Good Mrs Hypocrite/Chapter 7

the important Wednesday when Catherine Macpherson had elected to be at home, she arose betimes, and equipped herself for the fray.

Tibbie's sarcastic suggestion that her brother should appear in the kilt rankled in her mind. It chanced that among the various properties left behind by Margaret Weimar, was a large leather box of clothes, that had belonged to her mother. Catherine had discovered the key, and spent many spare hours investigating the contents. Among them was a very handsome tea-gown, which, being modern in style and brilliant of hue, had exercised a strong fascination for eyes long accustomed to the sober blacks and browns of religious sisterhoods. Again and again had she gone to the box and examined this gown. One night she had even ventured to try it on. It fitted her very well, though somewhat short for her tall figure, but a wide hem offered suggestions that a leisure hour and a needle and cotton speedily carried out.

The gown was not returned to the box after alteration, but found a place in Catherine's wardrobe, and became the principal item in sundry dress-rehearsals carried on behind locked doors at such time as the wary Tibbie was busy in the lower regions.

Catherine Macpherson had determined to wear this tea-gown on her "at home" days, though why she dreamed it would be an edifying sight to the eyes of the particularly dowdy matrons and ancient spinsters who formed the major portion of her expected visitors, was a thing best known to herself.

She was down-stairs to breakfast some time before her brother. The first thing she did was to pnt on the clock half an honr. This was a brilliant idea that had occurred to her in the planning out of her campaign. She was determined the old man should be got up-stairs and out of the way before the hour when callers might be expected.

She therefore attended to the laying of breakfast and dinner herself, being afraid lest Tibbie Minch should call attention to the vagaries of the timepiece. The plan succeeded. James Macpherson partook of his whisky toddy, and retired to his room unsuspectingly; and Tibbie, grumbling audibly, was hustled off to put on her afternoon gown, while the fair Catherine was getting herself into the new strange garment she had deemed suitable for the occasion.

She felt very pleased with herself as she stood before the glass. The crimson folds, the touch of dull old gold in the trimming, the high collar, the frill-puffed sleeves, were all quite up to date; and her eye was not critical or discerning in the matter of suitability where her own person was concerned.

She went down-stairs to the drawing- room and drew down the blinds, so that the spring sunshine without was judiciously tempered from within. She had not troubled about the room. There were no flowers or plants, none of the dainty touches or subtle arrangements characteristic of Margaret Weimar. Catherine atoned for vanity in one shape by austerity in another.

When Tibbie ushered in her first visitor, the minister's wife, she stood aghast at her mistress's gaudy appearance, and beat a hasty retreat to the kitchen.

"David, my wee mannie," she said to the kitten, who was sitting guard over the silver tea-tray, "David, I'm thinkin' 'tis the scarlet woman hersel' up yonder. Hoots! did ever body see the likes o't? What will the minister's leddy think? Why, it's just daft the woman is gettin'. I'm afraid to think how it'll end. Deed, laddie, ye've mair sense in your wee black headie than that puir auld fule up-stairs has in her whole body. Verily Satan is setting a snare for her, and she canna see it."

She poured out some cream for the kitten, regardless of what wrath might be visited on her head should the quarter of a pint run short. Then another knock at the hall-door summoned her up-stairs.

"What for is a' the parish coming to call on her?" she grumbled. "Deed, an' they kenned the guid leddy as weel as mysel', it's no' haverin' wi' her they'd be in sic a friendly fashion, but tellin' her the plain truth o' her ain ungodly temper. Ah, weel, David laddie, dinna ye be coaxin' the like o' that, for the cream and the cakes are aye for your betters, as they ca' theirselves. Whist! the bell again! I'll be worn off my legs the nicht."

Indeed, Catherine Macpherson had quite a goodly number of visitors that afternoon, though they were not of a kind that interpreted "social distinction" as anything higher than "mission work" and parish teas.

But her crimson tea-gown and silver tray, and cakes, and scones, made a distinct impression on them. Even the minister's wife, still wearing the halo of bride, and with a commendable show of wedding presents, had no such silver to display, nor gave such excellent fare to her visitors.

It was past six o'clock when the door closed on the last skirt, and Catherine Macpherson signified to Tibbie that she might remove the tea-things.

Her handmaiden viewed the room, its disarranged chairs and its brilliantly attired occupant, with severe disfavor.

"Gin this sort o' thing is to be continuous," she remarked, "ye'll hae to gi'e me some help wi' the wark. It's no what I understand by 'general sairvice,' and, indeed, ye may just strip your peacock's feathers off ye noo, and help wash up these teacups, and polish the silver. It's a' verra weel to play the gran' leddie whin gi'en the means to do it, and the help handy; but in a bit hoosie like this, and wi' one maid-o'-all-wark, it's no beseeming. I wis wonderin' why ye hustled the gudeman off to his bed so airly. I'm no wondering noo."

"Of course I'll help you wash up," said Catherine graciously. "I never intended you should do it all by yourself. Bring up hot water and a tea-cloth into the dining-room, and I'll soon have these things done."

"Aye, aye, ye can find a ceevil tongue when things gae to your ain liking," said the candid Tibbie. "The minister has been flattering ye up, nae doot. But I'd hae ye mind that men are 'deceitfu' above all things,' as the Scripture saith. I'd nae trust ane at ony age mysel', and I hae e'en had my experience, ye ken."

Catherine gave no answer, but retired upstairs to remove her gown and put on the useful, working-day, black alpaca, in which she usually garbed her spare form.

Even Tibbie's plain speaking did not trouble her just now. Her brow was serene, and her smile complaisant. The minister had, indeed, said very pleasant things to her that afternoon. Her visions of the future were becoming rosehued as any maiden's might well be who had at last heard hope's flattering tale with an ear too long outstretched to silence and oblivion.

She washed up the best china, and polished the silver with chamois leather, and put them all away in their respective places, with an agreeable sense of doing a duty that left nothing to be desired in the way of self-approval. When all was straight once more, Tibbie Minch came up to say she was going out for an hour to "do a bit shopping."

"I'll get your supper when I come home," she concluded. " Ye'll no want it so airly I'm thinking, after sic an afternoon o' tea-drinking. An' ye may as weel look in at the master. He seems a bit restless like. Gi'e him anither glass o' toddy. It's a lang time to bide till the mom wi'out bite or sup."

"Very well," agreed Catherine; "be sure you're not more than an hour gone, Tibbie."

"I'm aye gude at keepin' my word," was the answer, as the door closed.

Catherine Macpherson gave a sigh of relief, looked at herself in the glass over- mantel, and then, remembering Tibbie's words, went up-stairs, and listened for a moment at her brother's door. All was quiet.

"I'm sure he's asleep; I'll not disturb him," she said. "All the same, it will do no harm to see that the kettle boils, and just mix a glass of toddy in case he may need it."

She took the spirit bottle down-stairs with her. It would be less trouble to mix the beverage in the kitchen, where water and sugar and glasses were all handy, she told herself.

The gas was lit. The kitchen was spick and span in its cleanliness and order. The light glowed cheerfully over the snowy deal table and bright tins. The kettle was just on the boil, and the thoughtful Tibbie had left tumbler, sugar, and lemon all on a tray on the dresser. Catherine mixed the once abhorred toddy with no "'prentice" hand now. Hot and sweet, strong and fragrant, it sent forth an inviting aroma, as she placed it on the tray.

To be quite sure that it was right, she took a cautious sip; but an error in judgment is always possible. Perhaps that was the reason that she ladled out a wine-glassful from the steaming tumbler, and raised it to her lips.

At that moment, a curious soft pur-r-r sounded by her side, and something light and black sprang on to her shoulder with so startling and sudden a movement that the glass fell from her hand, and was shattered to fragments on the floor. With a cry of rage and horror, Catherine seized the unfortunate cause of the accident, and hurled the poor little kitten to the other end of the kitchen. It gave a piteous cry, and fled into a corner, from whence its yellow eyes shone like two angry lights.

"The beast! the little, hateful, deil's birkie!" she muttered furiously, "terri- fying the life out of me; it's not canny, the brute! Look how it's glowering over there at me! I wish I had killed it. I'll not set foot in this kitchen if Tibbie doesn't get rid of it. I told her I hated cats. Ugh! ye little devil ye, get out o' that!" She threw a spoon at the offending David, which had the effect of sending him mewing into the back kitchen. Then she picked up the broken fragments, got out another wineglass from the cupboard, and carried the tray upstairs.

Her nerves were so upset by this occurrence that she had to steady them by finishing the glass of toddy prepared for James Macpherson.

When Tibbie returned, she noted the tray and the empty glass.

"Aye, that's richt," she said, "ye took my advice, I see. I didna stay oot sae lang. An, hoo did ye find the maister whin ye took him his glass?"

"Oh, he's sleeping soundly now," answered Catherine, with a comfortable conviction of truth in one instance, that atoned for a previous evasion of it in another. "And I'll thank you to get my supper, Tibbie, for I'm very tired, and it's past nine o'clock."

Tibbie went down to her own regions.

David limped out of his corner and purred a welcome, and rubbed his soft, pretty head against her skirts, as she bustled to and fro.

Perhaps Nature rendered a good service to humanity, when she made the brute creation dumb.