Another of the Indian viceroys was the innocent occasion of great discomfort to me, or rather his wife was. Lady Elgin had left behind her a valuable diamond necklace. I was going back to my private tutor at Ely a few days after, and the necklace was entrusted to me to deliver to its owner on my way through London. There was no railway then further north than Darlington, except that between Edinburgh and Glasgow.
When I reached Edinburgh by coach from Inverness, my portmanteau was not to be found. The necklace was in a despatch-box in my portmanteau; and by an unlucky oversight, I had put my purse into my despatch-box. What was to be done? I was a lad of seventeen, in a town where I did not know a soul, with seven or eight shillings at most in my pocket. I had to break my journey and to stop where I was till I could get news of the necklace; this alone was clear to me, for the necklace was the one thing I cared for.
At the coach office all the comfort I could get was that the lost luggage might have gone on to Glasgow; or, what was more probable, might have gone astray at Burntisland. It might not have been put on board, or it might not have been taken off the ferry-steamer. This could not be known for twenty-four hours, as there was no boat to or from Burntisland till the morrow. I decided to try Glasgow. A return third-class ticket left me without a copper. I went, found nothing, got back to Edinburgh at 10 P.M., ravenously hungry, dead tired, and so frightened about the necklace that food, bed, means of continuing my journey, were as mere death compared with irreparable dishonour. What would they all think of me? How could I prove that I had not stolen the diamonds? Would Lord Elgin accuse me? How could I have been such an idiot as to leave them in my portmanteau! Some rascal might break it open, and then, goodbye to my chance for ever! Chance? what chance was there of seeing that luggage again? There were so many 'mights.' I couldn't even swear that I had seen it on the coach at Inverness. Oh dear! oh dear! What was to be done? I walked about the streets; I glanced woefully at door-steps, whereon to pass the night; I gazed piteously through the windows of a cheap cook's shop, where solid wedges of baked pudding, that would have stopped digestion for a month, were advertised for a penny a block. How rich should I have been if I had had a penny in my pocket! But I had to turn away in despair.
At last the inspiration came. I remembered hearing Mr. Ellice say that he always put up at Douglas' Hotel when he stayed in Edinburgh. I had very little hope of success, but I was too miserable to hesitate. It was very late, and everybody might be gone to bed. I rang the bell. 'I want to see the landlord.'
'Any name?' the porter asked.
'No.' The landlord came, fat, amiable looking. 'May I speak to you in private?' He showed the way to an unoccupied room.
'I think you know Mr. Ellice?'
'Glenquoich, do you mean?'
'Yes.'
'Oh, very well - he always stays here on his way through.'
'I am his step-son; I left Glenquoich yesterday. I have lost my luggage, and am left without any money. Will you lend me five pounds?' I believe if I were in the same strait now, and entered any strange hotel in the United Kingdom at half-past ten at night, and asked the landlord to give me five pounds upon a similar security, he would laugh in my face, or perhaps give me in charge of a policeman.
My host of Douglas' did neither; but opened both his heart and his pocket-book, and with the greatest good humour handed me the requested sum. What good people there are in this world, which that crusty old Sir Peter Teazle calls 'a d-d wicked one.' I poured out all my trouble to the generous man. He ordered me an excellent supper, and a very nice room. And on the following day, after taking a great deal of trouble, he recovered my lost luggage and the priceless treasure it contained. It was a proud and happy moment when I returned his loan, and convinced him, of what he did not seem to doubt, that I was positively not a swindler.
But the roofless night and the empty belly, consequent on an empty pocket, was a lesson which I trust was not thrown away upon me. It did not occur to me to do so, but I certainly might have picked a pocket, if - well, if I had been brought up to it. Honesty, as I have often thought since, is dirt cheap if only one can afford it.
Before departing from my beloved Glenquoich, I must pay a passing tribute to the remarkable qualities of Mrs. Edward Ellice and of her youngest sister Mrs. Robert Ellice, the mother of the present member for St. Andrews. It was, in a great measure, the bright intelligence, the rare tact, and social gifts of these two ladies that made this beautiful Highland resort so attractive to all comers.
