第 四 章 · I RUN A GREAT DANGER IN THE HOUSE OF SHAWS

. I RUN A GREAT DANGER IN THE HOUSE OF SHAWS

For a day that was begun so ill, the day passed fairly well. We had the

porridge cold again at noon, and hot porridge at night; porridge and

small beer was my uncle’s diet. He spoke but little, and that in the

same way as before, shooting a question at me after a long silence; and

when I sought to lead him to talk about my future, slipped out of it

again. In a room next door to the kitchen, where he suffered me to go,

I found a great number of books, both Latin and English, in which I took

great pleasure all the afternoon. Indeed, the time passed so lightly in

this good company, that I began to be almost reconciled to my residence

at Shaws; and nothing but the sight of my uncle, and his eyes playing

hide and seek with mine, revived the force of my distrust.

One thing I discovered, which put me in some doubt. This was an entry on

the fly-leaf of a chap-book (one of Patrick Walker’s) plainly written

by my father’s hand and thus conceived: “To my brother Ebenezer on his

fifth birthday.” Now, what puzzled me was this: That, as my father was of

course the younger brother, he must either have made some strange error,

or he must have written, before he was yet five, an excellent, clear

manly hand of writing.

I tried to get this out of my head; but though I took down many

interesting authors, old and new, history, poetry, and story-book, this

notion of my father’s hand of writing stuck to me; and when at length I

went back into the kitchen, and sat down once more to porridge and small

beer, the first thing I said to Uncle Ebenezer was to ask him if my

father had not been very quick at his book.

“Alexander? No him!” was the reply. “I was far quicker mysel’; I was a

clever chappie when I was young. Why, I could read as soon as he could.”

This puzzled me yet more; and a thought coming into my head, I asked if

he and my father had been twins.

He jumped upon his stool, and the horn spoon fell out of his hand upon

the floor. “What gars ye ask that?” he said, and he caught me by the

breast of the jacket, and looked this time straight into my eyes:

his own were little and light, and bright like a bird’s, blinking and

winking strangely.

“What do you mean?” I asked, very calmly, for I was far stronger than

he, and not easily frightened. “Take your hand from my jacket. This is

no way to behave.”

My uncle seemed to make a great effort upon himself. “Dod man, David,”

he said, “ye should-nae speak to me about your father. That’s where the

mistake is.” He sat awhile and shook, blinking in his plate: “He was all

the brother that ever I had,” he added, but with no heart in his voice;

and then he caught up his spoon and fell to supper again, but still

shaking.

Now this last passage, this laying of hands upon my person and

sudden profession of love for my dead father, went so clean beyond my

comprehension that it put me into both fear and hope. On the one hand,

I began to think my uncle was perhaps insane and might be dangerous;

on the other, there came up into my mind (quite unbidden by me and even

discouraged) a story like some ballad I had heard folk singing, of a

poor lad that was a rightful heir and a wicked kinsman that tried

to keep him from his own. For why should my uncle play a part with a

relative that came, almost a beggar, to his door, unless in his heart he

had some cause to fear him?

With this notion, all unacknowledged, but nevertheless getting firmly

settled in my head, I now began to imitate his covert looks; so that

we sat at table like a cat and a mouse, each stealthily observing the

other. Not another word had he to say to me, black or white, but was

busy turning something secretly over in his mind; and the longer we

sat and the more I looked at him, the more certain I became that the

something was unfriendly to myself.

When he had cleared the platter, he got out a single pipeful of tobacco,

just as in the morning, turned round a stool into the chimney corner,

and sat awhile smoking, with his back to me.

“Davie,” he said, at length, “I’ve been thinking;” then he paused, and

said it again. “There’s a wee bit siller that I half promised ye before

ye were born,” he continued; “promised it to your father. O, naething

legal, ye understand; just gentlemen daffing at their wine. Well, I

keepit that bit money separate--it was a great expense, but a promise

is a promise--and it has grown by now to be a matter of just

precisely--just exactly”--and here he paused and stumbled--“of just

exactly forty pounds!” This last he rapped out with a sidelong glance

over his shoulder; and the next moment added, almost with a scream,

“Scots!”

The pound Scots being the same thing as an English shilling, the

difference made by this second thought was considerable; I could see,

besides, that the whole story was a lie, invented with some end which

it puzzled me to guess; and I made no attempt to conceal the tone of

raillery in which I answered--

“O, think again, sir! Pounds sterling, I believe!”

“That’s what I said,” returned my uncle: “pounds sterling! And if you’ll

step out-by to the door a minute, just to see what kind of a night it

is, I’ll get it out to ye and call ye in again.”

I did his will, smiling to myself in my contempt that he should think I

was so easily to be deceived. It was a dark night, with a few stars low

down; and as I stood just outside the door, I heard a hollow moaning

of wind far off among the hills. I said to myself there was something

thundery and changeful in the weather, and little knew of what a vast

importance that should prove to me before the evening passed.

When I was called in again, my uncle counted out into my hand seven and

thirty golden guinea pieces; the rest was in his hand, in small gold and

silver; but his heart failed him there, and he crammed the change into

his pocket.

“There,” said he, “that’ll show you! I’m a queer man, and strange wi’

strangers; but my word is my bond, and there’s the proof of it.”

Now, my uncle seemed so miserly that I was struck dumb by this sudden

generosity, and could find no words in which to thank him.

“No a word!” said he. “Nae thanks; I want nae thanks. I do my duty. I’m

no saying that everybody would have done it; but for my part (though

I’m a careful body, too) it’s a pleasure to me to do the right by my

brother’s son; and it’s a pleasure to me to think that now we’ll agree

as such near friends should.”

I spoke him in return as handsomely as I was able; but all the while

I was wondering what would come next, and why he had parted with his

precious guineas; for as to the reason he had given, a baby would have

refused it.

Presently he looked towards me sideways.

“And see here,” says he, “tit for tat.”

I told him I was ready to prove my gratitude in any reasonable degree,

and then waited, looking for some monstrous demand. And yet, when

at last he plucked up courage to speak, it was only to tell me (very

properly, as I thought) that he was growing old and a little broken, and

that he would expect me to help him with the house and the bit garden.

I answered, and expressed my readiness to serve.

“Well,” he said, “let’s begin.” He pulled out of his pocket a rusty key.

“There,” says he, “there’s the key of the stair-tower at the far end of

the house. Ye can only win into it from the outside, for that part of

the house is no finished. Gang ye in there, and up the stairs, and bring

me down the chest that’s at the top. There’s papers in’t,” he added.

“Can I have a light, sir?” said I.

“Na,” said he, very cunningly. “Nae lights in my house.”

“Very well, sir,” said I. “Are the stairs good?”

“They’re grand,” said he; and then, as I was going, “Keep to the wall,”

he added; “there’s nae bannisters. But the stairs are grand underfoot.”

Out I went into the night. The wind was still moaning in the distance,

though never a breath of it came near the house of Shaws. It had fallen

blacker than ever; and I was glad to feel along the wall, till I came

the length of the stairtower door at the far end of the unfinished wing.

I had got the key into the keyhole and had just turned it, when all upon

a sudden, without sound of wind or thunder, the whole sky lighted up

with wild fire and went black again. I had to put my hand over my eyes

to get back to the colour of the darkness; and indeed I was already half

blinded when I stepped into the tower.

It was so dark inside, it seemed a body could scarce breathe; but I

pushed out with foot and hand, and presently struck the wall with the

one, and the lowermost round of the stair with the other. The wall, by

the touch, was of fine hewn stone; the steps too, though somewhat steep

and narrow, were of polished masonwork, and regular and solid underfoot.

Minding my uncle’s word about the bannisters, I kept close to the tower

side, and felt my way in the pitch darkness with a beating heart.

The house of Shaws stood some five full storeys high, not counting

lofts. Well, as I advanced, it seemed to me the stair grew airier and a

thought more lightsome; and I was wondering what might be the cause of

this change, when a second blink of the summer lightning came and went.

If I did not cry out, it was because fear had me by the throat; and if I

did not fall, it was more by Heaven’s mercy than my own strength. It was

not only that the flash shone in on every side through breaches in the

wall, so that I seemed to be clambering aloft upon an open scaffold, but

the same passing brightness showed me the steps were of unequal length,

and that one of my feet rested that moment within two inches of the

well.

This was the grand stair! I thought; and with the thought, a gust of

a kind of angry courage came into my heart. My uncle had sent me here,

certainly to run great risks, perhaps to die. I swore I would settle

that “perhaps,” if I should break my neck for it; got me down upon my

hands and knees; and as slowly as a snail, feeling before me every

inch, and testing the solidity of every stone, I continued to ascend

the stair. The darkness, by contrast with the flash, appeared to have

redoubled; nor was that all, for my ears were now troubled and my mind

confounded by a great stir of bats in the top part of the tower, and the

foul beasts, flying downwards, sometimes beat about my face and body.

The tower, I should have said, was square; and in every corner the step

was made of a great stone of a different shape to join the flights.

Well, I had come close to one of these turns, when, feeling forward

as usual, my hand slipped upon an edge and found nothing but emptiness

beyond it. The stair had been carried no higher; to set a stranger

mounting it in the darkness was to send him straight to his death; and

(although, thanks to the lightning and my own precautions, I was safe

enough) the mere thought of the peril in which I might have stood, and

the dreadful height I might have fallen from, brought out the sweat upon

my body and relaxed my joints.

But I knew what I wanted now, and turned and groped my way down again,

with a wonderful anger in my heart. About half-way down, the wind sprang

up in a clap and shook the tower, and died again; the rain followed; and

before I had reached the ground level it fell in buckets. I put out my

head into the storm, and looked along towards the kitchen. The door,

which I had shut behind me when I left, now stood open, and shed a

little glimmer of light; and I thought I could see a figure standing

in the rain, quite still, like a man hearkening. And then there came

a blinding flash, which showed me my uncle plainly, just where I had

fancied him to stand; and hard upon the heels of it, a great tow-row of

thunder.

Now, whether my uncle thought the crash to be the sound of my fall, or

whether he heard in it God’s voice denouncing murder, I will leave you

to guess. Certain it is, at least, that he was seized on by a kind of

panic fear, and that he ran into the house and left the door open behind

him. I followed as softly as I could, and, coming unheard into the

kitchen, stood and watched him.

He had found time to open the corner cupboard and bring out a great case

bottle of aqua vitae, and now sat with his back towards me at the table.

Ever and again he would be seized with a fit of deadly shuddering and

groan aloud, and carrying the bottle to his lips, drink down the raw

spirits by the mouthful.

I stepped forward, came close behind him where he sat, and suddenly

clapping my two hands down upon his shoulders--“Ah!” cried I.

My uncle gave a kind of broken cry like a sheep’s bleat, flung up his

arms, and tumbled to the floor like a dead man. I was somewhat shocked

at this; but I had myself to look to first of all, and did not hesitate

to let him lie as he had fallen. The keys were hanging in the cupboard;

and it was my design to furnish myself with arms before my uncle should

come again to his senses and the power of devising evil. In the cupboard

were a few bottles, some apparently of medicine; a great many bills and

other papers, which I should willingly enough have rummaged, had I had

the time; and a few necessaries that were nothing to my purpose. Thence

I turned to the chests. The first was full of meal; the second of

moneybags and papers tied into sheaves; in the third, with many

other things (and these for the most part clothes) I found a rusty,

ugly-looking Highland dirk without the scabbard. This, then, I concealed

inside my waistcoat, and turned to my uncle.

He lay as he had fallen, all huddled, with one knee up and one arm

sprawling abroad; his face had a strange colour of blue, and he seemed

to have ceased breathing. Fear came on me that he was dead; then I

got water and dashed it in his face; and with that he seemed to come a

little to himself, working his mouth and fluttering his eyelids. At last

he looked up and saw me, and there came into his eyes a terror that was

not of this world.

“Come, come,” said I; “sit up.”

“Are ye alive?” he sobbed. “O man, are ye alive?”

“That am I,” said I. “Small thanks to you!”

He had begun to seek for his breath with deep sighs. “The blue phial,”

said he--“in the aumry--the blue phial.” His breath came slower still.

I ran to the cupboard, and, sure enough, found there a blue phial

of medicine, with the dose written on it on a paper, and this I

administered to him with what speed I might.

“It’s the trouble,” said he, reviving a little; “I have a trouble,

Davie. It’s the heart.”

I set him on a chair and looked at him. It is true I felt some pity for

a man that looked so sick, but I was full besides of righteous anger;

and I numbered over before him the points on which I wanted explanation:

why he lied to me at every word; why he feared that I should leave him;

why he disliked it to be hinted that he and my father were twins--“Is

that because it is true?” I asked; why he had given me money to which I

was convinced I had no claim; and, last of all, why he had tried to kill

me. He heard me all through in silence; and then, in a broken voice,

begged me to let him go to bed.

“I’ll tell ye the morn,” he said; “as sure as death I will.”

And so weak was he that I could do nothing but consent. I locked him

into his room, however, and pocketed the key, and then returning to

the kitchen, made up such a blaze as had not shone there for many a long

year, and wrapping myself in my plaid, lay down upon the chests and fell

asleep.