Brothers & Sisters - John & Anna Buchan Edition (Collection of Their Greatest Works). Buchan John

don’t want to inconvenience you,” Jaikie began. “We can easily go down the water to the Mains of Garroch. The herd there will take us in.”

      “Ye’ll dae nae siccan thing. It will never be said that Tibby Catterick turned twae auld freends frae her door, and there’s beds to spare for ye baith… But ye come at an unco time and ye find me at an unco job. I’m a jyler.”

      “A what?”

      “A jyler. I’ve a man inbye, and I’m under bond no to let him stir a fit frae the Back House till the morn’s morn… I’ll tell ye the gospel truth. My guid-brither’s son—him that’s comin’ out for a minister—is at the college, and the morn the students are electin’ what they ca’ a Rector. Weel, Erchie’s a stirrin’ lad and takes muckle ado wi their politics. It seems that there was a man on the ither side that they wanted to get oot o’ the road—it was fair eneugh, for he had pitten some terrible affronts on Erchie. So what maun the daft laddie dae but kidnap him? How it was done I canna tell, but he brocht him here late last nicht in a cawr, and pit me on my aith no to let him leave the place for thirty ‘oors… So you see I’m turned jyler.” Mrs Catterick again shook with silent merriment.

      “Have you got him indoors now?”

      “He’s ben the hoose in the best room. I kinnled a fire for him, for he’s a cauldrife body. What’s he like? Oh, a fosy wee man wi’ a bald heid and terrible braw claithes. Ye wad say he was ower auld to be a student, but Erchie says it takes a lang time to get through as a doctor. Linklater, they ca’ him.”

      “Has he given you any trouble?” Dougal asked anxiously. He seemed to long to assist in the task of gaoler.

      “No him. My man’s awa wi’ the crocks to Gledmouth, and, as ye ken, we hae nae weans, but I could manage twa o’ him my lane. But he never offered to resist. Just ate his supper as if he was in his ain hoose, and spak nae word except to say that he likit my scones. I lent him yin o’ John’s sarks for a nicht-gown and this mornin’ he shaved himsel’ wi’ John’s razor. He’s a quiet, saft-spoken wee body, but there’s nae crack in him. He speaks wi’ a kind o’ English tongue and he ca’s me Madam. I doot that deil Erchie maun be in the wrang o’ it, but kin’s kin and I maun tak the wyte o’ his cantrips.”

      Again Jaikie became apologetic and proposed withdrawal, and again his proposal was rejected.

      “Ye can bide here fine,” said Mrs Catterick, “now that ye ken the truth. I couldna tell it ye at the door-cheek, for ye were just forenent his windy… Ye’ll hae your meat wi’ me in the kitchen, and ye can hae the twa beds in the loft… Ye’d better no gang near Linklater, for he maybe wadna like folk to ken o’ this performance—nor Erchie neither. He has never stirred frae his room this day, and he’s spak no word except to speir what place he was in and how far it was frae Glen Callowa… Now I think o’t, that was a queer thing to speir, for Erchie said he brocht him frae Kirkmichael… Oh, and he was wantin’ to send a telegram, but I tell’t him there was nae office within saxteen miles and the post wadna be up the water till the morn… I’m just wonderin’ how he’ll get off the morn, for he hasna the buits for walkin’. Ye never saw sic snod, wee, pappymashy things on a man’s feet. But there’s twa bicycles, yin o’ John’s and yin that belongs to the young herd at the west hirsel. Wi’ yin o’ them he’ll maybe manage down the road… But there’s nae sense in crossin’ brigs till ye come to them. I’ve been thrang wi’ the kirnin’, but the butter’s come, and the kettle’s on the boil. Your tea will be ready as sune as ye’ve gotten your faces washed.”

      Half an hour later Jaikie and Dougal sat in the kitchen, staying a hearty hunger with farles of oatcake and new-baked scones, and a healthier thirst with immense cups of strong-brewed tea. Their hostess, now garbed somewhat more decorously, presided at the table. She apologised for the delay.

      “I had to gie Linklater his tea. He’s gettin’ terrible restless, puir man. He’s been tryin’ to read the books in the best room, but he canna fix his mind, and he’s aye writin’ telegrams. He kens ye’re here, and speired whae ye were, and I telled him twa young lads that were trampin’ the country. I could see that he was feared o’ ye, and nae wonder. It would be sair on a decent body if folk heard that he had been kidnapped by a deil like Erchie. I tried to set his mind at rest about the morn, and telled him about John’s bicycle.”

      But the meal was not the jovial affair which Jaikie remembered of old. Mrs Catterick was preoccupied, and did not expand, as was her custom, in hilarious gossip. This new task of gaoler lay heavy on her shoulders. She seemed always to be listening for sounds from the farther part of the house. Twice she left the table and tiptoed along the passage to listen at the door.

      “He’s awfu’ restless,” she reported. “He’s walkin’ aboot the floor like a hen on a het girdle. I wish he mayna loss his reason. Dod, I’ll warm Erchie’s lugs for this ploy when I get a haud o’ him. Sic a job to saddle on a decent wumman!”

      Then for a little there was peace, for a question of Jaikie’s led their hostess to an account of the great April storm of that year.

      “Thirty and three o’ the hill lambs deid in ae nicht… John was oot in the snaw for nineteen ‘oors and I never looked to see him mair. Puir man, when he cam in at last he couldna eat—just a dram o’ whisky in het milk—and he sleepit a round o’ the clock… I had fires in ilka room and lambs afore them in a’ the blankets I possessed… Aye, and it was waur when the snaw went and the floods cam. The moss was like a sea, and the Caldron was streikit wi’ roarin’ burns. We never saw the post for a week, and every brig atween here and Portaway gaed doun to the Solway… Wheesht!”

      She broke off and listened. A faint cry of “Madam” came from the other end of the house.

      “It’s him. It’s Linklater. ‘Madam’ he ca’s me. Keep us a’!”

      She hurried from the kitchen, shutting the door carefully behind her.

      When she returned it was with a solemn face.

      “He’s wonderin’ if ane o’ you lads wad take a telegram for him to the office. He’s terrible set on’t. ‘Madam,’ he says wi’ his Englishy voice, ‘I assure you it’s a matter of the first importance.’”

      “Nonsense,” said Dougal. “Sixteen miles after a long day’s tramp! He can easily wait till the morning. Besides, the office would be closed before we got there.”

      “Aye, but hearken.” Mrs Catterick’s voice was hushed in awe. “He offers twenty punds to the man that will dae his will. He’s gotten the notes in his pooch.”

      “Now where on earth,” said Dougal, “did a medical student get twenty pounds?”

      “He’s no like a student. The mair I look at him the better I see that he’s nane o’ the rough clan that Erchie rins wi’. He’s yin that’s been used wi’ his comforts. And he’s aulder than I thocht—an aulder man than John. I wadna say but that blagyird Erchie has kidnapped a Lord Provost, and whaur will we a’ be then?”

      “We had better interview him,” said Dougal. “It’s a shame to let him fret himself.”

      “Ane at a time,” advised Mrs Catterick, “for he’s as skeery as a cowt. You gang, Dougal. Ye ken the ways o’ the college lads.”

      Dougal departed and the two left behind fell silent. Mrs Catterick’s instinct for the dramatic had been roused, and she kept her eye on the door, through which the envoy would return, as if it had been the curtain of a stage play. Even Jaikie’s placidity was stirred.

      “This is a funny business, Mrs Catterick,” he said. “Dougal and I come here for peace, and we find the Back House of the Garroch turned into a robbers’ den. The Canonry is becoming a stirring place. You’ve an election on, too.”

      “So I was hearin’, and the post brings us papers about it. John maun try and vote, if he can get an orra day atween the sales. He votit last time, honest man, but we never