Penelope's Experiences in Scotland. Wiggin Kate Douglas Smith
sofas, five small tables, cabinets, desks, and chairs,—not forgetting a dainty five-o’clock tea equipage,—we might have given a party in the remaining space.
“If this is a typical Scotch lodging, I like it; and if it is Scotch hospitality to lay the cloth and make the fire before it is asked for, then I call it simply Arabian in character!” and Salemina drew off her damp gloves, and extended her hands to the blaze.
“And isn’t it delightful that the bill doesn’t come in for a whole week?” asked Francesca. “We have only our English experiences on which to found our knowledge, and all is delicious mystery. The tea may be a present from Mrs. M’Collop, and the sugar may not be an extra; the fire may be included in the rent of the apartment, and the piano may not be taken away to-morrow to enhance the attractions of the dining-room floor.” (It was Francesca, you remember, who had ‘warstled’ with the itemised accounts at Smith’s Private Hotel in London, and she who was always obliged to turn pounds, shillings, and pence into dollars and cents before she could add or subtract.)
“Come and look at the flowers in my bedroom,” I called, “four great boxes full! Mr. Beresford must have ordered the carnations, because he always does; but where did the roses come from, I wonder?”
I rang the bell, and a neat white-aproned maid appeared.
“Who brought these flowers, please?”
“I cudna say, mam.”
“Thank you; will you be good enough to ask Mrs. M’Collop?”
In a moment she returned with the message, “There will be a letter in the box, mam.”
“It seems to me the letter should be in the box now, if it is ever to be,” I thought, and I presently drew this card from among the fragrant buds:—
‘Lady Baird sends these Scotch roses as a small return for the pleasure she has received from Miss Hamilton’s pictures. Lady Baird will give herself the pleasure of calling to-morrow; meantime she hopes that Miss Hamilton and her party will dine with her some evening this week.’
“How nice!” exclaimed Salemina.
“The celebrated Miss Hamilton’s undistinguished party presents its humble compliments to Lady Baird,” chanted Francesca, “and having no engagements whatever, and small hope of any, will dine with her on any and every evening she may name. Miss Hamilton’s party will wear its best clothes, polish its mental jewels, and endeavour in every possible way not to injure the gifted Miss Hamilton’s reputation among the Scottish nobility.”
I wrote a hasty note of thanks to Lady Baird, and rang the bell.
“Can I send a message, please?” I asked the maid.
“I cudna say, mam.”
“Will you be good enough to ask Mrs. M’Collop, please?”
Interval; then:—
“The Boots will tak’ it at seeven o’clock, mam.”
“Thank you; is Fotheringay Crescent near here?”
“I cudna say, mam.”
“Thank you; what is your name, please?”
I waited in well-grounded anxiety, for I had no idea that she knew her name, or that if she had ever heard it, she could say it; but, to my surprise, she answered almost immediately, “Susanna Crum, mam!”
What a joy it is in a vexatious world, where things ‘gang aft agley,’ to find something absolutely right.
If I had devoted years to the subject, having the body of Susanna Crum before my eyes every minute of the time for inspiration, Susanna Crum is what I should have named that maid. Not a vowel could be added, not a consonant omitted. I said so when first I saw her, and weeks of intimate acquaintance only deepened my reverence for the parental genius that had so described her to the world.
Chapter III. A vision in Princes Street
When we awoke next morning the sun had forgotten itself and was shining in at Mrs. M’Collop’s back windows.
We should have arisen at once to burn sacrifices and offer oblations, but we had seen the sun frequently in America, and had no idea (poor fools!) that it was anything to be grateful for, so we accepted it, almost without comment, as one of the perennial providences of life.
When I speak of Edinburgh sunshine I do not mean, of course, any such burning, whole-souled, ardent warmth of beam as one finds in countries where they make a specialty of climate. It is, generally speaking, a half-hearted, uncertain ray, as pale and transitory as a martyr’s smile; but its faintest gleam, or its most puerile attempt to gleam, is admired and recorded by its well-disciplined constituency. Not only that, but at the first timid blink of the sun the true Scotsman remarks smilingly, ‘I think now we shall be having settled weather!’ It is a pathetic optimism, beautiful but quite groundless, and leads one to believe in the story that when Father Noah refused to take Sandy into the ark, he sat down philosophically outside, saying, with a glance at the clouds, ‘Aweel! the day’s just aboot the ord’nar’, an’ I wouldna won’er if we saw the sun afore nicht!’
But what loyal son of Edina cares for these transatlantic gibes, and where is the dweller within her royal gates who fails to succumb to the sombre beauty of that old grey town of the North? ‘Grey! why, it is grey or grey and gold, or grey and gold and blue, or grey and gold and blue and green, or grey and gold and blue and green and purple, according as the heaven pleases and you choose your ground! But take it when it is most sombrely grey, where is another such grey city?’
So says one of her lovers, and so the great army of lovers would say, had they the same gift of language; for
‘Even thus, methinks, a city reared should be,…
Yea, an imperial city that might hold
Five time a hundred noble towns in fee....
Thus should her towers be raised; with vicinage
Of clear bold hills, that curve her very streets,
As if to indicate, ‘mid choicest seats
Of Art, abiding Nature’s majesty.’
We ate a hasty breakfast that first morning, and prepared to go out for a walk into the great unknown, perhaps the most pleasurable sensation in the world. Francesca was ready first, and, having mentioned the fact several times ostentatiously, she went into the drawing-room to wait and read the Scotsman. When we went thither a few minutes later we found that she had disappeared.
“She is below, of course,” said Salemina. “She fancies that we shall feel more ashamed at our tardiness if we find her sitting on the hall bench in silent martyrdom.”
There was no one in the hall, however, save Susanna, who inquired if we would see the cook before going out.
“We have no time now, Susanna,” I remarked. “We are anxious to have a walk before the weather changes, if possible, but we shall be out for luncheon and in for dinner, and Mrs. M’Collop may give us anything she pleases. Do you know where Miss Francesca is?”
“I cudna s–”
“Certainly, of course you couldn’t; but I wonder if Mrs. M’Collop saw her?”
Mrs. M’Collop appeared from the basement, and vouchsafed the information that she had seen ‘the young leddy rinnin’ after the regiment.’
“Running after the regiment!” repeated Salemina automatically. “What a reversal of the laws of nature? Why, in Berlin, it was always the regiment that used to run after her!”
We learned in what direction the soldiers had gone, and pursuing the same path found the young lady on the corner of a street near by. She was quite unabashed. “You don’t know what you have missed!” she said excitedly. “Let us get into this tram, and possibly we can head them off somewhere. They may be going into battle, and if so, my heart’s blood is at their service. It is one of those experiences that come only once in a lifetime. There were pipes and there