Arriving at the Lawyer’s House

Chapter 10

The next day it was agreed, that Alan should do for himself until sunset, but as soon as it began to grow dark, he should lie in the fields by the roadside and stay there until he heard me whistling. For our signal, he taught me a little bit of a Highland tune, which has run in my head to this day and probably run in my head when I will be dying. Every time I hear it, I remember Alan sitting, whistling and beating the measure with a finger, and the grey of dawn coming on his face.

I was on my way through Queensferry before the sun was up. I felt like a beggar in my tattered clothes, and though I saw many people yet I asked no one for directions to the lawyer’s house until late afternoon.

The very man I spoke to happened to be Mr. Rankeillor himself. He led me to a little dusty room full of books and documents, and we began our long talk.

It seemed my name had been spoken often in his office while I was away. My friend Campbell had come looking for me. My uncle swore that I had taken some money from him and set off for Europe. Mr. Rankeillor added with a small smile that no one had quite believed my uncle’s story. Then Captain Hoseason had shown up with the story of my drowning in the shipwreck, and the case of my disappearance was closed. They all thought I was dead.

Then it was my turn to tell tales. I told the lawyer my long story. He asked me to give different names of the Highland men I had met. Many of them were wanted by the King’s men, and Mr. Rankeillor was afraid for the safety of all of us if my story became known to others. When I mentioned Alan’s name, he became very nervous and insisted that I should call him ‘Mr. Thopson’ instead.

Then it was my turn to tell tales. I told the lawyer my long story. He asked me to give different names of the Highland men I had met. Many of them were wanted by the King’s men, and Mr. Rankeillor was afraid for the safety of all of us if my story became known to others. When I mentioned Alan’s name, he became very nervous and insisted that I should call him ‘Mr. Thopson’ instead.

I had been wandering and sleeping on hills under the bare sky for so long that I thought it fine to sit once more in a clean covered house. My clothes were in tatters, but Mr. Rankeillor seemed to understand.

He rose, called to a servant to lay another plate because Mr. Balfour was staying for dinner, and led me to a bedroom in the upper part of the house. Here he set before me water, soap and comb, and laid out some clothes that belonged to his son. He then left me to myself, saying that we would decide our next action over dinner.

“Sit you down, Mr. David,” said Rankeillor. “You will be wondering, no doubt, about your father and your uncle? Oh, it is a tale! The matter began with a love affair,: he said with a real blush.

“The two lads, your father and your uncle fell in love with the same lady. Mr. Ebenezer, who was spoiled terribly, thought he would win her because he usually got what he wanted. But the lass loved your father.

Well, Mr. Ebenezer carried on for a time. In the end, the two brothers made a bargain; the one man took the lady, the other the house. Your mother and father lived and died poor folk, and Mr. Ebenezer was not so well off for all his money. He was selfish when he was young, and he had only grown more selfish each year. It was he who stopped the building of the house because he thought it was a waste of money. And he’s not well liked by anyone. Those who knew the story wouldn’t speak to Ebenezer, and those who only knew that your father suddenly disappeared thought he’d been murdered.”

“Well, sir,” said I, “what is my position now?”
“The house is yours without a doubt,” said the lawyer, “My advice is to make an easy bargain with your uncle. Leave him at Shaws for a time while you take a fair allowance every month.”

We agreed on a plan to outwit my uncle and set off towards Shaws. I whistled the Highland tune for Alan (or Mr. Thompson, as Mr. Rankeillor insisted on naming him), and the three of us, along with the lawyer’s clerk, walked on.

I told Alan of the part he was to play in by fooling my uncle. It cheered him up after the long day he had spent alone hiding.

It was night when we came to the house. It seemed my uncle was already in bed. We made our last whispered plans. Then Rankeillor, the clerk and I crept quietly up and hid by the corner of the house.

As soon as we were hidden, Alan stepped up to the door and began to knock.

For a long time Alan beat on the door, and his knocking only woke echoes in the house. At last I heard a window being opened, and I knew my uncle ould see Alan standing in a shadow on the steps. He could not see us in the bush.

What’s this?” said he, “What brings you here? I have a blunderbuss.”

“Is that yourself, Mr. Balfour?” returned Alan, “Be careful with that blunderbuss. It is nasty when it goes off.”

“What brings you here?” said my uncle angrily.
“What brings me here is more your affair than mine,” said Alan, “If you would like, I’ll set it to a tune and sing it to you.”

“And what is it?” asked my uncle.
“David,” said Alan.
The moment Alan mentioned my name, my uncle’s voice change. “I’m thinking I’d better come down,” said he.

It took him a long time to get downstairs and still longer to undo all the locks and bars on the door. At last, we heard the creak of hinges. My uncle slipped out and sat down on the top doorstep with the blunderbuss ready in his hands. Alan stood back a pace or two. He pretended that friends of his held me in a castle to the north and were demanding a money ransom.

My uncle cleared his throat. “I do not care,” said he. “He was not a good lad at the best times. I take no interest in him, and I’ll pay no ransom. Do whatever you will with him,” said he.

“In two words,” said Alan, “do you want the lad killed or kept?”

“Oh, sir!” cried Ebenezer, “That’s so kind of language. Oh, dear!”
“Killed or kept?” repeated Alan.
“O man! free him!” wailed my uncle.

“Well, well,” said Alan, “now about the price. I would have to know what you gave Hoseason the first time around.”

“Hoseason!” cried my uncle, “What for?”
“For kidnapping David,” said Alan.
“It’s a lie; it’s a white lie!” cried my uncle.

“He was never kidnapped. He lied in his throat that told you that.”

“Why, Hoseason himself told me,” cried Alan, “We’re partners. What exactly did you pay him?”
“Well,” said my uncle, “I do not care what he said; he lied, and the God’s truth is this, that I gave him twenty pounds. He was to sell the lad in Carolina and get the money for that too.”

“Thank you, Mr. Thompson, that will do,” said Mr. Rankeillor, stepping up.

And, “Good evening. Uncle Ebenezer,” said I.
And, “It’s a fine night, Mr. Balfour,” said the clerk.
My uncle said nothing, but just sat where he was and stared upon us like a man turned to stone. Alan took away the blunderbuss, and the lawyer took my uncle’s arm and led him into the kitchen.

I set myself to building a better fire while the clerk began taking a good supper from the basket he had brought. A bottle of wine was brought up from the cellar, and Alan, the clerk and I sat down to eat while the lawyer and my uncle talked in the library near the kitchen. After an hour, they had agreed that I would receive two-thirds of the estate.

That night Alan and Rankeillor and the clerk slept and snored on their hard beds. I lay till dawn, looking at the fire and planning the future.

The next morning at about six, Rankeillor and I walked back and forth before the house of Shaws and talked. I was wondering how I could take care of Alan. I had to help him out of the country at whatever risk.

The lawyer wrote me a letter that I was to take to his bankers for the needed money. Alan and I would decide on the best way for him to go.

In Edinburgh, I was to find a certain lawyer who was an Appin Stewart and could be trusted. It was his job to find a ship and arrange for Alan’s safe journey. Alan was to stay in the country at different places, but come once a day to a certain place where a messenger could meet him and tell him when he was to leave.

Alan and I went slowly on our way, having little heart either to walk or speak. We both thought of our parting and remembered all the days we had been together. We tried to joke with each other, but we were both nearer tears than laughter.

We came over the hill. When we got near the place called Rest-And–Be-Thankful and looked down over the city and the castle on the hill, we stopped. We both knew without a word said that we had come to where our ways parted.

“Well, good-bye,” said Alan, and he held out his left hand.
“Good-bye,” said I and gave the hand a little grasp and went off down the hill.

Neither of us looked the other in the face. I didn’t turn around and take one look at the friend I was leaving. As I went back to the city, I felt so lost and lonesome that I could have sat down and cried like

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