Donald Ross of Heimra (Volume 2 of 3)

"Oh," said Fred Stanley, with some stiffness, "if you wish to invite him to shoot on the Twelfth, very well. It is your shooting; it is for you to say. Of course, I did not understand when I left London that there was any stranger going to join the party, or I should have explained as much to Frank – "

"I am sure I shall be only too delighted, Miss Stanley," Frank Meredyth put in, quickly, "if any friend of yours should join us – quite delighted – naturally – another gun will be all the better. And when I spoke of the joys of poaching, I assure you it was without any particular reference to anybody: I was telling you what would be my own ambition in other circumstances. Fred will write to Mr. Ross – "

"I beg your pardon," said the young gentleman, with something of coldness. "Mamie, you'd better write yourself."

"Not if there is going to be any disinclination on your part," she said.

"Disinclination?" he repeated. "Well, the way I look at it is simply this: you suspect that poaching is going on, and you ask the poacher to go shooting – why? Because you are afraid of him. It is a confession of weakness. What I would do, if the place were mine, is this: I'd send the keepers packing – and every man-jack of the gillies, too – until I knew I was master. It is perfectly preposterous that your own servants should connive at your being cheated – "

"Doesn't that sometimes happen in other spheres of life?" Frank Meredyth asked – he was evidently bent on being pacificator.

"I don't know – I don't care," said young Stanley, stubbornly. "What I do know is that if Ross is to come shooting with us on the Twelfth, well, then, Mamie had better send him the invitation: I'm not hypocrite enough to do it."

So matters remained there for the present; but the very next evening a singular incident occurred which caused a renewal of this discussion – with its conflict of prejudices and prepossessions. All night there had been heavy and steady rain; in the morning the Garra had risen considerably; towards the afternoon it was discovered that the river was fining down again; whereupon Fred Stanley proposed to his friend and companion that they should go along as soon as the sun was likely to be off the water, and try for a grilse or a sea-trout in the cool of the twilight. They did not propose to take either gillie or keeper with them; they had found out which were the proper flies; and they would have greater freedom without professional supervision. So Frank Meredyth shouldered a grilse-rod of moderate length and weight; his companion took with him both landing-net and gaff; and together they walked along to the banks of the stream, passing through the village on their way.

They were rather too early; the sun was still on the pools; but they had the rod to put together, the casting-line to soak, the flies to choose. Then they sate down on the breckan, and cigarettes were produced.

"Don't you think my sister puts me into a very awkward position?" said the younger man, discontentedly.

"Why?" asked his companion – being discreet.

"Keeping up those friendly relations, or apparently friendly relations, with this fellow Ross," Fred Stanley said. "Wouldn't it be very much better, much honester, if we were declared enemies – as the people about here think we are? Then we could give fair notice to the keepers that they must either have him watched or they themselves must go. You see, my sister doesn't care what happens to the fishing or the shooting; but it is a shame she should be imposed upon; and a still greater shame that this fellow should come to the house, and pretend to be on friendly terms with her. You know, Frank, he must be a thundering hypocrite. Do you mean to tell me he has forgiven any one of our family for what my uncle did – you know what Mamie told you – draining the loch and pulling down the old castle? Of course he hasn't! And perhaps I don't blame him: it was too bad; and that's a fact. But what I do blame him for is pretending to be on good terms; coming to the house; and so taking it out of our power to treat him as he ought to be treated – that is, as a person who is defying the law, whom we ought to try to catch. You see, Mamie is so soft; she hasn't that dimple in her cheek for nothing; she's far too good-natured; and this stuck-up Spaniard, or Portuguese, or whatever he is, seems to have impressed her because he looks mysterious and says nothing. Or perhaps she thinks that we have ill-treated him – that my uncle has, I mean. Or perhaps she hopes that through him she will get at those ill-conditioned brutes about here – you heard what Purdie said. I don't know; I can't make out women; they're not sufficiently aboveboard for the humble likes of me; but this I do know, that I should like to catch that fellow Ross red-handed, carrying a salmon or a brace of grouse, and then we should have it out!"

Frank Meredyth did not reply to this resentful little oration: he had been watching the westering sun, that was now slowly sinking behind the topmost trees of the steep bank on the other side of the river. And at length, when there was no longer a golden flash on the tea-brown ripples that came dancing over the shingle, he went down to the edge of the stream and began to cast, throwing a very fair line. But he was not very serious about it; in this rapid run there was little chance of anything beyond a sea-trout; he had his eye on a deeper, and smoother, and likelier pool lower down, where perchance there might be a lively young grilse lying, up that morning from the sea.

Then he called out —

"Come along, Fred, and take the next pool: it amuses me quite as much to look on."

"It amuses me more," the younger man said, taking out another cigarette. "You're throwing a beautiful line – go ahead – you'll come upon something down there."

And indeed Frank Meredyth now began to cast with more caution as he approached this smoother and deeper pool – sending his fly well over to the other side, letting it come gradually round with almost imperceptible jerks, and nursing it in the water before recovery. It was one of the best stretches of the river – they had been told that; and there was a fair chance after the rain. But all of a sudden, as he was carefully watching his fly being carried slowly round by the current, there was a terrific splash right in the midst of the stream: a large stone had been hurled from among the trees on the opposite bank: the pool was ruined. The fisherman, without a word, let his fly drift helplessly, and turned and looked at his companion. The same instant Fred Stanley had thrown away his cigarette, ran down the bank, and sprang into the water – careless of everything but getting across in time to capture their cowardly assailant. He had no waders on; but he did not heed that; all his endeavour was to force his way across the current before their unseen enemy could have escaped from among those birches. Meredyth could do nothing but look on. The point at which his companion had entered the stream was rather above the pool, and shallower; but none the less there was a certain body of water to contend with; and out in the middle young Stanley, despite his arduous efforts, made but slow progress. Then there was the catching at the bushes on the opposite bank – a hurried scrambling up – the next second he had disappeared among the birch trees. Frank Meredyth laid down his rod, and quietly took out a cigarette: fishing in this kind of a neighbourhood did not seem to attract him any more.

It was some time before Fred Stanley came back: of course his quest had been unsuccessful – his hampered progress through the water had allowed his foe to get clear away.

"You see you were wrong, Frank," he said, with affected indifference, when he had waded across the stream again. "Our friendly neighbour hasn't gone south to keep the last of his terms, or for any other reason. A pretty trick, wasn't it? I knew there was a dog-in-the-manger look about the fellow; well, I don't care: Mamie can choose her own friends. As for you and me, we are off by the mail-car that leaves to-morrow morning."

He was simply wild with rage, despite all his outward calmness. Frank Meredyth looked very grave indeed.

"We can't do that, Fred," said he. "It would be an affront to your sister – "

"Well, then, and she allows my friend – her guest – to be insulted!" he exclaimed. "And all because no one dare speak out! But I've had enough of it. This last is too much – this shows you what the neighbourhood is like; and it is all to be winked at! As I say, I've had enough. I'm off. You can stay if you choose – "

"You know I can't stay here if you go," said Meredyth, in the same grave way: indeed, he did not at all like this position in which he found himself. And then he said: "Come, Fred, don't make too much of a trifle – "

"Do you call that a trifle?" the other demanded. "It is an indication of the spirit of the whole place; and more than that, it shows you the miserable, underhand enmity of this very fellow who has been pretending to make friends with my sister. It is not on my account – it is on your account – that I am indignant. I asked you to come here. This is pretty treatment, is it not? – and a pleasant intimation of what we may expect all the way through, if we stay on – "

"Of course we must stay on," said Meredyth. "I would not for anything have your sister vexed. I would not even tell her of what has just happened. Why should you? Neither you nor I care so much for the fishing – "

"That is not the point, Frank," said young Stanley. "Reel up – and we will go back to the house. I want Mamie to understand what all her pampering of this place has resulted in – nothing but miserable, underhand spite and enmity. And if we do stop on, do you think I'd be frightened away from the fishing? Not if I had to get water-bailiffs up from Inverness, and give them each a double-barrelled breech-loader and a hiding-place in the woods. Pitching stones into salmon pools and then running away is a very pretty amusement; but that skulking and poaching thief would sing another tune if he were brought down by a charge of No. 6 shot!"

And he was in the same indignant mood whey they got back to Lochgarra House. He went straight to his sister. He told her the story – and in silence awaited her answer. What was it to be? – an excuse? an apology? a promise of inquiry and stricter government?

But for a second or two Mary Stanley was thoroughly alarmed. She recalled with a startling distinctness her own experience – her wandering up the side of the river – her coming upon the almost invisible poacher in the mysterious dusk of the twilight – the strange and vivid circles of blue-white fire on the dark surface of the stream whenever he moved – then his noiseless escape into the opposite woods; and she recalled, too, her own sudden suspicions as to who that ghostly fisherman was. Since then she had seen a good deal of Donald Ross, and she had gradually ceased to connect him in any way with that illegal haunting of the salmon-stream; but this new incident – following upon her brother's protests and remonstrances – frightened her, for one breathless moment. Then she strove to reassure herself. The young man who had sate by her side at dinner a few evenings ago – proud, reserved, and self-possessed, and yet timidly respectful towards herself and grateful for the attention she paid him – was not the kind of person to go spitefully throwing stones into a salmon-pool in order to destroy a stranger's fishing. It was absurd to think so!

"I am very sorry, Mr. Meredyth," said she, "that such a thing should have happened. It is a vexatious annoyance – "

"Oh, don't consider me, Miss Stanley!" said he, at once. "I assure you I don't mind in the least. I did not even wish to have it mentioned."

"It is annoying, though – very," she said. "It seems a pity that any one should have such ill-will – "

"But what are you going to do?" her brother demanded. "Sit tamely down and submit to this tyranny? And what will be the next thing? – trampling the nests in the spring, I suppose, so that there won't be a single grouse left on the whole moor. Then why shouldn't they help themselves to a sheep or two, when they want mutton for dinner, or go into the Glen Orme forest for a stag, if they prefer venison?"

Mary rang the bell; Barbara came.

"Barbara," said she, "send a message to Hector that I want to see him."

When the tall and bronze-complexioned keeper made his appearance – looking somewhat concerned at this unusual summons – she briefly related to him what had occurred; and her tone implied that he was responsible for this petty outrage.

"I was offering," said Hector, in his serious and guarded way, "to go down to the ruvver with the chentlemen – "

"Yes, that is true enough," Fred Stanley broke in. "Hector did offer to go down with us. But surely it is a monstrous thing that we shouldn't be able to stroll along to a pool and have a cast by ourselves without being interfered with in this way. Come now, Hector, you must know who was likely to do a thing like that."

Hector paused for a moment, and then answered —

"Indeed, sir, I could not seh."

"Who is it who thinks the fishing in the Garra belongs to him, and is determined no one else shall have it? Isn't there anyone about with that idea in his head?" The question was put pointedly; it was clear what Fred Stanley meant; but there was no definite reply.

"There's some of the young lads they are fond of mischief," Hector said ambiguously. "And there's others nowadays that will be saying everyone has the right to fish."

"And perhaps that is your opinion, too," said Fred Stanley, regarding him.

"Oh, no, sir, not that at ahl," the keeper answered, simply enough. "But such things get into their heads, and sometimes they will be reading it from a newspaper, and the one talking to the other about what the Land League was saying at the meetings. The young lads they speak about new things nowadays amongst themselves."

"And I suppose they want to have the shooting, too?" Fred Stanley continued; "and if we don't give them the shooting they will go up the hill in the spring and trample the eggs?"

"Oh, no, sir, the shepherds are friendly with us," said Hector.

Mary interposed; for this badgering seemed to lead to nothing.

"Couldn't you get some old man to act as water-bailiff, Hector? – some old man to whom a small weekly wage would be a consideration."

"Oh, yes, mem, I could do that," said the keeper.

"And if there are any of those mischievous lads about, why, if he were to catch one of them, a little trip across to Dingwall might frighten the others, wouldn't it?"

"Just that, mem."

"There is old John at the inn – he seems to do nothing – does he know anything about the river?"

"Oh, yes, indeed – he was many a day a gillie," Hector made answer.

"Very well; see what wages he wants; and tell him that when he suspects there's any poaching going on, or any mischief of any kind, you and Hugh will give him a hand in the watching."

"Very well, mem."

And so the tall, bushy-bearded Hector was going away; but Fred Stanley stopped him. The young man's sombre suspicions had not been dissipated by those vague references to mischievous lads.

"Hector," said he, "is Mr. Ross of Heimra a keen fisherman?"

"I could not seh, sir," was Hector's grave and careful answer.

"Does he know the Garra well?"

"I could not seh, sir," Hector repeated.

"You don't happen to have seen or heard anything of him of late?"

"No, sir," said Hector; and then he added, "but I was noticing the yat coming over from Heimra this morning."

"Oh, really," exclaimed the young man, with a swift glance towards Frank Meredyth. "The yacht came over this morning? So Mr. Ross is in the neighbourhood?"

"Maybe, sir; but I have not seen him whatever."

That seemed to be enough for the cross-examiner.

"All right, Hector – thank you. Good evening!"

The head keeper withdrew; and Fred Stanley turned to his sister.

"I thought as much," said he. "I had a notion that Robinson Crusoe had come ashore from his desolate island. And no doubt he was very much surprised and disgusted to find two strangers intruding upon his favourite salmon pools – on the very first evening there has been a chance of a cast for some time. But he should not have allowed his anger to get the better of him; it was a childish trick, that flinging a stone into the water; a poor piece of spite – for one who claims to represent an old Highland family. Don't you think so, Mamie?"

Well, this at least was certain – that the Sirène had come across from Heimra, and was now lying in the Camus Bheag, or Little Bay. And the very next afternoon, as Mary Stanley and her friend Käthchen were seated at a table in the drawing-room busily engaged in comparing samples of dyed wool, the door was opened, and Barbara appeared.

"Mr. Ross, mem!" said Barbara.

CHAPTER VI

A THREATENED INVASION

Mary rose quickly, her clear eyes showing such obvious pleasure that Käthchen was inclined to be indignant. 'Mamie, have you no pride!' Käthchen said in her heart. 'It is not becoming in a young woman to be so grateful – for an ordinary piece of civility. And Mary Stanley of all people!' Well, Mary Stanley did not seem to be governed by any such considerations; she went forward to receive her visitor with the frankest smile of welcome lighting up her face; the magic-working dimple did its part.

"I am so glad you have called," said she, "for I was thinking of writing to you, and I was not sure whether you were at Heimra. We have not seen the yacht coming and going of late."

"No," said he, as he took the chair nearest her (and Käthchen remarked that his eyes, too, showed pleasure, if less openly declared), "I went down as far as Portree in the Consuelo– or I would have called before now. Did you want to see me about – about anything?"

And this question he asked with a curious simplicity and directness of manner. There was none of the self-consciousness of a young man addressing a remarkably pretty young woman. It was rather like an offer of neighbourly help: what trouble was she in now?

"I was wondering," she made answer, with a little timidity, "whether you would care to go out on the Twelfth with my brother and Mr. Meredyth. It is not a very grand shooting, as you know; but you would get some little amusement, I suppose; and Miss Glendinning and I would come and have lunch with you – if we were not in the way."

This ought to have been a sufficiently attractive invitation; but the observant Käthchen noticed that the young man hesitated.

"Thank you very much," said he; "it is most kind of you to have thought of me; but the fact is I'm not much of a shot, and I shouldn't like to spoil the bag. Of course, your brother will want to see what the moor can yield; and with fair shooting two guns should give a very good account of Lochgarra; so that it would be really a pity to spoil the Twelfth by bringing in a useless gun. Thank you all the same for thinking of me – "

"Oh, perhaps you don't care about shooting?" said Mary. "Perhaps you are fonder of fishing?"

And hardly were the words out of her mouth when some sudden recollection of that phantom poacher rushed in upon her mind; a hideous dread possessed her; how could she have been so unutterably indiscreet? Not only that, but there was yesterday's incident of the hurling of the stone into the salmon-pool: would he imagine that she suspected him – that she was probing into a guilty knowledge? She was bewildered by what she had done; and yet determined to betray no consciousness of her blunder. A ghastly and protracted silence seemed to follow her question; but that was merely imagination on her part; he answered her at once – and that in the most natural manner, without a trace of embarrassment.

"I am a poor enough shot," said he, with a smile, "but I am even a worse fisherman. You see, there is hardly any shooting on Heimra Island, but there is still less fishing – none at all, practically. As for the shooting, there are some rabbits among the rocks, and occasionally I have seen a covey of grouse come flying across from the mainland; but the truth is, when you get used to the charm of quiet in a place like that, you don't want to have it broken by the banging of a gun – "

"Oh, no, of course not," said Mary, with a certain eagerness of assent – for she was overjoyed to find that nothing had come of her fancied indiscretion. "Of course not. I can quite imagine there must be a singular fascination in the solitariness of such an island, and the – the – silence. A fascination and a charm; and yet when Miss Glendinning and I have been up among the hills here, sometimes it has seemed too awful – too lifeless – it became terrible. Then out at Heimra – the sea being all round you in the night – and the bit of land so small – that must be a strange sensation; but perhaps you don't notice it as a stranger might; you must have got used to it – "

"Yes," said he, "it is very solitary and very silent. All the same," he added, rather absently, "I dare say I shall miss that very solitariness and silence when I go away from Heimra, as I hope to do ere long. I should not wonder if I looked back with some regret."

"Oh, you are going away from Heimra – and before long?" Mary repeated – and Käthchen glanced quickly at her.

"I hope so," he said. "Well, I would not trouble you with my schemes and plans, but for the fact that they indirectly concern you." She looked startled for a second; but he proceeded with a certain easy cheerfulness of manner which Käthchen thought became him; and he spoke in a confidential and friendly way, more than was his wont: "Yes; if what I am aiming at succeeds it will make your position here a good deal easier. I know the difficulties you have to contend with on an estate like this – the poverty of the soil – families growing up and marrying, and still clinging to the small homesteads – the distance from markets – the climate – and all that. And indeed my first scheme – my ideal scheme," he went on, in this frank kind of fashion, "was comprehensive enough: I wanted nothing less than to take away the whole of the population with me – not the surplus population merely, but the whole of the people bodily, leaving the sheep and the game in undisturbed possession. That would have made matters easy for you – and for Mr. Purdie. I thought I could carry them away with me to one of the colonies; and get a grant of Crown Lands from the Government; and be appointed to look after the settlement, so that I could live and die among those I have known from my childhood. There was only one point of the scheme that I was absolutely sure about, and that was that the people would go if I asked them – yes, to the very oldest. 'If I have to be carried on board the ship,' one of them said to me – "

"Have you considered – the terrible responsibility?" she said, in rather a breathless way.

"Yes, indeed," said he, gravely. "And that comprehensive project was not practicable: it was too big – too visionary. But for some time back I have been making inquiries: indeed I went down to Portree chiefly to see one of the Committee who manage the Emigrants' Information Office – he is taking his holiday in Skye at present. And if in a more modest and reasonable way I could take a number of the people away with me, and found a little colony out in Queensland or in Canada, that would give you some relief, and make it easier for those remaining behind – would it not? North-Western Canada and Queensland – perhaps you know – are the only colonies that offer the immigrant a free homestead of 160 acres; and Canada is especially hospitable, for at all the ports there are Government agents, for the purpose of giving the immigrants every information and procuring them work. Oh, I am very well aware," he continued – seeing that she was silent and absorbed – "that emigration is not a certain panacea. There is no assurance that the emigrant is going to leave all his ills and troubles behind him. Very often the first generation have to suffer sore hardship; then the next reap the reward of their toil and perseverance. And home-sickness – well, plenty of them never get over that; and naturally, if they are home-sick, they exaggerate their sufferings and misfortunes." He sought in his pockets and brought out a letter. "Perhaps you would care to read that – I found it awaiting me when I came home this time."