Gowrie; or, the King's Plot.

by G. P. R. James

CHAPTER XXXVI.

I must now go back for a period of more than a month. Gowrie on quitting Edinburgh rode on at a quick pace, hoping to save the tide at Queensferry; but he did not succeed. The water had sunk low, and the boat was on the shore. There was no resource but either to ride farther up in the direction of Stirling, or to wait till the next morning. Gowrie chose the latter course, though at the chance of being pursued and overtaken. He did not like the feeling of flight; and though it might be necessary, and he had already adopted the expedient as the only means of security, his repugnance was sufficient to turn the scale, when, on the banks of the Firth of Forth, he had to consider what was the next step to be taken. All passed quietly at the little inn, however. No signs or sounds of pursuit disturbed the night; and by grey of the dawn on the following morning, the earl and his followers were upon the shores of Fife. A short ride brought them into Perthshire; and then feeling in safety, the young earl paused at the first village, to consider what course he had better follow. If he went on to Perth, he saw that he might be detained there for some time. It was long since he had seen her whom he loved; and he felt that yearning of the heart to hold her in his arms again, which those who have loved truly can well comprehend. He was also somewhat anxious for her safety after all that had occurred to Austin Jute; but then, on the other hand, the few brief words which his sister had written, had indicated Perth as the place where he ought to take refuge; and it was not improbable that she might either know of some ambush on the way to Trochrie, or intend to send him further information before he went. The importance of receiving the speediest intelligence of what was passing at the court, decided him at length to act contrary to his own wishes, and he resolved to sleep that night at least in Perth.

Hardly had he risen on the following morning, when, at one and the same time, it was announced to him that one of the magistrates of the town desired to see him, and that a messenger from Dirleton had just dismounted in the courtyard. The latter was instantly admitted, and presented the earl with a packet addressed in his mother's hand. On opening it, however, he found a sealed letter from his sister, and also a few lines from the countess, informing him that the enclosed had come that morning from Beatrice, with the request that it might be forwarded instantly, and by a trusty messenger, to Perth. The letter from his sister contained the following words:--

"My dear and noble Lord and Brother,

"I had but time and opportunity to write you a very few words yesterday evening, which Hume must have delivered safely, as I find this morning that you have followed counsel, and are gone. I now send you farther information, not direct to Perth, but by the hands of our dear lady mother, lest what I write should be stopped by the way. All is quiet here at this present, but some people are much disappointed, I believe, in their hearts. The cause of my warning was as follows.--My maid, Margaret Brown, who is very faithful to me, but of a very prying and inquisitive disposition, and not without shrewdness, informed me that danger awaited you, my dear brother. She had seen that something was going on, it seems, in the abbey, which excited in her some suspicion; and her cousin, Robert Brown, a menial servant of the palace, after having been called to the presence of the king, said to her, unadvisedly, as she was coming to my room to aid me in changing my dress for the court in the evening, 'Your lady will have a sore heart before long.' Thereupon the girl, after having dressed me, employed all her art and ingine to draw forth from the man what it was he meant, and succeeded so far as to learn that you were to be arrested the next morning; but in such a sort, without due warrant or form of law, and with insults and injuries belike, as might bring you to resistance, when, a fray being created, you might perchance be killed without there seeming blame to any one. This was the girl's story. She having got some one of the court to call me out of the presence, and having always found her faithful and true of tongue, I wrote hastily the words I sent, and gave them to our friend Hume, to be delivered to your hand.

"Thus far is the girl's story confirmed since your departure, that I have it from a certain source, several people well armed went down to your house this morning, and others followed them not far behind, even so much that the street was crowded. On arriving they asked for you of the porter, but learning that you had gone for Perth on the night before, and being confirmed of the fact by one who saw you ride away, they separated and retired, not having told the reason of their coming. This makes me well satisfied that I warned you as I did, and assures me that you have not been driven away needlessly by your loving sister,

"Beatrice Ruthven."

"I must have forgotten Scotland," murmured Gowrie to himself. "Heaven! what a dream I have been living in!"

Perhaps what he said was true. We are all apt to forget the evils and discomforts of a place we have left behind. Memory is fond of pleasant objects, and plants thick ivy shrubs to rise up and decorate the ruins of the past. He had forgotten the turbulence and dangers which had surrounded his early days. He had almost brought himself to fancy that, as compared with Italy, Scotland was a place of peace, and security, and freedom, where the assassin's knife, the oppressor's wrong, the tyrant's sway were comparatively unknown. But the bitter reality was now before him; and he saw that to be an enemy of the court was to be but a hunted beast, whom every dog of favour might pull down and tear at liberty.

After a few minutes' thought, however, he cast off the impression, and sent for the bailie, who was waiting to speak with him. This magistrate was the reverse in everything of his junior, Bailie Roy--tall, thin, and raw-boned in person, somewhat bluff, and very laconic of speech; a man to be moved neither by fear or favour, but strong in his attachments and steady in his sense of right. He made an ungainly bow in answer to the earl's salutation, and at once dropped into the seat which he was invited to take.

"I have come, my lord," he said, "about the prisoner, David Drummond."

And there he stopped, as if all his say was said.

"Well, Mr. Bailie, what of him?" rejoined the earl. "I hear he has not been tried yet. If you will name the day most convenient to the magistrates, I will come down for the purpose, and hold a court."

"They were thinking of the twenty-second of the month," answered Bailie Graham; "aiblins that might not suit your lordship?"

"Quite well," answered Gowrie. "I will be down, undoubtedly."

Still Mr. Graham continued to sit and twirl his beaver, as if labouring with some other question or announcement; and at length he said, "Your lordship would not see the prisoner?"

"Certainly not," answered Gowrie. "He has been my own servant; and even that might be supposed to have some effect upon my judgment; but I can have no private communication with him while awaiting trial. If he have anything to request, either to make imprisonment more tolerable or to provide for his defence, let him demand it publicly."

"He said he would write to the king, my lord, when he was told of your answer," replied the bailie; "and he did it."

"Can he write?" asked the earl, in some surprise.

"No, not just with his own hand," said Mr. Graham; "but he got a scrivener to do it for him; and Bailie Roy, one way or another, got goodman Jobson to tell him what it was he said."

"I do not wish to hear, Mr. Bailie," said the earl. "It was probably intended for the king's ear alone."

"Ay, that it was," said the bailie, drily; "and no doubt his majesty will think no more of it than it deserves. It's not like to do the Earl of Gowrie much harm, I should think."

"I cannot tell," replied Gowrie, coolly; "but the unfortunate man must have his own way. If the king thinks there is anything important in his memorial, he will probably have the prisoner examined before the council."

"Na, na, my lord, he'll no do that," answered Bailie Graham. "He's gotten a' that the man can gie; and so he may lie where he is for the king."

A few words more explained to Gowrie that James had already sent some one from Edinburgh to confer with the prisoner in his cell; but that since then, "sin syne," as the bailie expressed it, no farther notice had been taken of the unfortunate David Drummond.

I must not say that Gowrie had no curiosity to know what the prisoner had said in his letter to the king; but he would not suffer it to master him, although he had little doubt that the first intimation of Julia's concealment at Trochrie had been thus communicated to James, and he did not feel at all sure that many parts of his conduct might not have been misrepresented by the sullen spirit of revenge which he had often remarked in the prisoner.

"It is very possible, Mr. Bailie," he said, "that this man may have attempted to injure me in his majesty's opinion by false or perverted statements; but that shall not prevent me from doing all that justice requires, without the slightest consideration of consequences. We will proceed, then, to the trial on the day you have named, and I shall not think it necessary even to let his majesty know the time appointed, for although it would not become either you or me to stop a letter addressed to our sovereign, yet the transaction is one with which we have nothing to do; and we must fulfil our duties as if it had not taken place."

"I knew your lordship was right," said Bailie Graham, in broader Scotch than I shall attempt to transcribe. "Bailie Roy, poor body, thought it would have been better for you to have seen the man, and spoke civilly to him till he was hanged; but I said that was not the way a provost of Perth should act; and so good morning to your lordship. Let them say what they will of you, this is the way to win through all."

Alas! that it should not always be as the worthy merchant said, and that this history should afford a pregnant example of the reverse.

Within an hour after the good man had departed from the earl's great house at Perth, Gowrie himself took his way towards Trochrie, riding with the spirit of love to hurry him forward. Gay and bright were the dreams that he dreamed by the way; and a feeling of rejoicing seemed to fill his heart as he thought that he had cast off the trammels of a court, and resumed that private station in which he now felt sure that happiness was only to be obtained. It would seem that fate or chance takes a delight in throwing obstacles in the way of impatience, perhaps as a check to its vehemence, and a warning to go more quietly. Though he set out early from Perth, and might have ridden the distance to Strathbraan in a few hours, a thousand petty accidents beset the earl by the way. A ford, which used to be practicable at almost all seasons, was now found impassable, for there had been rain in the hills. The earl's own horse cast a shoe, and it had to be replaced before he could proceed; and lastly, turned by the necessity of crossing the river higher up, into a more difficult and dangerous path, one of the horses slipped over a rocky bank, was severely injured, and the rider taken up insensible. The care of the poor man occupied some time; and so much was lost in this and other manners, that the sun had set nearly half an hour when the earl came to the spot whence the first view of Trochrie Castle was to be obtained. He looked eagerly forward through the thickening shadows of the night: the castle itself was lost in the darkness; but a light streamed forth from two spots, side by side, and Gowrie gladly recognised the position of the room in which Julia sat. Oh, how cheering, how gladdening are the lights as we approach after a long absence; what a tale does that faint distant spot of brightness tell to the heart, of peace, and love, and calm domestic joy, and all the hopes that gather round the hearth of home!

Onward he went then, with renewed impatience, and in ten minutes more he held Julia gladly to his heart. It was a moment that well repaid all the cares and anxieties and griefs he had suffered.

And there they sat side by side, and gazed at each other in silence, with her dear hand locked in his, and the heart looking out through the window of the eye; and each had much to say to the other, but still it was long unsaid, for emotions would have way before words.

"You look pale and sad, Gowrie," said Julia, at length. "I fear you have met with disappointment."

"No, indeed, dear girl," he answered, "I am not sad, nor have I reason to feel disappointment. My sensations have been very mixed, as all the feelings produced by the great world are; but now joy certainly predominates, for I am with you, and bear you some happy tidings. Then, as to disappointment, dearest Julia, I may experience some at finding that my fancy had drawn pictures of men and things in this, my native land, in colours far too bright; but that was my own fault or my own folly; and in the most essential point of my hopes, I have succeeded as far as I could expect."

"Thank Heaven for that!" replied Julia, with no light words; "whatever be that point, I am sure that it is a noble and a good one."

"Nay," said Gowrie, "do not praise too much, my Julia. It is a very selfish one; but, to keep you in no suspense, let me tell you that the king has given his consent, in writing, to our union in the month of September next. All difficulties are thus removed, and I must say that in this he has acted, to all appearance, generously; for he had learned that you are here, and might not unreasonably, perhaps, have expressed some anger at my having concealed the fact."

"I heard from good Austin that he had gained intelligence of my abode," replied Julia, "and I felt some alarm, especially during your faithful follower's long and unexplained absence; but I tried to comfort myself by thinking of all the precautions you had taken when last you were here; for I can hardly fancy that anything which Gowrie undertakes can go wrong."

"Would it were so, truly, my beloved," replied Gowrie, somewhat gloomily.

"See this very instance!" exclaimed Julia. "Have you not succeeded where we had so little hope?"

"Not succeeded as well as I could wish," answered her lover. "The king has made it a condition, Julia, that you shall formally renounce all claim whatsoever upon the estates and property of your father--even Whiteburn, though settled by deed upon your mother."

He paused a moment, watching her thoughtful face, and then added, "Nevertheless, I have promised the renunciation in your name; first, because I knew it was the only means of winning the king's consent; and secondly, because I found that it was more than doubtful whether you could establish your claim by law."

"I have but one regret in this case, Gowrie," replied the beautiful girl--"that I come to you poor and dowerless. Oh, if I had all the wealth which they say my poor father amassed, how gladly would I pour it out before you!"

"If that be all, have no regret, my love," replied the young earl--"right glad am I that you do not possess it. I have wealth enough for both, my Julia--too much, indeed, it seems; for in this land wealth and influence do not excite envy alone, but doubt and suspicion likewise. It is dangerous, I am sure, to be too powerful a subject under a weak king. However, I have enough, and to spare. If then, dear one, you will sign the act of renunciation, I will despatch it to the king to-morrow, and then no objection can be ever raised or opposition offered."

"Then I must not go to the court to sign it?" asked Julia, eagerly.

"Not unless you wish it," replied Gowrie.

"Thank Heaven for that, too!" she exclaimed. "Wish it! Oh no, Gowrie. I suppose the time will come when I must go there; but had I my will, that time would never be. I always dreaded the thought of courts, and what your dear sister told me of that in which she dwells, made me more timid and fearful than ever. Oh, promise me, Gowrie, that we shall spend the greater part of life afar from those nests of envy, malice, and greediness."

"That promise I will make with all my heart," replied her lover; "but tell me, Julia, are you not weary of this desert solitude? Beatrice, who almost always counsels well, has half persuaded me to keep you immured here till you are altogether my own; for she sees danger in your residing anywhere not provided so well for defence as this. She thinks the king might seize upon you, and use the expectation of your hand as a means of leading me to a course which my heart and conscience disapprove, or rather, employ the fear of losing you, to drive me to acts which I am bound to oppose and to denounce."

"I have never felt weary one day," answered Julia: "fears I may have had--anxiety to see you again, I may have felt; but weariness, never; nor shall I, Gowrie. A few short months will soon pass: you will let me see you at times; I have beautiful nature before my eyes, books, music, painting, thought, to fill up the time; and what need I more? Yes, follow dear Beatrice's counsel. Let me rest here, dear Gowrie, till all places become alike to me, for thou wilt be with me in all."

Gowrie pressed her gently to his heart, and then withdrew his arms again; for he felt that, lonely, protected only by his honour, he must not let even the warmth of the purest love call up a doubt or a fear in her young heart. His thoughts and words naturally followed the course in which his feelings led; and he replied, "I will be with you often, my Julia, though now I must leave you soon, I fear; but when I return I will try to bring one of my sisters with me to cheer you."

But Julia had tasted less of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, and she answered, innocently, "I want no cheering when you are with me, Gowrie. Glad shall I be to see them; and if they be like Beatrice, my heart will open to them like a humble flower to the bright sun; but Gowrie's presence is life enough for me. But I have many things to tell you, too; and yet, I know not why, but I think you have not told me all."

"Oh, there are many minor things to mention," answered the young earl, doubtful whether it were wisest to inform her of the dangers which had menaced, or to conceal them, now that he was safe, at least for the time. "What need," he asked himself, "to disturb her mind, and keep her in constant agitation, whenever I am absent, by fears for me, whose life has been already menaced? Better let her remain in ignorance of the perils that beset my path, when she can do nought to avert them. Could she act, could she counsel, could she direct, I would conceal nothing from her; but she is here helpless and alone, unable to do aught but sit and weep over the dangers or the griefs of others. Shall I make the hours, lonely and dull as they must be here, sad and apprehensive also? No, no; I will not be insincere; and whatsoever she asks, will answer her truly; but I will say no more upon such subjects than needs must be said."

Perhaps Gowrie went a little further than this, for he purposely led the conversation away from the subject of his own fate; and all that Julia learned was, that the king had shown no great love in his demeanour either for the earl or for his brother. Even this made her somewhat thoughtful; and to change the subject, Austin Jute was sent for. He came as fresh, as gay, as ugly as ever; but on this occasion he had little to tell, for his journey back to Trochrie had passed without impediment from any other source but his ignorance of the way. The difficulties he met with from that cause, he described with considerable humour, telling the answers which had been given to his inquiries at the different places which he had passed, and imitating the various dialects of the counties through which he had gone, which were in those days very strongly marked. He did very well till he came to the Gaelic, and even then, though he was utterly unacquainted with the words of the language, he contrived to give some of the sounds so exactly, that Gowrie could not refrain from laughter.

Julia rejoiced to see him so gay; and if she had entertained any suspicion that he was withholding the painful portion of the truth from her, it was dissipated by the cheerfulness he displayed.

An hour or two thus went by; but Gowrie would not keep her long from repose, for he longed to go forth with her on the following morning, and roam through the valleys, and over the hills, now covered with the yellow broom and the young shoots of the heath. The weather had become bright and warm. The fair season was coming on with rapid strides, when the mountains are softened and decorated by the hand of nature, and their solemn gloom cheered by the smiles of the sky; and Gowrie thought of many a plan to make the hours pass pleasantly. "While here," he said to himself, "the feeling of security will spread a calm and tranquil atmosphere around us, which we could not obtain in a less wild and solitary spot. To-morrow, I will take my dear prisoner forth, and show her some of the beauties of the land to which she is yet a stranger."

At an early hour, therefore, he bade Julia adieu for the night, and retired to the room which he had ordered to be prepared for himself in the gate tower. There he held a somewhat long conversation with Donald Macduff, his baron bailie in Strathbraan; and having ascertained from him that all strangers had withdrawn from the neighbourhood, and that a keen watch had been kept up ever since Austin Jute's capture, lest any of the king's people should be lurking about in the valleys around, he lay down to rest, and slept more soundly than he had done for many a night before.