The Entail

CHAPTER LVI

When the Leddy returned from the Court to Grippy, Walter, who had in the meantime been somehow informed of the nature of the proceedings instituted against him, said to his mother, —

‘Weel, mother, so ye hae been trying to mak me daft? but I’m just as wise as ever.’

‘Thou’s ordaint to bring disgrace on us a’,’ was her answer, dictated under a feeling of vague apprehension, arising from the uncertainty which seemed to lower upon the issue of the process by the evidence of Dr. Denholm.

‘I’m sure I hae nae hand in’t,’ said Walter; ‘an ye had na meddlet wi’ me, I would ne’er hae spoken to Keelevin, to vex you. But I suppose, mother, that you and that wily headcadab Geordie hae made naething o’ your fause witnessing.’

‘Haud thy fool tongue, and insult na me,’ exclaimed the Leddy in a rage at the simpleton’s insinuation, which was uttered without the slightest sentiment of reproach. ‘But,’ she added, ‘ye’ll see what it is to stand wi’ a het face afore the Court the morn.’

‘I’ll no gang,’ replied Walter; ‘I hae nae broo o’ Courts and law-pleas.’

‘But ye shall gang, if the life be in your body.’

‘I’ll do nothing but what Mr. Keelevin bids me.’

‘Mr. Keelevin,’ exclaimed the Leddy, ‘ought to be drum’t out o’ the town for bringing sic trebalation intil my family. – What business had he, wi’ his controversies, to gumle law and justice in the manner he has done the day?’ And while she was thus speaking, George and Mr. Pitwinnoch made their appearance.

‘Hegh man, Geordie!’ said Watty, – ‘I’m thinking, instead o’ making me daft, ye hae demented my mother, poor bodie; for she’s come hame wi’ a flyte proceeding out of her mouth like a two-edged sword.’

‘If you were not worse than ye are,’ said his brother, ‘you would have compassion on your mother’s feelings.’

‘I’m sure,’ said Watty, ‘I hae every compassion for her; but there was nae need o’ her to wis to mak me daft. It’s a foul bird that files its ain nest; and really, to speak my mind, I think, Geordie, that you and her were na wise, but far left to yoursels, to put your heads intil the hangman’s halter o’ a law-plea anent my intellectuals.’

Gabriel Pitwinnoch, who began to distrust the effect of the evidence, was troubled not a little at this observation; for he thought, if Walter spoke as well to the point before the Court, the cause must be abandoned. As for George, he was scarcely in a state to think of any thing, so much was he confounded and vexed by the impression of Dr. Denholm’s evidence, the tenor of which was so decidedly at variance with all he had flattered himself it would be. He, however, said, —

‘Ye’re to be examined to-morrow, and what will you say for yourself?’

‘I hae mair modesty,’ replied Walter, ‘than to be my ain trumpeter – I’ll say naething but what Mr. Keelevin bids me.’

Gabriel smiled encouragingly to George at this, who continued, —

‘You had better tak care what ye say.’

‘Na,’ cried Watty, ‘an that’s the gait o’t, I’ll keep a calm sough – least said’s soonest mendit – I’ll haud my tongue.’

‘But you must answer every question.’

‘Is’t in the Shorter or the Larger Catechism?’ said Walter. ‘I can say till the third petition o’ the t’ane, and frae end to end o’ the t’ither.’

‘That’s quite enough,’ replied Gabriel, ‘and more than will be required of you.’

But the satisfaction which such an agreeable exposure of the innocency of the simpleton was calculated to afford to all present, was disturbed at this juncture by the entrance of Mr. Keelevin.

‘I’m glad, gentlemen,’ said he, the moment he came in, ‘that I have found you here. I think you must all be convinced that the investigation should na gang further. I’m sure Mr. Walter will be willing to grant a reasonable consideration to his mother for her care and trouble in the house, and even to assign a moitie o’ his income to you, Mr. George. Be counselled by me: – let us settle the matter in that manner quietly.’

Pitwinnoch winked to his client, – and Wattie said, —

‘What for should I gie my mother ony more? Has na she bed, board, and washing, house-room and chattels, a’ clear aboon her jointure? and I’m sure Geordie has nae lawful claim on me for ony aliment. – Od, Mr. Keelevin, it would be a terrible wastrie o’ me to do the like o’ that. They might weel mak me daft if I did sae.’

‘But it will be far decenter and better for a’ parties to enter into some agreement of that sort. Don’t you think so, Mrs. Walkinshaw, rather than to go on with this harsh business of proving your son an idiot?’

‘I’m no an idiot, Mr. Keelevin,’ exclaimed Walter – ‘though it seems to me that there’s a thraw in the judgement o’ the family, or my mother and brother would ne’er hae raised this stramash about my capacity to take care o’ the property. Did na I keep the cows frae the corn a’ the last Ruglen fair-day, when Jock, the herd, got leave to gang in to try his luck and fortune at the roley-poleys?’

Honest Mr. Keelevin wrung his hands at this.

‘I’m sure, sir,’ said George, in his sleekest manner, ‘that you must yourself, Mr. Keelevin, be quite sensible that the inquiry ought to proceed to a verdict.’

‘I’m sensible o’ nae sic things, Mr. George,’ was the indignant answer. ‘Your brother is in as full possession of all his faculties as when your father executed the cursed entail, or when he was married to Kilmarkeckle’s dochter.’

‘’Deed, Mr. Keelevin,’ replied Walter, ‘ye’re mista’en there; for I hae had twa teeth tuggit out for the toothache since syne; and I hae grown deaf in the left lug.’

‘Did na I tell you,’ said the worthy man, angrily, ‘that ye were na to open your mouth?’

‘Really, Mr. Keelevin, I won’er to hear you,’ replied the natural, with great sincerity; ‘the mouth’s the only trance-door that I ken to the belly.’

‘Weel, weel,’ again exclaimed his friend; ‘mak a kirk and a mill o’t; but be ruled by me, and let us draw up a reasonable agreement.’

‘I’m thinking, Mr. Keelevin, that ye dinna ken that I hae made a paction with mysel to sign nae law-papers, for fear it be to the injury of Betty Bodle.’

‘Betty Bodle!’ said Gabriel Pitwinnoch, eagerly; ‘she has been long dead.’

‘Ah!’ said Walter, ‘that’s a’ ye ken about it. She’s baith living and life-like.’

Mr. Keelevin was startled and alarmed at this; but abstained from saying any thing. Gabriel also said nothing; but looked significantly to his client, who interposed, and put an end to the conversation.

‘Having gone so far,’ said he, ‘I could, with no respect for my own character, allow the proceedings to be now arrested. It is, therefore, unnecessary either to consider your suggestion, or to hold any further debate here on the subject.’

Mr. Keelevin made no reply to this; but said, as he had something to communicate in private to his client, he would carry him to Glasgow for that night. To so reasonable and so professional a proposal no objection was made. Walter himself also at once acquiesced, on the express condition, that he was not to be obliged to sign any law-papers.

CHAPTER LVII

Next day, when the Court again assembled, Walter was there, seated beside his agent, and dressed in his best. Every eye was directed towards him; and the simple expression of wonder, mingled with anxiety, which the scene around him occasioned, gave an air of so much intelligence to his features, which were regular, and, indeed, handsome, that he excited almost universal sympathy; even Mr. Threeper was perplexed, when he saw him, at the proper time, rise from beside his friend, and, approaching the bottom of the table, make a slow and profound bow, first to the Sheriff and then to the jury.

‘You are Mr. Walkinshaw, I believe?’ said Mr. Threeper.

‘I believe I am,’ replied Walter, timidly.

‘What are you, Mr. Walkinshaw?’

‘A man, sir. – My mother and brother want to mak me a daft ane.’

‘How do you suspect them of any such intention?’

‘Because ye see I’m here – I would na hae been here but for that.’

The countenance of honest Keelevin began to brighten, while that of George was clouded and overcast.

‘Then you do not think you are a daft man?’ said the advocate.

‘Nobody thinks himsel daft. I dare say ye think ye’re just as wise as me.’

A roar of laughter shook the Court, and Threeper blushed and was disconcerted; but he soon resumed, tartly, —

‘Upon my word, Mr. Walkinshaw, you have a good opinion of yourself. I should like to know for what reason?’

‘That’s a droll question to speer at a man,’ replied Walter. ‘A poll parrot thinks weel o’ itsel, which is but a feathered creature, and short o’ the capacity of a man by twa hands.’

Mr. Keelevin trembled and grew pale; and the advocate, recovering full possession of his assurance, proceeded, —

‘And so ye think, Mr. Walkinshaw, that the two hands make all the difference between a man and a parrot?’

‘No, no, sir,’ replied Walter, ‘I dinna think that, – for ye ken the beast has feathers.’

‘And why have not men feathers?’

‘That’s no a right question, sir, to put to the like o’ me, a weak human creature; – ye should ask their Maker,’ said Walter gravely.

The advocate was again repulsed; Pitwinnoch sat doubting the intelligence of his ears, and George shivering from head to foot: a buzz of satisfaction pervaded the whole Court.

‘Well, but not to meddle with such mysteries,’ said Mr. Threeper, assuming a jocular tone, ‘I suppose you think yourself a very clever fellow?’

‘At some things,’ replied Walter modestly; ‘but I dinna like to make a roos o’ mysel.’

‘And pray now, Mr. Walkinshaw, may I ask what do you think you do best?’

‘Man! an ye could see how I can sup curds and ream – there’s no ane in a’ the house can ding me.’

The sincerity and exultation with which this was expressed convulsed the Court, and threw the advocate completely on his beam-ends. However, he soon righted, and proceeded, —

‘I don’t doubt your ability in that way, Mr. Walkinshaw; and I dare say you can play a capital knife and fork.’

‘I’m better at the spoon,’ replied Walter laughing.

‘Well, I must confess you are a devilish clever fellow.’

‘Mair sae, I’m thinking, than ye thought, sir. – But noo, since,’ continued Walter, ‘ye hae speer’t so many questions at me, will ye answer one yoursel?’

‘Oh, I can have no possible objection to do that, Mr. Walkinshaw.’

‘Then,’ said Walter, ‘how muckle are ye to get frae my brother for this job?’

Again the Court was convulsed, and the questioner again disconcerted.

‘I suspect, brother Threeper,’ said the Sheriff, ‘that you are in the wrong box.’

‘I suspect so too,’ replied the advocate laughing; but, addressing himself again to Walter, he said, —

‘You have been married, Mr. Walkinshaw?’

‘Aye, auld Doctor Denholm married me to Betty Bodle.’

‘And pray where is she?’

‘Her mortal remains, as the headstone says, lie in the kirkyard.’

The countenance of Mr. Keelevin became pale and anxious – George and Pitwinnoch exchanged smiles of gratulation.

‘You had a daughter?’ said the advocate, looking knowingly to the jury, who sat listening with greedy ears.

‘I had,’ said Walter, and glanced anxiously towards his trembling agent.

‘And what became of your daughter?’

No answer was immediately given – Walter hung his head, and seemed troubled; he sighed deeply, and again turned his eye inquiringly to Mr. Keelevin. Almost every one present sympathized with his emotion, and ascribed it to parental sorrow.

‘I say,’ resumed the advocate, ‘what became of your daughter?’

‘I canna answer that question.’

The simple accent in which this was uttered interested all in his favour still more and more.

‘Is she dead?’ said the pertinacious Mr. Threeper.

‘Folk said sae; and what every body says maun be true.’

‘Then you don’t, of your own knowledge, know the fact?’

‘Before I can answer that, I would like to ken what a fact is?’

The counsel shifted his ground, without noticing the question; and said, —

‘But I understand, Mr. Walkinshaw, you have still a child that you call your Betty Bodle?’

‘And what business hae ye wi’ that?’ said the natural, offended. ‘I never saw sic a stock o’ impudence as ye hae in my life.’

‘I did not mean to offend you, Mr. Walkinshaw; I was only anxious, for the ends of justice, to know if you consider the child you call Betty Bodle as your daughter?’

‘I’m sure,’ replied Walter, ‘that the ends o’ justice would be meikle better served an ye would hae done wi’ your speering.’

‘It is, I must confess, strange that I cannot get a direct answer from you, Mr. Walkinshaw. Surely, as a parent, you should know your child!’ exclaimed the advocate, peevishly.

‘An I was a mother ye might say sae.’

Mr. Threeper began to feel, that, hitherto, he had made no impression; and forming an opinion of Walter’s shrewdness far beyond what he was led to expect, he stooped, and conferred a short time with Mr. Pitwinnoch. On resuming his wonted posture, he said, —

‘I do not wish, Mr. Walkinshaw, to harass your feelings; but I am not satisfied with the answer you have given respecting your child; and I beg you will be a little more explicit. Is the little girl that lives with you your daughter?’

‘I dinna like to gie you any satisfaction on that head; for Mr. Keelevin said, ye would bother me if I did.’

‘Ah!’ exclaimed the triumphant advocate, ‘have I caught you at last?’

A murmur of disappointment ran through all the Court; and Walter looked around coweringly and afraid.

‘So Mr. Keelevin has primed you, has he? He has instructed you what to say?’

‘No,’ said the poor natural; ‘he instructed me to say nothing.’

‘Then why did he tell you that I would bother you?’

‘I dinna ken, speer at himsel; there he sits.’

‘No, sir! I ask you,’ said the advocate, grandly.

‘I’m wearied, Mr. Keelevin,’ said Walter, helplessly, as he looked towards his disconsolate agent. ‘May I no come away?’

The honest lawyer gave a deep sigh; to which all the spectators sympathizingly responded.

‘Mr. Walkinshaw,’ said the Sheriff, ‘don’t be alarmed – we are all friendly disposed towards you; but it is necessary, for the satisfaction of the jury, that you should tell us what you think respecting the child that lives with you.’

Walter smiled and said, ‘I hae nae objection to converse wi’ a weel-bred gentleman like you; but that barking terrier in the wig, I can thole him no longer.’

‘Well, then,’ resumed the judge, ‘is the little girl your daughter?’

‘’Deed is she – my ain dochter.’

‘How can that be, when, as you acknowledged, every body said your dochter was dead?’

‘But I kent better mysel – my bairn and dochter, ye see, sir, was lang a weakly baby, ay bleating like a lambie that has lost its mother; and she dwin’t and dwinlet, and moan’t and grew sleepy sleepy, and then she clos’d her wee bonny een, and lay still; and I sat beside her three days and three nights, watching her a’ the time, never lifting my een frae her face, that was as sweet to look on as a gowan in a lown May morning. But I ken na how it came to pass – I thought, as I look’t at her, that she was changet, and there began to come a kirkyard smell frae the bed, that was just as if the hand o’ Nature was wising me to gae away; and then I saw, wi’ the eye o’ my heart, that my brother’s wee Mary was grown my wee Betty Bodle, and so I gaed and brought her hame in my arms, and she is noo my dochter. But my mother has gaen on like a randy at me ever sin syne, and wants me to put away my ain bairn, which I will never, never do – No, sir, I’ll stand by her, and guard her, though fifty mothers, and fifty times fifty brother Geordies, were to flyte at me frae morning to night.’

One of the jury here interposed, and asked several questions relative to the management of the estate; by the answers to which it appeared, not only that Walter had never taken any charge whatever, but that he was totally ignorant of business, and even of the most ordinary money transactions.

The jury then turned round and laid their heads together; the legal gentlemen spoke across the table, and Walter was evidently alarmed at the bustle. – In the course of two or three minutes, the foreman returned a verdict of Fatuity.

The poor Laird shuddered, and, looking at the Sheriff, said, in an accent of simplicity that melted every heart, ‘Am I found guilty? – Oh surely, sir, ye’ll no hang me, for I cou’dna help it?’

CHAPTER LVIII

The scene in the parlour of Grippy, after the inquiry, was of the most solemn and lugubrious description. – The Leddy sat in the great chair, at the fireside, in all the pomp of woe, wiping her eyes, and, ever and anon, giving vent to the deepest soughs of sorrow. Mrs. Charles, with her son leaning on her knee, occupied another chair, pensive and anxious. George and Mr. Pitwinnoch sat at the table, taking an inventory of the papers in the scrutoire, and Walter was playfully tickling his adopted daughter on the green before the window, when Mrs. Milrookit, with her husband, the Laird of Dirdumwhamle, came to sympathize and condole with their friends, and to ascertain what would be the pecuniary consequences of the decision to them.

‘Come awa, my dear,’ said the Leddy to her daughter, as she entered the room; – ‘Come awa and tak a seat beside me. Your poor brother, Watty, has been weighed in the balance o’ the Sheriff, and found wanting; and his vessels o’ gold and silver, as I may say in the words o’ Scripture, are carried away into captivity; for I understand that George gets no proper right to them, as I expeckit, but is obligated to keep them in custody, in case Watty should hereafter come to years o’ discretion. Hegh Meg! but this is a sair day for us a’ – and for nane mair sae than your afflicted gude-sister there and her twa bairns. She’ll be under a needcessity to gang back and live again wi’ my mother, now in her ninety-third year, and by course o’ nature drawing near to her latter end.’

‘And what’s to become of you?’ replied Mrs. Milrookit.

‘O I’ll hae to bide here, to tak care o’ every thing; and an aliment will be alloot to me for keeping poor Watty. Hegh Sirs! Wha would hae thought it, that sic a fine lad as he ance was, and preferred by his honest father as the best able to keep the property right, would thus hae been, by decreet o’ court, proven a born idiot?’

‘But,’ interrupted Mrs. Milrookit, glancing compassionately towards her sister-in-law, ‘I think, since so little change is to be made, that ye might just as weel let Bell and her bairns bide wi’ you – for my grandmother’s income is little enough for her ain wants, now that she’s in a manner bedrid.’

‘It’s easy for you, Meg, to speak,’ replied her mother; – ‘but if ye had an experiment o’ the heavy handfu’ they hae been to me, ye would hae mair compassion for your mother. It’s surely a dispensation sair enough, to hae the grief and heart-breaking sight before my eyes of a demented lad, that was so long a comfort to me in my widowhood. But it’s the Lord’s will, and I maun bend the knee o’ resignation.’

‘Is’t your intent, Mr. George,’ said the Laird o’ Dirdumwhamle, ‘to mak any division o’ what lying money there may hae been saved since your father’s death?’

‘I suspect there will not be enough to defray the costs of the process,’ replied George; ‘and if any balance should remain, the house really stands so much in need of repair, that I am persuaded there will not be a farthing left.’