Chapter 38

The worthy waggoner, according to the established customs of all carriers, stage-coachmen, and other persons in public authority, from the earliest days to the present, never wanted good reasons for stopping upon the road, as often as he would; and the place which had most captivation for him as a resting-place was a change-house, as it was termed, not very distant from a romantic dell, well known by the name of Keirie Craigs. Attractions of a kind very different from those which arrested the progress of John Auchtermuchty and his wains, still continue to hover round this romantic spot, and none has visited its vicinity without a desire to remain long and to return soon.

Arrived near his favourite _howss_, not all the authority of Dryfesdale (much diminished indeed by the rumours of his disgrace) could prevail on the carrier, obstinate as the brutes which he drove, to pass on without his accustomed halt, for which the distance he had travelled furnished little or no pretence. Old Keltie, the landlord, who had bestowed his name on a bridge in the neighbourhood of his quondam dwelling, received the carrier with his usual festive cordiality, and adjourned with him into the house, under pretence of important business, which, I believe, consisted in their emptying together a mutchkin stoup of usquebaugh. While the worthy host and his guest were thus employed, the discarded steward, with a double portion of moroseness in his gesture and look, walked discontentedly into the kitchen of the place, which was occupied but by one guest. The stranger was a slight figure, scarce above the age of boyhood, and in the dress of a page, but bearing an air of haughty aristocratic boldness and even insolence in his look and manner, that might have made Dryfesdale conclude he had pretensions to superior rank, had not his experience taught him how frequently these airs of superiority were assumed by the domestics and military retainers of the Scottish nobility.--“The pilgrim's morning to you, old sir,” said the youth; “you come, as I think, from Lochleven Castle--What news of our bonny Queen?--a fairer dove was never pent up in so wretched a dovecot.”

“They that speak of Lochleven, and of those whom its walls contain,” answered Dryfesdale, “speak of what concerns the Douglas; and they who speak of what concerns the Douglas, do it at their peril.”

“Do you speak from fear of them, old man, or would you make a quarrel for them?--I should have deemed your age might have cooled your blood.”

“Never, while there are empty-pated coxcombs at each corner to keep it warm.”

“The sight of thy gray hairs keeps mine cold,” said the boy, who had risen up and now sat down again.

“It is well for thee, or I had cooled it with this holly-rod,” replied the steward. “I think thou be'st one of those swash-bucklers, who brawl in alehouses and taverns; and who, if words were pikes, and oaths were Andrew Ferraras, would soon place the religion of Babylon in the land once more, and the woman of Moab upon the throne.”

“Now, by Saint Bennet of Seyton,” said the youth, “I will strike thee on the face, thou foul-mouthed old railing heretic!”

“Saint Bennet of Seyton,” echoed the steward; “a proper warrant is Saint Bennet's, and for a proper nest of wolf-birds like the Seytons!--I will arrest thee as a traitor to King James and the good Regent.--Ho! John Auchtermuchty, raise aid against the King's traitor!”

So saying, he laid his hand on the youth's collar, and drew his sword. John Auchtermuchty looked in, but, seeing the naked weapon, ran faster out than he entered. Keltie, the landlord, stood by and helped neither party, only exclaiming, “Gentlemen! gentlemen! for the love of Heaven!” and so forth. A struggle ensued, in which the young man, chafed at Dryfesdale's boldness, and unable, with the ease he expected, to extricate himself from the old man's determined grasp, drew his dagger, and with the speed of light, dealt him three wounds in the breast and body, the least of which was mortal. The old man sunk on the ground with a deep groan, and the host set up a piteous exclamation of surprise.

“Peace, ye brawling hound!” said the wounded steward; “are dagger-stabs and dying men such rarities in Scotland, that you should cry as if the house were falling?--Youth, I do not forgive thee, for there is nought betwixt us to forgive. Thou hast done what I have done to more than one--And I suffer what I have seen them suffer--it was all ordained to be thus and not otherwise. But if thou wouldst do me right, thou wilt send this packet safely to the hands of Sir William Douglas; and see that my memory suffer not, as if I would have loitered on mine errand for fear of my life.”

The youth, whose passion had subsided the instant he had done the deed, listened with sympathy and attention, when another person, muffled in his cloak, entered the apartment, and exclaimed--“Good God! Dryfesdale, and expiring!”

“Ay, and Dryfesdale would that he had been dead,” answered the wounded man, “rather than that his ears had heard the words of the only Douglas that ever was false--but yet it is better as it is. Good my murderer, and the rest of you, stand back a little, and let me speak with this unhappy apostate.--Kneel down by me, Master George--You have heard that I failed in my attempt to take away that Moabitish stumbling-block and her retinue--I gave them that which I thought would have removed the temptation out of thy path--and this, though I had other reasons to show to thy mother and others, I did chiefly purpose for love of thee.”

“For the love of me, base poisoner!” answered Douglas, “wouldst thou have committed so horrible, so unprovoked a murder, and mentioned my name with it?”

“And wherefore not, George of Douglas?” answered Dryfesdale. “Breath is now scarce with me, but I would spend my last gasp on this argument. Hast thou not, despite the honour thou owest to thy parents, the faith that is due to thy religion, the truth that is due to thy king, been so carried away by the charms of this beautiful sorceress, that thou wouldst have helped her to escape from her prison-house, and lent her thine arm again to ascend the throne, which she had made a place of abomination?--Nay, stir not from me--my hand, though fast stiffening, has yet force enough to hold thee--What dost thou aim at?--to wed this witch of Scotland?--I warrant thee, thou mayest succeed--her heart and hand have been oft won at a cheaper rate, than thou, fool that thou art, would think thyself happy to pay. But, should a servant of thy father's house have seen thee embrace the fate of the idiot Darnley, or of the villain Bothwell--the fate of the murdered fool, or of the living pirate--while an ounce of ratsbane would have saved thee?”

“Think on God, Dryfesdale,” said George Douglas, “and leave the utterance of those horrors--Repent, if thou canst--if not, at least be silent.--Seyton, aid me to support this dying wretch, that he may compose himself to better thoughts, if it be possible.”

“Seyton!” answered the dying man; “Seyton! Is it by a Seyton's hand that I fall at last?--There is something of retribution in that--since the house had nigh lost a sister by my deed.” Fixing his fading eyes on the youth, he added, “He hath her very features and presence!--Stoop down, youth, and let me see thee closer--I would know thee when we meet in yonder world, for homicides will herd together there, and I have been one.” He pulled Seyton's face, in spite of some resistance, closer to his own, looked at him fixedly, and added, “Thou hast begun young--thy career will be the briefer--ay, thou wilt be met with, and that anon--a young plant never throve that was watered with an old man's blood.--Yet why blame I thee? Strange turns of fate,” he muttered, ceasing to address Seyton; “I designed what I could not do, and he has done what he did not perchance design.--Wondrous, that our will should ever oppose itself to the strong and uncontrollable tide of destiny--that we should strive with the stream when we might drift with the current! My brain will serve me to question it no farther--I would Schoefferbach were here--yet why?--I am on a course which the vessel can hold without a pilot.--Farewell, George of Douglas--I die true to thy father's house.” He fell into convulsions at these words, and shortly after expired.

Seyton and Douglas stood looking on the dying man, and when the scene was closed, the former was the first to speak. “As I live, Douglas, I meant not this, and am sorry; but he laid hands on me, and compelled me to defend my freedom, as I best might, with my dagger. If he were ten times thy friend and follower, I can but say that I am sorry.”

“I blame thee not, Seyton,” said Douglas, “though I lament the chance. There is an overruling destiny above us, though not in the sense in which it was viewed by that wretched man, who, beguiled by some foreign mystagogue, used the awful word as the ready apology for whatever he chose to do--we must examine the packet.”

They withdrew into an inner room, and remained deep in consultation, until they were disturbed by the entrance of Keltie, who, with an embarrassed countenance, asked Master George Douglas's pleasure respecting the disposal of the body. “Your honour knows,” he added, “that I make my bread by living men, not by dead corpses; and old Mr. Dryfesdale, who was but a sorry customer while he was alive, occupies my public room now that he is deceased, and can neither call for ale nor brandy.”

“Tie a stone round his neck,” said Seyton, “and when the sun is down, have him to the Loch of Ore, heave him in, and let him alone for finding out the bottom.”

“Under your favour, sir,” said George Douglas, “it shall not be so.--Keltie, thou art a true fellow to me, and thy having been so shall advantage thee. Send or take the body to the chapel at Scotland's wall, or to the church of Ballanry, and tell what tale thou wilt of his having fallen in a brawl with some unruly guests of thine. Auchtermuchty knows nought else, nor are the times so peaceful as to admit close-looking into such accounts.”

“Nay, let him tell the truth,” said Seyton, “so far as it harms not our scheme.--Say that Henry Seyton met with him, my good fellow;--I care not a brass bodle for the feud.”

“A feud with the Douglas was ever to be feared, however,” said George, displeasure mingling with his natural deep gravity of manner.

“Not when the best of the name is on my side,” replied Seyton.

“Alas! Henry, if thou meanest me, I am but half a Douglas in this emprize--half head, half heart, and half hand.--But I will think on one who can never be forgotten, and be all, or more, than any of my ancestors was ever.--Keltie, say it was Henry Seyton did the deed; but beware, not a word of me!--Let Auchtermuchty carry this packet” (which he had resealed with his own signet) “to my father at Edinburgh; and here is to pay for the funeral expenses, and thy loss of custom.”

“And the washing of the floor,” said the landlord, “which will be an extraordinary job; for blood they say, will scarcely ever cleanse out.”

“But as for your plan,” said George of Douglas, addressing Seyton, as if in continuation of what they had been before treating of, “it has a good face; but, under your favour, you are yourself too hot and too young, besides other reasons which are much against your playing the part you propose.”

“We will consult the Father Abbot upon it,” said the youth. “Do you ride to Kinross to-night?”

“Ay--so I purpose,” answered Douglas; “the night will be dark, and suits a muffled man. [Footnote: Generally, a disguised man; originally one who wears the cloak or mantle muffled round the lower part of the face to conceal his countenance. I have on an ancient, piece of iron the representation of a robber thus accoutred, endeavouring to make his way into a house, and opposed by a mastiff, to whom he in vain offers food. The motto is _spernit dona fides_. It is part of a fire-grate said to have belonged to Archbishop Sharpe.]--Keltie, I forgot, there should be a stone laid on that man's grave, recording his name, and his only merit, which was being a faithful servant to the Douglas.”

“What religion was the man of?” said Seyton; “he used words, which make me fear I have sent Satan a subject before his time.”

“I can tell you little of that,” said George Douglas; “he was noted for disliking both Rome and Geneva, and spoke of lights he had learned among the fierce sectaries of Lower Germany--an evil doctrine it was, if we judge by the fruits. God keep us from presumptuously judging of Heaven's secrets!”

“Amen!” said the young Seyton, “and from meeting any encounter this evening.”

“It is not thy wont to pray so,” said George Douglas.

“No! I leave that to you,” replied the youth, “when you are seized with scruples of engaging with your father's vassals. But I would fain have this old man's blood off these hands of mine ere I shed more--I will confess to the Abbot to-night, and I trust to have light penance for ridding the earth of such a miscreant. All I sorrow for is, that he was not a score of years younger--He drew steel first, however, that is one comfort.”

Chapter the Thirty-Fourth.

Ay, Pedro,--Come you here with mask and lantern. Ladder of ropes and other moonshine tools-- Why, youngster, thou mayst cheat the old Duenna, Flatter the waiting-woman, bribe the valet; But know, that I her father play the Gryphon, Tameless and sleepless, proof to fraud or bribe, And guard the hidden, treasure of her beauty. THE SPANISH FATHER.

The tenor of our tale carries us back to the Castle of Lochleven, where we take up the order of events on the same remarkable day on which Dryfesdale had been dismissed from the castle. It was past noon, the usual hour of dinner, yet no preparations seemed made for the Queen's entertainment. Mary herself had retired into her own apartment, where she was closely engaged in writing. Her attendants were together in the presence-chamber, and much disposed to speculate on the delay of the dinner; for it may be recollected that their breakfast had been interrupted. “I believe in my conscience,” said the page, “that having found the poisoning scheme miscarry, by having gone to the wrong merchant for their deadly wares, they are now about to try how famine will work upon us.”

Lady Fleming was somewhat alarmed at this surmise, but comforted herself by observing that the chimney of the kitchen had reeked that whole day in a manner which contradicted the supposition.--Catherine Seyton presently exclaimed, “They were bearing the dishes across the court, marshalled by the Lady Lochleven herself, dressed out in her highest and stiffest ruff, with her partlet and sleeves of cyprus, and her huge old-fashioned farthingale of crimson velvet.”

“I believe on my word,” said the page, approaching the window also, “it was in that very farthingale that she captivated the heart of gentle King Jamie, which procured our poor Queen her precious bargain of a brother.”

“That may hardly be, Master Roland,” answered the Lady Fleming, who was a great recorder of the changes of fashion, “since the farthingales came first in when the Queen Regent went to Saint Andrews, after the battle of Pinkie, and were then called _Vertugardins_--”

She would have proceeded farther in this important discussion, but was interrupted by the entrance of the Lady of Lochleven, who preceded the servants bearing the dishes, and formally discharged the duty of tasting each of them. Lady Fleming regretted, in courtly phrase, “that the Lady of Lochleven should have undertaken so troublesome an office.”

“After the strange incident of this day, madam,” said the Lady, “it is necessary for my honour and that of my son, that I partake whatever is offered to my involuntary guest. Please to inform the Lady Mary that I attend her commands.”

“Her Majesty,” replied Lady Fleming, with due emphasis on the word, “shall be informed that the Lady Lochleven waits.”

Mary appeared instantly, and addressed her hostess with courtesy, which even approached to something more cordial. “This is nobly done, Lady Lochleven,” she said; “for though we ourselves apprehend no danger under your roof, our ladies have been much alarmed by this morning's chance, and our meal will be the more cheerful for your presence and assurance. Please you to sit down.”

The Lady Lochleven obeyed the Queen's commands, and Roland performed the office of carver and attendant as usual. But, notwithstanding what the Queen had said, the meal was silent and unsocial; and every effort which Mary made to excite some conversation, died away under the solemn and chill replies of the Lady of Lochleven. At length it became plain that the Queen, who had considered these advances as a condescension on her part, and who piqued herself justly on her powers of pleasing, became offended at the repulsive conduct of her hostess. After looking with a significant glance at Lady Fleming and Catherine, she slightly shrugged her shoulders, and remained silent. A pause ensued, at the end of which the Lady Douglas spoke:--“I perceive, madam, I am a check on the mirth of this fair company. I pray you to excuse me--I am a widow--alone here in a most perilous charge---deserted by my grandson--betrayed by my servant--I am little worthy of the grace you do me in offering me a seat at your table, where I am aware that wit and pastime are usually expected from the guests.”

“If the Lady Lochleven is serious,” said the Queen, “we wonder by what simplicity she expects our present meals to be seasoned with mirth. If she is a widow, she lives honoured and uncontrolled, at the head of her late husband's household. But I know at least of one widowed woman in the world, before whom the words desertion and betrayal ought never to be mentioned, since no one has been made so bitterly acquainted with their import.”

“I meant not, madam, to remind you of your misfortunes, by the mention of mine,” answered the Lady Lochleven, and there was again a deep silence.

Mary at length addressed Lady Fleming. “We can commit no deadly sins here, _ma bonne_, where we are so well warded and looked to; but if we could, this Carthusian silence might be useful as a kind of penance. If thou hast adjusted my wimple amiss, my Fleming, or if Catherine hath made a wry stitch in her broidery, when she was thinking of something else than her work, or if Roland Graeme hath missed a wild-duck on the wing, and broke a quarrel-pane [Footnote: Diamond-shaped; literally, formed like the head of a _quarrel_, or arrow for the crossbow.] of glass in the turret window, as chanced to him a week since, now is the time to think on your sins and to repent of them.”

“Madam, I speak with all reverence,” said the Lady Lochleven; “but I am old, and claim the privilege of age. Methinks your followers might find fitter subjects for repentance than the trifles you mention, and so mention--once more, I crave your pardon--as if you jested with sin and repentance both.”

“You have been our taster, Lady Lochleven,” said the Queen, “I perceive you would eke out your duty with that of our Father Confessor--and since you choose that our conversation should be serious, may I ask you why the Regent's promise--since your son so styles himself--has not been kept to me in that respect? From time to time this promise has been renewed, and as constantly broken. Methinks those who pretend themselves to so much gravity and sanctity, should not debar from others the religious succours which their consciences require.”

“Madam, the Earl of Murray was indeed weak enough,” said the Lady Lochleven, “to give so far way to your unhappy prejudices, and a religioner of the Pope presented himself on his part at our town of Kinross. But the Douglass is Lord of his own castle, and will not permit his threshold to be darkened, no not for a single moment, by an emissary belonging to the Bishop of Rome.”

“Methinks it were well, then,” said Mary, “that my Lord Regent would send me where there is less scruple and more charity.”

“In this, madam,” answered the Lady Lochleven, “you mistake the nature both of charity and of religion. Charity giveth to those who are in delirium the medicaments which may avail their health, but refuses those enticing cates and liquors which please the palate, but augment the disease.”

“This your charity, Lady Lochleven, is pure cruelty, under the hypocritical disguise of friendly care. I am oppressed amongst you as if you meant the destruction both of my body and soul; but Heaven will not endure such iniquity for ever, and they who are the most active agents in it may speedily expect their reward.”

At this moment Randal entered the apartment, with a look so much perturbed, that the Lady Fleming uttered a faint scream, the Queen was obviously startled, and the Lady of Lochleven, though too bold and proud to evince any marked signs of alarm, asked hastily what was the matter?

“Dryfesdale has been slain, madam,” was the reply; “murdered as soon as he gained the dry land by young Master Henry Seyton.”

It was now Catherine's turn to start and grow pale--“Has the murderer of the Douglas's vassal escaped?” was the Lady's hasty question.

“There was none to challenge him but old Keltie, and the carrier Auchtermuchty,” replied Randal; “unlikely men to stay one of the frackest [Footnote: Boldest--most forward.] youths in Scotland of his years, and who was sure to have friends and partakers at no great distance.”

“Was the deed completed?” said the Lady.

“Done, and done thoroughly,” said Randal; “a Seyton seldom strikes twice--But the body was not despoiled, and your honour's packet goes forward to Edinburgh by Auchtermuchty, who leaves Keltie-Bridge early to-morrow--marry, he has drunk two bottles of aquavitae to put the fright out of his head, and now sleeps them off beside his cart-avers.” [Footnote: Cart-horses.]

There was a pause when this fatal tale was told. The Queen and Lady Douglas looked on each other, as if each thought how she could best turn the incident to her own advantage in the controversy, which was continually kept alive betwixt them--Catherine Seyton kept her kerchief at her eyes and wept.

“You see, madam, the bloody maxims and practice of the deluded Papists,” said Lady Lochleven.

“Nay, madam,” replied the Queen, “say rather you see the deserved judgment of Heaven upon a Calvinistical poisoner.”

“Dryfesdale was not of the Church of Geneva, or of Scotland,” said the Lady of Lochleven, hastily.

“He was a heretic, however,” replied Mary; “there is but one true and unerring guide; the others lead alike into error.”

“Well, madam, I trust it will reconcile you to your retreat, that this deed shows the temper of those who might wish you at liberty. Blood-thirsty tyrants, and cruel men-quellers are they all, from the Clan-Ranald and Clan-Tosach in the north, to the Ferniherst and Buccleuch in the south--the murdering Seytons in the east, and--”

“Methinks, madam, you forget that I am a Seyton?” said Catherine, withdrawing her kerchief from her face, which was now coloured with indignation.

“If I had forgot it, fair mistress, your forward bearing would have reminded me,” said Lady Lochleven.

“If my brother has slain the villain that would have poisoned his Sovereign, and his sister,” said Catherine, “I am only so far sorry that he should have spared the hangman his proper task. For aught farther, had it been the best Douglas in the land, he would have been honoured in falling by the Seyton's sword.”