Robert Dudgeon stared at him, with his mouth stuck out in an obstinate purse making his large moustaches bristle.
‘But you’re being ridiculous,’ said Cadwallader. ‘What has he said? Is it Rev. Dowd? Is it the whisky? Could you do it without the whisky? Is it Rev. McAndrew? Has he said that you’ll bring down the wrath of God?’
‘It would be a wee bit late to be worrying about that now, sir,’ said Mr Dudgeon. ‘I’ve been the Burry Man for twenty-five year.’
‘Well, exactly!’ said Cadwallader. ‘Twenty-five years. Tradition. Not to mention the thousands of years of tradition before that.’
‘Don’t you think I know that? Sir,’ said Mr Dudgeon, glaring at Cadwallader. ‘Why do you think I’ve done it year in year out? It’s not easy.’
‘I’m well aware of that, Dudgeon,’ said Cadwallader. ‘And did I not say that I’d give you Monday off as a holiday? As well as Friday. And Saturday for the Fair. On top of last Monday.’
‘Last Monday was the August Bank, though,’ I said gently. ‘One can’t take credit for that.’
‘Bank holidays!’ said Cadwallader. ‘They’re a new one on me, I must say. I thought the servants were having me on. And there are dozens. All paid.’
‘A handful,’ I said. ‘And, speaking of pay, Mr Dudgeon, what about the Burry Man? Do they pay you for that?’ I am not the subtlest woman ever born and this was blunt even for me, only I was thinking that we might be witnessing a stand-off for higher wages and Cad, as an American, might not have been able to read the signs. I mean, an American who wanted more money might simply say in a loud voice: ‘Give me more money, pal!’ but a Scot would rather die.
‘Not to speak of, madam,’ said Mr Dudgeon. ‘It’s not the money.’
‘Although there is money,’ said Cadwallader. ‘And I wouldn’t have thought you could just thumb your nose at it, Robert. That’s very surprising.’
Mr Dudgeon glared at him again.
‘So how about it?’ said Cadwallader. ‘What would it take?’
Mr Dudgeon did not answer this, but just shook his head and curled his lip rather.
‘Oh yes, I know what you’re thinking. Coming over here, taking over, thinking he can buy anything,’ said Cad.
Mr Dudgeon and I were both squirming now. Someone would have to have a word with Cad about talking to servants.
‘But you mark my words,’ he went on. ‘They’ll find a way to blame me for this. Next year when all those so-called ladies and their tame pastors have stopped playing holier-than-thou and soberer-than-thou all they’ll remember – all they’ll remember – is that the Yank came and a thousand years of history went out the window. You just watch.’
‘Cad,’ I said, seeing that he was working himself into a temper, but he interrupted me.
‘And I’d like to know, Robert – as well as who’s threatening you – just exactly what they’re threatening you with. I mean you’re my estate carpenter and you live in one of my cottages, so who else can threaten you?’
‘Cad,’ I said again.
‘No, God damn it,’ said Cadwallader. ‘That’s a very good point. Robert, I am ordering you to do the Burry Man routine tomorrow, as your employer and as your landlord. Do I have to make it any plainer than that?’
‘Cadwallader!’ I said. ‘Can you give Mr Dudgeon and me a few minutes?’ Cad seemed more than ready to refuse, even though this was exactly why he had roped me in, but he caught hold of himself in time and, with a last disgusted look at Robert Dudgeon, he left.
‘Now then,’ I said. I gestured to a chair and Dudgeon, after hesitating a moment, sat down stiffly and rested his rough, red fists on his knees. ‘I am quite sure Mr de Cassilis didn’t mean a word of that, and of course if you are adamant then you must have very good reasons, but let’s see if we can work something out.’ Robert Dudgeon looked at me stonily but seemed ready to listen. I thought for a moment or two.
‘Surely someone else in the village could step in,’ I said at last.
‘It’s hard work, madam, it takes a load of stamina and willpower to keep going all the day long. It would be a very bad thing if someone tried and failed. A very bad thing.’
‘You mean bad luck?’
‘It doesn’t bear thinking about,’ said Mr Dudgeon, and shuddered.
‘But isn’t it almost as bad if no one does it at all?’ I said. Perhaps if I kept him focused on this aspect he would come round of his own accord. His face showed me that he was struggling, but he won himself over in the end.
‘It’s worse. It’s the blackest bad luck you could have, but it can’t be helped.’
‘And can’t you think of someone, anyone, who feels as strongly as you do about it? Who would just make himself find the stamina no matter what? Do you pass it down the generations? Do you have a boy you could play the heavy father with?’ His face was clouding as I spoke, and I should have known better. One should always know better now, since the war, than gaily to ask a man of fifty if he has sons.
‘He didn’t come home, madam,’ said Mr Dudgeon and we sat a while in silence.
‘I say, what about Mr de Cassilis!’ I was half joking and was delighted to get a smile out of Mr Dudgeon in spite of himself. ‘He seems keen enough, judging by what we just saw, doesn’t he? And he certainly has a vested interest.’ The more I thought about this, the more the idea grew on me. ‘There might be a bit of talk about an incomer taking over,’ I said. ‘But if we can swear the inner circle to secrecy, once the burry suit is on, it will be too late for anyone to do a thing about it. And no one would go as far as to rip it off again, now would they?’
He was still shaking his head but at least he seemed to be thinking, his eyes darting back and forth over the pattern in the rug.
‘Are you having an idea?’ I asked, eagerly. ‘Is there someone?’
‘Eh? Oh no, there’s no one I can think of, madam. But… mebbes it’ll be all right after all.’ He was looking at me without seeing me, plotting furiously at something or other.
‘You can do it?’ I asked. He chewed his lip for a bit before answering.
‘I think so,’ he said. ‘Aye, I can. I’m sure I can, madam, yes.’
We chatted on for a bit about this and that, his work on the castle roof, the determination of Cad and Buttercup to live here. I had not been used to think of myself as handling servants well – my own run rings around me – but after all, I had been mistress of my house for over fifteen years now and I must be almost exactly what Mr Dudgeon was used to, compared with Cadwallader at least.
So I fairly bounced downstairs to the Great Hall ten minutes later. On entering it, I found the guests departed and Cad, Daisy and Buttercup sitting on the table, for want of anywhere else to rest themselves, looking dejected.
‘Was any blood shed?’ I asked. ‘I heard no klaxons.’
‘All very well for you,’ said Daisy. ‘You escaped. I’ve had “fresh air and exercise” in one ear and “the demon drink” in the other for a solid half-hour, Dan.’
‘So much for your sip of something delicious, darling,’ I said to Buttercup. ‘Expect to be damned in every pulpit come Sunday.’
‘Yes,’ said Buttercup. ‘But even the ones who drink seem to disapprove of me anyway. Father Whatsisname was fearfully sour.’
‘They think you’re divorced,’ I told her.
‘They’re a little premature,’ said Cadwallader, but at Buttercup’s pout, he shoved her with his elbow and said: ‘I’m only joking, Droopy,’ and Buttercup cheered up and beamed.
I took pity on them at last and told my news.
‘Miracle worker!’ said Buttercup. ‘What did you say to him?’
‘Oh, I haven’t told you about Dandy’s new-found talent for… well, everything, have I?’ said Daisy.
‘I got chummy and then appealed to his pride,’ I said. ‘And I’ve promised him a ten-pound tip.’ I had done no such thing, had only just thought of it there and then, but I felt Cadwallader needed to make some reparation for his outburst.