Jean. He kens a hantle. He.. Ye maunna be angered wi’ me, Wullie! I said what I shouldna.
Brodie. Said? Said what?
Jean. Just that ye were a guid frien’ to me. He made believe he was awful sorry for me, because ye gied me nae siller; and I said, ‘Wha tellt him that?’ and that he lee’d.
Brodie. God knows he did! What next?
Jean. He was that soft-spoken, butter wouldna melt in his mouth; and he keept aye harp, harpin’; but after that let out, he got neither black nor white frae me. Just that ae word and nae mair; and at the hinder end he just speired straucht out, whaur it was ye got your siller frae.
Brodie. Where I got my siller?
Jean. Ay, that was it! ‘You ken,’ says he.
Brodie. Did he? and what said you?
Jean. I couldna think on naething, but just that he was a gey and clever gentleman.
Brodie. You should have said I was in trade, and had a good business. That’s what you should have said. That’s what you would have said had you been worth your salt. But it’s blunder, blunder, outside and in [upstairs, downstairs, and in my lady’s chamber]. You women! Did he see Smith?
Jean. Ay, and kennt him.
Brodie. Damnation! – No, I’m not angry with you. But you see what I’ve to endure for you. Don’t cry. [Here’s the devil at the door, and we must bar him out as best we can.]
Jean. God’s truth, ye are nae vexed wi’ me?
Brodie. God’s truth, I am grateful to you. How is the child? Well? That’s right. (Peeping.) Poor wee laddie! He’s like you, Jean.
Jean. I aye thocht he was liker you.
Brodie. Is he? Perhaps he is. Ah, Jeannie, you must see and make him a better man than his father.
Jean. Eh man, Deacon, the proud wumman I’ll be gin he’s only half sae guid.
Brodie. Well, well, if I win through this, we’ll see what we can do for him between us. (Leading her out, C.) And now, go – go – go.
Lawson (without, L.). I ken the way, I ken the way.
Jean (starring to door). It’s the Fiscal; I’m awa. (Brodie, L.).
Lawson. A braw day this, William. (Seeing Jean.) Eh Mistress Watt? And what’ll have brocht you here?
Brodie (seated on bench). Something, uncle, she lost last night, and she thinks that something she lost is here. Voilà.
Lawson. Why are ye no at the kirk, woman? Do ye gang to the kirk?
Jean. I’m mebbe no what ye would just ca’ reg’lar. Ye see, Fiscal, it’s the wean.
Lawson. A bairn’s an excuse; I ken that fine, Mistress Watt. But bairn or nane, my woman, ye should be at the kirk. Awa wi’ ye! Hear to the bells; they’re ringing in. (Jean curtsies to both, and goes out C. The bells which have been ringing quicker, cease.)
Brodie. I’m no judge, Procurator, but I’ll take your word for it. Is she not a tenant of yours?
Lawson. Ay, ay; a bit house on my land in Liberton’s Wynd. Her man’s awa, puir body; or they tell me sae; and I’m concerned for her [she’s unco bonnie to be left her lane]. But it sets me brawly to be finding faut wi’ the puir lass, and me an elder, and should be at the plate. [There’ll be twa words about this in the Kirk Session.] However, it’s nane of my business that brings me, or I should tak’ the mair shame to mysel’. Na, sir, it’s for you; it’s your business keeps me frae the kirk.
Brodie. My business, Procurator? I rejoice to see it in such excellent hands.
Lawson. Ye see, it’s this way. I had a crack wi’ the laddie, Leslie, inter pocula (he took a stirrup-cup wi’ me), and he tells me he has askit Mary, and she was to speak to ye hersel’. O, ye needna look sae gash. Did she speak? and what’ll you have said to her?
Brodie. She has not spoken; I have said nothing; and I believe I asked you to avoid the subject.
Lawson. Ay, I made a note o’ that observation, William [and assoilzied mysel’]. Mary’s a guid lass, and I’m her uncle, and I’m here to be answered. Is it to be ay or no?
Brodie. It’s to be no. This marriage must be quashed; and hark ye, Procurator, you must help me.
Lawson. Me? ye’re daft! And what for why?
Brodie. Because I’ve spent the trust-money, and I can’t refund it.
Lawson. Ye reprobate deevil!
Brodie. Have a care, Procurator. No wry words!
Lawson. Do you say it to my face, sir? Dod, sir, I’m the Crown Prosecutor.
Brodie. Right. The Prosecutor for the Crown. And where did you get your brandy?
Lawson. Eh?
Brodie. Your brandy! Your brandy man! Where do you get your brandy? And you a Crown official and an elder!
Lawson. Whaur the deevil did ye hear that?
Brodie. Rogues all! Rogues all, Procurator!
Lawson. Ay, ay. Lord save us! Guidsake, to think o’ that noo!.. Can ye give me some o’ that Cognac? I’m.. I’m sort o’ shaken, William, I’m sort o’ shaken. Thank you, William! (Looking, piteously at glass.) Nunc est bibendum. (Drinks.) Troth, I’m set ajee a bit. Wha the deevil tauld ye?
Brodie. Ask no questions, brother. We are a pair.
Lawson. Pair, indeed! Pair, William Brodie! Upon my saul, sir, ye’re a brazen-faced man that durst say it to my face! Tak’ you care, my bonnie young man, that your craig doesna feel the wecht o’ your hurdies. Keep the plainstanes side o’ the gallows. Via trita, via tuta, William Brodie!
Brodie. And the brandy, Procurator? and the brandy?
Lawson. Ay.. weel.. be’t sae! Let the brandy bide, man, let the brandy bide! But for you and the trust-money.. damned! It’s felony. Tutor in rem suam, ye ken, tutor in rem suam. But O man, Deacon, whaur is the siller?
Brodie. It’s gone – O how the devil should I know? But it’ll never come back.
Lawson. Dear, dear! A’ gone to the winds o’ heaven! Sae ye’re an extravagant dog, too. Prodigus et furiosus! And that puir lass – eh, Deacon, man, that puir lass! I mind her such a bonny bairn.
Brodie (stopping his ears). Brandy, brandy, brandy, brandy, brandy
Lawson. William Brodie, mony’s the long day that I’ve believed in you; prood, prood was I to be the Deacon’s uncle; and a sore hearing have I had of it the day. That’s past; that’s past like Flodden Field; it’s an auld sang noo, and I’m an aulder man than when I crossed your door. But mark ye this – mark ye this, William Brodie, I may be no sae guid’s I should be; but there’s no a saul between the east sea and the wast can lift his een to God that made him, and say I wranged him as ye wrang that lassie. I bless God, William Brodie – ay, though he was like my brother – I bless God that he that got ye has the hand of death upon his hearing, and can win into his grave a happier man than me. And ye speak to me, sir? Think shame – think shame upon your heart!
Brodie. Rogues all!
Lawson. You’re the son of my sister, William Brodie. Mair than that I stop not to inquire. If the siller is spent, and the honour tint – Lord help us, and the honour tint! – sae be it, I maun bow the head. Ruin shallna come by me. Na, and I’ll say mair, William; we have a’ our weary sins upon our backs, and maybe I have mair than mony. But, man, if ye could bring half the jointure.. [potius quam pereas].. for your mither’s