Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland, Volume XXIII

Alexander Leighton

Description

On looking over some Session papers which had belonged to Lord Kames, with the object, I confess, of getting hold of some facts - those entities called by Quintilian the bones of truth, the more by token, I fancy, that they so often stick in the throat - which might contribute to my legends, I came to some sheets whereon his lordship had written some hasty remarks, to the effect that the case Napier versus Napier was the most curious puzzle that ever he had witnessed since he had taken his seat on the bench. The papers were fragmentary, consisting of parts of a Reclaiming Petition and some portion of a Proof that had been led in support of a brieve of service; but I got enough to enable me to give the story, which I shall do in such a connected manner as to take the reader along with me, I hope pleasantly, and without any inclination to choke upon the foresaid bones.

Informations

• Publié par: Pub One Info
• Date de parution: 23 octobre 2010
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9782819900443
• Langue: English

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LORD KAMES'S PUZZLE.
On looking over some Session papers which hadbelonged to Lord Kames, with the object, I confess, of getting holdof some facts – those entities called by Quintilian the bones oftruth, the more by token, I fancy, that they so often stick in thethroat – which might contribute to my legends, I came to somesheets whereon his lordship had written some hasty remarks, to theeffect that the case Napier versus Napier was the mostcurious puzzle that ever he had witnessed since he had taken hisseat on the bench. The papers were fragmentary, consisting of partsof a Reclaiming Petition and some portion of a Proof that had beenled in support of a brieve of service; but I got enough to enableme to give the story, which I shall do in such a connected manneras to take the reader along with me, I hope pleasantly, and withoutany inclination to choke upon the foresaid bones.
Without being very particular about the year, whichreally I do not know with further precision than that it was withinthe first five years of Lord Kames's senator-ship, I request thereader to fancy himself in a small domicile in Toddrick's Wynd, inthe old city of Edinburgh; and I request this the more readilythat, as we all know, Nature does not exclude very humble placesfrom the regions of romance, neither does she deny to very humblepersonages the characters of heroes and heroines. Not that I havemuch to say in the first instance either of the place or thepersons; the former being no more than a solitary room and abed-closet, where yet the throb of life was as strong and quick asin the mansions of the great, and the latter composed of twopersons – one, a decent, hard-working woman called Mrs. Hislop,whose duty in this world was to keep her employers clean in theirclothes, wherein she stood next to the minister, insomuch ascleanliness is next to godliness – in other words, she was awasherwoman; the other being a young girl, verging upon sixteen,called Henrietta, whose qualities, both of mind and body, might becomprised in the homely eulogy, "as blithe as bonnie." So it maybe, that if you are alarmed at the humility of the occupation ofthe one – even with your remembrance that Sir Isaac Newtonexperimented upon soap-bubbles – as being so intractable in theplastic-work of romance, you may be appeased by the qualities ofthe other; for has it not been our delight to sing for a thousandyears, yea, in a thousand songs, too, the praises of young damsels,whether under the names of Jenny or Peggy, or those of Clarinda orFlorabella, or whether engaged in herding flocks by Logan Waters,or dispensing knights' favours under the peacock? But we cannotafford to dispose of our young heroine in this curt way, for herlooks formed parts of the lines of a strange history; and so wemust be permitted the privilege of narrating that, while Mrs.Hislop's protegée did not come within that charmed circlewhich contains, according to the poets, so many angels withoutwings, she was probably as fair every whit as Dowsabell. Yet, afterall, we are not here concerned with beauty, which, as a specialtyin one to one, and as a universality in all to all, is beyond thepower of written description. We have here to do simply with sometraits which, being hereditary, not derived from Mrs. Hislop, havea bearing upon our strange legend: the very slightest cast in theeyes, which in its piquancy belied a fine genial nature in the saidHenney; and a classic nose, which, partaking of the old Roman type,and indicating pride, was equally untrue to a generosity of feelingwhich made friends of all who saw her – except one . Astrange exception this one ; for who, even in this bad world,could be an enemy to a creature who conciliated sympathy as a love,and defied antipathy as an impossibility? Who could he be?or rather, who could she be? for man seems to be excluded bythe very instincts of his nature. The question may be answered bythe evolution of facts; than which what other have we even amidstthe dark gropings into the mystery of our wonderful being?
Mrs. Hislop's head was over the skeil, wherein layone of the linen sheets of Mr. Dallas, the writer to the signet,which, with her broad hands, she was busy twisting into the form ofa serpent; and no doubt there were indications of her efforts inthe drops of perspiration which stood upon her good-humoured, gaucyface, so suggestive of dewdrops ('bating the poetry) on the leavesof a big blush peony. In this work she was interrupted by theentrance of Henney, who came rushing in as if under the influenceof some emotion which had taken her young heart by surprise. "Whatthink ye, minny?" she cried, as she held up her hands. "The deilhas risen again from the grave where he was buried in Kirkcaldy,"was the reply, with a laugh. "No, that's no it," continued thegirl. "Then what is it?" was the question. "He's dead," repliedHenney. "Who is dead?" again asked Mrs. Hislop. "The strange man,"replied the girl.
And a reply, too, which brought the busy worker to apause in her work, for she understood who the he was, andthe information went direct through the ear to the heart; butHenney, supposing that she was not understood, added – "The man whoused to look at me with yon terrible eyes." "Yes, yes, dear, Iunderstand you," said the woman, as she let the coil fall, and satdown upon a chair, under the influence of strong emotion. "But whotold you?" "Jean Graham," replied the girl.
An answer which seemed, for certain reasons known toherself, to satisfy the woman, for the never another word she said,any more than if her tongue had been paralyzed by the increasedaction of her heart; but as we usually find that when that organ inwoman is quiet more useful powers come into action, so the sensibledame began to exercise her judgment. A few minutes sufficed forforming a resolution; nor was it sooner formed than that it wasbegun to be put into action, yet not before the excited girl wasaway, no doubt to tell some of her companions of her relief fromthe bugbear of the man with the terrible eyes. The formation of apurpose might have been observed in her puckered lips and thespeculation in her grey eyes. The spirit of romance had visited thesmall house in Toddrick's Wynd, where for fifteen years thedomestic lares had sat quietly surveying the economy ofpoverty. She rose composedly from the chair into which the effectof Henney's exclamation had thrown her, went to the blue chestwhich contained her holiday suit, took out, one after another, thechintz gown, the mankie petticoat, the curch, the red plaid; and,after washing from her face the perspiration drops, she began toput on her humble finery – all the operation having been gonethrough with that quiet action which belongs to strong minds whereresolution has settled the quivering chords of doubt.
Following the dressed dame up the High Street, wenext find her in the writing-booth of Mr. James Dallas, writer tohis Majesty's Signet. The gentleman was, after the manner of histribe, minutely scanning some papers – that is, he was looking intothem so sharply that you would have inferred that he was engaged inhunting for "flaws;" a species of game that is both a prey and areward – et praeda et premium , as an old proverb says. Norshall we say he was altogether pleased when he found his inquiry,whatever it might be, interrupted by the entrance of Mrs. MargaretHislop of Toddrick's Wynd; notwithstanding that to this personagehe and Mrs. Dallas, and all the Dallases, were indebted for thewhiteness of their linen. No doubt she would be wanting payment ofher account; yet why apply to him, and not to Mrs. Dallas? And,besides, it needed only one glance of the writer's eye to show thathis visitor had something more of the look of a client than acleaner of linen; a conclusion which was destined to be confirmed,when the woman, taking up one of the high-backed chairs in theroom, placed it right opposite to the man of law, and, hitching herround body into something like stiff dignity, seated herself. Norwas this change from her usual deportment the only one sheunderwent; for, as soon appeared, her style of speech was to passfrom broad Scotch, not altogether into the "Inglis" of the upperranks, but into a mixture of the two tongues; a feat which sheperformed very well, and for which she had been qualified by havinglived in the service of the great. "And so Mr. Napier of Eastleysis dead?" she began. "Yes," answered the writer, perhaps with aportion of cheerfulness, seeing he was that gentleman's agent, or"doer," as it was then called; a word far more expressive, as manyclients can testify, at least after they are "done;" and seeingalso that a dead client is not finally "done" until his affairs arewound up and consigned to the green box. "And wha is his heir,think ye?" continued his questioner. "Why, Charles Napier, hisnephew," answered the writer, somewhat carelessly. "I'm no justa'thegither sure of that, Mr. Dallas," said she, with anothereffort at dignity, which was unfortunately qualified by a knowingwink. "The deil's in the woman," was the sharp retort, as thewriter opened his eyes wider than he had done since he laid downhis parchments. "The deil's in me or no in me," said she; "but thisI'm sure of, that Henrietta Hislop – that's our Henney, ye ken –the brawest and bonniest lass in Toddrick's Wynd (and that's nosaying little), is the lawful heiress of Mr. John Napier ofEastleys, and was called Henrietta after her mother." "The honestwoman's red wud," said the writer, laughing. "Why, Mrs. Hislop, Ialways took you for a shrewd, sensible woman. Do you really thinkthat, because you bore a child to Mr. John Napier, therefore HenneyHislop is the heiress of her reputed father?" " Me bear abairn to Mr. Napier!" cried the offended client. "Wha ever said Iwas the mother of Henney Hislop?" "Everybody," replied he. "Wenever doubted it, though I admit she has none of your features.""Everybody is a leear, then," rejoined the woman tartly. "There