The Greatest Historical Novels & Romances of D. K. Broster. D. K. Broster

MacPhair! That I’ll never believe!”

      “Your sister is married to a man that’s akin to the Doctor, you told me,” was Glenshian’s retort to this. “Unfortunately, I was there with Archibald Cameron at the time . . . Well, there’s many a man that’s true enough to the Cause, but can’t keep his fingers from the Cause’s money. I don’t blame him overmuch, with that throng family of young children to support. I’ve known what it is to be so near starving myself, Mr. Grant, that I have had to sell my shoe-buckles for bread—’twas when I was released from the Tower. So I’m aware why Archie Cameron finds it suits him to go back to the Highlands at any cost.”

      Hector stared at him, incredulous, yet conscious of a certain inner discomfort. For it was quite true that young Glenshian had accompanied Doctor Cameron and his own kinsman Lochdornie to the Highlands in 1749, and rumours had run among the Scottish exiles over the water that since that date the two latter were scarcely on speaking terms. But when Hector had learnt that these two were going over again together, he had supposed the report much exaggerated. Still, he who spoke with such conviction was the future Chief of Glenshian, and deeper, surely, in the innermost councils of Jacobitism than he, a mere landless French officer.

      “Mr. Grant, I am going to ask you a favour in my turn,” here said Finlay the Red, with an air of having dealt conclusively with the last subject. “I expect you know Captain Samuel Cameron of your regiment?”

      “Crookshanks, as we call him?” answered Hector a little absently, being engaged in dissipating the momentary cloud of humility by the reflection that as one Highland gentleman he was the equal of any other, Chief or no. “The brother of Cameron of Glenevis—that’s the man you mean?”

      “That is the man. They say that one good turn deserves another; will you then take him a letter from me? I’m wanting a messenger this while back, and since you are returning to the regiment, here is my chance, if you will oblige me?”

      Only too pleased to confer some obligation, as a species of set-off against his own, Hector replied that he would be delighted, so Finlay once more seized paper and took up his pen. For a few seconds he nibbled the quill reflectively, the fraction of a smile at the corner of his mouth; then he dashed off a few lines, sealed the missive carefully, and handed it to its bearer. “You’ll not, I hope, be robbed again, Mr. Grant!” he observed, and yet, despite the little laugh which accompanied the words, Hector felt that after what had passed he could not well take offence at them. He accepted the gibe and the letter with meekness, and prepared to take his leave. Young Glenshian rose too.

      “Your visit, Mr. Grant,” he said agreeably, “has been of this advantage to me, that I know now from a first hand source that my kinsman and Doctor Cameron did really make their appearance in the Highlands this autumn. In the absence of news from either of them I have sometimes wondered whether the plan had not fallen through at the last. Though even at that,” he added, smiling, “the evidence is scarcely first hand, since you did not actually set eyes on either of them.”

      “But my brother-in-law, with whom I was imprisoned——” began Hector.

      “Ay, I forgot—a foolish remark of mine that! I’ll pass the testimony as first hand,” said Finlay lightly. “But where, I wonder, did the Doctor go after he had evaded capture at your brother-in-law’s house?”

      “That I never knew,” responded Hector. “In Fort William neither Ardroy nor I had much opportunity for learning such things.”

      “He’ll have made for Loch Arkaig as usual, I expect,” commented young MacPhair. He looked at the table. “Mr. Grant, you’ll take another dram before you leave?”

      “No, thank you, Mr. MacPhair,” replied Hector with a heightened colour. If he could not swallow Mr. MacPhair’s insinuations against Doctor Cameron’s honesty, neither would he swallow his whisky. He went and took up his hat, young Glenshian watching him with that curl of the lip so natural to him that he appeared always to be disdaining his company.

      And then Hector remembered the question which, during these days in London, no Englishman had satisfactorily answered for him. Striving to banish the resentment from his voice and look, he said, “May I venture to ask a question in my turn, Mr. MacPhair? Pray do not answer it if it be too indiscreet. But, as I have told you, it was the proposed scheme for . . . a certain course of action in London which brought me over the sea last September. Why did that scheme come to naught?”

      Mr. MacPhair did not seem to find the question indiscreet, nor did he pause to consider his answer. “Why, for the same reason that the Rising failed in ’46,” he replied with prompt scorn. “Because your English Jacobite is a man of fine promises and no performance, and as timid as a hare! The very day was fixed—the tenth of November—and nothing was done. However, perhaps you’ll yet hear something to rejoice you before the summer is out. Well, a good journey to you, Mr. Grant; commend me to my friends over there. I am very glad to have been of service to you.”

      In his worn dressing-gown, surrounded by that clamorous disorder, Fionnlagh Ruadh nevertheless dismissed his visitor with an air so much de haut en bas that a sudden heavy strain was thrown on the cord of Hector’s gratitude. He bowed, biting his lip a little.

      “I hope I may be able to repay you one day, Mr. MacPhair,” he said formally, and thought, “May the Devil fly with me to the hottest corner of hell if I don’t . . . somehow!”

      “Seumas,” called the young chief, raising his voice, “show this gentleman downstairs.”

      And the gillie, who was peeling potatoes on the landing, hastened to obey. Hector was chagrined that he could not slip a vail into the bony hand, but, not having a penny himself, how could he?

      ‘Arrogant, touchy, and vain as a peacock!’ was his summary of his late host as he walked away from the Strand in the direction of the ‘chimmist’ in Sherwood Street. But the peacock had done him a real service, and in mere gratitude he ought to try to forget that to-day’s impression of Finlay MacPhair of Glenshian had not been a pleasant one.

      In any case it was soon swept away by the mingled relief and mortification caused by a small packet awaiting him at his lodging, which, on being opened, was found to contain his purse. Then they had known of his loss all the time at the ‘White Cock’—or guessed! He had only made himself more of a laughing-stock by refusing to receive his property!

      (3)

      When Seumas returned to his potato-peeling, his master, on the other side of the door, was already resuming his correspondence. But not the letter to Secretary Edgar which he had shown to Hector. From a locked drawer he extracted another sheet of paper, headed simply ‘Information’, and underneath the few lines already there he wrote:

      “Pickle has this day spoken with one from the Highlands who says that Doctor Cameron and MacPhair of Lochdornie were certainly there at the end of September, and Doctor Cameron was then come into Lochaber, by which it may be seen that the information sent by Pickle in November last was very exact. But where the Doctor then went the informant did not know. It would not dow for Pickle to goe himself into those parts, for the Doctor distrusts him, hee knowing too much about the Doctor, and besids the risque is too great, Pickle being of such consequence there; but if hee had more mony at his disposal he cou’d employ it very well in finding a person who would goe, and undertakes hee’d find out more in a day than any government trusty in a week, or souldier in a moneth; or Pickle would be apt to corespond with persons not suspected by the disaffected, who cou’d be on the Watch for these men, if it were made worth their while. But Pickle’s jants have already cost him a deal of mony, and hee has never receaved more than his bare exspences, and is at this moment in debte to severall persons in this town, in spite of the great promasis made to him, and the great services he hath already performed, both in regard to afairs in the Highlands, and among the Pretender’s party in England. If something be not paid imediatly Pickle is not dispos’d to——”

      He broke off, hastily covering the paper. “Damn you, Seumas, what do you want?”

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