’s wavering in her design, or being overborne by the arguments of others.

Not only was the plan Miss Janet’s, and therefore right in her eyes; she was proud of it, and sought to keep it in her own possession, and carry it out independently for herself and her sisters. She enjoyed the notion of astonishing and discomfiting Mr. Mair by her sharpness and promptitude. In fact, Miss Janet had got out her head, and was bent on ‘running her own road.’

‘You ken I did not mean to let the wull stand,’ said Miss Bethia, hurt, and reproachful. ‘But you’ll speak to Mr. Mair after. You’ll tell him what you’ve done with the wull he gave up to you.’

‘I’ll speak to Mair when he speaks to me,’ said Miss Janet, full of refractoriness. ‘What has he, ony mair than his clerk, to do with Fenton of Strathdivie’s wull, that was made on our account? Mair drew it up, as ony ither writer micht have done; but it was not his wull, or yours either, Betheye, as ane micht think, to hear ye speak. You’ve sune learnt to tak’ a great deal upon you. You seem to forget, because you’ve been preferred without reason, that we’re your elders, and Meye’s the head of the hoose.’

‘I dinna forget,’ said Miss Bethia, with a full heart.

Miss Janet went on harshly:

‘If you’re in earnest in makin’ reparation by being willin’ to join Meye and me, in what we’ve had cause to suppose you had fixed to do, ye’ll say no more about it.’

Miss Bethia said no more.

When it was put to Miss Mackinnon whether she would support her sisters in their spirited measure, she replied with hoarse emphasis, ‘Certainly!’ and looked about for a matchbox.

There was a wax taper by the inkstand, and Miss Janet was in such a hurry that she would not wait to ring for a candle, though it seemed doubtful at the first glance whether the little light could effectually consume the two or three broad-margined, widely-written, crackling pages of which the will was composed.

‘We’ll tak’ it leaf by leaf,’ said Miss Janet methodically. ‘There are only three o’ us; but I’ll haud twa corners, while you and Meye can tak’ the other twa, ane each.’

The process was a slow one. Miss Janet and Miss Mackinnon stood unflinchingly, braving the little wreaths of smoke which seemed to rise out of all proportion to the performance, even daring the yellow tongues of flame that darted across the paper, and threatened the bony fingers.

Miss Bethia shook fitfully, disturbing the balance of the arrangement, and shrank nervously from the burning, as if it had been Archie Fenton putting forth fiery fingers to execute vengeance upon her for her contemptuous treatment of his will.

The whole fantastic incident--witnessed under the solemn splendour of a moorland sunset, which shone in through a western window; the three big, gaunt, hard-featured old women, in more or less fixed theatrically tragic attitudes, the right hand extended, grasping the sheet of paper; Miss Janet’s dauntless, impassive face; Miss Mackinnon’s glittering, restless eyes, lit up by an imprisoned spirit; Miss Bethia’s features working with anxiety and dread; the shrivelling, blackening paper; the jets of flame, the smoke--all bore a marvellous, grotesque resemblance to the witches’ incantations of the Middle Ages. Fenton of Strathdivie’s will might have been one of those bonds, written in letters of blood, that sold souls to the foul fiend, and could no more be burnt in fire, which was their natural element, than the devil could perish in his own hell.

Towards the close of the strange proceeding there was a slight creaking of the door and rustling of something behind it, which caused Miss Bethia to look round in fresh terror; but the trifling noise ceased almost instantly. The charred fragments of the will dropped on the floor, and were carefully collected by Miss Janet in the fire-shovel and deposited in the empty grate. Another match was lit and applied to them, and she was soon warranted in the triumphant announcement:

‘There’s naethin’ left but white aiss [ashes], let Mair or wha like mak’ what they can oot o’t. We’ve snapped our fingers at Fenton o’ Strathdivie, in what was his ain hoose, too.’

‘Oh! wheesht, Janet, wheesht!’ implored the appalled Miss Bethia.

But Miss Janet did not heed her younger sister.

‘We’re free to do what we like wi’ our ain,’ she proclaimed exultingly.

Indeed, the Miss Mackinnons were not disturbed in their harmonious little arrangement, either on that night or before their departure next morning.

Mr. Mair, in his character of host, sat later over the funeral dinner than was prudent, with regard to catching the train by which he could reach that night the bosom of his family, in the market-town where he practised as a solicitor. He left in such a hurry that he declined a parting interview with Mrs. Todd, and contented himself with sending his clerk to fetch the desk from the study, and take leave for him of the Miss Mackinnons. Indeed, Mr. Mair had not been very favourably impressed by the ladies. He considered rightly that he had done all in his power for their comfort, and as a poor return, he had been forced to bear a considerable amount of rudeness from Miss Janet. He was a long-suffering man, but endurance has its limits.

The ladies, on their part, had not thought of leaving Strathdivie the very day after the funeral, but had rather meditated an indefinite stay--a sort of taking possession till their claims were settled, with the deliberate investigation of that ‘stoucherie’ [collection of goods in an old family house], all or part of which they had fondly hoped would have fallen to their share. But the sisters were compelled to understand that the place and everything it contained belonged to the late owner’s New Zealand cousins, among whose property the women had no excuse for prowling, however natural their regretful curiosity. At the same time they had every reason to distrust any prolonged civilities from Mrs. Todd, the housekeeper, who was again mistress of the situation, having been appointed by the lawyer to continue in her former place till the term should bring a new tenant to the old house.

And Miss Janet, in spite of her supreme confidence in her own powers, was a little doubtful what step to take next in the acquirement of the money, the division of which she had already altered in a summary fashion. It might be necessary for the sisters again to have that respectable family adjunct--a man of business; and if so, the sooner they applied to him the better on all these counts. Miss Janet and Miss Mackinnon filled Miss Bethia’s heart with thankfulness, by deciding to quit Strathdivie the following forenoon.

But another person was before the Miss Mackinnons. Mrs. Todd, in her new mourning, accompanied by her canny lout of a husband, in his Sunday suit, had slipped out of the house, leaving a deputy in charge, by break of day. Ten minutes afterwards, the late Fenton of Strathdivie’s confidential servant might have been seen at the little railway station, starting on a journey by the early Parliamentary train.

In the course of the day, Mr. Mair appeared again on the scene--not coming quietly by train this time, but driving in hot haste across the country, arriving at Strathdivie to find the birds flown, if he came in search of the Miss Mackinnons, who had departed for Glasgow a quarter of an hour before. The lawyer was in an excited, disturbed frame of mind when he heard that the ladies were gone. He turned the head of his reeking horse without giving it either rest or refreshment, saying to himself:

‘There is nothing for it but an application to the fiscal; and I doubt if I’ll come out clear in the business. I should not have been so careless; but who would have thought the old beldames were capable of such a trick? But, good Heavens! to think what will be the upshot, and how the wretched old women will be served for their desperate deed!’