Redgauntlet: A Tale of the Eighteenth Century by Walter Scott (classic novels .TXT) 📕

a man for that—I keep the kirk, and I abhor Popery—I have stood up for the House of Hanover, and for liberty and property—I carried arms, sir, against the Pretender, when three of the Highlandmen’s baggage-carts were stopped at Ecclefechan; and I had an especial loss of a hundred pounds’—

‘Scots,’ interrupted Fairford. ‘You forget you told me all this before.’

‘Scots or English, it was too much for me to lose,’ said the provost; so you see I am not a person to pack or peel with Jacobites, and such unfreemen as poor Redgauntlet.’

‘Granted, granted, Mr. Crosbie; and what then?’ said Alan Fairford.

‘Why, then, it follows, that if I am to help you at this pinch, if cannot be by and through my ain personal knowledge, but through some fitting agent or third person.’

‘Granted again,’ said Fairford. ‘And pray who may this third person be?’

‘Wha but Pate Maxwell of Summertrees—him they call Pate-in-Peril.’

‘An old Forty-five man, of course?’ said Fairford.

‘Ye may swear that,’ replied the provost—‘as black a Jacobite as the auld leaven can make him; but a sonsy, merry companion, that none of us think it worth while to break wi’ for all his brags and his clavers. You would have thought, if he had had but his own way at Derby, he would have marched Charlie Stuart through between Wade and the Duke, as a thread goes through the needle’s ee, and seated him in Saint James’s before you could have said haud your hand. But though he is a windy body when he gets on his auld-warld stories, he has mair gumption in him than most people—knows business, Mr. Alan, being bred to the law; but never took the gown, because of the oaths, which kept more folk out then than they do now—the more’s the pity.’

‘What! are you sorry, provost, that Jacobitism is upon the decline?’ said Fairford.

‘No, no,’ answered the provost—‘I am only sorry for folks losing the tenderness of conscience which they used to have. I have a son breeding to the bar, Mr. Fairford; and, no doubt, considering my services and sufferings, I might have looked for some bit postie to him; but if the muckle tykes come in—I mean a’ these Maxwells, and Johnstones, and great lairds, that the oaths used to keep out lang syne—the bits o’ messan doggies, like my son, and maybe like your father’s son, Mr. Alan, will be sair put to the wall.’

‘But to return to the subject, Mr. Crosbie,’ said Fairford, ‘do you really think it likely that this Mr. Maxwell will be of service in this matter?’

‘It’s very like he may be, for he is the tongue of the trump to the whole squad of them,’ said the provost; ‘and Redgauntlet, though he will not stick at times to call him a fool, takes more of his counsel than any man’s else that I am aware of. If Fate can bring him to a communing, the business is done. He’s a sharp chield, Pate-in-Peril.’

‘Pate-in-Peril!’ repeated Alan; ‘a very singular name.’

‘Aye, and it was in as queer a way he got it; but I’ll say naething about that,’ said the provost, ‘for fear of forestalling his market; for ye are sure to hear it once at least, however oftener, before the punch-bowl gives place to the teapot.—And now, fare ye weel; for there is the council-bell clinking in earnest; and if I am not there before it jows in, Bailie Laurie will be trying some of his manoeuvres.’

The provost, repeating his expectation of seeing Mr. Fairford at two o’clock, at length effected his escape from the young counsellor, and left him at a considerable loss how to proceed. The sheriff, it seems, had returned to Edinburgh, and he feared to find the visible repugnance of the provost to interfere with this Laird of Birrenswork, or Redgauntlet, much stronger amongst the country gentlemen, many of whom were Catholics as well as Jacobites, and most others unwilling to quarrel with kinsmen and friends, by prosecuting with severity political offences which had almost run a prescription.

To collect all the information in his power, and not to have recourse to the higher authorities until he could give all the light of which the case was capable, seemed the wiser proceeding in a choice of difficulties. He had some conversation with the procurator-fiscal, who, as well as the provost, was an old correspondent of his father. Alan expressed to that officer a purpose of visiting Brokenburn, but was assured by him, that it would be a step attended with much danger to his own person, and altogether fruitless; that the individuals who had been ringleaders in the riot were long since safely sheltered in their various lurking-holes in the Isle of Man, Cumberland, and elsewhere; and that those who might remain would undoubtedly commit violence on any who visited their settlement with the purpose of inquiring into the late disturbances.

There were not the same objections to his hastening to Mount Sharon, where he expected to find the latest news of his friend; and there was time enough to do so, before the hour appointed for the provost’s dinner. Upon the road, he congratulated himself on having obtained one point of almost certain information. The person who had in a manner forced himself upon his father’s hospitality, and had appeared desirous to induce Darsie Latimer to visit England, against whom, too, a sort of warning had been received from an individual connected with and residing in his own family, proved to be a promoter of the disturbance in which Darsie had disappeared.

What could be the cause of such an attempt on the liberty of an inoffensive and amiable man? It was impossible it could be merely owing to Redgauntlet’s mistaking Darsie for a spy; for though that was the solution which Fairford had offered to the provost, he well knew that, in point of fact, he himself had been warned by his singular visitor of some danger to which his friend was exposed, before such suspicion could have been entertained; and the injunctions received by Latimer from his guardian, or him who acted as such, Mr. Griffiths of London, pointed to the same thing. He was rather glad, however, that he had not let Provost Crosbie into his secret further than was absolutely necessary; since it was plain that the connexion of his wife with the suspected party was likely to affect his impartiality as a magistrate.

When Alan Fairford arrived at Mount Sharon, Rachel Geddes hastened to meet him, almost before the servant could open the door. She drew back in disappointment when she beheld a stranger, and said, to excuse her precipitation, that ‘she had thought it was her brother Joshua returned from Cumberland.’

‘Mr. Geddes is then absent from home?’ said Fairford, much disappointed in his turn.

‘He hath been gone since yesterday, friend,’ answered Rachel, once more composed to the quietude which characterizes her sect, but her pale cheek and red eye giving contradiction to her assumed equanimity.

‘I am,’ said Fairford, hastily, ‘the particular friend of a young man not unknown to you, Miss Geddes—the friend of Darsie Latimer—and am come hither in the utmost anxiety, having understood from Provost Crosbie, that he had disappeared in the night when a destructive attack was made upon the fishing-station of Mr. Geddes.’

‘Thou dost afflict me, friend, by thy inquiries,’ said Rachel, more affected