“Young gentlemen half my age,” the admiral finished for her. “I suppose you’re right. If you’ll kindly find my cane, I’ll hobble off to my study, where I may gum my supper in peace.”
Elisabeth smiled. “You’re speaking of a gentleman twice your age, milord. You are hardly old and infirm.”
“I’m glad you think so, madam.”
The two of them were left standing alone on the threshold. Only Charbon tarried behind, curling round their legs.
Lord Jack stepped closer, the earthy scent of horse and rider filling her nostrils. Any sense of levity vanished from his countenance. “I’ve a letter from your mother.” He produced it at once and pressed it into her hands. “Meet me at five o’ the clock in my study, and I shall tell you more of what I found at Castleton.”
Elisabeth had already broken the seal and unfolded the letter before she reached her workroom. She’d not had news from home since September last, delivered by her brother. My dear Simon.
Her throat tightened when she saw the familiar handwriting in Gaelic, the few words scrawled across the page as if written in haste.
Saturday, 16 August 1746
My beloved Bess,
You were right, and I was so very wrong. Please, please forgive me. Lord Buchanan will tell you what I cannot say here.
I will love you always.
Your mother
The words began to swim. What has happened, Mother? She touched the paper, taking care not to let a tear fall on the ink and wash away Fiona’s words.
Lord Buchanan will tell you. Elisabeth looked at the sunlight pouring through her window, judging the hour by the slant of the rays. Might it be five o’ the clock soon? She started to drink the lukewarm tea Sally had left for her earlier, tried to mark the fabric for Kate’s gown, but concentrating proved difficult. Finally Elisabeth abandoned her tailor’s chalk and climbed the servants’ stair, unable to wait a moment longer.
Lord Jack was seated at his desk when she arrived. He waved her in at once and sent the footman on an errand. “Leave the door open,” he told the young man.
“Aye, milord,” he said and was gone.
Elisabeth sat across from the admiral, hands folded in her lap, her heart in her throat. “What did you find in Castleton?”
He’d never looked more serious. “Your mother is frightened, and for good reason.”
“Ben Cromar,” she whispered. Oh my sweet mother. When Lord Jack related their discussion, Elisabeth heard her mother’s voice. I should have listened. I should have heeded. I didna ken. “Is there nothing that can be done?”
“With your permission, I shall speak with Sir John. As sheriff, he surely has a counterpart in Aberdeenshire who might intervene. Though beneath a man’s own roof …” Lord Jack shook his head. “The law favors the husband in such matters.”
Elisabeth knew the Braemar parish minister would offer no assistance. Her mother had kept her distance from the kirk, worshiping the moon instead. “What else did she say?”
“She was very grateful for your letter,” Lord Jack assured her. “Said it was the first she’d had since marrying Mr. Cromar.”
“But—”
“I know. You wrote her monthly. But your letters were either intercepted by the government en route—”
“Or opened by Cromar.” Elisabeth stared at the floor, sickened at the thought of him reading her posts. “How could he be so cruel?”
The admiral stood, walked to the window, and gazed out onto the sunlit gardens. “Some men have no kindness left in them.”
She lifted her head. “And some have an abundance.”
After a lengthy silence, he turned back and shifted to another subject. “Your mother voiced a strong objection to having you sew livery for my footmen, so I promised her I’d hire a tailor.”
“But …” Elisabeth shared a concern of her own. “I’ll not have enough work to last until Saint Andrew’s Day.”
He looked down at her. “Bess, we had an agreement, which I intend to honor. Even if that means you’ll be tarrying about the house, talking to Charbon for hours on end while a tailor dresses my menservants.” When she started to protest, he cut her short. “Michael Dalgliesh. I thought he might be the man for the task.”
“He is a fine tailor,” Elisabeth agreed, “and would no doubt welcome the business. But Mr. Dalgliesh is already quite … engaged at the moment.”
“Engaged? By whom?”
“Betrothed, if you will. To my cousin Anne. They intend to wed on the last of August.”
His eyebrows rose. “Truly? Then you are quite right. The man can hardly sew for me while preparing to begin a new life with Miss Kerr.” He reclaimed his chair, then tossed down a cup of lukewarm tea. “I’ll seek some solution come Monday. There must be other tailors in Selkirk.”
“There are,” she said, though she’d not recommend narrow-minded Mr. Smail.
“Speaking of weddings,” Jack continued, “your mother asked about a silver ring she thought you might still be wearing. Something handed down from your grandmother.”
“And my great-grandmother Nessa before her.” Elisabeth glanced at her right hand, where an engraved silver band had lived for many years. Measure the moon, circle the silver. A sacred symbol of the pagan rituals she’d once embraced, then discarded for a greater, truer Love.
“I no longer have it,” she confessed, recalling how she’d deposited the silver ring, and her wedding ring as well, into Mr. Dewar’s waiting hand to pay for her carriage ride south. “I do hope my mother will forgive me.”
His steady gaze met hers. “A ring can be replaced, Bess. A daughter cannot.”
Fifty-Four
We often give our enemies
the means for our own destruction.
AESOP
ack strode through the quiet halls of Bell Hill, glad to be home. Not sailing the high seas, not calling at foreign ports, not climbing the rugged Highland hills. Home.
Even the rainy Sabbath afternoon could not dampen his mood. He’d been welcomed back by many at kirk that morning and had rubbed shoulders with Michael Dalgliesh, assured of much luck in love. A foolish custom, aye, but harmless.
Sitting beside Elisabeth, he’d almost rubbed shoulders with her too, so crowded was the pew. Mrs. Kerr and Gibson did little to hide their regard for each other, all but holding hands throughout the service. An odd pairing, Jack thought, but who was he to say where love might lead? As for Elisabeth, she was equally kind to all who crossed her path, which both pleased and disappointed him. Might she not shower a bit more attention on him?
Selfish, Jack. And thoughtless. She is a widow in mourning, remember?
Jack paused at the door to his dining room, with its long windows facing the garden, then he squinted, peering through the rain. Was someone approaching the house? Jack could barely make out the shape of a man dressed in dark colors, head bent against the blustery storm. The fellow was limping, Jack realized. He started toward the front door, intending to greet him. Was the man injured perhaps? Or merely seeking shelter from the elements?
Upon reaching the entrance hall, Jack pulled the bell cord, summoning Roberts from his private quarters. His butler appeared moments later, straightening his coat.
“Sorry, milord. Taking a wee Sunday nap …”
“No matter. We’ve a stranger about to knock on our door,” Jack told him. “See to his needs. Dry clothes, warm food, and a chair by the fire.”
“Very good, sir.” Roberts pulled open the great oak door, startling their visitor in the process.
“Lord Buchanan?” the man asked, looking over the butler’s shoulder.
“Indeed, sir.” Jack stepped forward, making a quick assessment. Thirty years of age perhaps, the dark-haired, dark-eyed man was not quite so tall or broad as he but a sizable figure nonetheless. His club foot explained the limp. The bundle under his arm was a mystery.
“Come, come,” Jack urged him, beckoning his visitor inside. “ ’Tis miserable to be out of doors in such weat
her.”
The younger man walked across the marble floor, trying in vain to hide his deformity. Jack could hardly blame him. Would he not do the same?
“I thank ye for yer kindness,” the stranger began. For a large man, he was uncommonly soft spoken, though the Highland lilt in his voice was easily detected. “I was sent here by Fiona Ferguson …, eh, Cromar.”
“Mrs. Cromar?” Jack echoed, staring at the man. “From Castleton of Braemar?”
“Aye, milord. The verra same.” He unbuttoned the dripping wool cape round his thick neck, then removed it with a gallant sweep. “Micht this be hung by the hearth for a wee bit?”
Roberts claimed the garment at once, then led the two men into the drawing room, where a crackling wood fire held the damp air at bay.
By now Mrs. Pringle had been alerted and stood in the doorway, awaiting orders.
“Will hot tea do?” Jack asked his guest. “Or is whisky more to your liking?”
“Tea,” the man said firmly, though he eyed the glass decanters, their amber contents sparkling in the firelight.
Jack nodded at his housekeeper, then directed his guest to a leather chair well suited for wet clothing. “You say Mrs. Cromar sent you?”
“In a manner o’ speaking.” The man untied his bundle, wrapped in calfskin, and produced a card advertising a tailoring shop in Edinburgh. “This is whaur I warked,” he explained, “and these are some o’ the garments I stitched.”
Jack barely looked at the neat stack of clothing. “Am I to understand you are … a tailor?”
“Aye, milord.” He smiled, though it did not soften his features. “Mrs. Cromar told me ye had need o’ my services.”
Jack shook his head in disbelief. “But all I require is livery for a few footmen. A month’s work at most. You cannot have traveled all the way from Braemar for so temporary a position.”
“A month o’ wark will suit me verra weel,” the younger man said. “I was already bound for London toun and thocht I might earn a bit o’ silver on my way.”
Still shaking his head, Jack began examining the offered garments. He saw at once the man was quite skilled with a needle and told him so.
“I learned a’ I ken from my faither,” he said proudly. “O’ course, he’s gane noo, and so is my mither.”
Jack studied the card from the shop on Edinburgh’s High Street. It appeared to be a worthy establishment. “You could lodge here at Bell Hill,” Jack said, thinking aloud, “then be on your way to London by Michaelmas.”
“Aye, so I could, milord.”
Jack would be pleased to have his footmen newly attired in time for the household supper at next month’s end. And Elisabeth’s mother surely trusted this young man, or she’d never have recommended him.
“Sir, your timing is … providential,” Jack told him. The truth was, he felt sorry for the younger man with no steady work and both parents gone. Elisabeth might appreciate having another Highlander in the house, and a friend of her mother’s at that.
“I can pay you a guinea for each suit of clothing,” Jack told him. “If we’re agreed, you may start on the morrow. We’ve a vacant workroom on the men’s side of the servant hall that should suit.”
That grim smile again. “Aye, ’twill do.”
Jack consulted the card once more. “Your name is MacPherson.”
“ ’Tis, milord.” He eyed the steaming cup of tea Mrs. Pringle had just poured for him. “Robert is my proper Christian name, though my freens a’ call me Rob.”
“I hope you’ll soon be among friends here as well.” Jack shook the man’s hand, taken aback at the strength of his grip. “Rob MacPherson, welcome to Bell Hill.”
Fifty-Five
It is easy to say how we love new friends …
but words can never trace out all
the fibers that knit us to the old.
GEORGE ELIOT
lisabeth flew across the stable yard, her gaze fixed on the servants’ entrance. Had the clock in the drawing room already struck eight? She’d slept later than she’d intended, then spilled tea on her white linen chemise. After soaking the fabric in hot water, she’d scrubbed the stain with lemon and salt. “I’ll dry it in the sun for you,” Anne had promised, sending Elisabeth on her way. A poor use for an expensive lemon, but it could not be helped.
She slipped into her workroom at Bell Hill unnoticed, then paused by the window, letting her heart ease its pace. Kate was due for her fitting later that morning. But Elisabeth had yet to finish chalking the fabric, let alone cutting and pinning it. If she started at once, she might be ready for the lass by eleven o’ the clock, provided she had no interruptions.
“Mrs. Kerr?”
When she turned to find Mrs. Pringle walking through the door, pocket watch in hand, Elisabeth apologized at once. “Do forgive my late arrival.”
The housekeeper smiled. “I’ve come not to scold you but to summon you. His lordship has hired a tailor to sew for the menservants and thought you’d want to meet him.”
“But …” Elisabeth tried to fathom how Lord Jack had found a man so quickly. “His lordship made no mention of him at kirk yesterday morn.”
Mrs. Pringle stepped farther into the room, glancing over her shoulder. “According to Roberts, the tradesman arrived yesterday afternoon, drenched from head to toe, and was hired within the hour. Come, his lordship is waiting.”
She added in a low voice, “The man is a Highlander, as you’ll soon see.”
Elisabeth followed her down the servants’ hall, feeling rather dazed. A tailor from the Highlands when skilled tradesmen could be found in Selkirk? She hastened up the stair to Lord Jack’s study, then paused at the door, waiting for the footman to announce her.
Standing behind his desk, the admiral waved her into the room. “There you are, Mrs. Kerr. Do come in, for I’ve an introduction to make.”
She slowly entered, gazing not at her employer but at the man seated in a wooden chair with his back facing the door. Even from this view he looked familiar. His black hair was thick and springy like wool. His dark green coat was expertly tailored. His shoulders were broad, yet he sat at an awkward angle with his foot tucked to the side.
When he stood, her heart began to pound. It cannot be. Nae, it cannot.
He turned as Lord Jack announced, “Mrs. Kerr, I’d like you to meet—
“Rob MacPherson.” Elisabeth stared at the man she’d known since childhood. “I thought you …” I thought you were dead. Grasping for something, anything she might say, she blurted out, “However did you find your way to Bell Hill?”
His dark gaze met hers. “Yer mither sent me here. To leuk for wark.” Or to look for me?
She swallowed. “It is … good to see you again.”
“Ye’ve not changed at a’,” he told her, his voice lower than she’d remembered.
She turned toward the admiral, knowing he deserved an explanation. “Mr. MacPherson and I grew up together. His father was the tailor who employed me in Edinburgh.” She hesitated, wondering how much Rob had told him. “I’ve not seen Mr. MacPherson since before his father’s death. You can imagine how … surprised I am to see him again. Here, of all places.”
“Indeed,” Lord Jack said evenly, “of all places. I imagine you two will wish to renew your friendship in the weeks to come.”
“Aye.” Rob gave her a sidelong glance, his black eyes gleaming. “That we will.”
Nae, Rob. We will not.
The tension in the room was more than Elisabeth could bear.
“I must attend to my sewing,” she said, easing toward the open door. “If you will excuse me, gentlemen.” She curtsied, then fled for the stair, sorry to have left Lord Jack with a scowl on his face. By the time she reached her workroom, she was wound as tightly as thread round a spool. Why are you here, Rob? What is it you want from me?
Sally was waiting for her, eyes like saucers. “Did ye meet the new tailor?”
“As it happens, I know him.” Elisabeth b
riefly told her of their connection, imagining how often her words would be repeated once news of Mr. MacPherson’s arrival traveled through the house and then through the town.
Rob would seek her out before long. Until then, she would keep her mind on her work and remember her parting words to him in Edinburgh. I was never yours. I belong to God.
When a male visitor darkened her doorway that afternoon, he was not a tailor but an admiral. “Mrs. Kerr, if I might have a moment of your time.”
She heard the coolness in his tone, the formality of his address, and vowed to put him at ease. “Lord Jack,” she said warmly, laying Kate’s unfinished sleeve across her lap. “I’m glad you’ve come.” She nodded at the empty chair beside her, with its cushioned seat and broad arms. “These chairs are far more comfortable than their predecessors. A wonderful provision, milord.”
Though he merely inclined his head, she could see her words pleased him.
He sat next to her and said in an offhanded way, “Tell me about Mr. MacPherson.”
Elisabeth studied his calm expression, the subtle arch of his brows, the thin line of his mouth. However relaxed he might seem, she knew better. Like Charbon, who often appeared to be sleeping yet was fully alert, Lord Jack was watching her intently.
“He is an excellent tailor,” she began. “His father, God rest his soul, declared there was not a finer hand with a needle in Edinburgh.”
The admiral grimaced. “I’ve no quarrel with his talent. ’Tis his motive for coming to Bell Hill that concerns me.”
“Ah.” She trod with care, wanting to be fair to both men. “He certainly needs the position and will work diligently for your guineas. How long have you engaged him?”
“ ’Til Michaelmas.” He did not sound pleased at the prospect. “The man is a Jacobite, I presume?”
“He is,” Elisabeth said, “though I know you’ll not betray him to the king.”
“And how do you know that?”
“Because, milord, you did not betray me.”
He lowered his gaze. “I would never betray you, Bess. But I would know the nature of your relationship with Mr. MacPherson.”
“We are friends. Nothing more.”
He looked up. “In the same way you and I are friends?”
Mine Is the Night Page 30
