A Daughter of Raasay: A Tale of the '45 Read online

  A DAUGHTER OF RAASAY

  CHAPTER I

  THE SPORT OF CHANCE

  "Deep play!" I heard Major Wolfe whisper to Lord Balmerino. "Can Montagu'sestate stand such a drain?"

  "No. He will be dipped to the last pound before midnight. 'Tis Volney'sdoing. He has angled for Montagu a se'nnight, and now he has hooked him. Ihave warned the lad, but----"

  He shrugged his shoulders.

  The Scotchman was right. I was past all caution now, past all restraint.The fever of play had gripped me, and I would listen to nothing but therattle of that little box which makes the most seductive music ever sungby siren. My Lord Balmerino might stand behind me in silent protest tillall was grey, and though he had been twenty times my father's friend hewould not move me a jot.

  Volney's smoldering eyes looked across the table at me.

  "Your cast, Kenn. Shall we say doubles? You'll nick this time for sure."

  "Done! Nine's the main," I cried, and threw deuces.

  With that throw down crashed fifty ancestral oaks that had weathered thestorms of three hundred winters. I had crabbed, not nicked.

  "The fickle goddess is not with you to-day, Kenn. The jade jilts us all attimes," drawled Volney, as he raked in his winnings carelessly.

  "Yet I have noted that there are those whom she forsakes not often, and Ihave wondered by what charmed talisman they hold her true," flashed outBalmerino.

  The steel flickered into Volney's eyes. He understood it for no chanceremark, but as an innuendo tossed forth as a challenge. Of all men SirRobert Volney rode on the crest of fortune's wave, and there were notlacking those who whispered that his invariable luck was due to somethingmore than chance and honest skill. For me, I never believed the charge.With all his faults Volney had the sportsman's love of fair play.

  The son of a plain country gentleman, he had come to be by reason of hishandsome face, his reckless courage, his unfailing impudence, and his giftof _savoir-vivre_, the most notorious and fortunate of the adventurers whoswarmed at the court of St. James. By dint of these and kindred qualitieshe had become an intimate companion of the Prince of Wales. The man had awide observation of life; indeed, he was an interested and whimsicalobserver rather than an actor, and a scoffer always. A libertine from thehead to the heel of him, yet gossip marked him as the future husband ofthe beautiful young heiress Antoinette Westerleigh. For the rest, hecarried an itching sword and the smoothest tongue that ever graced avillain. I had been proud that such a man had picked me for his friend,entirely won by the charm of manner that made his more evil faults sitgracefully on him.

  Volney declined for the present the quarrel that Balmerino's impulsiveloyalty to me would have fixed on him. He feared no living man, but he wasno hothead to be drawn from his purpose. If Lord Balmerino wanted tomeasure swords with him he would accommodate the old Scotch peer with thegreatest pleasure on earth, but not till the time fitted him. He answeredeasily:

  "I know no talisman but this, my Lord; in luck and out of luck to bear asmiling front, content with the goods the gods may send."

  It was a fair hit, for Balmerino was well known as an open malcontent andsuspected of being a Jacobite.

  "Ah! The goods sent by the gods! A pigeon for the plucking--the lad youhave called friend!" retorted the other.

  "Take care, my Lord," warningly.

  "But there are birds it is not safe to pluck," continued Balmerino,heedless of his growing anger.

  "Indeed!"

  "As even Sir Robert Volney may find out. An eaglet is not wisely chosenfor such purpose."

  It irritated me that they should thrust and parry over my shoulder, as ifI had been but a boy instead of full three months past my legal majority.Besides, I had no mind to have them letting each other's blood on myaccount.

  "Rat it, 'tis your play, Volney. You keep us waiting," I cried.

  "You're in a devilish hurry to be quit of your shekels," laughed theIrishman O'Sullivan, who sat across the table from me. "Isn't there aproverb, Mr. Montagu, about a--a careless gentleman and his money goingdifferent ways, begad? Don't keep him waiting any longer than need be,Volney."

  There is this to be said for the Macaronis, that they plucked their pigeonwith the most graceful negligence in the world. They might live by theirwits, but they knew how to wear always the jauntiest indifference ofmanner. Out came the feathers with a sure hand, the while they exchangedchoice _bon mots_ and racy scandal. Hazard was the game we played and I,Kenneth Montagu, was cast for the role of the pigeon. Against these oldgamesters I had no chance even if the play had been fair, and my head onit more than one of them rooked me from start to finish. I was with a vastdeal of good company, half of whom were rogues and blacklegs.

  "Heard George Selwyn's latest?"[1] inquired Lord Chesterfield languidly.

  "Not I. Threes, devil take it!" cried O'Sullivan in a pet.

  "Tell it, Horry. It's your story," drawled the fourth Earl ofChesterfield.

  "Faith, and that's soon done," answered Walpole. "George and I were takingthe air down the Mall arm in arm yesterday just after the fellow Fox washanged for cutting purses, and up comes our Fox to quiz George. Says he,knowing Selwyn's penchant for horrors, 'George, were you at the executionof my namesake?' Selwyn looks him over in his droll way from head to footand says, 'Lard, no! I never attend rehearsals, Fox.'"

  "'Tis the first he has missed for years then. Selwyn is as regular as JackKetch himself. Your throw, Montagu," put in O'Sullivan.

  "Seven's the main, and by the glove of Helen I crab. Saw ever man suchcursed luck?" I cried.

  "'Tis vile. Luck's mauling you fearfully to-night," agreed Volneylanguidly. Then, apropos of the hanging, "Ketch turned off that fellow Dr.Dodd too. There was a shower, and the prison chaplain held an umbrellaover Dodd's head. Gilly Williams said it wasn't necessary, as the Doctorwas going to a place where he might be easily dried."

  "Egad, 'tis his greatest interest in life," chuckled Walpole, harking backto Selwyn. "When George has a tooth pulled he drops his kerchief as asignal for the dentist to begin the execution."

  Old Lord Pam's toothless gums grinned appreciation of the jest as hetottered from the room to take a chair for a rout at which he was due.

  "Faith, and it's a wonder how that old Methuselah hangs on year afteryear," said O'Sullivan bluntly, before the door had even closed on theoctogenarian. "He must be a thousand if he's a day."

  "The fact is," explained Chesterfield confidentially, "that old Pam hasbeen dead for several years, but he doesn't choose to have it known.Pardon me, am I delaying the game?"

  He was not, and he knew it; but my Lord Chesterfield was far too polite tomore than hint to Topham Beauclerc that he had fallen asleep over histhrow. Selwyn and Lord March lounged into the coffee house arm in arm. Ontheir heels came Sir James Craven, the choicest blackleg in England.

  "How d'ye do, everybody? Whom are you and O'Sully rooking to-night,Volney? Oh, I see--Montagu. Beg pardon," said Craven coolly.

  Volney looked past the man with a wooden face that did not even recognizethe fellow as a blot on the landscape. There was bad blood between the twomen, destined to end in a tragedy. Sir James had been in the high gracesof Frederick Prince of Wales until the younger and more polished Volneyhad ousted him. On the part of the coarse and burly Craven, there wasenduring hatred toward his easy and elegant rival, who paid back hismalice with a serene contempt. Noted duellist as Craven was, Sir Robertdid not give a pinch of snuff for his rage.

  The talk veered to the new fashion of spangled skirts, and Walpole vowedthat Lady Coventry's new dress was covered with spangles big as ashilling.

  "'Twill be convenient for Coventry. She'll be change for a guinea,"suggested Selwyn gloomily, his solemn face unlighted by the vestige of asmile.

  So they jested, even when the play was deepest and while long-inheritedfamily manors passed out of the hands of their owners. The recent Frenchvictory at _Fontenoy_ still rankled in the heart of every Englishman.Within, the country seethed wit
h an undercurrent of unrest anddissatisfaction. It was said that there were those who boasted quietlyamong themselves over their wine that the sun would yet rise some day on aStuart England, that there were desperate men still willing to risk theirlives in blind loyalty or in the gambler's spirit for the race of Kingsthat had been discarded for its unworthiness. But the cut of his Mechlinlace ruffles was more to the Macaroni than his country's future. He madehis jest with the same aplomb at births and weddings and deaths.

  Each fresh minute of play found me parted from some heirloom treasured byMontagus long since dust. In another half hour Montagu Grange was strippedof timber bare as the Row itself. Once, between games, I strolled uneasilydown the room, and passing the long looking glass scarce recognized thehaggard face that looked out at me. Still I played on, dogged andwretched, not knowing how to withdraw myself from these elegant dandieswho were used to win or lose a fortune at a sitting with imperturbableface.

  Lord Balmerino gave me a chance. He clapped a hand on my shoulder and saidin his brusque kindly way--

  "Enough, lad! You have dropped eight thou' to-night. Let the old familypictures still hang on the walls."

  I looked up, flushed and excited, yet still sane enough to know his advicewas good. In the strong sallow face of Major James Wolfe I read the sameword. I knew the young soldier slightly and liked him with a greatrespect, though I could not know that this grave brilliant-eyed young manwas later to become England's greatest soldier and hero. I had even pushedback my chair to rise from the table when the cool gibing voice of Volneycut in.

  "The eighth wonder of the world; Lord Balmerino in a new role--adviser toyoung men of fashion who incline to enjoy life. Are you by any chancethinking of becoming a ranting preacher, my Lord?"

  "I bid him do as I say and not as I have done. To point my case I citemyself as an evil example of too deep play."

  "Indeed, my Lord! Faith, I fancied you had in mind even deeper play forthe future. A vastly interesting game, this of politics. You stake yourhead that you can turn a king and zounds! you play the deuce instead."

  Balmerino looked at him blackly out of a face cut in frowning marble, butVolney leaned back carelessly in his chair and his insolent eyes neverflickered.

  As I say, I sat swithering 'twixt will and will-not.

  "Better come, Kenneth! The luck is against you to-night," urged Balmerino,his face relaxing as he turned to me.

  Major Wolfe said nothing, but his face too invited me.

  "Yes, better go back to school and be birched," sneered Volney.

  And at that I flung back into my seat with a curse, resolute to show him Iwas as good a man as he. My grim-faced guardian angel washed his hands ofme with a Scotch proverb.

  "He that will to Cupar maun to Cupar. The lad will have to gang his aingate," I heard him tell Wolfe as they strolled away.

  Still the luck held against me. Before I rose from the table two hourslater I wrote out notes for a total so large that I knew the Grange mustbe mortgaged to the roof to satisfy it.

  Volney lolled in his chair and hid a yawn behind tapering pinkfinger-nails. "'Slife, you had a cursed run of the ivories to-night, Kenn!When are you for your revenge? Shall we say to-morrow? Egad, I'm ready tosleep round the clock. Who'll take a seat in my coach? I'm for home."

  I pushed into the night with a burning fever in my blood, and the waves ofdamp mist which enveloped London and beat upon me, gathering great dropsof moisture on my cloak, did not suffice to cool the fire that burnt meup. The black dog Care hung heavy on my shoulders. I knew now what I haddone. Fool that I was, I had mortgaged not only my own heritage but alsothe lives of my young brother Charles and my sister Cloe. Our father haddied of apoplexy without a will, and a large part of his personal propertyhad come to me with the entailed estate. The provision for the other twohad been of the slightest, and now by this one wild night of play I hadput it out of my power to take care of them. I had better clap a pistol tomy head and be done with it.

  Even while the thought was in my mind a hand out of the night fell on myshoulder from behind. I turned with a start, and found myself face to facewith the Scotchman Balmerino.

  "Whither away, Kenneth?" he asked.

  I laughed bitterly. "What does it matter? A broken gambler--a ruineddicer-- What is there left for him?"

  The Scotch Lord linked an arm through mine. I had liefer have been alone,but I could scarce tell him so. He had been a friend of my father and haddone his best to save me from my folly.

  "There is much left. All is not lost. I have a word to say to yourfather's son."

  "What use!" I cried rudely. "You would lock the stable after the horse isstolen."

  "Say rather that I would put you in the way of getting another horse," heanswered gravely.

  So gravely that I looked at him twice before I answered:

  "And I would be blithe to find a way, for split me! as things look now Imust either pistol myself or take to the road and pistol others," I toldhim gloomily.

  "There are worse things than to lose one's wealth----"

  "I hear you say it, but begad! I do not know them," I answered with atouch of anger at his calmness.

  "----When the way is open to regain all one has lost and more," hefinished, unheeding my interruption.

  "Well, this way you speak of," I cried impatiently. "Where is it?"

  He looked at me searchingly, as one who would know the inmost secrets ofmy soul. Under a guttering street light he stopped me and read my faceline by line. I dare swear he found there a recklessness to match his ownand perhaps some trace of the loyalty for which he looked. Presently hesaid, as the paving stones echoed to our tread:--

  "You have your father's face, Kenn. I mind him a lad just like you when wewent out together in the '15 for the King. Those were great days--greatdays. I wonder----"

  His unfinished sentence tailed out into a meditative silence. His voiceand eyes told of a mind reminiscent of the past and perhaps dreamful ofthe future. Yet awhile, and he snatched himself back into the present.

  "Six hours ago I should not have proposed this desperate remedy for yourills. You had a stake in the country then, but now you are as poor in thisworld's gear as Arthur Elphinstone himself. When one has naught but lifeat stake he will take greater risks. I have a man's game to play. Are youfor it, lad?"

  I hesitated, a prophetic divination in my mind that I stood in a mist atthe parting of life's ways.

  "You have thrown all to-night--and lost. I offer you another cut atFortune's cards. You might even turn a king."

  He said it with a quiet steadfastness in which I seemed to detect anundercurrent of strenuous meaning. I stopped, and in my turn looked longat him. What did he mean? Volney's words came to my mind. I began to piecetogether rumours I had heard but never credited. I knew that even now mendreamed of a Stuart restoration. If Arthur Elphinstone of Balmerino wereone of these I knew him to be of a reckless daring mad enough to attemptit.

  "My Lord, you say I might turn a king," I repeated slowly. "'Tis more likethat I would play the knave. You speak in riddles. I am no guesser ofthem. You must be plain."

  Still he hung back from a direct answer. "You are dull to-night, Kenn. Ihave known you more gleg at the uptake, but if you will call on meto-morrow night I shall make all plain to you."

  We were arrived at the door of his lodgings, a mean house in a shabbyneighbourhood, for my Lord was as poor as a church mouse despite histitle. I left him here, and the last words I called over my shoulder tohim were,

  "Remember, I promise nothing."

  It may be surmised that as I turned my steps back toward my rooms inArlington Street I found much matter for thought. I cursed the folly thathad led me to offer myself a dupe to these hawks of the gaming table. Iraged in a stress of heady passion against that fair false friend SirRobert Volney. And always in the end my mind jumped back to dally withBalmerino's temptation to recoup my fallen fortunes with one desperatethrow.

  "Fraoch! Dh 'aindeoin co theireadh e!
" (The Heath! Gainsay who dare!)

  The slogan echoed and reechoed through the silent streets, and snatched mein an instant out of the abstraction into which I had fallen. Hard uponthe cry there came to me the sound of steel ringing upon steel. I leggedit through the empty road, flung myself round a corner, and came plumpupon the combatants. The defendant was a lusty young fellow apparentlyabout my own age, of extraordinary agility and no mean skill with thesword. He was giving a good account of himself against the four assailantswho hemmed him against the wall, his point flashing here and there withswift irregularity to daunt their valiancy. At the moment when I appearedto create a diversion one of the four had flung himself down and forwardto cling about the knees of their victim with intent to knife him at closequarters. The young man dared not shorten his sword length to meet thisnew danger. He tried to shake off the man, caught at his white throat andattempted to force him back, what time his sword still opposed the rest ofthe villains.

  Then I played my small part in the entertainment. One of the rascalsscreamed out an oath at sight of me and turned to run. I pinked him in theshoulder, and at the same time the young swordsman fleshed another ofthem. The man with the knife scrambled to his feet, a ludicrous picture ofghastly terror. To make short, in another minute there was nothing to beseen of the cutpurses but flying feet scampering through the night.

  The young gentleman turned to me with a bow that was never invented out ofFrance. I saw now that he was something older than myself, tall,well-made, and with a fine stride to him that set off the easy grace ofhis splendid shoulders. His light steady blue eyes and his dark ruddy hairproclaimed him the Highlander. His face was not what would be calledhandsome: the chin was over-square and a white scar zigzagged across hischeek, but I liked the look of him none the less for that. His frank manlycountenance wore the self-reliance of one who has lived among the hillsand slept among the heather under countless stars. For dress he wore theEnglish costume with the extra splash of colour that betokened the vanityof his race. "'Fore God, sir, you came none too soon," he cried in hisimpetuous Gaelic way. "This riff-raff of your London town had knifed me inanother gliff. I will be thinking that it would have gone ill with me butfor your opportune arrival. I am much beholden to you, and if ever I canpay the debt do not fail to call on Don--er--James Brown."

  At the last words he fell to earth most precipitately, all the ferventring dropping out of his voice. Now James Brown is a common name enough,but he happened to be the first of the name I had ever heard crying aHighland slogan in the streets of London, and I looked at him withsomething more than curiosity. I am a Scotchman myself on the mother'sside, so that I did not need to have a name put to his nationality.

  There was the touch of a smile on my face when I asked him if he werehurt. He gave me the benefit of his full seventy three inches and told meno, that he would think shame of himself if he could not keep his headwith his hands from a streetful of such scum. And might he know the nameof the unknown friend who had come running out of the night to lend him anarm?

  "Kenneth Montagu," I told him, laughing at his enthusiasm.

  "Well then, Mr. Kenneth Montagu, it's the good friend you've been to methis night, and I'll not be forgetting it."

  "When I find myself attacked by footpads I'll just look up Mr. JamesBrown," I told him dryly with intent to plague.

  He took the name sourly, no doubt in an itching to blurt out that he was aMac-something or other. To a Gaelic gentleman like him the Sassenach namehe used for a convenience was gall and wormwood.

  We walked down the street together, and where our ways parted nearArlington Street he gave me his hand.

  "The lucky man am I at meeting you, Mr. Montagu, while we were having thebit splore down the street. I was just weanying for a lad handy with hisblade, and the one I would be choosing out of all England came hot-footround the corner."

  I made nothing of what I had done, but yet his Highland friendliness andflatteries were balm to a sick heart and we parted at my door with a greatdeal of good-will.

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  [1] The author takes an early opportunity to express his obligations to the letters of Horace Walpole who was himself so infinitely indebted to the conversation of his cronies.