CHAPTER VII
‘Girzy,’ said the Laird to his daughter, as they entered the dining-room, ‘gae to thy bed and bring a cod for Mr. Walkinshaw, for he’ll no can thole to sit down on our hard chairs.’
Miss Girzy laughed as she retired to execute the order, while her mother continued, as she had done from the first introduction, to inspect Claud from head to foot, with a curious and something of a suspicious eye; there was even an occasional flush that gleamed through the habitual paleness of her thoughtful countenance, redder and warmer than the hectic glow of mere corporeal indisposition. Her attention, however, was soon drawn to the spacious round table, in the middle of the room, by one of the maids entering with a large pewter tureen, John Drappie, the manservant, having been that morning sent on some caption and horning business of the Laird’s to Gabriel Beagle, the Kilmarnock lawyer. But, as the critics hold it indelicate to describe the details of any refectionary supply, however elegant, we must not presume to enumerate the series and succession of Scottish fare, which soon crowned the board, all served on pewter as bright as plate. Our readers must endeavour, by the aid of their own fancies, to form some idea of the various forms in which the head and harigals of the sheep, that had been put to death for the occasion, were served up, not forgetting the sonsy, savoury, sappy haggis, together with the gude fat hen, the float whey, which, in a large china punch-bowl, graced the centre of the table, and supplied the place of jellies, tarts, tartlets, and puddings.
By the time the table was burdened, Miss Girzy had returned with the pillow, which she herself placed in one of the armchairs, shaking and patting it into plumpness, as she said,—
‘Come round here, Mr. Walkinshaw,—I trow ye’ll fin’ this a saft easy seat,—well do I ken what it is to be saddle-sick mysel’. Lordsake, when I gaed in ahint my father to see the robber hanged at Ayr, I was for mair than three days just as if I had sat doun on a heckle.’
When the cloth was removed, and the ladies had retired, the Laird opened his mind by stretching his arm across the table towards his guest, and, shaking him again heartily by the hand,—
‘Weel, Grippy,’ said he, ‘but am blithe to see you here; and, if am no mistaen, Girzy will no be ill to woo.—Is na she a coothy and kind creature?—She’ll make you a capital wife.—There’s no another in the parish that kens better how to manage a house.—Man, it would do your heart gude to hear how she rants among the servan’ lasses, lazy sluts, that would like nothing better than to live at heck and manger, and bring their master to a morsel; but I trow Girzy gars them keep a trig house and a birring wheel.’
‘No doubt, Laird,’ replied Claud, ‘but it’s a comfort to hae a frugal woman for a helpmate; but ye ken nowadays it’s no the fashion for bare legs to come thegither.—The wife maun hae something to put in the pot as well as the man.—And, although Miss Girzy may na be a’thegither objectionable, yet it would still be a pleasant thing baith to hersel’ and the man that gets her, an ye would just gi’e a bit inkling o’ what she’ll hae.’
‘Is na she my only dochter? That’s a proof and test that she’ll get a’,—naebody needs to be teld mair.’
‘Vera true, Laird,’ rejoined the suitor, ‘but the leddy’s life’s in her lip, and if ony thing were happening to her, ye’re a hale man, and wha kens what would be the upshot o’ a second marriage?’
‘That’s looking far ben,’ replied the Laird, and he presently added, more briskly, ‘My wife, to be sure, is a frail woman, but she’s no the gear that ’ill traike.’
In this delicate and considerate way, the overture to a purpose of marriage was opened; and, not to dwell on particulars, it is sufficient to say, that, in the course of little more than a month thereafter, Miss Girzy was translated into the Leddy of Grippy; and in due season presented her husband with a son and heir, who was baptized by the name of Charles.
When the birth was communicated to the Laird, he rode expressly to Grippy to congratulate his son-in-law on the occasion; and, when they were sitting together, in the afternoon, according to the fashion of the age, enjoying the contents of the gardevin entire, Claud warily began to sound him on a subject that lay very near his heart.
‘Laird,’ said he, ‘ye ken the Walkinshaws of Kittlestonheugh are o’ a vera ancient blood, and but for the doited prank o’ my grandfather, in sending my father on that gouk’s errand to the Darien, the hills are green and the land broad that should this day hae been mine; and, therefore, to put it out o’ the power of posterity to play at any sic wastrie again, I mean to entail the property of the Grippy.’
‘That’s a very good conceit,’ replied the Laird, ‘and I hae mysel’ had a notion of entailing the Plealands likewise.’
‘So I hae heard you say,’ rejoined Claud, ‘and now that the bairn’s born, and a laddie too, we may make ae work o’t.’
‘Wi’ a’ my heart,’ replied the Laird, ‘nothing can be more agreeable to me; but as I wish to preserve the name of my family, than whilk there’s no a more respectit in Scotland, I’ll only covenant that when Charlie succeeds me, that he’ll take the name o’ Hypel.’
‘Ye surely, Laird, would ne’er be so unreasonable,’ replied Grippy, a little hastily; ‘ye can ne’er be sae unreasonable as to expect that the lad would gie up his father’s name, the name o’ Walkinshaw, and take only that of Hypel.’
‘’Deed would I,’ said the Laird, ‘for no haeing a son o’ my own to come after me, it’s surely very natural that I would like the Hypels to kittle again in my oe through my only dochter.’
‘The Walkinshaws, I doubt,’ replied Claud emphatically, ‘will ne’er consent to sic an eclipse as that.’
‘The lands of Plealands,’ retorted the Laird, ‘are worth something.’
‘So it was thought, or I doubt the heir o’t would nae hae been a Walkinshaw,’ replied Claud, still more pertinaciously.
‘Weel, weel,’ said the Laird, ‘dinna let us argol bargol about it; entail your own property as ye will, mine shall be on the second son; ye can ne’er object to that.’
‘Second son, and the first scarce sax days auld! I tell you what it is, an ye’ll no make the entail on the first, that is, on Charlie Walkinshaw, to be Walkinshaw, mind that, I’ll no say what may happen in the way o’ second sons.’
‘The Plealands’ my ain, and though I canna weel will it awa’, and ne’er will sell’t, yet get it wha will, he maun tak the name o’ Hypel. The thing’s sae settled, Grippy, and it’s no for you and me to cast out about it.’
Claud made several attempts to revive the subject, and to persuade the Laird to change his mind, but he was inflexible. Still, however, being resolved, as far as in him lay, to anticipate the indiscretion of his heirs, he executed a deed of entail on Charles; and for a considerable time after the Laird was not a little confirmed in his determination not to execute any deed in favour of Charles, but to reserve his lands for the second son, by the very reason that might have led another sort of person to act differently, namely, that he understood there was no prospect of any such appearing.
Towards the end, however, of the third year after the birth of Charles, Claud communicated to the Laird, that, by some unaccountable dispensation, Mrs. Walkinshaw was again in the way to be a mother, adding, ‘Noo, Laird, ye’ll