The Grey Man

'Dominie,' said I, 'there is one thing I want – '

'Say on,' said he, briefly, not looking at me.

'I want speech with William Dalrymple, the lad that carried the letter to Auchendrayne the day before my lord's death.'

'Of what good is the like of that?' said he. 'Will all the speech in the world bring back him that's gane?'

'No,' said I, going nearer to him and speaking under my breath, 'but it may help us to his murderer.'

'Eh, what?' said the master, sitting up as gleg as a cat at a mousehole, '"His murderer," said ye? Are not Thomas of Drummurchie and Mure of Cloncaird his declared murderers?'

'Ay,' said I, 'exactly – his "declared" murderers.'

'Speak either less or mair – let us hae done wi' parables!' quoth the Dominie.

'What think ye,' said I, 'of the Grey Man that stood behind and waved them on, like a pilot guiding a ship into a port? I mean the man that threw the dagger into the Red House. I mean the man that let loose the scum of the Tolbooth on us of Cassillis the day of "Clear the Causeway."'

'And who might he be?' said the Dominie, breaking in upon me, for some of these things he was not acquainted with.

'First bring in the laddie,' said I.

So Dominie Mure brought Dalrymple in to a private place, and having dismissed the school, we proceeded faithfully to examine him. I asked him to tell me all that had befallen that fateful day, from the time I had seen him run up the Kirk Vennel, to the time when he came to me again upon the green at my play, and making a poor hand of it with another man's clubs.

The boy began his tale well enough, like one that says a well-learned lesson; but in the very midst, when, somewhat severely, I bade him say over again what he had already said, he broke out into a passion of weeping and begging us to have mercy upon him – for that he was but a laddie and had been commanded upon pain of his death to tell the tale which he had told us at the first.

So we bade him to speak freely, to tell no lie anymore and all would yet be well. So he told us how he had gone fleet-foot to Auchendrayne and had there found John Mure, the master thereof, sitting in the great chamber with Walter of Cloncaird. He described how that he had given the letter into the Laird's hands, even as he had been bidden. When Mure had read it, he handed it over to Cloncaird. But he, swearing that he was not gleg at the parson-work, bade Auchendrayne to read it aloud for him. Which, when he did, they looked long and strangely at one another. And at last John Mure said, 'I should not wonder, Cloncaird, but something might come out of this.'

Then the boy told how they had gripped him, set a naked dagger to his throat, and afterwards made him swear to take the letter back to them that sent him, saying that he had gone to Auchendrayne, but had returned without seeing the Laird.

'Say,' said Mure, 'that the servant bade you take back the letter unopened, because that his master was afield and he knew not when he would be home. So,' concluded the boy, 'even thus I did! And this is all the truth, or may God strike me dead!'

The Dominie and I looked each at the other in our turns.

'The Grey Man himself,' said I.

'The Black Deil himsel'!' said he.

'We will exorcise him, black or grey!' cried the Dominie. 'I am going direct to the bailies and elders to tell them that this school has vacation till it pleases me to take it up again.'

So he went out and I waited alone with the boy William Dalrymple, whose rosy and innocent face was all beblubbered with weeping.

I slapped him on the shoulder and bade him take heart because he had found friends. Then I also told him that on the morrow he must come with me to the Earl of Cassillis, and by-and-by it might be to the King himself.

'Will the Dominie come too?' the boy asked very anxiously.

So when I told him that he would, he seemed more satisfied, and asked leave to go home to his mother.

I had, indeed, something to tell Nell Kennedy that night when I rode home from Maybole. And upon the head of it we two sat long in talk, and were more than ever set on riding to Auchendrayne. But first we decided that the Dominie and I should carry William Dalrymple to the Earl, that he might certify to him what he had already testified to us at the schoolhouse in the Kirk Vennel.

But on the morrow we, that is the Dominie and I, had it set to ride to Cassillis by way of Maybole. On the way we came to the little hut of the widow Dalrymple, for William was a town's bursar, and so got his learning from the Session as a poor scholar. The door was shut, and a neighbour's wife cried to us that both the boy and his mother had gone on to Cassillis before us. So we rode forward. Yet we must have missed them on the way, for when we came to the castle yett there was nobody there before us, and the Earl himself had ridden forth to the hawking by the waterside.

Then came out to us foolish Sir Thomas Tode with his long story, which began as usual with the Black Vault of Dunure, and was proceeding by devious ways when his wife came round the corner – whereat right briskly he changed his tune.

'And as I was saying,' he said, 'on Tuesday seven nights we had a shrewd frost that nipped the buds.'

'It is as well for you, old dotard,' cried his wife, listening a moment, 'I had thought ye were at your auld tricks again.'

So we went in, and were busily partaking of the cheer of Mistress Tode when we became aware of the noise of altercation without.

'Save us,' said the cook, 'it is a mercy that neither my lord nor my lady are within gate, wi' a' that narration of noise outbye! What can it be at a'?'

And she went out to inquire.

But if the disturbance was loud before, it certainly became ten times worse when Mistress Tode disappeared. I got up to look, and the Dominie followed me. We saw a tall, grey-haired woman stand upon the causeway of the courtyard, with one hand on her hip, and with the other tossing back the straying witch locks from her brow.

'Where's my boy, Mistress Tode?' cried the newcomer fiercely, to our friend the cook, who stood upon the steps. 'What hae ye dune wi' my laddie at the black house of Cassillis? He left his hame to come here, by command o' my lord and young Launce of Culzean, at five this morning. An' Jock Edgar met him set on a pony between twa men on horseback, and he declares that the puir lad was greeting sair. What hae ye dune wi' him, ye misleared, ill-favoured Tode woman that ye are?'

'Weel ken ye, Meg Dalrymple,' cried Mistress Thomas Tode, 'that I wadna steal ony chance-gotten loon of yours. Faith na, I wadna fyle my parritch-spurtle on his back. We shelter nae lazy gaberlunzie speldrons in the house of Cassillis. There is enough rack and ruin about the countryside as it is, withoot gatherin' in every gipsy brat and prowling night-hawk to its walls. Gin ye come here to insult my master, a belted Earl, I'll e'en set the dowgs on ye, ye gruesome ill-tongued limmer woman!'

I saw that this was to be altogether another kind of tulzie from those clattering bickers of the sword-blades, that I knew something about. So I signed to the Dominie to be silent, for here of a surety were two foemen worthy of each other's points.

'Ye shall cast no stour in my e'en, certes,' cried Meg Dalrymple. 'I ken ye, ye auld yeld crummie Tode. Ye hae nae bairns o' your ain, and ye wad kidnap the bonny bairn o' a decent woman.'

'I daresay no, "nae bairns o' my ain," quo' she,' cried Mistress Tode, roused to high anger. 'I micht hae had as mony as a clockin' hen, gin I had gane the gate ye gaed, Meg Dalrymple. I'll hae the law on ye, ye randy, casting up my man's infirmity to me.'

'Your "man," quo' she,' retorted Meg Dalrymple, 'ca' ye that auld bundle o' dish-clouts tied aboot wi' hippens – a man! Save us, one micht as soon bed ayont a pair of auld duddy breeks!'

'Ay, my man,' cried Mistress Tode, 'what hae ye to say, ye shameless woman, again Sir Thomas Tode, that has been Earl's chaplain for forty year and my lawfu' wedded man for ten?'

Mistress Tode rang out the titles like a herald now, when her husband was gainsayed and made light of. But we know that on occasions she could treat him cavalierly enough.

'I wad as sune mairry a heather cow for soopin' the rink at the channel stanes,' cried Meg Dalrymple. And this implication bit deeper into the feelings of the lady of Sir Thomas Tode than all the other reproaches, for the brush of tonsure hair was a sore subject of jesting with her, as I well knew.

'I hae telled ye,' Mistress Tode cried, pausing a moment with her hand on her side, as if to keep command of herself, 'I hae telled ye, woman, that we only deal with kenned and authenticate folk in this hoose – no wi' orra loons, that nane kens wha belangs them! And I wad hae ye ken also that I am no to be named a liar by the likes o you, Meg Dalrymple – me that has been keeper o' the larder keys o' this Earl's castle for fifteen year, me that has had the outgiving o' all plenishing, the power o' down-sitting and on-putting, and never has been checked in a bodle's worth. Gang hame, ye Canaanitish woman, and I doot na ye'll find your brat safe in the town's bridewell. It will learn ye to bide from decent folk's houses, making such a cry about your wastrel runnagates.'

'Keep your ill tongue for that disjaskit, ill-put-thegither rachle o' banes that ye hae for guidman,' cried the widow Dalrymple. 'Weel do I ken that ye hae my bairn hidden awa' somegate amang ye. Sic a trade as has been hauden wi' the puir bit laddie for carryin' a letter to the Laird o' Auchendrayne. An' the like o' you to stand in my road, Tode woman, you that is weel kenned in sax pairishes for an ill-tongued gipsy. I'll hae ye proclaimed at the market cross, a lord's cook though ye be, gin ye dinna gie me hame my bairn wi' me!'

'Na,' said Mistress Tode, more quietly, 'an' you'll no. Ye'll e'en ask my pardon and gang quietly away to your hame by yoursel.

'And wha is gaun to gar me to that?' said Meg Dalrymple.

'Just me and this bonny wee bit mannikie here,' said Mistress Thomas Tode, turning round unexpectedly and catching the Dominie Mure by the arm. She pushed him forward and clapped him in a knowing way on the shoulder. 'Just this decent snod bit mannikie!' she said again.

'Woman,' said the Dominie, very indignantly, 'what have I to do with your quarrels and tongue-thrashings?'

'Just this, honest man,' said Mistress Tode; 'ye keep the Session records o' the parish o' Maybole. And if this ill-tongued woman disna gang hame doucely and quaitly, ye are the man that is going to gie me a sicht and extract o' them, under date fourteenth o' Januar, fifteen hundred and aughty years.'

The stroke told. Meg Dalrymple grew silent. The anger faded out of her face suddenly as the shining on wet sea sand when you lift your foot. The warlike crook of her elbow flattened to a droop. For the Session records of the Kirk of Scotland are the nearest thing to the Books of the Recording Angel, and the opening of them is a little Day of Judgment to half the parish.

But we could not let the poor woman depart in this fashion. I stepped to the door from behind the pillar where I had been listening for the ending of the fray.

'Mistress Dalrymple,' I said, very quietly, 'your lad has never come to Cassillis at all. We came here to meet him. He must have lost his way.'

'Maister Launcelot,' said Meg Dalrymple, in a changed voice, 'ye come o' a guid, kind hoose, and ye tell no lies. I am free to believe you. But my bairn is tint a' the same. What will I do! Oh, what will I do?'

'Go home and bide quiet,' I bade her, gently. 'I shall myself speak to the Earl. And fear not but we will find your lad if he be in the land.'

CHAPTER XXXIII

THE DEVIL IS A GENTLEMAN

But William Dalrymple was not to be so easily gotten. High and low he was sought for, but no trace of him was found. A girl had seen him taking the road to Cassillis with the dust rising behind him, as was his wont. For, as I have said, he was the best runner in the school of Maybole, and in the winter forenights he kept himself in fine practice with outrunning Rob Nickerson, the town's watchman.

So on a day, since no better might be, Nell Kennedy and I rode out to Auchendrayne. At first we had it trysted to go by ourselves, but Dominie Mare declared that he would come with us – 'and wait in the hall, if ye were asked to gang ben',' as he said, meaningly.

'For they might put you and the lassie awa', and never hear mair of it. But even John Mure and his son would think twice before they either sequestered or murdered the Dominie o' Maybole, and the Clerk of the Kirk Session thereof.'

So, though his coming with us wearied Nell and myself somewhat and hindered our discourse on the journey, it all turned out for the best in the end, as things that are bitter in the taking often do.

I was, I will own, monstrously curious to see the tower of Auchendrayne and the surroundings of it; for there were strange rumours in the countryside concerning gangs of wild, savage folk that sometimes camped under the trees, and tales of horrid faces which might at any moment glower at you from the dark bole of a gnarled oak.

But this fair sunshiny day we that rode saw nothing but the leaves rustling and clashing above us, and heard nothing but the sough and murmur of the Doon water beneath us. Auchendrayne is a place hidden among woods – set on a knoll, indeed, but with trees all about it, not conspicuous and far-regarding like the Newark or Culzean.

When first we saw it the grey battlements looked pleasantly enough out of the greenery, basking as peacefully in the sun as though they had risen over the abode of some hermit or saint. We saw nought of the customary stir and bustle of an habited house about the mansion of Auchendrayne. None ran to the office houses. None carried bundle nor drove cattle about the home parks. It was a peace like that of a Sabbath day. 'A black devil's Sabbath!' said the Dominie, grimly. And in truth there was something not altogether canny about thus coming to a dead and silent house, with the sun shining hot and the broad common day all about and above.

Nor even when we dismounted did any servant or retainer come forth to meet or challenge us. We did not see so much as the flutter of a banner or the gleam of a steel cap. Only there about us was the silent courtyard, with the heat of noon trembling athwart it, and the very paving stones clean swept like a table before the feast is set.

I tied our horses to the iron ring of a louping-on stone which stood at the angle of the wall by the gate, thinking as I did so that if only these foot-worn steps could speak, they could tell a tale worth hearkening to of strange venturings and bloody quests.

Also I loosened my sword, and I think I saw the Dominie lay his hand to his hip, ere Nell and I set forward together. We went up the steps of the outside stair, and as we did so we came within hearing of a little continuous murmur of hoarse sound. The doors were all open, and I wot well that we walked softly and with our hearts in our mouths, for the silence and the strangeness of the deadly house of Auchendrayne daunted me more than the clash of swords or the crack of pistols. But I had Nell Kennedy by me, and I would have gone to destruction's pit-mouth for her sake – because, saving my father and mother, she was the only friend I had.

Suddenly, in our advance, we came to the door of a great hall, where, at the upper end, was a table in the midst. The windows were narrow and high, throwing down but a dim light upon the rush-strewn floor. There were many servants and others sitting in the hall, and at the further end stood one who read from a book. As soon as our eyes became accustomed to the cool duskiness after the white equal glare without, I perceived that the reader was none other than John Mure himself. About him there sat all his servants and retainers, both men and women.

It was the crown of my astonishment to hear that the book from which he read was the Bible, and also that as he went on he made comments like a minister expounding his morning chapter, speaking very seasonably and fitly, and eke with excellent judgment and sense. Or so at least it seemed to me, for I am not enough of a clerk to be a judge of expositions, though my father has the two great leather-bound volumes of Clerk Erasmus his Paraphrases, on the shelf over the mantel. But though he is fond of these himself, he never rubbed any of his liking into me.

But we were hearkening to the reading of John Mure in his own hall of Auchendrayne.

'"Fill ye up, then, the measures of your fathers,"' somewhat in this fashion he read from his place. '"Ye serpents, ye generation of vipers, how shall ye escape the damnation of hell? Wherefore behold I send unto you prophets and wise men and scribes; and some of them ye shall kill and crucify, and some of them shall ye scourge in your synagogues, and persecute them from city to city – that upon you may come all the righteous blood shed upon the earth, from the blood of righteous Abel unto the blood of Zacharias, son of Barachias, whom ye slew between the temple and the altar. Verily I say unto you, all these things shall come upon this generation."'

Having read this word, which, knowing what I knew, I had thought would have made him sink through the earth with the fear of condemnation, John Mure commented upon it, showing how it applied to such as refused the right gospel way and walked in devious courses, careless of God and man. Then he went on with his reading in the same clear and solemn voice, though he must perforce have seen us stand in the hall door.

So soon as the reading was over, the great company of the retainers decently took their departure, walking out soberly and without hurry. Then came John Mure down from the dais with the Bible yet in his hand, and welcomed us with a condescension that was quaint and uncanny.

'Ye have gotten us at our devotions, Mistress Helen, and you Master Launcelot, and Dominie Mure – my good cousin. You could not have found us better employed.'

'Do ye believe what ye read?' asked the Dominie, quickly.

'Whatever is a means to an end, that I believe in – even as you believe in your taws and birch twigs. The reading of Scripture threatenings makes quiet bairns, and so does the birch.'

'What think ye of the blood of righteous Abel?' said the Dominie – with, methought, more boldness than discretion. 'Will it cry from the ground, think ye?'

The Laird of Auchendrayne looked at the little Dominie, as one might upon a fractious but entertaining bairn.

'It is a point much disputed. Ye had better ask our Launcelot's friend, Maister Robert Bruce, Minister of Edinburgh, if perchance his head be yet upon his shoulders.'

Which saying showed me that John Mure knew more than I had given him the credit for.

Then he turned to Nell.

'You would wish to see the young Lady Auchendrayne?' he said courteously.

Nell replied coldly enough, 'I should like to see my sister.'

'I think,' said Auchendrayne, with a wiselike and grave sobriety that set well on his reverend person, 'that she is presently in the orchard house.'

'Will you bide here, or will you go with Mistress Helen?' he asked of me.

'We would all go together,' said Nell, 'if it pleasure you.'

So with a courteous wave of the hand, he led us through stone passages and along echoing corridors, till we came to a door in the wall, from which we entered upon a pleasant prospect of gardens and orchards. Here again there was the same curious silence, and, as it seemed, an absence of the twitter and stir of a Scottish garden in the season of summer.

We came presently to a stone building like a tomb, all overshaded with trees.

'This is the orchard house of Auchendrayne,' he said. 'I believe the Lady Marjorie is within.'

The Dominie and I stayed without with John Mure, while Nell went in alone to greet her sister. We heard the faint murmur of voices and now and then a pulsing check as of a slow, smothered sob. We that were without, stood with our backs to the cold, heavy, white stones under the green shade, while John Mure discoursed learnedly and pleasantly of flower-beds and tulips and the best form of dovecot tower for the supply of the table with pigeon pie.

At last Nell came to the door.

'Launcelot, Marjorie wishes you to come in,' she said. Whereupon I entered and found a large room finished in oaken panelling and moulded archings. Roses looked in at the windows, and a stir of pleasant coolness was all about. Marjorie was sitting by a table with many books spread upon it.

My dear lady was pale and white as a lily. She leaned her head wearily on her hand. But there burned a still and unslockened fire in her eye.

'Launcelot,' she said to me, 'this is not so wide a place to walk within as the pleasaunce at Culzean, nor yet can we see from the garden house of Auchendrayne the rough blue edges of Arran or the round Haystack of Ailsa.

I bade her look forward to happy days yet to come, for, indeed, I knew not what to say to her. She smiled upon me wistfully and indulgently, as one does upon a prattling child.

'I thank you, Launcelot,' she said, 'but I was not born for happiness. Nevertheless, you were ever my good lad. I see you still wear my favour, but doubtless long ere this you have found another lady. Is it not so?'

I told her no, blushing to have to say so in the hearing of Nell – who afterwards might flout me, or, as like as not, cast up again the old matter of Kate Allison.

Then through one of the windows I saw John Mure pacing up and down the path with the Dominie at the other side of the garden, so I knew that it was our time to speak.

'Ye have heard of your father's death?' said I. 'What think ye? How was it wrought and how brought about? Can you help us to unravel it?'

'Nay,' said Marjorie, 'not at present. But in good time I shall yet clear the matter to the roots, and that before I die.'

'Wherefore will you not come back to us at Culzean? We need you sorely,' pleaded Nell, who stood holding her sister's hand.

'Nay,' said Marjorie, 'my work is not yet done at Auchendrayne.'

It was the self-same answer she had given when she rode away from the gate of Maybole on the day of the death of Gilbert Kennedy of Bargany.

'Are they cruel to you here, Marjorie, tell me that?' I said, for I saw that the old Laird was approaching, and that our further time would be but short.

'No one of them hath laid so much as a finger upon me!' said Marjorie. And this at least was some comfort to carry back to the sad house of Culzean with us.

So with that, little satisfied concerning the thing which we came to seek, but with somewhat more ease in our hearts for Marjorie's sake, we went back through the passages and into the great hall. While we waited there for a servant to show us forth to our horses, my eye rested upon a large, closely-written volume, with the quill pen laid upon it, and ink-horn set in a hole in the desk above it.

'I see that my clerkly work has caught your eye,' said John Mure. 'It is a nothing that I amuse myself withal, yet it may live longer than you or I. It is but a slight history of the mighty sept whose name you, Master Launcelot, so worthily bear, with all their branches and noble deeds at arms. For me, I am but a useless old man, past the labour of fighting. Yea, I know it was your own lance that put me there. But I bear no malice, it was the fortune of war. You know me better than to suppose that John Mure bears a grudge for that shrewd thrust you dealt me on the day of the quenching of our hopes in blood by the gate of Maybole.'

I bowed and thanked him for his courteous words.

'It was indeed the gallantest charge that ever was made,' said I, 'since that of Norman Leslie, when, on the day before Renti, he drava into the midst of sixty Spaniards with but seven Scottish lances at his tail.'

'Sir,' said I, 'I am no historian, but a soldier. Yet is it a part of the training of a good fighter, that he should know the great deeds which have been done in the wars before him by brave men, so that he may emulate them when he himself is launched upon the points.

'It is well said, sir squire,' said Auchendrayne, bowing to me.

So, with a courteous farewell, in which there was to be seen no grain of hate nor as much as a glint of the teeth or the wolf, he bade us go our ways. 'And, above all things, he cried after us, 'mind your prayers. 'Tis a good lesson for the young to remember.'