Priorsford (Historical Novel). O. Douglas

      CHAPTER IV

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      '. . . But do not think that you can at all, By knocking on the window, call That child to hear you. . . For long ago, the truth to say, He has grown up and gone away. . .'

      A Child's Garden of Verse.

      Mrs. McCosh, the guardian of The Rigs, was a woman of sixty, the widow of one Andrew McCosh, a Clyde riveter. She had come from her native city of Glasgow after her husband's death to be housekeeper to the Jardines, first to old Miss Alison Jardine, and then to Jean and her brothers. When Jean married she had continued to look after the little house for which the Jardines had so great an affection.

      This afternoon Mrs. McCosh was taking a final look round, to be sure that everything was as right as she could make it for the return of the owner.

      Accompanying her was a neighbour, Miss Bella Bathgate, who owned a cottage called Hillview and let her rooms to people desiring rest and change in Priorsford. Tall and high-coloured, with a broad Priorsford accent, and a high opinion of her own walk and conversation, she was something of a terror to frailer folk, for she never disguised her opinion of their comparative unworthiness.

      'This'll make a big difference to you, Mrs. McCosh,' she was saying as the couple returned from the kitchen, after making a tour of the house. 'It'll not be easy after nine years' peace, as ye might say, to start again with a mistress an' three bairns. I wouldna be you!'

      But the serene face of Mrs. McCosh showed no apprehension as she replied in an accent as redolent of Glasgow as her friend's was of Tweedside.

      'Weel, Bella, ye maun mind that it's Miss Jean, an' Miss Jean's weans, an' that mak's a difference. I've been mistress here ye may say, an' I've gotten into ways o' ma ain, but Miss Jean'll understand that. I'll no' be ill-aff wi' the weans, I like them fine, an' Ninny's an auld friend. The extra maids are to bide at The Neuk an' juist to come in here to help, ye ken. The secretary's to be there to keep an eye on them.'

      Miss Bathgate pulled down her long upper lip.

      'What secretary?' she asked suspiciously.

      'Her wee leddyship's secretary, Miss ----, I canna mind her name. Wi' a' that siller Miss Jean needs somebody to dae accounts an' add things up for her like. . . .'

      'I never right understood hoo she got that money,' said Bella.

      'Mercy, d'ye no' mind o' the auld man comin' here to his tea? Mr. Peter Reid? I'm sure I tell't ye aboot it at the time. He had been a Priorsford laddie, brocht up in The Rigs, but he had been in London aboot fifty years or mair. . . . When he felt that he was comin' near his end he took a notion to come back hame, an', thinks he: "I'll gang back to The Rigs an' end ma days where I began." He hadna a relation in the warld, an', bein' a cankered kind o' man he'd never made friends. He'd made siller, though. . . . It seems he'd said to somebody that he'd leave his fortune to the first person who did anything for him for naething. Did ye ever! Up he comes to Priorsford, gey frail, puir body, and comes up to tak' a look at The Rigs. Miss Jean sees the auld frail man an' asks him in--that was her wy: and the laddies cam' hame and they a' hed their tea thegether, and Miss Jean gied him some auld sang-book he'd taen a notion o', an' syne he gaed awa' an' there was nae mair aboot it.'

      'But I thocht ye said he meant to live in The Rigs himsel'?'

      'Ay, but ye see he died no lang efter. Mebbe he hedna time to see aboot it, or mebbe he thocht it wasna worth while, but onywy, he made his will and left everything tae Miss Jean.'

      'It was a queer thing to dae,' said Miss Bathgate, 'wi' so many infirmaries, no' to speak o' the Foreign Field.'

      'That's so,' said Mrs. McCosh. 'Eh, will I ever forget that awfu' nicht when the news came! It was the nicht Peter cam' hame efter bein' lost for three whole days--Puir Peter, I miss him mair every day that passes.'

      'Mercy, wumman, ye would think it was yer man ye were mournin', no' a dowg.'

      'Weel, Bella, Andra wasna a bad man to me, an' I was real vex't he died so young, but a' the same he wis niver the comfort to me that Peter wis. Mony a time I think I hear him at the back door. . . . But I wis speakin' aboot Miss Jean's fortune.' She rose to sweep away a cinder that had fallen from the glowing ribs, and stood with the brush in her hand as she went on with her story.

      'We were juist gettin' ower Peter's hame-comin'--I mind Miss Pamela was at her tea--when the six post cam' in wi' a letter for Miss Jean. I forgot to pit it on a tray. Ma bein' a pew-opener afore I gaed into service I wasna weel up in leddys' ways, an' I whiles forgot the wee things they pit sic value on, like sayin' "Mem" an' "Sir," an' pittin' things on trays.'

      Mrs. McCosh gave a tolerant laugh. '. . . In I gaed wi' the letter. Miss Pamela, Mrs. Elliot I should say, wis sittin' on the sofa wi' her work on her lap, an' a' her silks spread oot aboot her: Miss Jean wis mendin': Mr. Jock wis daein' his lessons, an' Mhor (as we ca'ed him then) wis lyin' on the rug, an' in a meenute, by the tearin' open o' an envelope, ye micht say, the whole world was changed to them. Ay, that wis an awfu' nicht. Puir Miss Jean grat, she didna' ken whit to mak' o' the news.'

      'It brought great changes,' said Miss Bathgate, 'whether for good or ill who can say. It brought Miss Jean a lord for a husband----'

      But here she was interrupted.

      'That's where ye're wrang, Bella,'--Mrs. McCosh's voice was meek but final. 'Lord Bidborough speired her afore there was a sough o' the siller. I ken that for a fac'. She wadna' look at him the first time but----'

      'It brought great changes,' Miss Bathgate repeated firmly. 'I'm no' sayin' Lord Bidborough mairret Miss Jean for her siller (I kent fine he was efter her from the first, but she was quite right no' to tak' him till the money had evened things up a bit), but what I'm sayin' is this: they were a' oot o' The Rigs in three months--Miss Jean mairret, an' the laddies aff to English schools. They were kinna nice laddies then, though wild, of course.'

      'They're nice laddies noo,' Mrs. McCosh said. 'Weel, ye can hardly ca' them laddies, for Mr. Jock's twa and twenty an' Mhor--Mr. Gervase--maun be sixteen. When they were at Laverlaw aboot a year syne--I think you were at Portobello--they cam' here, an' went ringein' through the hoose like bloodhounds. They were that gled to see their bits o' auld things again. I've aye keepit them juist as they left them.'

      'Mhor wasna a bad callant,' Bella said in her grudging way. 'He used to come and ask me for tea-biscuits for Peter. "Not