Chapter XXVIII. I Go in Quest of My Inheritance

by Robert Louis Stevenson

　　I made what change I could in my appearance; and blithe was I tolook in the glass and find the beggarman a thing of the past, andDavid Balfour come to life again. And yet I was ashamed of thechange too, and, above all, of the borrowed clothes. When I haddone, Mr. Rankeillor caught me on the stair, made me hiscompliments, and had me again into the cabinet."Sit ye down, Mr. David," said he, "and now that you are lookinga little more like yourself, let me see if I can find you anynews. You will be wondering, no doubt, about your father andyour uncle? To be sure it is a singular tale; and theexplanation is one that I blush to have to offer you. For," sayshe, really with embarrassment, "the matter hinges on a loveaffair.""Truly," said I, "I cannot very well join that notion with myuncle.""But your uncle, Mr. David, was not always old," replied thelawyer, "and what may perhaps surprise you more, not always ugly.He had a fine, gallant air; people stood in their doors to lookafter him, as he went by upon a mettle horse. I have seen it withthese eyes, and I ingenuously confess, not altogether withoutenvy; for I was a plain lad myself and a plain man's son; and inthose days it was a case of Odi te, qui bellus es, Sabelle.""It sounds like a dream," said I."Ay, ay," said the lawyer, "that is how it is with youth and age.Nor was that all, but he had a spirit of his own that seemed topromise great things in the future. In 1715, what must he do butrun away to join the rebels? It was your father that pursuedhim, found him in a ditch, and brought him back multum gementem;to the mirth of the whole country. However, majora canamus --the two lads fell in love, and that with the same lady. Mr.Ebenezer, who was the admired and the beloved, and the spoiledone, made, no doubt, mighty certain of the victory; and when hefound he had deceived himself, screamed like a peacock. Thewhole country heard of it; now he lay sick at home, with hissilly family standing round the bed in tears; now he rode frompublic-house to public-house, and shouted his sorrows into thelug of Tom, Dick, and Harry. Your father, Mr. David, was a kindgentleman; but he was weak, dolefully weak; took all this follywith a long countenance; and one day -- by your leave! --resigned the lady. She was no such fool, however; it's from heryou must inherit your excellent good sense; and she refused to bebandied from one to another. Both got upon their knees to her;and the upshot of the matter for that while was that she showedboth of them the door. That was in August; dear me! the sameyear I came from college. The scene must have been highlyfarcical."I thought myself it was a silly business, but I could not forgetmy father had a hand in it. "Surely, sir, it had some note oftragedy," said I."Why, no, sir, not at all," returned the lawyer. "For tragedyimplies some ponderable matter in dispute, some dignus vindicenodus; and this piece of work was all about the petulance of ayoung ass that had been spoiled, and wanted nothing so much as tobe tied up and soundly belted. However, that was not yourfather's view; and the end of it was, that from concession toconcession on your father's part, and from one height to anotherof squalling, sentimental selfishness upon your uncle's, theycame at last to drive a sort of bargain, from whose ill resultsyou have recently been smarting. The one man took the lady, theother the estate. Now, Mr. David, they talk a great deal ofcharity and generosity; but in this disputable state of life, Ioften think the happiest consequences seem to flow when agentleman consults his lawyer, and takes all the law allows him.Anyhow, this piece of Quixotry on your father's part, as it wasunjust in itself, has brought forth a monstrous family ofinjustices. Your father and mother lived and died poor folk; youwere poorly reared; and in the meanwhile, what a time it has beenfor the tenants on the estate of Shaws! And I might add (if itwas a matter I cared much about) what a time for Mr. Ebenezer!""And yet that is certainly the strangest part of all," said I,"that a man's nature should thus change.""True," said Mr. Rankeillor. "And yet I imagine it was naturalenough. He could not think that he had played a handsome part.Those who knew the story gave him the cold shoulder; those whoknew it not, seeing one brother disappear, and the other succeedin the estate, raised a cry of murder; so that upon all sides hefound himself evited. Money was all he got by his bargain; well,he came to think the more of money. He was selfish when he wasyoung, he is selfish now that he is old; and the latter end ofall these pretty manners and fine feelings you have seen foryourself.""Well, sir," said I, "and in all this, what is my position?""The estate is yours beyond a doubt," replied the lawyer. "Itmatters nothing what your father signed, you are the heir ofentail. But your uncle is a man to fight the indefensible; andit would be likely your identity that he would call in question.A lawsuit is always expensive, and a family lawsuit alwaysscandalous; besides which, if any of your doings with your friendMr. Thomson were to come out, we might find that we had burnedour fingers. The kidnapping, to be sure, would be a court cardupon our side, if we could only prove it. But it may be difficultto prove; and my advice (upon the whole) is to make a very easybargain with your uncle, perhaps even leaving him at Shaws wherehe has taken root for a quarter of a century, and contentingyourself in the meanwhile with a fair provision."I told him I was very willing to be easy, and that to carryfamily concerns before the public was a step from which I wasnaturally much averse. In the meantime (thinking to myself) Ibegan to see the outlines of that scheme on which we afterwardsacted."The great affair," I asked, "is to bring home to him thekidnapping?""Surely," said Mr. Rankeillor, "and if possible, out of court.For mark you here, Mr. David: we could no doubt find some men ofthe Covenant who would swear to your reclusion; but once theywere in the box, we could no longer check their testimony, andsome word of your friend Mr. Thomson must certainly crop out.Which (from what you have let fall) I cannot think to bedesirable.""Well, sir," said I, "here is my way of it." And I opened myplot to him."But this would seem to involve my meeting the man Thomson?"says he, when I had done."I think so, indeed, sir," said I."Dear doctor!" cries he, rubbing his brow. "Dear doctor! No,Mr. David, I am afraid your scheme is inadmissible. I saynothing against your friend, Mr. Thomson: I know nothing againsthim; and if I did -- mark this, Mr. David! -- it would be my dutyto lay hands on him. Now I put it to you: is it wise to meet?He may have matters to his charge. He may not have told you all.His name may not be even Thomson!" cries the lawyer, twinkling;"for some of these fellows will pick up names by the roadside asanother would gather haws.""You must be the judge, sir," said I.But it was clear my plan had taken hold upon his fancy, for hekept musing to himself till we were called to dinner and thecompany of Mrs. Rankeillor; and that lady had scarce left usagain to ourselves and a bottle of wine, ere he was back harpingon my proposal. When and where was I to meet my friend Mr.Thomson; was I sure of Mr. T.'s discretion; supposing we couldcatch the old fox tripping, would I consent to such and such aterm of an agreement -- these and the like questions he keptasking at long intervals, while he thoughtfully rolled his wineupon his tongue. When I had answered all of them, seemingly tohis contentment, he fell into a still deeper muse, even theclaret being now forgotten. Then he got a sheet of paper and apencil, and set to work writing and weighing every word; and atlast touched a bell and had his clerk into the chamber."Torrance," said he, "I must have this written out fair againstto-night; and when it is done, you will be so kind as put on yourhat and be ready to come along with this gentleman and me, foryou will probably be wanted as a witness.""What, sir," cried I, as soon as the clerk was gone, "are you toventure it?""Why, so it would appear," says he, filling his glass. "But letus speak no more of business. The very sight of Torrance bringsin my head a little droll matter of some years ago, when I hadmade a tryst with the poor oaf at the cross of Edinburgh. Eachhad gone his proper errand; and when it came four o'clock,Torrance had been taking a glass and did not know his master, andI, who had forgot my spectacles, was so blind without them, thatI give you my word I did not know my own clerk." And thereuponhe laughed heartily.I said it was an odd chance, and smiled out of politeness; butwhat held me all the afternoon in wonder, he kept returning anddwelling on this story, and telling it again with fresh detailsand laughter; so that I began at last to be quite put out ofcountenance and feel ashamed for my friend's folly.Towards the time I had appointed with Alan, we set out from thehouse, Mr. Rankeillor and I arm in arm, and Torrance followingbehind with the deed in his pocket and a covered basket in hishand. All through the town, the lawyer was bowing right andleft, and continually being button-holed by gentlemen on mattersof burgh or private business; and I could see he was one greatlylooked up to in the county. At last we were clear of the houses,and began to go along the side of the haven and towards the HawesInn and the Ferry pier, the scene of my misfortune. I could notlook upon the place without emotion, recalling how many that hadbeen there with me that day were now no more: Ransome taken, Icould hope, from the evil to come; Shuan passed where I dared notfollow him; and the poor souls that had gone down with the brigin her last plunge. All these, and the brig herself, I hadoutlived; and come through these hardships and fearful perilswithout scath. My only thought should have been of gratitude;and yet I could not behold the place without sorrow for othersand a chill of recollected fear.I was so thinking when, upon a sudden, Mr. Rankeillor cried out,clapped his hand to his pockets, and began to laugh."Why," he cries, "if this be not a farcical adventure! After allthat I said, I have forgot my glasses!"At that, of course, I understood the purpose of his anecdote, andknew that if he had left his spectacles at home, it had been doneon purpose, so that he might have the benefit of Alan's helpwithout the awkwardness of recognising him. And indeed it waswell thought upon; for now (suppose things to go the very worst)how could Rankeillor swear to my friend's identity, or how bemade to bear damaging evidence against myself? For all that, hehad been a long while of finding out his want, and had spoken toand recognised a good few persons as we came through the town;and I had little doubt myself that he saw reasonably well.As soon as we were past the Hawes (where I recognised thelandlord smoking his pipe in the door, and was amazed to see himlook no older) Mr. Rankeillor changed the order of march, walkingbehind with Torrance and sending me forward in the manner of ascout. I went up the hill, whistling from time to time my Gaelicair; and at length I had the pleasure to hear it answered and tosee Alan rise from behind a bush. He was somewhat dashed inspirits, having passed a long day alone skulking in the county,and made but a poor meal in an alehouse near Dundas. But at themere sight of my clothes, he began to brighten up; and as soon asI had told him in what a forward state our matters were and thepart I looked to him to play in what remained, he sprang into anew man."And that is a very good notion of yours," says he; "and I dareto say that you could lay your hands upon no better man to put itthrough than Alan Breck. It is not a thing (mark ye) that anyone could do, but takes a gentleman of penetration. But itsticks in my head your lawyer-man will be somewhat wearying tosee me," says Alan.Accordingly I cried and waved on Mr. Rankeillor, who came upalone and was presented to my friend, Mr. Thomson."Mr. Thomson, I am pleased to meet you," said he. "But I haveforgotten my glasses; and our friend, Mr. David here" (clappingme on the shoulder), "will tell you that I am little better thanblind, and that you must not be surprised if I pass you byto-morrow."This he said, thinking that Alan would be pleased; but theHighlandman's vanity was ready to startle at a less matter thanthat."Why, sir," says he, stiffly, "I would say it mattered the lessas we are met here for a particular end, to see justice done toMr. Balfour; and by what I can see, not very likely to have muchelse in common. But I accept your apology, which was a veryproper one to make.""And that is more than I could look for, Mr. Thomson," saidRankeillor, heartily. "And now as you and I are the chief actorsin this enterprise, I think we should come into a nice agreement;to which end, I propose that you should lend me your arm, for(what with the dusk and the want of my glasses) I am not veryclear as to the path; and as for you, Mr. David, you will findTorrance a pleasant kind of body to speak with. Only let meremind you, it's quite needless he should hear more of youradventures or those of -- ahem -- Mr. Thomson."Accordingly these two went on ahead in very close talk, andTorrance and I brought up the rear.Night was quite come when we came in view of the house of Shaws.Ten had been gone some time; it was dark and mild, with apleasant, rustling wind in the south-west that covered the soundof our approach; and as we drew near we saw no glimmer of lightin any portion of the building. It seemed my uncle was Alreadyin bed, which was indeed the best thing for our arrangements. Wemade our last whispered consultations some fifty yards away; andthen the lawyer and Torrance and I crept quietly up and croucheddown beside the corner of the house; and as soon as we were inour places, Alan strode to the door without concealment and beganto knock.