Book: Marriage

S >> Susan Edmonstone Ferrier >> Marriage




After jolting over half a mile of very bad road, the carriage
stopped at a mean vulgar-looking mansion, with dirty windows, ruinous
thatched offices, and broken fences.

Such was the picture of still life. That of animated nature was not less
picturesque. Cows bellowed, and cart-horses neighed, and pigs grunted,
and geese gabbled, and ducks quacked, and cocks and hens flapped and
fluttered promiscuously, as they mingled in a sort of yard divided from
the house by a low dyke, possessing the accommodation of a crazy gate,
which was bestrode by a parcel of bare-legged boys.

"What are you about, you confounded rascals?" called Mr. Gawffaw to
them.

"Naething," answered one.

"We're just takin' a heize on the yett," answered another.

"I'll heize ye, ye scoundrels!" exclaimed the incensed Mr. Gawffaw, as
he burst from the carriage; and, snatching the driver's whip from his
hand, flew after the more nimble-footed culprits.

Finding his efforts to overtake them in vain, here turned to the door of
his mansion, where stood his guests, waiting to be ushered in. He opened
the door himself, and led the way to a parlour which was quite of a piece
with the exterior of the dwelling. A dim dusty table stood in the middle
of the floor, heaped with a variety of heterogeneous articles of dress;
an exceeding dirty volume of a novel lay open amongst them. The floor
was littered with shapings of flannel, and shreds of gauzes, ribbons,
etc. The fire was almost out, and the hearth was covered with ashes.

After insisting upon his guests being seated, Mr. Gawffaw walked to the
door of the apartment, and hallooed out, "Mrs. Gawffaw,--ho! May, my
dear!--I say, Mrs. Gawffaw!"

A low, croaking, querulous voice was now heard in reply, "For heaven's
sake, Mr. Gawffaw, make less noise! For God's sake, have mercy on the
walls of your house, if you've none on my poor head!" And thereupon
entered Mrs. Gawffaw, a cap in one hand, which she appeared to have
been tying on--a smelling-bottle in the other.

She possessed a considerable share of insipid and somewhat faded beauty,
but disguised by a tawdry trumpery style of dress, and rendered almost
disgusting by the air of affectation, folly, and peevishness that
overspread her whole person and deportment. She testified the utmost
surprise and coldness at sight of her guests; and, as she entered, Mr.
Gawffaw rushed out, having descried something passing in the yard that
called for his interposition. Mr. Douglas was therefore under the
necessity of introducing himself and Mary to their ungracious hostess;
briefly stating the circumstances that had led them to be her guests,
and dwelling, with much warmth, on the kindness and hospitality of her
husband in having relieved them from their embarrassment. A gracious
smile, or what was intended as such, beamed over Mrs. Gawffaw's face at
first mention of their names.

"Excuse me, Mr. Douglas," said she, making a profound reverence to him,
and another to Mary, while she waved her hand for them to be seated.
"Excuse me, Miss Douglas; but situated as I am, I find it necessary to
be very distant to Mr. Gawffaw's friends sometimes. He is a thoughtless
man, Mr. Douglas--a very thoughtless man. He makes a perfect inn of his
house. He never lies out of the town, trying who he can pick up and
bring home with him. It is seldom I am so fortunate as to see such
guests as Mr. and Miss Douglas of Glenfern Castle in my house," with an
elegant bow to each, which of course was duly returned. "But Mr. Gawffaw
would have shown more consideration, both for you and me, had he
apprised me of the honour of your visit, instead of bringing you here in
this ill bred, unceremonious manner. As for me, I am too well accustomed
to him to be hurt at these things now. He has kept me in hot water, I
may say, since the day I married him."

In spite of the conciliatory manner in which this agreeable address was
made, Mr. Douglas felt considerably disconcerted, and again renewed his
apologies, adding something about hopes of being able to proceed.

"Make no apologies, my dear sir," said the lady, with what she deemed a
most bewitching manner; "it affords me the greatest pleasure to see any
of your family under my roof. I meant no reflection on you; it is
entirely Mr. Gawffaw that is to blame, in not having apprised me of the
honour of this visit, that I might not have been caught in this
deshabille; but I was really so engaged by my studies--" pointing to the
dirty novel--"that I was quite unconscious of the lapse of time." The
guests felt more and more at a loss what to say; but the lady, was at
none. Seeing Mr. Douglas still standing with his hat in his hand, and
his eye directed towards the door, she resumed her discourse.

"Pray be seated, Mr. Douglas; I beg you will sit off the door. Miss
Douglas, I entreat you will walk into the fire; I hope you will consider
yourself as quite at home"--another elegant bend to each. "I only regret
that Mr. Gawffaw's folly and ill-breeding should have brought you into
this disagreeable situation, Mr. Douglas. He is a well-meaning man, Mr.
Douglas, and a good-hearted man; but he is very deficient in other
respects, Mr. Douglas."

Mr. Douglas, happy to find anything to which he could assent, warmly
joined in the eulogium on the excellence of his friend's heart. It did
not appear, however, to give the satisfaction he expected. The lady
resumed with a sigh, "Nobody can know Mr. Gawffaw's heart better than I
do, Mr. Douglas. It _is_ a good one, but it is far from being an elegant
one; it is one in which I find no congeniality of sentiment with my own.
Indeed, Mr. Gawffaw is no companion for me, nor I for him, Mr. Douglas;
he is never happy in my society, and I really believe he would rather
sit down with the tinklers on the roadside as spend a day in my
company."

A deep sigh followed; but its pathos was drowned in the obstreperous ha,
ha, ha! of her joyous helpmate, as he bounced into the room, wiping his
forehead.

"'Why, May, my dear, what have you been to-day? Things have been all
going to the deuce. Why didn't you hinder these boys from sweein' the
gate off its hinges, and--"

"Me hinder boys from sweein' gates, Mr. Gawffaw! Do I look like as if I
was capable of hindering boys from sweein' gates, Miss Douglas?"

"Well, my dear, you ought to look after your pigs a little better. That
jade, black Jess, has trod a parcel of them to death, ha, ha, ha! And--"

"Me look after pigs, Mr. Gawffaw! I am really astonished at you!" again
interrupted the lady, turning pale with vexation. Then, with an affected
giggle, appealing to Mary, "I leave you to judge, Miss Douglas, if I
look like a person made for running after pigs!"

"Indeed," thought Mary, "you don't look like as if you could do
anything half so useful."

"Well, never mind the pigs, my dear; only don't give us any of them for
dinner--ha, ha, ha I--and, May, when will you let us have it?"

"Me let you have it, Mr. Gawffaw! I'm sure I don't hinder you from
having it when you please, only you know I prefer late hours myself. I
was always accustomed to them in my poor father's lifetime. He never
dined before four o'clock; and I seldom knew what it was to be in my bed
before twelve o'clock at night, Miss Douglas, till I married Mr. Gawffaw!"

Mary tried to look sorrowful, to hide the smile that was dimpling her
cheek.

"Come, let us have something to eat in the meantime, my dear."

"I'm sure you may eat the house, if you please, for me, Mr. Gawffaw!
What would you take, Miss Douglas? But pull the bell--softly, Mr.
Gawffaw! You do everything so violently."

A dirty maid-servant, with bare feet, answered the summons.

"Where's Tom?" demanded the lady, well knowing that Tom was afar off at
some of the farm operations.

"I ken nae whar he's. He'll be aether at the patatees, or the horses,
I'se warran. Div ye want him?"

"Bring some glasses," said her mistress, with an air of great dignity.
"Mr. Gawffaw, you must see about the wine yourself since you have sent
Tom out of the way."

Mr. Gawffaw and his handmaid were soon heard in an adjoining closet;
the one wondering where the screw was, the other vociferating for a
knife to cut the bread; while the mistress of this well-regulated
mansion sought to divert her guests' attention from what was passing by
entertaining them with complaints of Mr. Gawffaw's noise and her maid's
insolence till the parties appeared to speak for themselves.

After being refreshed with some very bad wine and old baked bread, the
gentlemen set off on a survey of the farm, and the ladies repaired to
their toilets. Mary's simple dress was quickly adjusted; and upon
descending she found her uncle alone in what Mrs. Gawffaw had shown to
her as the drawing room. He guessed her curiosity to know something of
her hosts, and therefore briefly informed her that Mrs. Gawffaw was the
daughter of a trader in some manufacturing town, who had lived in
opulence and died insolvent. During his life his daughter had eloped
with Bob Gawffaw, then a gay lieutenant in a marching regiment, who had
been esteemed a very lucky fellow in getting the pretty Miss Croaker,
with the prospect of ten thousand pounds. None thought more highly of
her husband's good fortune than the lady herself; and though _her_
fortune never was realised, she gave herself all the airs of having been
the making of his. At this time Mr. Gawffaw was a reduced lieutenant,
living upon a small paternal property, which he pretended to farm; but
the habits of a military life, joined to a naturally social disposition,
were rather inimical to the pursuits of agriculture, and most of his time
was spent in loitering about the village of G-----, where he generally
continued either to pick up a guest or procure a dinner.

Mrs. Gawffaw despised her husband; had weak nerves and headaches--was
above managing her house--read novels--dyed ribbons--and altered her
gowns according to every pattern she could see or hear of.

Such were Mr. and Mrs. Gawffaw--one of the many ill-assorted couples in
this world--joined, not matched. A sensible man would have curbed her
folly and peevishness; a good-tempered woman would have made his home
comfortable, and rendered him more domestic.

The dinner was such as might have been expected from the previous
specimens--bad of its kind, cold, ill-dressed, and slovenly set down;
but Mrs. Gawtfaw seemed satisfied with herself and it.

"This is very fine mutton, Mr. Douglas, and not underdone to most
people's tastes; and this fowl, I have no doubt will eat well, Miss
Douglas, though it is not so white as some I have seen."

"The fowl, my dear, looks as if it had been the great-grandmother
of this sheep, ha, ha, ha!"

"For heaven's sake, Mr. Gawffaw, make less noise, or my head will split
in a thousand pieces!" putting her hands to it, as if to hold the frail
tenement together. This was always her refuge when at a loss for a
reply.

A very ill-concocted pudding next called forth her approbation.

"This pudding should be good; for it is the same I used to be so
partial to in my poor father's lifetime, when I was used to every
delicacy, Miss Douglas, that money could purchase."

"But you thought me the greatest delicacy of all, my dear, ha, ha, ha!
for you left all your other delicacies for me, ha, ha, ha I--what do you
say to that, May? ha, ha, ha!"

May's reply consisted in putting her hands to her head, with an air of
inexpressible vexation; and finding all her endeavours to be elegant
frustrated by the overpowering vulgarity of her husband, she remained
silent during the remainder of the repast; solacing herself with
complacent glances at her yellow silk gown, and adjusting the gold
chains and necklaces that adorned her bosom.

Poor Mary was doomed to a _tete-a-tete_ with her during the whole
evening; for Mr. Gawffaw was too happy _with_ his friend, and _without_
his wife, to quit the dining-room till a late hour; and then he was so
much exhilarated, that she could almost have joined Mrs. Gawffaw in her
exclamation of "For heaven's sake, Mr. Gawffaw, have mercy on my head!"

The night, however, like all other nights, had a close; and Mrs.
Gawffaw, having once more enjoyed the felicity of finding herself in
company at twelve o'clock at night, at length withdraw; and having
apologised, and hoped, and feared, for another hour in Mary's apartment,
she finally left her to the blessings of solitude and repose.

As Mr. Douglas was desirous of reaching Edinburgh the following day,
he had, in spite of the urgent remonstrances of his friendly host and
the elegant importunities of his lady, ordered the carriage at an early
hour; and Mary was too eager to quit Howffend to keep it waiting. Mr.
Gawffaw was in readiness to hand her in, but fortunately Mrs. Gaffaw's
head did not permit of her rising. With much the same hearty laugh that
had welcomed their meeting, honest Gawffaw now saluted the departure of
his friend; and as he went whistling over his gate, he ruminated sweet
and bitter thoughts as to the destinies of the day--whether he should
solace himself with a good dinner and the company of Bailie Merry
thought at the Cross Keys in G----, or put up with cold mutton, and May,
at home.




CHAPTER XXXIII.

"Edina! Scotia's darling seat!
All hail thy palaces and tow'rs,
Where once, beneath a monarch's feet,
Sat legislation's sov'reign pow'rs!"

BURNS.

ALL Mary's sensations of admiration were faint compared to those she
experienced as she viewed the Scottish metropolis. It was associated in
her mind with all the local prepossessions to which youth and enthusiasm
love to give "a local habitation and a name;" and visions of older times
floated o'er her mind as she gazed on its rocky battlements, and
traversed the lonely arcades of its deserted palace.

"And this was once a gay court!" thought she, as she listened to the
dreary echo of her own footsteps; "and this very ground on which I now
stand was trod by the hapless Mary Stuart! Her eye beheld the same
objects that mine now rests upon; her hand has touched the draperies I
now hold in mine. These frail memorials remain; but what remains of
Scotland's Queen but a blighted name!"

Even the blood-stained chamber possessed a nameless charm for
Mary's vivid imagination. She had not entirely escaped the superstitions
of the country in which she had lived; and she readily yielded her
assent to the asseverations of her guide as to its being the _bona fide_
blood of _David Rizzio,_ which for nearly three hundred years had
resisted all human efforts to efface.

"My credulity is so harmless," said she in answer to her uncle's attempt
to laugh her out of her belief, "that I surely may be permitted to
indulge it especially since I confess I feel a sort of indescribable
pleasure in it."

"You take a pleasure in the sight of blood!" exclaimed Mr. Douglas in
astonishment, "you who turn pale at sight of a cut finger, and shudder
at a leg of mutton with the juice in it!"

"Oh! mere modern vulgar blood is very shocking," answered Mary, with a
smile; "but observe how this is mellowed by time into a tint that could
not offend the most fastidious fine lady; besides," added she in a
graver tone, "I own I love to believe in things supernatural; it seems
to connect us more with another world than when everything is seen to
proceed in the mere ordinary course of nature, as it is called. I cannot
bear to imagine a dreary chasm betwixt the inhabitants of this world and
beings of a higher sphere; I love to fancy myself surrounded by----"

"I wish to heaven you would remember you are surrounded by rational
beings, and not fall into such rhapsodies," said her uncle, glancing at
a party who stood near them, jesting upon all the objects which Mary had
been regarding with so much veneration. "But come, you have been long
enough here. Let us try whether a breeze on the Calton Hill will not
dispel these cobwebs from your brain."

The day, though cold, was clear and sunny; and the lovely spectacle
before them shone forth in all its gay magnificence. The blue waters lay
calm and motionless. The opposite shores glowed in a thousand varied
tints of wood and plain, rock and mountain, cultured field and purple
moor. Beneath, the old town reared its dark brow, and the new one
stretched its golden lines; while all around the varied charms of nature
lay scattered in that profusion which nature's hand alone can bestow.

"Oh! this is exquisite!" exclaimed Mary after along pause, in which she
had been riveted in admiration of the scene before her. "And you are in
the right, my dear uncle. The ideas which are inspired by the
contemplation of such a spectacle as this are far--oh, how
far!--superior to those excited by the mere works of art. There I can,
at best, think but of the inferior agents of Providence; here the soul
rises from nature up to nature's God."

"Upon my soul, you will be taken for a Methodist, Mary, if you talk in
this manner," said Mr. Douglas, with some marks of disquiet, as he
turned round at the salutation of a fat elderly gentleman, whom he
presently recognised as Bailie Broadfoot.

The first salutations over, Mr. Douglas's fears of Mary having been
overheard recurred, and he felt anxious to remove any unfavourable
impression with regard to his own principles, at least, from the mind of
the enlightened magistrate.

"Your fine views here have set my niece absolutely raving," said he,
with a smile; "but I tell her it is only in romantic minds that fine
scenery inspires romantic ideas. I daresay many of the worthy
inhabitants of Edinburgh walk here with no other idea than that of
sharpening their appetites for dinner."

"Nae doot," said the Bailie, "it's a most capital place for that. Were
it no' for that I ken nae muckle use it would be of."

"You speak from experience of its virtues in that respect, I suppose?"
said Mr. Douglas gravely.

"'Deed, as to that I canna compleen. At times, to be sure, I am troubled
with a little kind of a squeamishness after our public interteenments;
but three rounds o' the hill sets a' to rights."

Then observing Mary's eyes exploring, as he supposed, the town of Leith,
"You see that prospeck to nae advantage the day, miss," said he. "If
the glasshouses had been workin', it would have looked as weel again.
Ye hae nae glass-houses in the Highlands; na, na."

The Bailie had a share in the concern; and the volcanic clouds of
smoke that issued from thence were far more interesting subjects of
speculation to him than all the eruptions of Vesuvius or Etna. But there
was nothing to charm the lingering view to-day; and he therefore
proposed their taking a look at Bridewell, which, next to the smoke from
the glass-houses, he reckoned the object most worthy of notice. It was
indeed deserving of the praises bestowed upon it; and Mary was giving
her whole attention to the details of it when she was suddenly startled
by hearing her own name wailed in piteous accents from one of the lower
cells, and, upon turning round, she discovered in the prisoner the son
of one of the tenants of Glenfern. Duncan M'Free had been always looked
upon as a very honest lad in the Highlands, but he had left home to push
his fortune as a pedlar; and the temptations of the low country having
proved too much for his virtue, poor Duncan as now expiating his offence
in durance vile.

"I shall have a pretty account of you to carry to Glenfern," said Mr.
Douglas, regarding the culprit with his sternest look.

"Oh 'deed, sir, it's no' my faut!" answered Duncan, blubbering
bitterly; "but there's nae freedom at a' in this country. Lord, an' I
war oot o't! Ane canna ca' their head their ain in't; for ye canna lift
the bouk o' a prin but they're a' upon ye." And a fresh burst of sorrow
ensued.

Finding the _peccadillo_ was of a venial nature, Mr. Douglas besought
the Bailie to us his interest to procure the enfranchisement of this his
vassal, which Mr. Broadfoot, happy to oblige a good customer, promised
should be obtained on the following day; and Duncan's emotions being
rather clamorous, the party found it necessary to withdraw.

"And noo," said the Bailie, as they emerged from his place of dole and
durance, "will ye step up to the monument, and tak a rest and some
refreshment?"

"Rest and refreshment in a monument!" exclaimed Mr. Douglas. "Excuse
me, my good friend, but we are not inclined to bait there yet a while."

The Bailie did not comprehend the joke; and he proceeded in his own
drawling humdrum accent to assure them that the monument was a most
convenient place.

"It was erected in honour of Lord Neilson's memory," said he, "and is
let aff to a pastrycook and confectioner, where you can always find some
trifles to treat the ladies, such as pies and custards, and berries, and
these sort of things; but we passed an order in the cooncil that there
should be naething of a spirituous nature introduced; for if ance
spirits got admittance there's no saying what might happen."

This was a fact which none of the party were disposed to dispute; and
the Bailie, triumphing in his dominion over the spirits, shuffled on
before to do the honours of this place, appropriated at one and the same
time to the manes of a hero and the making of minced pies. The regale
was admirable, and Mary could not help thinking times were improved, and
that it was a better thing to eat tarts in Lord Nelson's Monument than
to have been poisoned in Julius Caesar's.





CHAPTER XXXIV.

"Having a tongue rough as a cat, and biting like an adder, and all their
reproofs are direct scoldings, their common intercourse is open
contumely."--JEREMY TAYLOR.

"THOUGH last, not least of nature's works, I must now introduce you to a
friend of mine," said Mr. Douglas, as, the Bailie having made his bow,
they bent their steps towards the Castle Hill. "Mrs. Violet Macshake is
an aunt of my mother's, whom you must often have heard of, and the last
remaining branch of the noble race of Girnachgowl."

"I am afraid she is rather a formidable person, then?" said Mary.

Her uncle hesitated. "No, not formidable--only rather particular, as all
old people are; but she is very good-hearted."

"I understand, in other words, she is very disagreeable. All
ill-tempered people, I observe, have the character of being
good-hearted; or else all good people are ill-tempered, I can't tell
which."

"It is more than reputation with her," said Mr. Douglas, somewhat
angrily: "for she is, in reality, a very good-hearted woman, as I
experienced when a boy at college. Many a crown piece and half-guinea I
used to get from her. Many a scold, to be sure, went along with them;
but that, I daresay, I deserved. Besides, she is very rich, and I am her
reputed heir; therefore gratitude and self-interest combine to render her
extremely amiable in my estimation."

They had now reached the airy dwelling where Mrs. Macshake resided, and
having rung, the door was at length most deliberately opened by an
ancient, sour-visaged, long-waisted female, who ushered them into an
apartment, the _coup d'oeil_ of which struck a chill to Mary's heart. It
was a good-sized room, with a bare sufficiency of small-legged
dining-tables, and lank haircloth chairs, ranged in high order round the
walls. Although the season was advanced, and the air piercing cold, the
grate stood smiling in all the charms of polished steel; and the
mistress of the mansion was seated by the side of it in an arm-chair,
still in its summer position. She appeared to have no other occupation
than what her own meditations afforded; for a single glance sufficed to
show that not a vestige of book or work was harboured there. She was a
tall, large-boned woman, whom even Time's iron hands scarcely bent, as
she merely stooped at the shoulders. She had a drooping snuffy nose, a
long turned-up chin, small quick gray eyes, and her face projected
far beyond her figure, with an expression of shrewd restless curiosity.
She wore a mode (not _a-la-mode )_ bonnet, and cardinal of the
same, a pair of clogs over her shoes, and black silk mittens on her arms.

As soon as she recognised Mr. Douglas she welcomed him with much
cordiality, shook him long and heartily by the hand, patted him on the
back, looked into his face with much seeming satisfaction; and, in
short, gave all the demonstrations of gladness usual with gentlewomen of
a certain age. Her pleasure, however, appeared to be rather an
_impromptu_ than an habitual feeling; for as the surprise wore off her
visage resumed its harsh and sarcastic expression, and she seemed eager
to efface any agreeable impression her reception might have
excited.

"An' wha thought o' seein ye enow?" said she, in a quick gabbling voice.
"What brought you to the toon? Are ye come to spend our honest faither's
siller ere he's weel cauld in his grave, puir man?"

Mr. Douglas explained that it was upon account of his niece's health.

"Health!" repeated she, with a sardonic smile; "it wad mak' an ool
laugh to hear the wark that's made aboot young fowk's health noo-a-days.
I wonder what ye're aw made o' "--grasping Mary's arm in her great bony
hand--"a wheen puir feckless windlestraes; ye maun awa' to Ingland for
ye're healths. Set ye up! I wonder what cam' o' the lasses i' my time,
that bute to bide at hame? And whilk o' ye, I sude like to ken, 'II ere
leive to see ninety-sax, like me? Health!--he, he !"

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