After Death Comes Debt: The Choice That Changes Mina’s Future

Death and poverty—perpetual travellers, who seem to take pleasure in dogging each other’s footsteps from house to house—had, as too frequently proves the case, entered the abode of the Frazers almost simultaneously.

The husband, having invested all his fortune—ten thousand pounds—in some absurd speculation, which was, so he once affirmed, to give him “thirty thousand for his daughter’s portion, and plenty more besides,” was so overwhelmed at the first mention of a possibility of failure, that he sunk under the violence of his grief and anxiety, never to rise again; and the very day after his demise, letters from a mighty city brought unto that lonely nook the intelligence that, not merely were “the thirty thousand pounds not coming, but that the ten thousand had gone.”

78It is sad when death enters any door, but it is sadder still when poverty follows the ghastly visitor through the portal the latter has left open behind him, bringing a double portion of sorrow into that home where sorrow enough previously abode.

To weep by the corpse of a dearly-loved friend is bitter, we have all felt; but to be, in addition, anxious concerning the vulgar matter of daily bread, to have to consider, almost ere the funeral train be out of sight, how life is to be supported, creditors satisfied, a shelter provided, children fed, clothed, and educated, is a something so repugnant to every feeling of human nature, that it rarely carries its burden of sorrow bravely, but too frequently sits hopelessly down in its despair and declares the attempt utterly useless, unless friends or relatives will lighten the load with the magic touch of gold.

Mrs. Frazer never thought of making the attempt at all, however, whether aided in her endeavour or not; she was one of the apparently most amiable and really most helpless amongst the innumerable descendants of Eve; she was grateful for money, if it were given cheerfully or obtainable readily, and could spend it, as some of her sex can, without a thought of whether she were making a good use of it or whether, when it was exhausted, she would be 79able to obtain fresh supplies: so long as gales from those blessed islands called, in our vulgar tongue, banker’s coffers, filled the sails of her bark, the lady floated on happily, tranquilly; she could ask for gold, receive it, smile sweetly in return for it, change it away for things of doubtful value and still more questionable utility,—but make it! A pilgrimage to the moon would have sounded to her quite as possible a proposition as for her to do aught to increase her income. And so nobody ever did suggest such an impossible project unto her: she was perfectly prostrated by the death of her husband and by the loss of his fortune, but she dimly reflected, “When I was a child, my father provided for me; when I became a wife, my husband did the same; and now I am a widow, somebody will give me all I require?” and consolation and encouragement came with the idea into her mind.

Had his creditors not taken the property of the late Captain Frazer into their own hands, she would have entreated the laird of Craigmaver to “put matters to rights for her;” as it was, the above procedure saved him trouble and her trouble, and left both at liberty to quit Glenfiord, a place which had now become unendurable to her, and proceed northwards, accompanied by Mina and her son; 80for the widow unhesitatingly accepted the offer of a temporary home at Craigmaver till her future plans were matured,—till, in plainer words, she heard whether her rich bachelor half-brother, Mr. Merapie, were going to “act a brother’s part towards her and make Malcolm his heir and promise Mina a fortune.”

“Take the cottage near Craigmaver and have a comfortable little farm yard, just sufficient to provide us with milk and butter and eggs for our own use, and send Malcolm to school, and live with Mina here on fifty pounds a year!” she exclaimed one day, about a month after her arrival, in answer to the laird’s remonstrance against her journeying south. “My dear uncle, you must be dreaming; why my father allowed me more than that for dress alone when I was a girl, and your nephew, Allan, though not very rich, had still what made us comfortable, five hundred a year besides his half-pay and Glenfiord; it is all very well to talk of people being contented and coming down to their situation; and some, perhaps, can do it, but I was not brought up to come down to my situation, and I could not and would not even dream of doing such a thing. John will never let me want, I know; and Malcolm, poor child, has set his heart on entering the navy, and how could he enter the navy here; and I 81should perfectly die of ennui amongst these savage hills if I had no carriage and did not visit Edinburgh every winter. No, no; my brother is right—we ought to go to London; it is my native place, you know, and whenever Mina is better we shall set out.”

“I think,” suggested Mr. Frazer, “that you might live comfortably here; your expenses would be very small; my people should attend to your poultry and garden: the house is small, I admit, but still large enough for you; I would be always near to assist or advise in any emergency: and surely,” he added, with a smile, “our mountain air must be as pure, and our Highland scenery is more beautiful than any you will meet with south of the Tweed.”

“It is very kind of you, I am sure,” she said, “to propose all this; but I have finally determined to accept John’s offer: there are such advantages about London, everything to be had that you want, nothing to do but pay for things and they are with you in five minutes. London possesses everything that a rational being can desire, excepting beautiful scenery, and you know I never cared for that.”

Which was perfectly true, for even in her youngest and most romantic days, Mrs. Frazer would have 82preferred the present of “a duck” of a new silk dress, to the sight of the loveliest view that eye ever rested on. But if she liked the city streets, Mr. Frazer thought he knew a little creature who would pine amongst them; so he said:

“Well, perhaps you are right, and I confess mine was not altogether an unselfish proposition, for I desired to keep you all near me; but I wish greatly that, at least for the present, you would leave Mina here: she is so delicate, so susceptible, that I fear this sudden snapping of all old ties may prove most injurious to her; the child will break her heart in London, pent up in the house or else sent out for stated walks, after the liberty to which she has been accustomed.”

“Her father permitted her to run wild,” returned the lady pettishly; “she will be a deal the better for a little restraint; she is still young enough to be brought into training. I really sometimes tremble to think what a strange unmanageable creature my poor dear husband was making her,—letting her do just as she pleased—run out without bonnet or gloves, getting her complexion ruined and her hands the colour of rosewood—work amongst clay and sand, and even soot—and talk to servants and poor people till she acquired all their extraordinary 83notions. She told me the other day, that she was very nearly as fond of Colin Saunders as of you: now only think of her even saying such a thing!”

“Well, I have no doubt she only spoke the truth,” responded the old man; then, after musing for a few minutes, he said, “And I suppose you will send the little wild mountain sprite to some fashionable London school, where she will have to learn all sorts of lessons, and be laced up in stays, and have to wear tight shoes, and either say what she does not think or else keep all her thoughts to herself; and instead of the affectionate heart she now possesses, she will grow ashamed of caring much of anything save herself and the fripperies and follies of fashion: she must either change her nature or break her heart. My poor little Mina! will you leave her with me?”

“If I had no other inducement for leaving this country,” said the widow rather angrily, “Mina would be a sufficient motive to make me do so. The child has been perfectly ruined, and in a town and amongst other young people, I pray she may lose that eccentricity which now distinguishes her. She has the strangest ideas and thoughts, and the most disagreeable way of giving expression to them: one of her convictions at present is, that no one 84excepting herself, you, and Colin is really grieved at her father’s death.” And Mrs. Frazer applied her handkerchief to her eyes as she recorded this crowning sin, and shed a few tears in a very proper manner, while Mr. Frazer reflected that Mina was not very far wrong; for so long as her son lived, his nephew’s widow cared very little if all the rest of the world died; and, besides, the idea of leaving a country and a people she had always disliked and of returning to the joys and bustle of England’s metropolis, had tended not a little to banish her sorrow and make her regard the demise of her husband, who had been, as she thought, absurdly attached to his native land, not quite so great a misfortune as she might otherwise have considered it. Her brother, Mr. John Merapie, would give her a handsome house, servants, equipages, everything, in fact, she wanted; for she knew he was enormously rich, and resided, moreover, in that mighty Babylon where everything, save peace of mind, is to be purchased for ready-money—cash on delivery.

“I do not say,” resumed Mr. Frazer, after an unsatisfactory pause, “that I ever considered poor Allan’s system of education, or rather of non-education, so far as my little Mina was concerned, peculiarly fortunate or beneficial. If you will leave her 85with me, I intend to try if it be not possible to make her less a child in some ways and more a child in others; to eradicate many strange ideas which I admit she has acquired, and to teach her those absolutely necessary things which her indulgent father said ‘she was far too young to be teazed learning.’ In one word, I would endeavour to improve and enlarge her mind, without changing her heart; only let me keep her for one year, and if, at the expiration of that period, you do not think her considerably altered for the better, I will resign all right and title to her. Will you permit her to stay?”

“My dear uncle,” said the lady impressively, “I would do any one thing in the world to oblige you except this; I know perfectly well what Mina’s faults are and why they are: so long as Allan lived, I could not interfere, because he thought Mina could do no wrong, and considered her very defects virtues; but now the case is different. I am quite persuaded that so long as she even breathes the air of Scotland she will remain unmanageable: I wish her to associate with other girls, to be instructed in feminine accomplishments, to be drilled into the decorums of refined English society, to acquire a certain retenue of manner, and, above all, to be removed 86from vulgar associates, who, I verily believe, would soon teach her to speak broad Scotch and eat haggiss.”

“The latter accomplishment she has become perfect in without the advantage of masters,” remarked Mr. Frazer, with a smile; “but to return to my petition: leave her at Craigmaver for twelve months, and I promise to preserve her from contact with the commonalty; her accent shall be kept as pure as any accent out of England can be; and should you make the same a sine quâ non, I think that I can ensure that she shall not acquire any dreadful penchant for our national and, by consequence, heathenish dishes: she cannot possibly learn any harm here; and, with the blessing of Providence, I hope to be enabled to teach her some good.”

“I am sure,” responded Mrs. Frazer, “it is uncommonly kind of you to take such an interest about her; I do not understand why you should do so—if it were Malcolm I could comprehend it better—and Mina never can feel sufficiently grateful for all the trouble you wish to have on her account: but indeed it cannot be; it would be a most impolitic arrangement, to say nothing of the appearance to the world. My brother is so very rich, that it would be imprudent not to make her dependent on him, 87for he can afford to educate her regardless of expense. There are no advantages in Scotland of any kind; in fact, no one can ever, strictly speaking, be termed a “gentlewoman,” unless she has been at a first-class London school. Five, I think, of the very happiest years of my life were passed at the most expensive seminary in town; for my poor dear father never regarded money when I was concerned. It would be almost a sin to deprive Mina of opportunities for improvement such as I enjoyed: and in the course of a few months she will grow to like London, and be quite a changed being.”

Mr. Frazer had been silently contemplating the lady—who, reclining gracefully on a very comfortable sofa, with a sort of widowed and ladylike grief on her countenance, had in a very languid tone uttered the above sentence—and the conclusion at which he speedily and ungallantly arrived was, that if his nephew’s wife was the result of five years’ fashionable training, on the whole the Glenfiord system might be deemed preferable. For the old laird had never, even in her loveliest and best days, entertained any especial affection for her whom Allan Frazer—then a young subaltern, with an income barely sufficient for his own support, and a fortune of just one thousand pounds, which he 88settled on her—had wedded against the advice of his friends, and the consent of hers, for love. There was much anger, then forgiveness, then a handsome allowance from her father, who it was expected would leave her a considerable sum at his demise; many congratulations from military acquaintances on the happy termination of his matrimonial speculation; a little active service, and then, Allan Frazer, a captain on half-pay, falling, through the death of a relative, into possession of Glenfiord and ten thousand pounds, retired, to his wife’s inexpressible chagrin, from the bustle and excitement of town life, and made but one single step from the gaieties of London, balls, picnics, country quarters, to the utter desolation and solitary grandeur of Loch Lomond!

But circumstances had lately occurred which rendered her opposition of the slenderest and most useless description. The love, born of fancy not of reason, which had lighted in a moment in the young Scotchman’s imagination, and been blown into something like an intense blaze by the breath of opposition, died out when that opposition was withdrawn almost as rapidly as it had kindled. Since time immemorial, ill-natured people said “the Frazers had been considered more charming in their manners, 89than constant in their attachments;” but whether this assertion were correct or not, whether the fault lay in the nature of the husband or the character of the wife, one thing is certain,—after a few years Allan found himself frequently smiling, in a somewhat bitter manner, at the idea of his ever having been absolutely “in love” with the graceful and heartless Englishwoman—so much in love, indeed, as once to have seriously contemplated the desirability of suicide when obstacles, apparently insurmountable, appeared to bid defiance to their union.

Thus, even whilst her father lived, even whilst backed by money, friends, position, Mrs. Frazer at length discovered that her influence over her husband was of the very slightest description; and when, after the demise of her father—who had in his generation been esteemed one of the Babylonish merchant princes—it was discovered that he had died just at the proper time, leaving behind precisely what covered his funeral expenses, and no more,—Captain Frazer took, as some men will take in such cases, a much higher tone than formerly with his refractory wife, whose resistance to aught which he wished from the day when her supplies were stopped, became of that nature which is generally called passive.

90He was always kind to her,—for if the Frazers did choose wives absurdly and rashly, and repented them of their impetuosity, when repentance was worse than a folly, they always did treat anything connected with them of the feminine description, whether mother, sister, wife, or daughter, kindly—after a fashion. If they could not give love, they gave what very frequently does just as well, courtesy: they never quarrelled and argued, but politely expressed their desires, and expected them to be complied with instanter. They never said, “You must, madam;” but their quiet “You will, my dear,” had to be obeyed perhaps even more rapidly than a more peremptory command from less determined lips. In a word, when all the money and influence and power lay in the hands of the ci-devant captain, he carried his wife captive to Scotland, and set her down in a very beautiful cage, surrounded by everything for which she did not care—scenery, sterling hearts, flowers, beauty, perfume, solitude—and the only happy portions of her life during the ten years she spent in the land of cakes and easterly winds were those brief periods passed in the ancient town of Edinburgh, where Allan had no objection to take her, and go himself, for three months out of every dreary twelve. The world was good enough to remark 91what an extremely united couple Captain Frazer and his English wife appeared; and, in truth, externally they did “get on” charmingly, for he gave her, without hesitation, a liberal supply of money; paid her bills, and never frowned at their amount; had a bijou of a phaeton, drawn by two Shetland ponies, made for her especial behoof; and to sum all up into a lady’s sentence, “was an excellent husband.”

For if he were not devotedly attached to her, neither was she to him; and he permitted her to indulge and spoil Malcolm to even a greater extent than he, as Mrs. Frazer affirmed (though not in his hearing), “ruined” Mina; and each allowed the other to pursue his and her own separate path, without much hindrance or molestation: and if people be not very fond of, and most tolerant towards the faults and foibles of, one another, believe me the wider apart their paths are—even should those paths be matrimonial ones—the better.

And thus matters progressed peaceably and pleasantly enough, till Mr. Frazer’s death cut the Gordian knot (which men and women are perpetually tying in haste with their tongues to the end that they may repent at leisure in their hearts) for ever; when, as we have seen, the disconsolate widow 92left Glenfiord, and repaired to Craigmaver, preparatory to a still longer journey home to the land of her birth, her affections, and her hopes.

After what has been advanced concerning the manners of all the individuals composing the Frazer clan, from the laird down to the hundred and sixty-second cousin, towards that largest half of humanity styled so emphatically by our polite and lively allies, “le beau sexe,” you, most patient reader, will readily believe that Mr. Frazer never permitted anything like the time occupied in the above somewhat wearisome, but most necessary, digression to elapse between the termination of his visitor’s remark and his rather melancholy reply thereto.

“And so you will not comply with my request, and I must part with the child who has been more unto me than many a daughter is unto many a parent? Well, well, perhaps I was foolish to expect a different decision, and I hope and trust and pray the step you are now taking may prove for her ultimate good both here and hereafter; but there is a presentiment on my mind—which, like the vision of the seer, oppresses my soul, and makes me speak when, perhaps, I ought not to do so—that in that far distant city where you propose taking her, and under fashionable instructresses, my dear little Mina 93will either remain just what she is, and become perfectly miserable, or else change so completely as to render those who love her best upon earth wretched for her sake. There are great materials in her character to bring forth either evil or good, according to the seed which may be sown: but I leave all with humble trust in the hands of Him who can guide her, there or here, and keep her always in the straight path that leads so surely unto heaven.”

Mrs. Frazer had raised an embroidered handkerchief to her face to conceal a yawn during the progress of this speech, and at its conclusion answered:

“As you most justly remark, there is a Providence which overrules the destinies of individuals dwelling in London as well as at Craigmaver. I prefer the former; and I have no doubt but that Mina will be very good and happy there, and when you next see her, you will admit she is greatly improved.” And as if she considered the discussion concluded, and desired that it should be so, she arose, and taking her relative’s arm, led him through one of the open windows of the drawing-room into the garden beyond; and the old man, looking around at the mountains and the firs and the distant valleys, sighed as he wondered how any one who could stay 94amongst such scenery would voluntarily choose to quit it.

The autumn had completely passed ere Mina, still very pale and weak, was pronounced by a dreadful old Highland doctor—who took snuff and called Mrs. Frazer “My leddy,” and talked to her in Scotch so harsh, that it excruciated her refined Saxon ears—at all fit to travel: but cold and dreary though November might be, the widow determined to depart immediately,—“Anything,” as she impressively said to her English lady’s-maid, “being preferable to a winter at Craigmaver.”

“And so, Mina darling, we have to say good-bye in real sorrowful earnest,” said the laird to the child, a few minutes before the time of parting actually arrived; “in real sorrowful earnest,” he repeated, looking mournfully upon her.

“Going away, dear good old uncle,” she cried, putting her arms about his neck, “to the great big toun as Colin calls it, which he says is the ‘head quarters o’ Satan;’ going away from everything—far away, where I can’t see you: nobody to love Mina there.”

Mr. Frazer kissed a large tear from the quivering eyelids, as he answered somewhat doubtfully,

“You have your mamma, Mina.”

95“And my mamma has Malcolm, uncle,” she quickly responded; “but I am to go with cousin Allan to say ‘good-bye’ to Colin—poor Colin:” and even as she spoke, she took the hand of the old laird’s grandson, a stripling of some seventeen years of age, and went forth with him, quietly and tearfully, to bid her humble friend farewell.

“I’m going, Colin,” she said, stretching out both her little palms; “good-bye.”

The gardener gazed dimly on her through a kind of film that, spite of all his efforts at composure, would obscure his sight.

“Ye’re goin’ hundreds o’ miles awa’ frae us a’, Miss Mina,” he said, and the words were uttered in a harsh hollow tone, “an’ we’ll never get a sight o’ ye again, never!”

“Yes, yes, you will,” she rejoined; “I mean to come back to Craigmaver when I’m a young lady, and live here always.”

“Ah! you will think differently, then, Mina,” said her cousin Allan; “you will soon forget Scotland and Craigmaver and all of us: won’t she, Colin?”

“I’d tak’ an oath, if the like were needed, that she winna forget even a single daisy on the moors, Maister Allan,” returned the gardener vehemently; 96“but wherever ye be, or whatever ye think o’, gude go wi’ ye, an’ God tak’ care o’ ye; I could na wish ye a better wish, Miss Mina, if I talked for a year.”

“What shall I send you from London to remember me by, Colin?” she asked.

“When ye are writing to the laird or Maister Allan, for I believe ye can write finely, Miss Mina, send me word ye are well, and sometimes ask ‘how is Colin?’ it is all I want; I need naething to remember my dear old master’s child by—naething!”

“But you must have something for yourself, something you can look at and think I sent you,” she persisted: “Oh! I know now; I’ll buy you an English mull, which you can use on Sundays; and then, when I am going to church in London, I’ll think you are carrying it to kirk with you at Craigmaver; won’t that do, cousin Allan? I can’t stay any longer, Colin,” she added, hearing her mother’s maid calling for her. “Good-bye! I’ll never forget anybody here; and when I’m old, I’ll come back to Craigmaver to see you all: indeed I will—good-bye!”

She was gone; the gardener gazed after her as she ran towards the house: he stood as if turned into stone. In a few minutes the noise of carriage wheels grating on the gravelled drive aroused him, 97and climbing hastily a mound which commanded an extensive view of the southern road, he watched the receding vehicle till it became a tiny speck in the distance, and finally was lost altogether to view.

“For goodness gracious sake,” exclaimed the lady’s-maid, who occupied a seat in the carriage opposite her mistress’s daughter; “for goodness gracious sake, Miss Mina, whatever ’ave you been a doing to your ’air?”

“I just cut off two curls for my uncle and Allan, and don’t torment me about it Haswell, because I had not time to take off my bonnet again and get at the back ones; they will grow again, and if they won’t, I don’t care:” by way of conclusion to which ’orribly naughty speech—as that perfect lady’s-maid, Miss Haswell, styled it—Mina relapsed into another paroxysm of grief, and wept and sobbed so that her mother became satisfied she was about to have some kind of a fit; and acting upon that impression ordered the driver to stop the carriage, as though such an act were likely to produce the least good effect under such circumstances. If the horses’ heads had been turned back the case might have been a little different; but as Mrs. Frazer had not the slightest idea of doing anything of the kind, and as scolding and remonstrances, and even stopping, 98proved alike useless and unavailing, Mina was at length permitted to cry in peace, which accordingly she did till she was so perfectly exhausted that she could cry no more.

But other tears fell that day at Craigmaver, from the eyes of a true-hearted, and—though he did yield to the weakness which men scoff at—sensible Highlander, who wept, as he said, “sair,” to think that his dead master’s child was going away so young and so unwillingly, “into the world.”