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Updated: June 2, 2025
Mistress Inchbare's hard bones showed themselves, like Mistress Inchbare's hard Presbyterianism, without any concealment or compromise. In short, a savagely-respectable woman who plumed herself on presiding over a savagely-respectable inn. There was no competition to interfere with Mistress Inchbare. She regulated her own prices, and made her own rules.
"For heaven's sake," she said, gayly, "don't tell your husband I am in Mrs. Inchbare's clothes! I want to appear suddenly, without a word to warn him of what a figure I am! I should have nothing left to wish for in this world," she added, "if Arnold could only see me now!" Looking in the glass, she noticed Anne's face reflected behind her, and started at the sight of it.
Anne made a second attempt to speak. "This gentleman " she began. Arnold stopped her for the second time. "This gentleman?" repeated Mrs. Inchbare, with a broad stare of surprise. "I'm only a puir woman, my leddy d'ye mean yer husband here?" Arnold's warning hand touched Anne's, for the third time. Mistress Inchbare's eyes remained fixed on her in merciless inquiry.
Brinkworth had written beforehand to announce his arrival at his estate for the fourteenth of August but that he had not actually appeared until the fifteenth. The one discovery needed to substantiate Mrs. Inchbare's evidence being now in Lady Lundie's possession, she decided to allow another day to pass on the chance that Sir Patrick might al ter his mind, and write to her.
Inchbare," she thought to herself. "And it is just possible that the conversation may get beyond the relative merits of her poultry-yard and mine." A lapse of little more than two hours proved Hopkins's estimate of the latent enthusiasm in Mrs. Inchbare's character to have been correctly formed. The eager landlady appeared at Windygates on the heels of the returning servant.
Inchbare's best gown an ancient and high-waisted silk garment, of the hue called "bottle-green," pinned up in front, and trailing far behind her with a short, orange-colored shawl over her shoulders, and a towel tied turban fashion round her head, to dry her wet hair, looked at once the strangest and the prettiest human anomaly that ever was seen.
Such was the headwaiter at the Craig Fernie Inn; known, far and wide, to local fame, as "Maister Bishopriggs, Mistress Inchbare's right-hand man." "What are you doing there?" Anne asked, sharply. Mr. Bishopriggs turned himself about on his gouty feet; waved his duster gently in the air; and looked at Anne, with a mild, paternal smile. "Eh!
Inchbare's description to help us." Blanche looked round at the sleeping Geoffrey. "And he knows!" she said. "It's maddening, uncle, to look at the brute snoring in his chair!" Sir Patrick held up a warning hand. Before a word more could be said between them they were silenced again by another interruption.
The profitable disposal of the correspondence to Blanche was no longer among the possibilities involved in the case. As for treating with Sir Patrick, Bishopriggs determined to keep equally dear of the Cowgate, Edinburgh, and of Mrs. Inchbare's inn, so long as there was the faintest chance of his pushing his own interests in any other quarter.
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