Chapter XXXIV: Auld Tam ‘fey.’

Auld Tam came out of his shell in a fever of forced spirits, with a restless desire to be doing something. It looked like a boisterous, nearly wild gaiety, which caused his friends to stare and almost to stand aghast. Tam would again get up extravagant entertainments for Sir Hugo, who had by this time made himself so much at home at Drysdale Hall, that it was a bore to him to be treated like a comparative stranger, and ranked still as a guest.

But Tam would have entertained the whole world in his present frame of mind; anything was sufficient for an excuse to bring people together, to establish general good-fellowship, to give ample opportunities of meeting and settling matters, to individuals who hankered after such encounters. The _raison d’être_ was to force on the business in hand, till what might have tarried and languished, been blighted by unexpected contrary winds and perished in spite of its early promise, was brought to a swift, irresistible conclusion.

The master of Drysdale Hall was not satisfied with ordinary entertainments. He cudgelled his brains and scoured the city and country for something to show, something to visit, something to make merry over. Auld Tam blossomed all at once into being the patron of half-a-dozen societies, demanding dinners and suppers and balls from their munificent patron, with Drysdale Hall for the headquarters of such members as were pressed into the service of these feasts.

Notwithstanding plenty of evidence that Guy Horsburgh had long ago enabled Sir Hugo Willoughby to ‘do’ Glasgow thoroughly, Tam was struck with a sudden patriotic zeal lest any place should have been passed by. He insisted on making up parties of a heterogeneous description, including all and sundry, among them the oppressed Sir Hugo, to ‘do’ Glasgow over again--engineers’ shops, sugar-refiners’ premises, cotton-mills, without mercy--the whole at an unpropitious epoch. And the sightseers were sure to return in a body to profit by the lavish hospitality of Drysdale Hall, grown excessive to the exercising the soul of the housekeeper and the wearying of the spirit of Mrs. Drysdale. There might have been no such thing as bad trade, to judge from the joviality and regardlessness of domestic expenses which auld Tam was exhibiting.

A launch was announced in one of the shipyards, to which Tam not only had access, but was complimented by being asked to let one of his family name the vessel. He consented readily, giving the honour to Clary, and at the last moment bidding Mr. Mackinnon guide her arm, which was steady enough in itself. But Eneas’s hand shook in the duty confided to him, till Claribel told him reproachfully if she had not been firmer than he was, he would have caused her to swerve in her aim, and dash the bottle of wine against the stays instead of the side of the vessel, so that the good ship _Claribel_ must have gone forth unchristened and luckless to meet her fate on the high seas.

Auld Tam took to coveting more pictures for his gallery, and, losing faith in his native discernment and considerable experience, sallied forth, accompanied by a train of people, to consult on the merits of the pictures for sale in a west-country gallery which had come to the hammer. Very probably Tam was right that, after himself, Athole Murray was the best judge among his motley followers. But he deferred to her till her ears, which she could not believe, began to tingle, her teeth were set on edge, and she was reduced to talking nonsense, when he bought the worst picture in the lot on her jesting recommendation. Immediately afterwards, in the hearing of everybody, he presented the picture to young Tam as the ‘handsel’ to a new room which had been fitted up for him. Why, young Tam gaped, even as Athole’s face fell, grew white, and took an absolutely scared look.

Auld Tam became as incapable of buying flowers as of purchasing pictures unsupported by a circle of friends, while he refused to delegate the commission to his head-gardener. Tam summoned the two Eppies, Athole Murray, and Clary if she chose, to attend him to the West of Scotland Autumn Flower Show, and signified graciously to the young men within earshot of the arrangement that if they had an eye for ‘geranums’ and ‘gladioly’ they might look in at the show and repair to Ferguson’s for luncheon afterwards. Sir Hugo at least looked in and praised the display up to the skies, all because of a certain Scotch rose which was infinitely captivating to him. Young Eppie was struck by a new pelargonium, of which not only did her father buy many specimens from the nurseryman who was its fortunate introducer, but Sir Hugo was convinced that it would be a great addition to the geraniums at Willoughby Court, and that his mother would like the variety immensely. He, too, bought largely, when the seller, apprised of the rank of his customer and full of visions of his geraniums becoming the fashion in the great world, paid the same compliment to Sir Hugo that the shipbuilder had paid to auld Tam. The nurseryman offered the young English baronet the name of the yet nameless flower. Sir Hugo hesitated, and glanced from the one to the other with sparkling eyes and a word trembling on the tip of his tongue. He was as modest as he was ingenuous, and he was too deep in the toils to be quite free to pay compliments. Still a flower, like a star, was a beautiful namesake, fit for his Scotch rose, destined, perhaps, to hand down her name to a floral immortality.

Auld Tam saved the young fellow whatever delicate scruple he felt.

‘What would you think, Sir Hugie,’ said the father insinuatingly, ‘to give the name to young Eppie here? She was the first to call our attention to the flower, so that the name is hers, in a sense.’

‘A thousand thanks for the permission, Mr. Drysdale,’ cried Sir Hugo eagerly. ‘Will you do me the honour to grant your consent, Miss Eppie?’ speaking with soft emphasis, as if hers were the casting vote; ‘shall this happy geranium be linked with you always?’

‘Oh, no, no, Sir Hugo!’ protested Eppie, in a bashful tumult of mingled pride and humility and instinctive shyness. ‘It is not an honour--I mean my name is not an honour. Call the flower after your mother, Lady Willoughby, and then it will be like “Lady Pollock,” which has such bonnie leaves. That will be much better. “Eppie” is not a nice name for a flower; it is not half fine enough. I dare say Lady Willoughby would not like it.’

‘Excuse me,’ said Sir Hugo, beaming, ‘you must let me be the judge. My mother likes all that I like. I should be so pleased and proud to have your name associated with anything at Willoughby Court. It is your mother’s name also; speak for me, Mrs. Drysdale--you who are good to everybody--that I may send a token of you to my home, and find it flourishing there when I go back.’

‘You’re ower kind, Sir Hughie,’ said gentle mother Eppie.

At that plea of her mothers name, young Eppie gave in, not without a sense of innocent importance and elation at knowing that there was thenceforth a beautiful flower identified with her, that the ‘Eppie’ variety of pelargonium, which would no doubt come into general favour, would remain as a remembrance of those happy days. For very happy were those days to Eppie. She was young enough to enjoy with inexhaustible zest, and without any anxiety, the constant excitement. She did not even pause to ask what other delightful glamour of tender flattery, and pleased approval from all around her, was thrown over the time--what it all tended to, and what it all meant.

Tam Drysdale in his rawest youth had never been so idly disposed, so inclined to linger before setting out for Glasgow in the morning, to return to Drysdale Hall in the middle of the day, to seek to infect young Tam with his truancy by proposing to bring his son away from the office or the works hours before the appointed time. It looked as if auld Tam were fain to break through the daily routine of business, in order to pursue pleasure at his age, and that he desired young Tam’s countenance in the unbecoming proceeding. The head of the firm replaced the spirit of energy which he had displayed on the back of his unsuspected misfortune by a kind of disgust at the work which had formerly been as marrow to his bones. He accepted every poor excuse for dalliance and distraction. He would even have revived croquet-practice, since he was too heavy and stiff for tennis, if the young people had not laughed and hung back from the slow, old-fashioned diversion, so that he had reason to fear a deficiency of players.

For no manœuvring mother was ever more crafty and persistent in carrying out her drift. In two conspicuous instances it was so incomprehensible to the onlooker, and so opposed to auld Tam’s former tactics, that it baffled the shrewdest wit to penetrate it, and remained unsolved. If any mortal had possessed the clue it would have been pitiable to see the strait to which Tam Drysdale was reduced to effect a compromise between honour and dishonour.

Auld Tam’s spasmodic attempts at gaiety, his uncouth gambols, culminated in a great ‘treat’ or feast to his workpeople at Drysdale Haugh--to which everybody he knew was invited, and for which he spared no preparations. At his instigation the two Eppies were engaged for a whole day superintending the floral decorations of the room in which Dr. Peter had given his lecture. And the giver of the entertainment went himself and fetched Athole Murray (one of his pattern-designers!)--reluctant, annoyed, with a half-comical, half-hurt and angry sense that though the younger Eppie was glad to see her, the elder was affronted by her presence, and went as near to snubbing her as it was possible for either of the Eppies to snub any human being. The result was that Athole was prompted to be more merciless in her intolerance of young Tam, more savage--as even a kind woman can be savage--in her raillery where he was concerned, than she had shown herself for many a day, and that the revenge was likely to be taken under his mother’s indignant, horrified eyes.

There were games, dancing, and a sumptuous supper for Tam’s satellites. He had commanded his wife and daughters to appear in full dress, Eppie in her velvet and diamonds, Claribel in her ivory tinted silk and coral, and sweet young Eppie in the very soft pink and silver plumage which Clary had imagined for her. She wore, with great glee, the prettiest little watch in Muirhead’s, which her father had given her on her birthday. She was the real queen of the evening, and she was admired beyond measure by the worthy working men and women who had seen her grow up at their side, and knew her true, kind heart. Whatever grudge they might be tempted to bear the other fine folk, whatever sly joke to crack at auld Tam’s expense, at the very moment he was giving them so grand a ploy, they had nothing but admiration and tenderness for Eppie in her bloom. The young girls in white muslin, with lockets and ear-rings hired from the village jeweller for the occasion, followed her about and watched her half the evening. Endless inquiries were made after Miss Eppie’s grand young English ‘laud;’ he was reported a lord at least, and all the interest that could be spared from her was lavished on him. The couple far eclipsed Miss Drysdale and ‘Captain Mackinnon’ in the popular regard, though the last, as they were reckoned another pair of lovers, awoke their share of interest.

Auld Tam himself was in irreproachable black. Young Tam followed suit, defying the scornful eyes in the face of the vixen whom Dr. Peter had unwittingly reared. Yet Athole had the good taste not to wound the susceptibilities of her handmaid Jeannie by donning less festive apparel than was implied in a black tulle gown so quaintly and prettily trimmed by means of bands of silk, painted with tufts of buttercups, that if it was not a costly, it was certainly a becoming costume.

Sir Hugo would have come in a court suit if he had possessed one, and it would have given satisfaction in the right quarter. It was Guy Horsburgh who betrayed his friend into the solecism of arriving in the demi-toilette of a velvet morning-coat. But Tam Drysdale would have condoned any coat on ‘Sir Hugie’s’ back, while young Eppie secretly thought him like a prince, and many of the rustic spectators were fully convinced that velvet coats were the specialty of English baronets and their friends.

There was a little difficulty as to who was to open the ball. It ought to have been Mrs. Drysdale and Sir Hugo, or Mrs. Drysdale with the oldest dyer in her husband’s employment, followed by auld Tam either with Lady Semple or the rosy-cheeked granddaughter of his first bleacher. But neither of these arrangements met Tam’s views. Besides, Mrs. Drysdale was timid about her steps, whether, on the one hand, she could accommodate them to those of ‘Sir Hughie,’ friendly as he had shown himself--to the extent of seeming to aspire to be her son-in-law--or whether, on the other, she could contrive to keep pace with Lowrie Leech, who was dead-lame.

There was some apprehension, amongst those interested in the proceedings of the couple, that auld Tam would open the ball himself, dancing with his wife; but if he had ever entertained the idea he thought better of it. He made a speech instead, and deputed the ceremony to a younger couple.

‘My friends,’ he said, with a flourish of his white, soft, but powerful hand, ‘me and my wife are delighted to see you all here, and wish you a happy nicht. We are getting owre auld, as some of you may find yourselves, to lead either game or dance. When the band strikes up our auldest dochter will stand for her mither, and there’s a gentleman here, whose name may be known to a wheen of you, that will do me the favour to lift her. Most of you aulder folk will mind that before I was maister here, Drysdale Haugh belonged to Mr. Mackinnon in richt of his wife. All here who mind were their servants aince on a day, and it is fit that the former maister and mistress of the place, who I make no doubt did their best for their folk in their time, should be remembered and represented on an occasion like this. Lieutenant Mackinnon, sir, I’ll thank you to lead out my dochter and open the ball.’

The workpeople, who ‘ruffed,’ or beat with their feet, their applause, might accept Tam’s speech in all sincerity, and regard this bringing forward of Guy Mackinnon’s son as a generous, kindly deed, worthy of auld Tam; but his nearest and dearest trembled for him.

‘Are there ony fivvers that take the head going about?’ the elder Eppie asked Dr. Peter, with a shiver; while the younger Eppie turned to Sir Hugo, in their growing intimacy, with innocent perplexity: ‘It is funny of father to make Mr. Mackinnon open the ball with Clary. I used to be sure that father did not like Mr. Mackinnon, and now to send him to dance with Clary!’

‘It is because your father has compassion upon us young fellows,’ said Sir Hugo promptly; ‘and if he had known how I had set my heart on having this first dance which you are going to give to that urchin---- ’

‘Little Willie Finlay, Sir Hugo,’ Eppie interrupted. ‘But I was bound to dance with Willie, for he is as deaf as a horn, though he is fond to dance, and he needs a partner that will help him through the figures. Besides, Clary and me have to dance with all our men in turn, which will take us half the night,’ added Eppie a little mischievously. ‘If you do not want to sit still for a couple of hours you had better let me introduce you to some of the girls who look so nice; to Willie’s sister Mary, or to Sibbie Howden, or Camellia Duff.’

The couple opening the ball by commission were confounded--even Claribel was staggered. ‘I ought to be well acquainted with my own father,’ she said, with an uneasy laugh, ‘but till lately I never suspected him either of dry humour or of diabolical malice.’

‘Can he be giving in without a fight?’ faltered Eneas. ‘It has looked of late like his yielding without so much as a protest. He has not only been perfectly civil, he has been positively kind--asking me to come over with Semple, including me in all his invitations, and now distinguishing me like this. Does he care so much for you, Claribel, that he will swallow me and my poverty rather than cross you?’

Clary shook her head. ‘My father has been a fighting man all his life, more than you have been. He has welcomed trials of strength and skill. Why should he shun a fight? He likes me, of course; he likes me so well as to let me have my own way, if I have set my heart upon it, because he is both reasonable and kind--I have always counted on that. But as to his weakly abetting me in the pursuit of an object which he does not believe to be for my good--remember he does not know you so well as I do--I suspect he would rather see me in my coffin. He must be giving us line, as you fishers say, and laughing at us, though I would not have expected it from him.’

Mrs. Drysdale had a second grievance in the course of the evening, which she took so much to heart that she could not keep it from Tam. It was a repetition of a former offence of which she had complained to him at the time; and she thought that if she could thoroughly rouse him to the aggravated nature of the redoubled injury, it might help to restore the balance of mind which he had so strangely lost.

‘Tam,’ she said, drawing her husband aside into a bower of laurels, ‘I can stand this no longer. What do you think I have seen and heard? That gipsy of Dr. Peter’s--that I should call her such a name!--taking off young Tam to his face, as if he were the smallest graith in the room, and putting him off from dancing till it is her pleasure; and the laddie standing it like a cawf. Oh! I could give him a dirl in the lug [box in the ear] mysel’; and I could bid her bide awa’ from ony place I’m in, till she can behave herself as becomes a lassie like her, with due consideration for her betters. She’s weel enough, though she’s no bonnie; but she’s not fit to be named in the same breath with my Tam, who is bewitched, I think.’

‘Say you so!’ answered auld Tam a little abruptly; then he pulled himself together, asserted he must see to it, and before she could stop him, crossed the room to where Athole Murray was sitting fluttering a fan--on which she had painted a yellow-hammer in ‘the de’il’s livery’ of sulphur-yellow and black, which corresponded with the black tulle and buttercups of her gown.

‘Oh, mercy me! what have I done?’ cried poor Mrs. Eppie, in dire dismay. ‘If he speaks to her to quarrel her, though she weel deserves a hurry [scold], and it come to young Tam’s ears, he’ll neither be to haud nor bind. My laddie will never speak to his mither again. That lassie has driven him demented.’

But auld Tam addressed Athole with perfect politeness, even with an undercurrent of the special regard which he had always felt for her. ‘I hope you’re enjoying yoursel’, Miss Murray, mem?’

‘Very much, thank you, Mr. Drysdale,’ replied Athole, with perhaps a suspicion of exaggerated emphasis, but with great goodwill, for, as she had said, she was fond of auld Tam--the two suited each other wonderfully. She brightened up at his approach, with a sense of security and confidence. He would not tease or misunderstand her. To encourage young Tam in his folly would be the last thing he would think of doing. At the same time he, auld Tam, could let his son take care of himself. Her father’s friend would not sacrifice her to young Tam’s dignity. He would be honest and friendly, giving her the credit of doing her best in a difficulty--how great and sore none save herself knew.

‘I’m glad to hear you’re happy,’ Tam assured his guest with almost wistful earnestness. ‘I want everybody to be happy the nicht. A treat means a rarity, and as one never kens whether it can be given twice by the same hand, I would fain do the thing thoroughly when I’ve the chance. I hope all the arrangements are to your mind?’

‘Nothing could be better,’ Athole said quickly--she was not quite so certain as she had been of her safety with auld Tam. His speech had already recalled to her mind that he had not been like himself lately. He was one of nature’s gentlemen in the main, as she had always known--courteous and kind to his old friend’s daughter; but he was more at this moment, he was pointedly, painfully deferential, as he had been at the picture sale. She did not like his manner. She could not tell what to make of it. ‘I believe everybody is very happy,’ she added vaguely; ‘you may have the satisfaction of thinking that you have given a great deal of harmless pleasure to a number of people.’

‘I have heard there are exceptions,’ he said dubiously. ‘I’ve a notion I’ve seen ae discontented face, and another that is petted, gin it be not peevish. Will you forgive an auld man--auld enough to be your father--your father’s friend for that matter, for taking a liberty? What ails you at dancing with young Tam? If you’re so happy yoursel’, can you not spare a crumb to a poor beggar who has long been prigging [praying] for grace, this nicht aboon a’ nichts, when everybody’s heart is or should be as licht as his heels? Is it consistent with a gracious leddy’s happiness to be glad when a gentleman suffers? or are you behaving on principle, Miss Murray, mem? I ken I’ve no richt to speer [ask]; but you and me have been gude friends--have we no?’

Athole stared and grew red and pale again in an instant. She flicked her dress with her fan bearing the bird that wears the de’il’s livery. ‘There is no poor beggar here,’ she said sharply; ‘you know that as well as I. If there were, it might be different. But, indeed, you have no right to say anything, though you are the owner of this place and the giver of this ball, though you employ me along with your workpeople. No,’ she prevented a vehement protest, ‘I do not mean for a moment that you have not been everything that is good and kind to me; but I hope I too know how to behave civilly--you see you have touched me on a sore point.’ She gave a faint smile. ‘Yet--well, I did not expect it from you. I wonder what Mrs. Drysdale would say? she knows better, after all. How would you judge of your wish that everybody should be happy--supposing I complied with it, and supposing you wasted a thought upon it to-morrow morning?’ she ended bitterly.

For Athole had made the great mistake of imagining that auld Tam was so far left to himself as to desire she should gratify young Tam’s inclinations for the moment, at the expense of her pride and consistency; that she should permit attentions of which nothing could come, in order to increase the hilarity of the evening, at least where one member of the party was concerned.

To her amazement and distress, in place of leaving her or losing his temper, or even begging her pardon, auld Tam began to plead passionately on behalf of his son. ‘I’ve no richt to speak--less than none. I’m weel aware of it,’ he said, in agitation which he could not conceal. ‘Very likely he would be the first to blame me for advocating his cause--and why should he need an advocate with a leddy when he seeks her favours? He’s a brawer man than ever his father was, and women like strapping chiels. He’s been reared a gentleman, and he’s nearer the real article than mony a lord. He is not saft or gay of speech--he’s looking dour and dowff [stubborn and sad] enough at this minute when ilka other face is gay. But whose fault is that, I should like to know? It’s ill for a lad to thole a lass’s scorn, to be slichted when he has looted [bent], proud as he may be, to his knee. He’s pairtner in a fine business, and he’s making a grander business-man than I could ever have dreamt. His heart is in the richt place, and is as sound as a bell. What would you have mair?’ demanded auld Tam, with rising indignation. ‘Do you want his mither as well as his father to speak up for him? But is that like a reasonable leddy? My Eppie is as good a soul as ever breathed, but she’s his mither, and so her ain bird is whitest among the craws; no other bird that he can choose will ever come nigh him for whiteness in her een. It’s human nature, that; it’s mither’s nature. I thocht you would have understood and made allowance for ‘t, that it is useless to fecht against it. But I’ll be bound she’ll bear no spite, and come round as fast as ever woman came round, if no other man stand in the way--I’ve never heard tell of any other, and you could gar my Tam’s heart lowp [leap] with a kind word or look, and take the wind when it blows in your barn-door.’

She got up and left him in the middle of his pleadings. She could stand no more of such raving. She found her father and clung to him, addressing half-a-dozen arguments to him in favour of going home early. As she stood awaiting his compliance with her request, she put it to him:

‘Father, suppose a man does the very reverse of what you have been accustomed to see him do, and flies in the face of natural prejudices without the smallest reason, what would you think?’

‘I can hardly tell, unless I were to know the man,’ said canny Dr. Peter; ‘but folk would have said lang syne that he was “fey.”’

‘I am sorry,’ said Athole, in a low, grave tone.

‘If you mean auld Tam, as I take it you do,’ said her father, in the same key, ‘so am I--sick and sorry. There’s the devil to pay there, or I am much mistaken. I never thought to have witnessed the signs in this quarter. What is it? Over-trade, bad times, loss of credit, a heap of debt, an expensive style of living which cannot be altered without arousing suspicion? The result is the same--wild to get his daughters off his hands at a moment’s notice, even though he can find no better protector for Clary than the penniless officer, Gavin Mackinnon’s son, whom auld Tam was wont to despise. As for Sir Hugo, he would have been a big fish in the smoothest water, but one might have hoped that Tam Drysdale was above angling for it. Young Tam’s looking put about, so that you need not have snapped at him, Athole. I suppose it is a bad custom you have fallen into. Well, since we can do no good, we had better keep out of the mess, for mess it will be.’

‘I don’t know what it all means,’ said Athole, knitting her brows, ‘unless that auld Tam’s fey.’

Auld Tam brought forward Eneas Mackinnon a second time before the evening was over. When Tam’s health was drunk, in returning thanks, he begged to couple them with the name of Lieutenant Mackinnon, the son of the former proprietor of Drysdale Haugh.

The toast sounded to many people, as possibly auld Tam intended it should, tantamount to announcing Claribel’s engagement, and introducing young Mackinnon in the character of a member of the family.

Eneas muttered his gratitude in a couple of words. Some among the audience thought it was a pity the response could not have been made by his future partner in life, who would have been quite equal to delivering a calm, well-bred, suitable little speech. She must coach her bridegroom in anticipation of the wedding breakfast.