“Sir,” I says. “It was not missus in the bed, sir.”
His head whipped round. “What the Devil do you mean?”
Muriel was scowling at me now, her eyes full of resentment. I thought of the letter down in the study and of being gone from there. It didn’t matter what I told him.
“While we were waiting,” I says. “I lay in the bed, sir, and fell asleep.”
He yanked his arm out the bedclothes and glared at me. I did not look at Muriel but could feel her eyes upon me.
“I am sorry, sir,” I says.
He let out a great sigh, shaking his head in exasperation. I waited for him to dismiss me on the spot. But then his mind seemed to wander. He appeared to forget about me altogether and was overcome by other graver thoughts. His face grew haggard. He put his hands to his head and clutched at his hair. He moaned.
“Sir, if you don’t mind my asking,” I says. “What has happened? Did you find missus, sir? Did she go to the village? Has somebody seen her?”
He gazed at me dead-eyed as if he had never seen me before. And then instead of answering, he turned on his heel and walked from the room. I heard him cross the hall and enter his own chamber. The door shut and then there was silence.
Muriel and I looked at each other.
“What did you say that fur?” she says. “You’re for it now.”
“It doesn’t matter. I am leaving here anyway.”
“Are ye?”
At that moment, one of the landing floorboards creaked and Hector poked his snitch in at the door. He didn’t look at Muriel, only me.
“You’ll neffer kess fwhat hess happened!” he says.
21
Pandemonium
Well, I was not present for most of the events I am about to describe but the tongues were clacking like castanets afterwards and the story has been much repeated down the years. There was articles in two newspapers and since those days I have spoke to a number of people who were involved or who seen what happened. From this and with a little imagination, I have pieced together an account.
To begin then, at the very beginning. It seems that having locked Muriel and I in her own chamber missus set the door-key on the linen chest where it was later discovered by master James and Hector. She could easy have slipped it in her own pocket or chucked it away but I like to think she didn’t want us to be imprisoned for too long and thus put the means of our release in plain view.
Thereafter she ran downstairs (as overheard by myself and Muriel) and went to the kitchen, where she must have found the old coat that she had give me, and the ancient bonnet I sometimes wore when it was cold. In years to come, when people talked about having seen her that day, they describe the old coat and granny bonnet. Why did she choose these garments, as opposed to any of her own? Well I’ll tell you. I think she wanted to disguise herself. In a shabby coat and battered hat, nobody would recognise her and that suited her purpose.
Dressed in these duds, she left the house and made her way through the fog to the village. Most people were by that time gathered at the Cross, for the fountain ceremony. At any rate, the first sighting of missus was some way up the road at around one o’clock, just outside the Swan, which was the larger inn and as such the one that housed most lodgers.
There was a driver sat on the step of his cab, he noticed a woman in an old-fashioned bonnet at the doorway of the taproom. She seemed reluctant to go in. He seen her step back, look up and down the street and then waylay a small ragged boy who was hurrying along towards her. She spoke to this boy, apparently asking him something. But he shook his head and scuttled by without pausing. The woman then approached the cab driver himself. By his account, she kept turning her head this way and that, using the wings of the bonnet to shield herself from his view. She seemed nervous and requested that he go into the Swan but before he could find out why, a gentleman passenger stepped up to the cab in haste and the driver had to accept the fare. He apologised to the woman in the bonnet and told her she would have to find someone else to help. The last he seen of her, she was stood in the street outside the tavern, looking a little lost.
Some time later, presumably having failed to find anyone else to go in on her behalf, missus entered the taproom herself and approached the proprietor, who was it but AP Henderson the bastard grocer, he had newly expanded his business and took over the Swan. If you believe a word he says, missus seemed ill at ease being in a public house. She did not stay long and kept her face in shadow all the while. Her eyes seemed drawn towards the stairs that led to the 2nd floor. She asked him if there was a Mrs. Gilfillan in residence. When he told her that there was not, she described the lady she had in mind, but nobody answering that description was lodged there and he tellt her as much. Upon hearing this, she thanked him and left. Henderson thought no more about the incident until much later, as he was particularly busy with preparations for the dinner that was to be held that evening to celebrate the unveiling of the fountain.
Some minutes then elapsed before missus was next seen, this time at the other end of the village. Here, in The Gushet, Janet Murray was redding up the place in the hope that those not among the dozen worthies invited to the dinner at the Swan might instead celebrate at her premises. Apparently, she glanced up from wiping a glass to see a woman in the doorway. At first, Janet did not recognise her because of what she wore. But she knew missus well enough, had often seen her about the district over the years and she soon realised who was at the threshold. Never a great enthusiast for the gentry, Janet did not encourage her to come in. Besides, missus seemed agitated. She made no pleasantries just asked whether there was a Mrs. Gilfillan in residence.
When Janet failed to recognise that name, missus gave a description that sounded to Janet the very glass and image of her only guest, the demanding Mrs. Kirk, an Irish widow (ho-ho!) who had been lodging at The Gushet for the past few weeks. Mrs. Kirk would be leaving Snatter that very afternoon, Janet told missus. But, for the moment, she was not on the premises. As far as Janet knew, she was away up the road to the Cross along with everybody else to see the fountain. Janet expressed surprise that missus Reid was not up there herself, seeing as how it was her husband that was behind it all. But missus apparently ignored that remark and asked whether Mrs. Kirk had been accompanied by a man, who perhaps went by the name MacDonald. Janet knew nothing of any such person and said as much. Upon which, missus turned on her heel and left, barely pausing to thank Janet, who would later say that such was the way with these folk, they would not give you the steam off their porridge, or words to that effect.
Meanwhile the fountain ceremony was well advanced. Despite the fog and cold, quite a crowd had gathered at the Cross, mostly Snatter and Smoller residents but since this was the Edinburgh road, a number of strangers and passers-by had also stopped to see what was the go. The fountain was shrouded in green canvas. Beside it, a little platform had been erected, upon which stood the various dignitaries, master James, the Reverend Mr. Pollock and his brother Mr. Duncan Pollock
(Member of Parliament!),
Mrs. Duncan Pollock, Mr. Calvert the engineer from the foundry, and other honoured guests. Due to the small dimensions of the platform they were all rather huddled together at the back, “closer than a shirt tail and a shitty arse”, as one onlooker remarked.
Master James had begun the proceedings promptly by ringing a wee bell to command attention. Thereafter he produced a huge shear of paper upon which he claimed (rather bashfully) to have wrote his speech. This was thought to be a great joke and was greeted by much laughter until the crowd realised their mistake—the reams of paper did in fact constitute a lengthy oration. Perhaps master James was keen to flex his parliamentary muscle. At any rate, his speech dragged on and on. Several folk drifted away and more might have joined them had not a few bystanders with watches taken it upon themselves to
time
master James with the result that a hasty sweepstake was got up, which revitalised proceedings no end and ensured that everyone present hung onto his every word, both those who had made a bet and those who were just tickled to see who would win.
As the inexplicable restlessness among the crowd turned to what seemed like rapt attention, master James grew in confidence. He poked fun at the old wells in the village, saying that the supply of water drawn from there had two advantages, that it was a tea saver (since the colour was light brown) and that because it swarmed with animalcule it could be said to be both food and drink. These were familiar jests, but politely received nonetheless. Much encouraged, he went on. He had great plans for Snatter, he tellt them. This fountain was just the beginning. It would be gas in pipes next, he said, to light the street and perhaps even gas candelabras in every household. Again, there was laughter from the crowd and some wag called out, Aye, and refrigeration machines,“ which caused much hilarity. Undeterred, master James pressed on. He thanked his honoured guests at length, in particular Mr. Duncan Pollock (Member). And so it went on. And on and on.
Once the 30 minute mark had been reached, most estimates of how long the speech would last had been surpassed and the majority of those who had placed bets had been forced to drop out. Only two men were left in the contest, Biscuit Meek and Willie Aitken, the old Tollman. Willie had estimated 35 minutes and Biscuit had gone for 46. Perhaps Biscuit could be expected to know his master better, but as it turned out the speech lasted just over 37 minutes, making Willies estimate the closer and him the victor. Since Willie was a well-liked man and Biscuit was no such thing, the outcome of the sweepstake caused great jubilation among the crowd. As master James made his closing remarks and retired to the back of the platform, hats were thrown into the air and there was general cheering and hurrahs all round. Master James, mistaking this happy clamour for the reception to his address, looked most gratified.
After that, and with only a few small technical delays, the canopy was removed from the fountain, which prompted many whistles and cries of “Oooh!” and ‘Aaahh!“ not all of which were satirical. Master James invited the honoured guests to taste the water, which was pronounced cold but delicious and while the nabobs were busy with their spouts and cups, many of the general assembly took advantage of the pause to settle their debts. A few arguments broke out and small boys ran hither and thither with money and flasks that had been recharged over at the Swan. Presently, the little bell was rung to bring everyone to order for it was now the turn of the Reverend Mr. Archibald Pollock to address the people.
The Reverend spoke without notes and held up both his hands to prove it, before sticking two fingers in his waistcoat pocket, the better to stride about the stage. He began by congratulating master James on his excellent address, saying that by comparison his own offering would be a mere Pygmey. With a smile of the utmost modesty, Reverend Pollock confessed himself to be no Mr. Dickens. He would not be orating at any length, he said, nor pausing to roll up his shirtsleeves, nor mopping his fevered brow with a kerchief, nor indeed staggering, spent, from the stage. During these remarks he gazed at the crowd with his beady eye, looking neither right nor left and certainly not behind him at the previous speaker, but it was generally felt that his comments were somehow directed at master James.
The Reverend then turned to gaze upon the fountain, good-natured appreciation writ large across his features. He was reminded, he said, of William of Orange.
Master James, who had until this point been staring at the platform, looked up, apparently startled. Aye, says the Reverend, William the Third who—it was too little realised—had not only been a great soldier and politician but an accomplished gardener as well, with a great fondness for extravagant waterworks and, yes, fountains not unlike this one. Reverend Pollock confessed that he had not had the good fortune to see the great Kings famous gardens at Het Loo but that he had on two occasions visited Hampton Court and there seen many a wonderful fountain, most of them perhaps a little more extravagant than this one—but then (he said) Mr. Reid was well known locally for his superlative fiscal ability.
Here, the Reverend paused a moment, to smile into the crowd. Behind him, master James was scowling and looking this way and that, as though he had smelled something bad. The Reverend approached the front of the platform and in a stage whisper confided that although it might not yet be common knowledge, Mr. Reid wished to emulate his own good brother, Mr. Duncan Pollock, by pursuing a career in politics. Some people, he said, might be of the opinion that benevolent acts, such as providing public fountains, were a means of buying popular support. The Reverend shook his head and wagged his finger. He was not one of those people. And to prove it he sketched a low bow towards master James and wished him every good fortune. In closing, he expressed his fervent hope that—one day—Mr. Reid would turn out to be as successful and popular as his mentor Mr. Duncan Pollock. The minister then retreated to the back of the platform, from where he graciously acknowledged the applause with a wave of his hand.
Master James gave a stiff little bow and thanked the Reverend for his kind remarks. Then he invited the good people of Snatter to approach the fountain in an orderly manner to sample its water. A near-riot ensued as folk pushed to get to the front of the queue. Master James put his foreman Alasdair in charge of controlling the crowd whilst he buttonholed Duncan Pollock and wife, drawing them to safety, away from the general stramash on the other side of the Cross.
It was at about this time that missus was seen talking to Reverend Pollock. Previously, during his speech, one or two folk claim to have noticed a woman stood on the fringes of the crowd, staring at the Reverend with a certain cold intensity from behind the wings of her bonnet. She was said to have been muttering to herself and one man seen her call out an oath and shake her fist in the direction of the platform, but this behaviour did not seem
too
unusual for spirits were high. In any case, her cry went unheard amid the general racket.