Good Mrs Hypocrite/Chapter 10
It was evening, and the house was as
quiet as the grave.
Tibbie had come in for her tea, and then put her master confortable for the night, and gone off again to the kirk.
Catherine Macpherson sat by the fire in the snug dining-room. By her side was a book of sermons, and a stiff glass of toddy. She was honoring the Sabbath by an hour of self-indulgence, and considering within her own mind a course of action for the future.
Should she acquaint her niece with her father's condition, or should she keep her own counsel in the matter?
The first course might bring Margaret Weimar back to England, and to Strome Villa. It might also interfere considerably with her own comfort — a matter of vital importance to Catherine.
When Margaret appeared on the scene, her aunt would have to fall into the background. She could not longer sit at the head of the table ; treat the house and everything in it as her possessions; ride rough-shod over all her brother's peculiarities and whims, and relegate him to the position of a crotchety old invalid.
After due consideration, for and against the plan, Catherine Macpherson came to the conclusion that her best policy was to keep silence. Here she was, and here she intended to remain as long as ever she could.
Every day, every month that kept Margaret Weimar away from her father, strengthened her aunt's position and increased her influence.
She had soon found out that her brother was inclined to sacrifice a good deal of even personal liberty for peace and comfort. In six months' time she had gained considerable influence over him, and if the doctor's opinion went for anything, she would be able to gain a great deal more in another six. Besides, so much might happen in half a year.
She sipped the steaming glass by her side, and smoothed back her hair over its cushion, and glanced complacently at her reflection in the glass of the sideboard opposite.
"I'm none so old or so ill-favored that I need despair of getting a man from the Lord,' an He so wills it," she said to herself. "There's just a way to take them, if a woman's canny enough. And I've never had a fair chance of surrounding myself respectably till now. Did I but dress a bit more like other folk, and just make myself companionable like, I needn't fear but that I'll win a favorable opinion. It's not as if it was springtime with him; no, nor summer either. The autumn of life is aye the sensible time for settling down .... when the brae grows steep to climb, and the evenings are long and lonely. We could aye pass our days very comfortably, I'm thinking. But it would not be wise to let Margaret come here — not yet. Indeed, I'm none too fond o' her. She's too much taken up with hersel' altogether, and has a pert masterful way with her that is not respectful to an elder relative. And she would not hold with the alterations I've made, nor see that the old man is all the better for having his whisky neither so strong, nor so often. His brain is too excitable now, and had it not been for my own thought o' keeping the half of every bottle to myself, and just helping out his share with the water-bottle, I'm not sure but that his mind would have gone altogether."
She smiled complacently. She had found a little discretion, and a small decanting funnel, so eminently serviceable, and the whisky lasted just as long as when only one person had partaken of it!
With her new life, Catherine Macpherson had adopted an entirely new set of principles. She no longer feared to "look into the cup," or partake of it either. St. Paul's advice to Timothy was, after all, more agreeable than the stern denunciations of Solomon. She did not find that good whisky bit like a serpent or stung like an adder. On the contrary, it was very soothing and comfortable. It promoted thought, and gave to her lonely evenings quite a new attraction. By its aid she took counsel with herself as to the expediency of any course of action, and saw the future in quite different colors to those it had been wont to wear.
She sat there, meditating and considering, until close upon the hour of nine. Then she rose quickly, locked away the spirit bottle, and carefully rinsed out her glass with hot water.
Tibbie Minch had prying eyes, and had once made an observation on the strength of a small quantity of the evening toddy that had been left at the bottom of the tumbler.
"I ken weel it was nae the master's glass," she had said.
Catherine Macpherson had treated the remark with the silent contempt of a mind conscious of its own spotless integrity. All the same she had thought it advisable since then to rinse out her glass before it went down-stairs.
She went up to her room to-night with her head held erect, but she was a little puzzled as to why the stairs twisted and turned so much.
There was also a certain sense of relief in her mind when she had closed and locked her door. She did not feel quite so capable of facing Tibbie Minch as usual.
That astute person meanwhile let her- self in with a latchkey, put up the chain, and bolted the door. Then she went into the dining-room, and gave a significant glance around, accompanied by a knowing sniff.
" Deed, then, she's nae forgettin' her drap toddy the nicht," she observed. " And there's nae fear o' her health breaking doon because o' late hours. Aye, aye ! she kens weel how to get the best o' everything, does Mistress Macpher- son. It's nae muckle sunshine she's ever brought into the lives o' ithers, I'm think- ing ; nor aye will. She's just all bound up in hersel', and nae ither body. And yet she has the assurance o' salvation, though she might keep it mair to hersel', and not be calling ither folk to question the Lord's wisdom in the matter o' selec- tion. Hoots ! " as she raised the glass and put it to her nostrils. " The likes o' that now . . . hot water ! Does she think I'm nae mair than a fule. It's no hot water that the room holds by way of pair^ fume; and, if she'd been canny eno', she'd have thocht o' that, and aye saved hersel' the trouble o' washing out her ain tumbler. Not that I'm objecting to her glass o' toddy o' a nicht; but I canna bide a hypocrite and pretender; and for all her talk o' bein' a chosen vessel, and sanctified to the Lord, I'm jio' sure that her soul is nae ' deceitful above all things,' as the Scripture saith. . . . That was a main edifying discoorse from the minister the nicht. I'm sorry she didna hear it. I mind weel how he said that busybodies were not pleasing in the eye of the Lcrd, and how he counseled us to do our ain wark, and mind our ain busi- ness. And that's what Mistress Macpher- son canna do. . . . Lord sakes ! Wha's that?"
It was the sound of a stumbling footfall overhead, of a lurch, and then a crash. Tibbie ran hastily up-stairs to her master's room. All was as she had left it. The night-light burned on the chimney-piece. The old man lay sleeping placidly in his bed.
Tibbie closed the door softly, and then went to the next; she tried the handle, but it was locked.
"What is't, mem? what are ye aboot?" she demanded anxiously. "Is anything wrang with ye?"
"Goaway," said a muffled voice. " Why are you disturbing me in this fashion ? A brawling and contentious woman is — "
"Hoots!" interrupted Tibbie, " gi'e us nane o' that, mem ! Fit yer ain cap on yer ain head an ye will. What for are ye stumblin' aboot your room for, and makin' a noise like to shake the hoose doon ? Are ye no weel?"
"I made no noise ; I am p—perfectly well. I don't know what you mean, woman!" answered Catherine, with extreme precision.
"I'd like weel to hae a look at ye," muttered Tibbie, releasing the door-handle.
"Folk dinna go stumbling aboot in sic a fashion without reason for't. . . . Perhaps ye're cannier than I thocht ye. All the same, I hae a strong mistrust o' ye, Mistress Macpherson, though I'll keep my ain counsel aboot it."
She went down-stairs again. Perhaps it was as well she could not see behind that locked door.
Catherine Macpherson was sitting on the floor of her room, surveying her slippered feet with a foolish smile.
"Maybe it's corns," she said to herself. "They seem sadly out of control. They will not go the way I want them. It's not my head . . . that is as clear and as steady as . . . the little man's own. It is a very singular occurrence. . . . I'm well pleased that I locked my door against that impudent hizzie. There's no knowing what kind of an uncharitable construction she might not hae placed on this — sensation. ... I wonder if she has left the dining- room yet ? If she had been in the kitchen she conldna have heard the fall of — the chair. There never was such a body for meddling and interfering with what is no concern o' hers. Perhaps I'd better bide as I am a bit. She's sure to be listening."
Which, indeed, Tibbie Minch was doing.