“Some fowk canna bide her, my lord. I ken no ill to lay till her chairge, but I winna lippen till her. My gran’father—an’ he’s blin’, ye ken—jist trimles whan she comes near him.”
The marquis smiled.
“What do you suppose she was about?” he asked.
“I ken nae mair than the bonnet I flang in her face, my lord; but it could hardly be guid she was efter. At ony rate, seein’ yer lordship pat me in a mainner in chairge, I bude to haud her oot o’ a closed room—an’ her gaein’ creepin’ aboot yer lordship’s hoose like a worm.”
“Quite right. Will you pull the bell there for me?”
He told the man to send Mrs Courthope; but he said she had not yet come home from church.
“Could you take me to the room, MacPhail?” asked his lordship.
“I’ll try, my lord,” answered Malcolm. As far as the proper quarter of the attics, he went straight as a pigeon; in that labyrinth he had to retrace his steps once or twice, but at length he stopped, and said confidently—
“This is the door, my lord.”
“Are you sure?”