Of his own dubious position at Earlshaugh and the presumption of Mr. Hawkey Sharpe, the steward or manager of the property, he was soon to have unpleasantly convincing proofs that sorely tested his patience and tried his proud and impetuous temper.
A prey to somewhat chequered thoughts, he had wandered in the dewy morning over much of the beautiful and picturesque property. Every lane, hedgerow, field, and farm had been familiar to him from his boyhood, since old Johnnie Buckle, the head groom, had taught him to take his fences, even as the old gamekeeper, Gavin Fowler, had shown him where the best grown coveys were sure to be found. He had seen alterations and innovations which displeased him extremely, and had visited some of the tenants, attended in his ramble by an old herd who had been in the service of the Lindsays for half a century; and he now returned by the great avenue, where still the ancient oaks, that erewhile had heard the bugle of King James, the Scottish Haroun, on many a hunting day, still gave forth their leaves from year to year, and entered the cosy old-fashioned breakfast-room, where Dresden china and glittering plate, with an array of cold meats, fish, and fruit, suggested a hearty Scottish morning repast, and over the carved stone fireplace of which hung a portrait of his father in the scarlet costume of the Caledonian Hunt. Maude was not there; but to his indignation the room had another occupant.
'Mr. Trotter, when you have quite ended the perusal of that paper you will, perhaps, so far favour me?'
The person he addressed with a grim but mock suavity was Tam Trotter, who, clad in the Lindsay livery, blue and yellow, making certain of not being disturbed, had—with all the coolness, if not the easy elegance, of a 'Jeames' of Belgravia or Mayfair—seated himself in the breakfast-room, and, with his slippered feet on a velvet fender stool, and his broad back reclined in an easy-chair, was deep in the columns of the Fife Herald.
He started up overwhelmed with confusion, and began in a breathless voice to stammer an apology.
'There—there—that will do; but don't let this happen again, Trotter,' said Roland; 'it shows that the discipline of the house wants adjustment. By Jove, if I had you in barracks I'd send you to knapsack-drill for a week!'
The wretched Tam made a hasty retreat, and Maude, detecting the situation, came in laughing merrily to get her brother's morning kiss, and looking, he thought, so bright, so sweet, and so pretty. 'Who,' says Anthony Trollope, 'has not seen some such girl when she has come down early, without the full completeness of her morning toilet, and yet nicer, fresher, prettier to the eye of him who is so favoured than she has ever been in more formal attire?'
'Covers laid for two only—thank goodness, you and I are to have our breakfast tête-à-tête!' she exclaimed, as she seated herself at the table, and the terribly 'cowed' or abashed Trotter took post behind her.
'And then I must be off to the stables to see what cattle are there, and renew my acquaintance with old Johnnie Buckle, who taught me how to take my flying leaps—never to funk at a bullfinch, a sunk fence, a mill race, or anything. Many of Johnnie's tricks stood me in good stead, Maude, when I was with poor Hicks and Baker in Egypt,' said Roland.
Strolling forth in the bright morning sunshine, amid which the house of Earlshaugh, with its massive walls of polished ashlar, its machicolated battlement and tall, old windows, glittered in light, with masses sunk in shadow, he was met by the head gardener, old Willie Wardlaw, whom he remembered as a faithful servitor in years past (and whose rarest peaches he had stolen many a time and oft), with a hand outstretched in welcome, and his hat in the other, as he bowed his silvery head in token of respect.