Robert Falconer. George MacDonald
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and Betty ‘gaed benn the hoose to see what she cud be wantin’,’ whereupon a conversation ensued.
‘Wha was that at the door, Betty?’ asked Mrs. Falconer; for Robert had not shut the door so carefully as he ought, seeing that the deafness of his grandmother was of much the same faculty as her blindness.
Had Robert not had a hold of Betty by the forelock of her years, he would have been unable to steal any liberty at all. Still Betty had a conscience, and although she would not offend Robert if she could help it, yet she would not lie.
‘’Deed, mem, I canna jist distinckly say ‘at I heard the door,’ she answered.
‘Whaur’s Robert?’ was her next question.
‘He’s generally up the stair aboot this hoor, mem—that is, whan he’s no i’ the parlour at ‘s lessons.’
‘What gangs he sae muckle up the stair for, Betty, do ye ken? It’s something by ordinar’ wi’ ‘m.’
‘’Deed I dinna ken, mem. I never tuik it into my heid to gang considerin’ aboot it. He’ll hae some ploy o’ ‘s ain, nae doobt. Laddies will be laddies, ye ken, mem.’
‘I doobt, Betty, ye’ll be aidin’ an’ abettin’. An’ it disna become yer years, Betty.’
‘My years are no to fin’ faut wi’, mem. They’re weel eneuch.’
‘That’s naething to the pint, Betty. What’s the laddie aboot?’
‘Do ye mean whan he gangs up the stair, mem?’
‘Ay. Ye ken weel eneuch what I mean.’
‘Weel, mem, I tell ye I dinna ken. An’ ye never heard me tell ye a lee sin’ ever I was i’ yer service, mem.’
‘Na, nae doonricht. Ye gang aboot it an’ aboot it, an’ at last ye come sae near leein’ that gin ye spak anither word, ye wad be at it; and it jist fleys (frights) me frae speirin’ ae ither question at ye. An’ that’s hoo ye win oot o’ ‘t. But noo ‘at it’s aboot my ain oye (grandson), I’m no gaein’ to tyne (lose) him to save a woman o’ your years, wha oucht to ken better; an sae I’ll speir at ye, though ye suld be driven to lee like Sawtan himsel’.—What’s he aboot whan he gangs up the stair? Noo!’
‘Weel, as sure’s deith, I dinna ken. Ye drive me to sweirin’, mem, an’ no to leein’.’
‘I carena. Hae ye no idea aboot it, than, Betty?’
‘Weel, mem, I think sometimes he canna be weel, and maun hae a tod (fox) in ‘s stamack, or something o’ that nater. For what he eats is awfu’. An’ I think whiles he jist gangs up the stair to eat at ‘s ain wull.’
‘That jumps wi’ my ain observations, Betty. Do ye think he micht hae a rabbit, or maybe a pair o’ them, in some boxie i’ the garret, noo?’
‘And what for no, gin he had, mem?’
‘What for no? Nesty stinkin’ things! But that’s no the pint. I aye hae to haud ye to the pint, Betty. The pint is, whether he has rabbits or no?’
‘Or guinea-pigs,’ suggested Betty.
‘Weel.’
‘Or maybe a pup or twa. Or I kent a laddie ance ‘at keepit a haill faimily o’ kittlins. Or maybe he micht hae a bit lammie. There was an uncle o’ min’ ain—’
‘Haud yer tongue, Betty! Ye hae ower muckle to say for a’ the sense there’s intil ‘t.’
‘Weel, mem, ye speirt questions at me.’
‘Weel, I hae had eneuch o’ yer answers, Betty. Gang and tell Robert to come here direckly.’
Betty went, knowing perfectly that Robert had gone out, and returned with the information. Her mistress searched her face with a keen eye.
‘That maun hae been himsel’ efter a’ whan ye thocht ye hard the door gang,’ said Betty.
‘It’s a strange thing that I suld hear him benn here wi’ the door steekit, an’ your door open at the verra door-cheek o’ the ither, an’ you no hear him, Betty. And me sae deif as weel!’
‘’Deed, mem,’ retorted Betty, losing her temper a little, ‘I can be as deif ‘s ither fowk mysel’ whiles.’
When Betty grew angry, Mrs. Falconer invariably grew calm, or, at least, put her temper out of sight. She was silent now, and continued silent till Betty moved to return to her kitchen, when she said, in a tone of one who had just arrived at an important resolution:
‘Betty, we’ll jist awa’ up the stair an’ luik.’
‘Weel, mem, I hae nae objections.’
‘Nae objections! What for suld you or ony ither body hae ony objections to me gaein’ whaur I like i’ my ain hoose? Umph!’ exclaimed Mrs. Falconer, turning and facing her maid.
‘In coorse, mem. I only meant I had nae objections to gang wi’ ye.’
‘And what for suld you or ony ither woman that I paid twa pun’ five i’ the half-year till, daur to hae objections to gaein’ whaur I wantit ye to gang i’ my ain hoose?’
‘Hoot, mem! it was but a slip o’ the tongue—naething mair.’
‘Slip me nae sic slips, or ye’ll come by a fa’ at last, I doobt, Betty,’ concluded Mrs. Falconer, in a mollified tone, as she turned and led the way from the room.
They got a candle in the kitchen and proceeded up-stairs, Mrs. Falconer still leading, and Betty following. They did not even look into the ga’le-room, not doubting that the dignity of the best bed-room was in no danger of being violated even by Robert, but took their way upwards to the room in which he kept his school-books—almost the only articles of property which the boy possessed. Here they found nothing suspicious. All was even in the best possible order—not a very wonderful fact, seeing a few books and a slate were the only things there besides the papers on the shelves.
What the feelings of Shargar must have been when he heard the steps and voices, and saw the light approaching his place of refuge, we will not change our point of view to inquire. He certainly was as little to be envied at that moment as at any moment during the whole of his existence.
The first sense Mrs. Falconer made use of in the search after possible animals lay in her nose. She kept snuffing constantly, but, beyond the usual musty smell of neglected apartments, had as yet discovered nothing. The moment she entered the upper garret, however—
‘There’s an ill-faured smell here, Betty,’ she said, believing that they had at last found the trail of the mystery; ‘but it’s no like the smell o’ rabbits. Jist luik i’ the nuik there ahin’ the door.’
‘There’s naething here,’ responded Betty.
‘Roon the en’ o’ that kist there. I s’ luik into the press.’
As Betty rose from her search behind the chest and turned towards her mistress, her eyes crossed the cavernous opening of the bed. There, to her horror, she beheld a face like that of a galvanised corpse staring at her from the darkness. Shargar was in a sitting posture, paralysed with terror, waiting, like a fascinated bird, till Mrs. Falconer and Betty should make the final spring upon him, and do whatever was equivalent to devouring him upon the spot. He had sat up to listen to the noise of their ascending footsteps, and fear had so overmastered him, that he either could not, or forgot that he could lie down and cover his head with some of the many garments scattered around him.
‘I didna say whusky, did I?’ he kept repeating to himself, in utter imbecility of fear.
‘The Lord preserve ‘s!’ exclaimed Betty, the moment she could speak; for during the first few seconds, having caught the infection of Shargar’s expression, she stood equally paralysed. ‘The Lord preserve ‘s!’ she repeated.
‘Ance is eneuch,’ said Mrs. Falconer, sharply, turning round to see what the cause of Betty’s ejaculation might be.
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