Tales of My Landlord - All 7 Novels in One Edition (Illustrated). Walter Scott

well as his manners, seemed also to be refined for the time and occasion; though the truth was, that, in the fluctuations of an adventurous and profligate life, Bothwell had sometimes kept company much better suited to his ancestry than to his present situation of life. To the lady’s request to know whether she could be of service to them, he answered, with a suitable bow, “That as they had to march some miles farther that night, they would be much accommodated by permission to rest their horses for an hour before continuing their journey.”

      “With the greatest pleasure,” answered Lady Margaret; “and I trust that my people will see that neither horse nor men want suitable refreshment.”

      “We are well aware, madam,” continued Bothwell, “that such has always been the reception, within the walls of Tillietudlem, of those who served the King.”

      “We have studied to discharge our duty faithfully and loyally on all occasions, sir,” answered Lady Margaret, pleased with the compliment, “both to our monarchs and to their followers, particularly to their faithful soldiers. It is not long ago, and it probably has not escaped the recollection of his sacret majesty, now on the throne, since he himself honoured my poor house with his presence and breakfasted in a room in this castle, Mr Sergeant, which my waiting-gentlewoman shall show you; we still call it the King’s room.”

      Bothwell had by this time dismounted his party, and committed the horses to the charge of one file, and the prisoner to that of another; so that he himself was at liberty to continue the conversation which the lady had so condescendingly opened.

      “Since the King, my master, had the honour to experience your hospitality, I cannot wonder that it is extended to those that serve him, and whose principal merit is doing it with fidelity. And yet I have a nearer relation to his majesty than this coarse red coat would seem to indicate.”

      “Indeed, sir? Probably,” said Lady Margaret, “you have belonged to his household?”

      “Not exactly, madam, to his household, but rather to his house; a connexion through which I may claim kindred with most of the best families in Scotland, not, I believe, exclusive of that of Tillietudlem.”

      “Sir?” said the old lady, drawing herself up with dignity at hearing what she conceived an impertinent jest, “I do not understand you.”

      “It’s but a foolish subject for one in my situation to talk of, madam,” answered the trooper; “but you must have heard of the history and misfortunes of my grandfather Francis Stewart, to whom James I., his cousin-german, gave the title of Bothwell, as my comrades give me the nickname. It was not in the long run more advantageous to him than it is to me.”

      “Indeed?” said Lady Margaret, with much sympathy and surprise; “I have indeed always understood that the grandson of the last Earl was in necessitous circumstances, but I should never have expected to see him so low in the service. With such connexions, what ill fortune could have reduced you”—

      “Nothing much out of the ordinary course, I believe, madam,” said Bothwell, interrupting and anticipating the question. “I have had my moments of good luck like my neighbours — have drunk my bottle with Rochester, thrown a merry main with Buckingham, and fought at Tangiers side by side with Sheffield. But my luck never lasted; I could not make useful friends out of my jolly companions — Perhaps I was not sufficiently aware,” he continued, with some bitterness, “how much the descendant of the Scottish Stewarts was honoured by being admitted into the convivialities of Wilmot and Villiers.”

      “But your Scottish friends, Mr Stewart, your relations here, so numerous and so powerful?”

      “Why, ay, my lady,” replied the sergeant, “I believe some of them might have made me their gamekeeper, for I am a tolerable shot — some of them would have entertained me as their bravo, for I can use my sword well — and here and there was one, who, when better company was not to be had, would have made me his companion, since I can drink my three bottles of wine.— But I don’t know how it is — between service and service among my kinsmen, I prefer that of my cousin Charles as the most creditable of them all, although the pay is but poor, and the livery far from splendid.”

      “It is a shame, it is a burning scandal!” said Lady Margaret. “Why do you not apply to his most sacred majesty? he cannot but be surprised to hear that a scion of his august family”—

      “I beg your pardon, madam,” interrupted the sergeant, “I am but a blunt soldier, and I trust you will excuse me when I say, his most sacred majesty is more busy in grafting scions of his own, than with nourishing those which were planted by his grandfather’s grandfather.”

      “Well, Mr Stewart,” said Lady Margaret, “one thing you must promise me — remain at Tillietudlem to-night; tomorrow I expect your commanding-officer, the gallant Claverhouse, to whom king and country are so much obliged for his exertions against those who would turn the world upside down. I will speak to him on the subject of your speedy promotion; and I am certain he feels too much, both what is due to the blood which is in your veins, and to the request of a lady so highly distinguished as myself by his most sacred majesty, not to make better provision for you than you have yet received.”

      “I am much obliged to your ladyship, and I certainly will remain her with my prisoner, since you request it, especially as it will be the earliest way of presenting him to Colonel Grahame, and obtaining his ultimate orders about the young spark.”

      “Who is your prisoner, pray you?” said Lady Margaret.

      “A young fellow of rather the better class in this neighbourhood, who has been so incautious as to give countenance to one of the murderers of the primate, and to facilitate the dog’s escape.”

      “O, fie upon him!” said Lady Margaret; “I am but too apt to forgive the injuries I have received at the hands of these rogues, though some of them, Mr Stewart, are of a kind not like to be forgotten; but those who would abet the perpetrators of so cruel and deliberate a homicide on a single man, an old man, and a man of the Archbishop’s sacred profession — O fie upon him! If you wish to make him secure, with little trouble to your people, I will cause Harrison, or Gudyill, look for the key of our pit, or principal dungeon. It has not been open since the week after the victory of Kilsythe, when my poor Sir Arthur Bellenden put twenty whigs into it; but it is not more than two stories beneath ground, so it cannot be unwholesome, especially as I rather believe there is somewhere an opening to the outer air.”

      “I beg your pardon, madam,” answered the sergeant; “I daresay the dungeon is a most admirable one; but I have promised to be civil to the lad, and I will take care he is watched, so as to render escape impossible. I’ll set those to look after him shall keep him as fast as if his legs were in the boots, or his fingers in the thumbikins.”

      “Well, Mr Stewart,” rejoined the lady, “you best know your own duty. I heartily wish you good evening, and commit you to the care of my steward, Harrison. I would ask you to keep ourselves company, but a — a — a —”

      “O, madam, it requires no apology; I am sensible the coarse red coat of King Charles II. does and ought to annihilate the privileges of the red blood of King James V.”

      “Not with me, I do assure you, Mr Stewart; you do me injustice if you think so. I will speak to your officer tomorrow; and I trust you shall soon find yourself in a rank where there shall be no anomalies to be reconciled.”

      “I believe, madam,” said Bothwell, “your goodness will find itself deceived; but I am obliged to you for your intention, and, at all events, I will have a merry night with Mr Harrison.”

      Lady Margaret took a ceremonious leave, with all the respect which she owed to royal blood, even when flowing in the veins of a sergeant of the Life-Guards; again assuring Mr Stewart, that whatever was in the Tower of Tillietudlem was heartily at his service and that of his attendants.

      Sergeant Bothwell did not fail to take the lady at her word, and readily forgot the height from which his family had descended, in a joyous carousal, during which Mr Harrison exerted himself to produce the best wine in the cellar, and to excite his guest to be merry by that