The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson – Swanston Edition. Volume 15. Robert Louis Stevenson
sir – Deacon of the Wrights – my son! If his mother – his mother – had but lived to see!
Mary. You hear how he runs on. A word about my brother and he catches it. ’Tis as if he were awake in his poor blind way to all the Deacon’s care for him and all the Deacon’s kindness to me. I believe he only lives in the thought of the Deacon. There, it is not so long since I was one with him. But indeed I think we are all Deacon-mad, we Brodies. – Are we not, daddie dear?
Brodie (without, and entering). You are a mighty magistrate, Procurator, but you seem to have met your match.
Mary (curtseying). So, uncle! you have honoured us at last.
Lawson. Quam primum, my dear, quam primum.
Brodie. Well, father, do you know me? (He sits beside his father, and takes his hand.)
(Old Brodie. William – ay – Deacon. Greater man – than – his father.
Brodie. You see, Procurator, the news is as fresh to him as it was five years ago. He was struck down before he got the Deaconship, and lives his lost life in mine.
Lawson. Ay, I mind. He was aye ettling after a bit handle to his name. He was kind of hurt when first they made me Procurator.)
Mary. And what have you been talking of?
Lawson. Just o’ thae robberies, Mary. Baith as a burgher and a Crown offeecial, I tak’ the maist absorbing interest in thae robberies.
Leslie. Egad, Procurator, and so do I.
Brodie (with a quick look at Leslie). A dilettante interest, doubtless! See what it is to be idle.
Leslie. ’Faith, Brodie, I hardly know how to style it.
Brodie. At any rate, ’tis not the interest of a victim, or we should certainly have known of it before; nor a practical tool-mongering interest, like my own; nor an interest professional and official, like the Procurator’s. You can answer for that, I suppose?
Leslie. I think I can; if for no more. It’s an interest of my own, you see, and is best described as indescribable, and of no manner of moment to anybody. (It will take no hurt if we put off its discussion till a month of Sundays.)
Brodie. You are more fortunate than you deserve. What do you say, Procurator?
Lawson. Ay is he! There’s no’ a house in Edinburgh safe. The law is clean helpless, clean helpless! A week syne it was auld Andra Simpson’s in the Lawn-market. Then, naething would set the catamarans but to forgather privily wi’ the Provost’s ain butler, and tak’ unto themselves the Provost’s ain plate. And the day, information was laid down before me offeecially that the limmers had made infraction, vi et clam, into Leddy Mar’get Dalziel’s, and left her leddyship wi’ no’ sae muckle’s a spune to sup her parritch wi’. It’s unbelievable, it’s awful, it’s anti-christian!
Mary. If you only knew them, uncle, what an example you would make! But, tell me, is it not strange that men should dare such things, in the midst of a city, and nothing, nothing be known of them – nothing at all?
Leslie. Little, indeed! But we do know that there are several in the gang, and that one at least is an unrivalled workman.
Lawson. Ye’re right, sir; ye’re vera right, Mr. Leslie. It had been deponed to me offeecially that no’ a tradesman – no’ the Deacon here himsel’ – could have made a cleaner job wi’ Andra Simpson’s shutters. And as for the lock o’ the bank – but that’s an auld sang.
Brodie. I think you believe too much, Procurator. Rumour’s an ignorant jade, I tell you. I’ve had occasion to see some little of their handiwork – broken cabinets, broken shutters, broken doors – and I find them bunglers. Why, I could do it better myself.
Leslie. Gad, Brodie, you and I might go into partnership. I back myself to watch outside, and I suppose you could do the work of skill within?
Brodie. An opposition company? Leslie, your mind is full of good things. Suppose we begin to-night, and give the Procurator’s house the honours of our innocence?
Mary. You could do anything, you two!
Lawson. Onyway, Deacon, ye’d put your ill-gotten gains to a right use; they might come by the wind, but they wouldna gang wi’ the water; and that’s aye a solatium, as we say. If I am to be robbit, I would like to be robbit wi’ decent folk; and no’ think o’ my bonnie clean siller dirling among jads and dicers. ’Faith, William, the mair I think on’t, the mair I’m o’ Mr. Leslie’s mind. Come the night, or come the morn, and I’se gie ye my free permission, and lend ye a hand in at the window forbye!
Brodie. Come, come, Procurator, lead not our poor clay into temptation. (Leslie and Mary talk apart.)
Lawson. I’m no muckle afraid for your puir clay, as ye ca’t. But hark i’ your ear: ye’re likely, joking apart, to be gey and sune in partnership wi’ Mr. Leslie. He and Mary are gey and pack, a’body can see that.
Brodie. “Daffin, and want o’ wit” – you know the rest.
Lawson. Vidi, scivi, et audivi, as we say in a Sasine, William.) Man, because my wig’s pouthered do you think I havena a green heart? I was aince a lad mysel’, and I ken fine by the glint o’ the e’e when a lad’s fain and a lassie’s willing. And, man, it’s the town’s talk; communis error fit jus, ye ken.
Old Brodie. Oh!
Lawson. See, ye’re hurting your faither’s hand.
Brodie. Dear dad, it is not good to have an ill-tempered son.
Lawson. What the deevil ails ye at the match? ’Od man, he has a nice bit divot o’ Fife corn-land, I can tell ye, and some Bordeaux wine in his cellar! But I needna speak o’ the Bordeaux; ye’ll ken the smack o’t as weel’s I do mysel’; onyway it’s grand wine. Tantum et tale. I tell ye the pro’s, find you the con.’s, if ye’re able.
Brodie. (I am sorry, Procurator, but I must be short with you.) You are talking in the air, as lawyers will. I prefer to drop the subject (and it will displease me if you return to it in my hearing).
Leslie. At four o’clock to-morrow? At my house? (To Mary.)
Mary. As soon as church is done. (Exit Mary.)
Lawson. Ye needna be sae high and mighty, onyway.
Brodie. I ask your pardon, Procurator. But we Brodies – you know our failings! (A bad temper and a humour of privacy.)
Lawson. Weel, I maun be about my business. But I could tak’ a doch-an-dorach, William; superflua non nocent, as we say; an extra dram hurts naebody, Mr. Leslie.
Brodie (with bottle and glasses). Here’s your old friend, Procurator. Help yourself, Leslie. O no, thank you, not any for me. You strong people have the advantage of me there. With my attacks, you know, I must always live a bit of a hermit’s life.
Lawson. ’Od, man, that’s fine; that’s health o’ mind and body. Mr. Leslie, here’s to you, sir. ’Od, it’s harder to end than to begin with stuff like that.
Smith. Is the king of the castle in, please?
Lawson (aside). Lord’s sake, it’s Smith!
Brodie (to Smith). I beg your pardon?
Smith. I beg yours, sir. If you please, sir, is Mr. Brodie at home, sir?
Brodie. What do you want with him, my man?
Smith. I’ve a message for him, sir; a job of work, sir.
Brodie (to Smith; referring to Jean). And who is this?
Jean. I am here for the Procurator, about my rent. There’s nae offence, I hope, sir.
Lawson. It’s just an honest wife I let a flat to in Libberton’s Wynd. It’ll be for the