Chapter XIII The New Maid
“What are you doing in the barn at this hour of the day, Martha Miller? Putting off your time loitering about, and all the milk pans standing in the dairy wanting to be scalded. Get about your work without more ado!”
It was Jane Gray who spoke, and her voice and manner were both unusually sharp. Ordinarily, even when reproving, she spoke in a tone of habitual gentleness, holding it unbecoming for a gentlewoman to exhibit any violence of temper. It was not that she was particularly annoyed at the woman putting off her time, for indeed there was nothing pushing in the house of Rowallan now, but this was the second time she had caught her in the barn, when she had no call to be there, and her suspicions were roused lest she should be trying to discover, or had already discovered, the secret of the chaff hole.
Martha Miller was the new maid, and in appearance a comely, pleasant-looking person, about whom there was nothing suggestive of treachery or double-dealing. She looked straight into the face of her mistress, and dropped an apologetic curtsey.
“I beg pardon, Miss Gray; I was seeking a bite for the hens. I canna get peace about the doors for them,” she answered, glibly, and at the same time pointing to the feathered flock, gathered expectantly round the barn door.
“That is just nonsense, Martha Miller. If you run for a bite to them every time they gather at your heels, you’ll have your work,” retorted Miss Gray, still sharply. “And, you know, I feed them myself every morning; and that they need, and get no more till bedtime.”
“I didna’ ken, bein’ a hoose-servant, ma’am,” answered Martha, with apparent humility. “I’ll no’ dae it again.”
Afraid lest, in her turn, she should arouse the suspicions of the maid, Jane Gray did not then enter the barn, but returned to her household duties. In the afternoon, however, when she went for the customary feed of com for the poultry, she hastily looked into the chaff-hole to see if there were any signs of it having been disturbed. But no; the chaff was scattered over the floor, there was no mark of either hand or foot, and the trap-door had evidently not been disturbed.
Considerably relieved, and somewhat blaming herself for her suspicions of the maid, Jane Gray went back to the house; and yet a vague, inexplicable distrust of Martha Miller continued to oppress her soul She knew her perfectly well. She was the daughter of one of the foresters on the estate of Inverburn, and, before the persecutions, had regularly attended the church with her parents. Jane had not attached any weight to the fact that she had served for two years in the family of the laird, not imagining that Sir Thomas was so bigoted an Episcopalian as to seek to influence his dependents.
She was sitting by her lonely hearth pondering these things in her mind, when there came a low tap at the window. Hastily rising, she peered out, and, with great joy, beheld the face of her brother-in-law, Adam Hepburn.
“Is all safe? Can I come in?”
“All is safe. Inverburn has been quiet for days, and there is not a soldier in the district,” she whispered back. “Better go round and enter boldly by the kitchen door, as a master should; it will better impress Martha Miller, the new maid, whom I would not should think we had anything to hide.”
Adam Hepburn nodded, walked round about to the barn-yard, where he was joyfully greeted by his faithful collie, and, opening the kitchen door, stalked in. Martha Miller was knitting a stocking by the kitchen hearth, and looked round in no little amazement at sight of the master of Rowallan, whom she knew very well by sight.
“Well, Martha, so you have come to serve at Rowallan,” he said, pleasantly. “I heard of it in my absence. I hope we will get on as master and servant. Is your father well?”
“Yes, sir, thank ye,” answered Martha, considerably confused by Adam Hepburn’s easy manner, and his evident familiarity with all that had transpired during his absence.
“Get on the pot and make me a basin of milk porridge, Martha. I have had a long journey, and am very hungry,” he said, quietly, and then joined his sister-in-law in the adjoining room, the door of which he carefully closed.
As Jane Gray was already fully acquainted with the details of Rullion Green, it was not necessary for Adam Hepburn to say anything concerning it, but he had to tell her the story of his own journey home, which had been marked by many perilous vicissitudes and marvellous escapes out of the hands of the enemy. Matthew Riddell, the yeoman, with whom he had travelled, had been laid hands on near Biggar, his own incautiousness and haste to get home having induced him to continue his journey by day, instead of hiding till the friendly darkness fell.
“Is Hartrigge home yet?” Adam asked, suddenly breaking in upon his own narrative.
“No; we were in hopes that you would come together. Susan, poor soul, is in a very anxious frame of mind,” answered Jane.
Adam Hepburn looked grave indeed.
“Then I fear he has either been captured or succumbed to his wound. In no other way can I account for his protracted absence. It may be, however, that he is sheltering, for his health’s sake, in some friendly household. We will hope so. But tell me, Jane, have you been sojourning in this lonely house alone since my departure?”
“No; Gavin is with me at night. He went home to-day to see his mother, and, knowing I have no fear, may possibly remain till morning. Adam, do you think it will be safe for you to remain quite publicly at your own house? David seemed to think you would be marked.”
“Marked or not, I shall not go into hiding, Jane,” he said, quietly. “I have but to slay a few more of these miscreants, and then what is life worth to me?”
“Hush! Adam; the Lord gave, and the Lord taketh away. Save of His will, Agnes could not have died,” she said, gently. “The thought that she is safe in our Father’s house should be a great comfort to you, as it is to me, for, amid the terrors and anxieties of these days, she suffered a perpetual martyrdom.”
Adam Hepburn rose and restlessly paced to and fro the room, his face betraying the many conflicting emotions which surged in his soul. His cruel and ruthless bereavement had shaken his faith to the very foundations, and he could well-nigh have exclaimed with the fool, “There is no God.” “Other men have fathers, and mothers, and children, Jane,” he said, in quick rebellious tones. “I had only her, and the Almighty knew how dear, how necessary she was to my existence. Wherein had I so grievously sinned that I required such a terrible punishment? Willingly would I have given up houses and lands, cattle and oxen, all, all I have in the world, if only she had been spared.”
“Dear Adam, we may not question the ways of the Lord,” said Jane Gray in a low voice. “I think sometimes it is the things we most set our hearts upon in this evil world that are not good for us to have. There is such a thing as making an idol of a human being, my brother, and you know the command is, ‘Thou shalt have no other gods before Me.’”
Adam Hepburn remained silent, but was not convinced.
Jane Gray looked sorrowfully into his face, deploring the change this blow had wrought, not only upon the outward man, but upon the inner spirit, sweeping away all the sunny-heartedness, the blithe and kindly charity which had ever characterised him, making him so lovable in every way. She could but pray that God, to whom all things are possible, would temper the wind, and show to the stricken and rebellious heart the sweet bow of promise behind the bitter cloud.
“And how is the curate performing his pastoral duties now?” enquired Adam presently, in a somewhat mocking tone. “Has his eloquence, combined with the more rugged persuasions of the dragoons, induced many more to attend upon his ministrations?”
“Watty McBean was here the other night, and he told me there was a goodly attendance in the kirk last Sabbath Day, chiefly of those timid and not very steadfast folks, whom fear has moved against their wills,” Jane made answer. “I wonder now that Watty did not join with the army; he is a very staunch upholder of the Covenant.”
“Ay, but he never was a fechter [fighter], as he says,” replied Adam, with a slight smile. “Watty is a sly dog. He’ll keep himself out of mischief, yet follow the dictates of his own conscience.”
At that moment Martha Miller knocked at the door, and entered bearing a small server, on which stood her master’s evening meal, a steaming basin of milk porridge, and a bowl of new milk beside it.
At her entrance Adam Hepburn looked keenly into the woman’s face, and when she was gone, he turned to his sister-in-law, and said briefly, “I mistrust the countenance of that woman, Jane. Under what circumstances was she dismissed from the services of the laird?”
“I did not pursue the subject with her, Adam. She said she could not agree with her neighbours in the kitchen, and that her ladyship had blamed her for the disturbances there,” replied Jane Gray. “Knowing her to be a capable worker, I engaged her gladly; for though she might be of a quarrelsome temper, she could not well fall out with herself, and I am not one to bandy words with a serving woman.”
“Keep an eye on her, Jane, and be careful of your words in her hearing. I misdoubt me very much if she be not a spy sent hither by Sir Thomas Hamilton, who in the zeal of his loyalty to the king will not be slow to forget his honour as a gentleman,” said Adam slowly. “I lost faith in the laird from that day he threatened me with danger to your father, if I did not turn out to McLean’s preaching.”
Jane Gray sighed. If foes were to be found in the very household, among those who broke and ate bread at the table, on whom could trust be stayed? Her brother-in-law’s words were simply a re-echo of her own doubts and fears, which, however, she kept as yet to herself.
After some further conversation they separated for the night, but Adam Hepburn did not close an eye, for, under his own roof-tree, his heart was torn anew by the violence of his sorrow, and ached with intolerable yearning for the “touch of a vanished hand, and the sound of a voice that was still!”
On the morrow he went about his duties as usual, superintending the work on the farm, it having been almost at a standstill for many weeks. It was more to keep himself in occupation than out of any interest in the thing, for even the ordinary business of getting and spending had ceased to occupy the minds of men.
That afternoon, when Jane Gray went out as usual to feed her poultry, she had occasion to step round to the corn-yard in search of some young chickens which had deserted their usual roost, and which she feared might become the prey of the foxes that frequently paid a visit to Rowallan, and which that very spring had made off with some of the lambs. Her soft shoes made no noise on the turf, therefore she did not alarm two people sheltering behind a stack of straw, and busily engrossed in conversation. She came upon them quite suddenly, and to her astonishment, who should it be but Martha Miller, the maid, and the curate of Inverburn! Both looked considerably confused, and Martha threw her apron over her head, and turned to go.
“I shall have a word to say to you for this wasting of my time, Martha,” her mistress said, pointing towards the house; then turning to the curate, she added, with quiet, yet courteous dignity, “Sir, is it consistent with the gospel you are supposed to preach, to wile a servant-maid away from her household duties almost in the middle of the day, to confer with you in secret like this?”
The curate’s sallow face flushed under the scathing rebuke which fell so quietly from those calm, proud lips.
“When I am not permitted to visit members of my flock at their masters’ houses, I must perforce see them outside,” he answered, with rude boldness, and yet his eyes instinctively sought the ground.
“Sir, I am not aware that the master of Rowallan has ever forbidden you his house,” said Jane Gray, still calmly. “The members of the flock surely are ashamed of their shepherd, for Martha Miller has never ceased to disclaim all connection with your ministrations, and I am made aware to-day, for the first time, that she is on speaking terms with you.”
“Madam, know you to whom you speak so disrespectfully?” quoth Mr. McLean in wrathful tones. “Know you that it is chiefly owing to my long forbearance with you and yours that the name and the house of Gray have not been totally extinguished?”
A slight smile curved for a moment Jane Gray’s resolute lips, and the mild scorn it implied made the spirit of the curate chafe within him.
“Truly grateful are we for your forbearance towards us, Mr. McLean,” she answered courteously. “I bid you good afternoon.”
So saying, Jane Gray turned about and returned to the house. Upon second thoughts, she took no further notice of the occurrence to Martha Miller, deeming it more prudent to let her imagine it of no importance in the eyes of her mistress. Nevertheless, she redoubled her watchfulness, and took care that there was nothing in her actions to arouse the maid’s suspicions. Hitherto, when conveying provisions to the dear ones in hiding, Jane Gray had simply been content to lock the barn door from the inside, and shut herself into the chaff-hole, so that none could possibly be witness to her descent into the cave. But now, after conference with her brother-in-law, they agreed that the safest plan would be for him to rise in the middle of the night and take down the food himself.
These precautions, however, were taken too late; for already the cunning eyes of Martha Miller had penetrated the secret of the chaff-hole.