“Tall or short I am Mr. Lauson,” said Lauson very sulkily, for the Messrs Morven had laughed out, and the Misses Morven were tittering evidently at his expense.
Lord Arandale desired there might be no more noise, assuring Mrs. M’Kinley that the gentleman, whose identity she seemed so unwilling to admit, not only was, beyond a doubt, Mr. Lauson, but that he was at the Craigs that day by his, the Earl’s, particular desire, to give him the meeting for the arrangement of some business respecting serious repairs, which he understood the park walls required.
“Now, madam,” said Lauson, “you’ll not dispute my Lord’s word, I hope.”
“Yeer no going to tell me,” exclaimed Mrs. M’Kinley, looking wilder than ever, “that yon was the deevil at cam here and cawd himsel Maister Lauson, and brought my ain keys we him, and my ain lables on them, and took aw the things awa we him!”
“As to its being the devil,” replied Lauson, “I shall not dispute that; but it certainly was not Mr. Lauson.”
“What can she mean?” said the Earl.
“And did ye send naybody then?” eagerly demanded the poor woman. On being fully assured that no person whatever had been sent to the Craigs, or authorized in any way to demand of her any thing of which she had the charge, “Then,” she cried, first clasping her hands for a moment, then flinging her arms to their utmost extent asunder, “aw is gane—gane—rifled—robbed—lost—ther’s naything left in aw the hoose!”
An explanation was called for. Mrs. M’Kinley flung herself on her knees in the midst of the hall, and, calling on heaven and Jean to witness the truth of all she should say, after much that was too incoherent to relate, gave the following account, though more frequently interrupted by her hearers than it is necessary to notice.
“It was a fine moonlight night aboot a month syne, and I was sitting at the window o’ the hooskeeper’s room, (it looks front, ye ken,) and I catched a glympse o’ some-ot like tle a carriage coming roond the hill. I could na credit my ain een, so I looked again, and it turned in among the trees. Weel, said I to Jean, wha can be coming tle this lone place at this time o’ night? It’s a while yet till the young mistress be at age; and I’m no expecting that ony o’ the femely will com’ doon afoor then, if they com’ then it sel. Ye mind that, Jean?” “Weel enough,” said Jean. “The carriage,” continued Mrs. M’Kinley, “for it was a carriage sure enough, com’ oot o’ the wood again, and sweeped along the lawn, and up it com’ to the door, and ain o’ the sarving men, (for there were twa,) jumped doon and made sick a thundering rap as gar’d the hale hoose resound; the t’other man jumped doon, and opened the carriage door——”
“But what has all this to do, my good woman,” interrupted the Earl, “with the house being, as you say, rifled and robbed? The robbers did not drive up to the hall door in their carriage, I suppose!” “Aye, bit they did, tho’!” cried Mrs. M’Kinley, wildly. “Bit hear me oot,” she continued, “hear me oot, I say! and then dee what ye will wee me! Weel, I hasted roond, and was standing i’ the haw, by the time the hoose door was opened. A taw, weel-looked, vara weel-dressed, elderly gentleman gits oot o’ the carriage, and coms intle the haw in a great bustle, cawing oot wid a lood voice, ‘I hope you have got fires there!’ Then he hurries up tle ain o’ the parlour doors, and, finding it locked, he turns roond angrily, saying, ‘How is this! Where is Mrs. M’Kinley?’ What was I to think o’ sick impudence, if he was no Mr. Lauson himsel?” Here the young men had another laugh at Lauson. “I stood forward,” continued Mrs. M’Kinley, “and courtesied tle him. ‘What is the reason you have not things in some order, madam?’ said he. I was no expeckin ony body, sir, said I. ‘Did you not receive my letter from Keswick, ordering you to have things in readiness?’ No sir, I answered, I had no accounts since my last remettance from Mr. Lauson. ‘Very odd,’ said he, ‘however, here! open these doors! and get fires immediately in one of the rooms—whichever is most comfortable. And, d’i hear, send in coffee—I hope you have got something in the house for supper?’ There is a lettle cold meat, sir, said I. ‘That won’t do,’ sais he, ‘you must get something hot.’ You can have a foul, sir, said I. You mind picking the foul, Jean? ‘Aye, to be sure,’ said Jean. And so he’d have the foul,” continued Mrs. M’Kinley, “‘And take care,’ he sais, ‘you have a well-aired bed, and have a good fire made in my room immediately—and, here! come back!’ for I was going, ‘when I have had coffee, do you attend me here for further orders!’ For, before this,” continued Mrs. M’Kinley, “I had opened one of the parlours for him, and followed him in. ‘You know, I suppose, that I am Mr. Lauson?’ he said. No, sir, said I, I did not know it before, sir. ‘Well you know it now, ma’am,’ he said.” The young men laughed. “And wha could misgee the words o’ a gentleman wha took se mickle upon him!” said Mrs. M’Kinley, with an appealing, but still wild look at the fairer part of her audience, “and sae I did as I was bidden, and when his sarving men had brought oot the coffee things, I went in for my orders. He was standing wide on the hearth-stane, we his back tle the fire, and his twa hands in the pockets o’ his breeks, haudding aside his parted coat, for a’ the warld like lord and maister e the hoose.”