The Weatherhouse. Nan Shepherd

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СКАЧАТЬ awa’ then.’ Miss Barbara, without further ado, made off up the top of a furrow, pushing the girl firmly along by the elbow. Lindsay kept her footing with difficulty, sinking ever and again in the deep snow that levelled the furrows. She wondered what her mother would think. It was like an escapade into space. Her safe and habitual life was leagues away.

      Miss Barbara made no attempt to speak. They passed through a woodland and came out by a gap.

      ‘There’s Knapperley for you,’ its owner said.

      Lindsay stared. From every window of the tall narrow house there blazed a lamp. They blazed into the splendour of the night like a spurt of defiance.

      ‘But the Zepps,’ she gasped.

      ‘They don’t come this length.’

      ‘But they do. One did. And anyway, the law.’

      ‘That’s to learn them to leave honest folks alone.’

      A spasm of terror contracted Lindsay’s heart. Miss Barbara had clambered on to the next dyke. She made little use of stile or gate, preferring always to go straight in the direction she desired. She stood there poised, keeping her footing with ease upon the icy stones, and pointed with an outstretched arm at the lights, a menacing figure. Then she bent as though to help Lindsay over.

      ‘Will she lift me again?’ thought the girl. The insecurity of her adventure rushed upon her.

      ‘Will she kidnap me and make me her servant girl? But I couldn’t live in a house with lights like that. There would be policemen if there weren’t Zepps.’

      She twisted herself out of reach of the descending hand and fled, trailing the scarlet curtain after her across the snow.

       THREE

       Knapperley

      Meanwhile in the Weatherhouse parlour Mrs Hunter was discussing Miss Barbara.

      ‘If she wasna Miss Barbara Paterson of Knapperley she would mak you roar. You would be handin’ her a copper and speirin’ if she wanted a piece.’

      ‘O ay, she’s fairly a Tinkler Tam,’ said Miss Theresa. ‘Coming into a body’s house with that old tweed. But she hasn’t any other, that’s what it is.’

      ‘That’s where you’re mistaken, Miss Craigmyle. She’s gowns galore: silk gowns and satin gowns and ane with a velvet lappet. Kists stappit fu’. But whan does she wear them? That’s the tickler. It’s aye the auld Lovat tweed. And aye the black trallop hangin’ down her back.’

      ‘It’s her only hat, that I can wager.’

      ‘It or its marra. Wha would say? She bought it for a saxpence from a wifie at the door and trimmed it hersel’ with yon wallopin’ trash. “If you would do that to your hat, Barbara Hunter, it would be grander.” “God forbid, Barbara Paterson, that I should ever wear a hat like that.” But she’s aye worn it sin’ syne. Some says it’s the same hat, and some says it’s its marra and the auld ane gaes up the lum on a Sabbath night whan there’s none to see.’

      Mrs Hunter talked with enjoyment. She was entirely devoted to the spanking mare on whose land she and her husband held their croft, and entirely without compunction in her ridicule of Miss Barbara’s departures from the normal. She liked to talk too—gamesome cordial talk when her hard day’s work was over; and the Craigmyle ladies, with their natural good-heartedness, allowed her to talk on.

      ‘Auld Knapperley gave her an umbrella and her just the littlin, and she must bring it to the Sabbath school as prood’s pussy. “What’ll I do with my umbrella?”—hidin’ it in ahin her gown—“it’s rainin’.” “Put up vour umbrella, Barbara.” “I won’t put it up, Barbara. I won’t have it blaudit, and it new.” And aye she happit it in the pink gown. Me and her was ages and both Barbara Paterson then, and she took a terrible notion o’ me. If I had a blue peenie she must have a blue peenie as well. And syne I was servant lassie at Knapperley for a lot of years. I couldna but bide, her that fond of me and all.’

      ‘But you won’t let Maggie go, Mrs Hunter?’

      ‘I will not that. She was queer enough whan the auld man was livin’, and she’s a sight queerer now. I was there whan he dee’d and whan Mrs Paterson dee’d an’ a’. Ay, I mind fine, poor body, her thinkin’ she would get him to mak her laddie laird o’ the placie and nae Miss Barbara. She liked her laddie a sight mair than ever she liked her lassie. But she married Donnie Forbes for love and Knapperley for a downsit. And she thought, poor soul, that she had nae mair a-do than bid him say the word and Knapperley would be her laddie’s. But she aye put off the speirin’. And syne whan she kent she wouldna rise again, she bids Knapperie in to her bedside. “What’s that you’re sayin’?” says he. “Say’t again, for I’m surely nae hearin’.” So she says it again. “And him a Forbes,” she says, “a family of great antiquity.” “O ay, like the shore porters o’ Aberdeen, that discharged the cargo from Noah’s Ark.” “You’re mockin’ me,” she says. “I’ll grant you this,” he says, “there was never a murder in this parish or the next but there was a Forbes in it. There was Forbes of Portlendie and Forbes of Bannochie, and a Forbes over at Cairns that flung his lassie’s corp ahin a dyke. But there’s been nae murder done at Knapperley and nae Forbes at Knapperley—” “But there wasna aye a Paterson at Knapperley, and some that kens,” she says, meanin’-like, “says the first that ocht the place didna rightly owe the name.” “It’s a scant kin,” he says, “that has neither thief nor bastard in it, and for my part I’d rather have the bastard than the thief. The lassie’ll mak as good a laird as the laddie. The place is hers, and you needna set any landless lads on thievin’ here. I’ll keep my ain fish-guts for my ain sea-maws.” She didna daur say mair, but aye whan he gaed by her door there cam the t’ither great sigh. “You can just sigh awa’ there,” he would say. And whiles he said, “Jamie Fleeman kent he was the Laird o’ Udny’s feel.” Well, well, he was a Tartar, auld Knapperie. But he’s awa’ whaur he’ll have to tak a back seat. He dee’d in an awfu’ hurry.’

      ‘And Mr Benjamin has never come back since.’

      ‘O ay. O fie ay. He cam’ back. But just the once. “This is a great disappointment to me, Barbara. Bawbie’s getting near. You see the weather it is, and you could hold all the fire in the lee of your hand. There’s the two of us, one on either side, and greatcoats on to keep us warm. And nothing but a scrap end of candle to light you to your bed.” “You may thank your stars, Mr Benjamin, she didna stand and crack spunks or you were in ower.” So he never cam again. But he let his laddie come.’

      ‘She’ll be making him her heir,’ said Miss Annie.

      ‘I wouldna wonder. They’re chief, Miss Barbara and Mr Garry.’

      ‘A halarackit lump,’ Theresa said.

      ‘O, a gey rough loon. Mair like auld Knapperie’s son than Mr Benjamin’s. But a terrible fine laddie. Me and Mr Garry’s great billies. “Will you dance at my wedding, Mrs Hunter? I’ll give you a new pair of shoes.” “I will do that, laddie. But wha is the bonny birdie?”’

      ‘Yes, СКАЧАТЬ