Authors: Liz Curtis Higgs
No sooner was he seated than his stomach growled in anticipation
of the feast spread before him. Up and down the table were displayed heaping plates of thinly sliced pickled salmon and roast grouse wrapped in bacon, soft-curd cheeses and sharp-flavored cheddars, freshly baked scones and barley bannocks. Jamie spread his napkin across his lap and waited. Grace before meat.
Peter Drummond stepped behind Jamie to plant a solid grip on his shoulders. “Now the McKies are here, ’tis time to pray.”
Mr. Drummond spoke a short grace over the meal, then hands and plates went to work for a jubilant hour of eating and drinking, laughter and spirited conversation. The staid atmosphere of Auchengray’s table was noticeably absent at Glensone. When the guests had done their best to polish off every last bite of food, a fiddler presented himself at the door on cue. The red-headed musician struck up a merry rendition of “Johnny McGill” that brought the assembly to their feet to form two lines in the adjoining room, where the furniture had been pushed against the walls.
Jamie took several turns with Leana, as lithe and graceful a dancer as any in the room. Every time he looked at her, the corners of her full mouth were curled upward. How it pleased him to see her enjoying herself, surrounded by friends. He begrudgingly released her when Alan Newall of Troston Hill claimed her for a strathspey.
“Jessie’s at home with Annie,” the young farmer explained, “preparing for the arrival of our second. The
heidie
lass sent me out the door on my own. To give her a moment’s rest, or so she said.” Alan held out his hand. “Come along, Mistress McKie. Let’s see if I can’t do better than your man from Monnigaff.” Jamie laughed as the two joined the line in time for the bow and curtsy. A
tassie
of hot punch was pressed into his hands by Mistress Drummond as the fiddler struck the opening notes of “Green Grow the Rashes.”
While the others danced, Peter Drummond sidled next to him, hands clasped behind his back, a tentative expression on his face. “If you’ll not think me too bold, Mr. McKie, might I inquire as to Miss Rose McBride’s … er, health? Is she well? Enjoying school?”
“Aye, she is well.” Jamie smiled when he said it, pleased that not even a slight twinge of jealousy stirred inside him. It seemed his feelings for
Rose had faded even as his love for Leana had grown. “My sister-in-law is learning a great deal in Dumfries. I dare say we won’t recognize the girl when she comes home for a visit at week’s end.”
Peter looked away but not before Jamie noticed the spot of color on his cheeks. “Might there be a time when Rose … uh, that is, Miss McBride … would be at home? A time when I might … ah … call on her? At Auchengray?”
Jamie studied the lad’s earnest expression. Five years his junior, Peter Drummond was sole heir to an excellent property, as well-dressed and well-mannered a young man as any in the parish. Peter would make a fortunate match for Rose. Particularly after her disastrous blunder with Neil Elliot. Jamie clapped Peter on the shoulder and squeezed hard. “I’m certain a visit can be arranged once Rose arrives home on Friday.”
When Alan delivered Leana to Jamie’s side a few minutes later, his face was full of apology. “Why did you not warn me of your wife’s skills on the dance floor? I
grushed
her toes at least once in every chorus.”
Jamie ordered a maidservant to bring a second tassie of punch. “Your farm and ours share the same march, Alan. I thought surely you’d danced with Leana before.”
“
Oo aye
, many a time. But not with her husband laughing at me over his punch cup.”
“I see.” Jamie winked at Leana, then offered a toast, and the men drank to their mutual good health. “Afore it slips my mind, Alan, the bothy in the glen between Troston and Auchengray needs our attention. Stones that have tumbled loose and all. Might you help me set it to rights when the weather breaks?” Since the bothy stood where the properties met, both landowners were obliged to maintain it. Alan agreed, then tossed down the last of his punch and looked round for another lass to trample in a reel, leaving Jamie and Leana standing out of harm’s way.
“Rose and I often played in that bothy when we were children.” Leana took a sip from his tassie, then described how the girls had set up housekeeping in the rough stone hut and pretended they were married to shepherds.
“And now you’re married to a herd who doesn’t even have a bothy of his own to offer you for shelter.”
Leana smiled up at him, warming him more than the punch ever could. “Your love is all the shelter I need, Jamie.” She fished out the watch from his waistcoat pocket and opened the silver case. “The hour is late, and we’ve another engagement to keep, you and I. Unless you’d rather dance the next jig—”
“Say no more, lass.” He set down their cups. “I’ll get the chaise.”
Twenty-Five
In general, pride is at the bottom of all great mistakes.
J
OHN
R
USKIN
D
ésolé!
” Rose grasped the lace cuff of her gown and wrung it beneath her desk. “I’m sorry, Jane. Truly sorry.”
From the front of the classroom, the schoolmistress pinned her with a sharp look. “That is quite enough whispering, Miss McBride.”
Jane did not turn in her seat or acknowledge Rose with other than a slight tilt of her head before looking forward once more, leaving Rose no recourse but to do the same.
Och!
How could this have happened? Befriended in a day, discarded in an hour. An hour that began as a clandestine errand and ended with Rose in tears, fleeing the Globe Inn before a drop of whisky had been served or a seat taken.
That fateful Monday evening Jane had followed her out into the frigid evening air, her breath as heated as her words. “Rose, how
could
you be so rude! You greatly offended Mr. Burns and Mr. Waugh.”
“But they’re
married men
, Jane!”
“Naturally,” she’d said, folding her arms across her fur-trimmed cloak. “Unmarried men are to be avoided at all costs.”
Standing on the flagstones of the High Street, Rose had listened in dismay while Jane expounded on the merits of being seen in public with men who were properly wed rather than with eligible bachelors. “The first may lead to gossip, but the second could lead to the kirk door. And I, for one, am not ready to marry.”
They’d walked home in chilly silence and parted company as soon as they’d stepped inside Carlyle School. Though they had sat near each other at supper, they did not speak. Though their beds were side by side, not a word was exchanged.
Now it was Thursday. Lessons were to end at noontide so that each young lady might pack her trunk and prepare for her first weekend at
home. Home was the last place Rose wanted to go, not until the breach with Jane was mended. Rose did not regret leaving the Globe Inn, but she did mourn the loss of her friendship with Jane Grierson. Was there no way to restore Jane’s confidence in her? ’Twould be a dreary, lonely spring at Carlyle without
shortsome
Jane to add color to her days.
All through their French lesson, Rose’s mind was in a whirl, wondering what novelty might tempt Jane to forgive her. A daring adventure that would prove Rose a worthy companion. An exploration of something unknown to Jane, yet of exceeding interest. And there must be some risk involved. “
Dangereux,
” Jane would say.
Oui
. Dangerous.
Then it came to her.
Lillias Brown
. Rose almost swept her papers onto the floor in her excitement.
Of course!
Jane knew half the residents of the shire, but she’d not mentioned crossing paths with a wise woman. Did they dare visit Nethermuir? ’Twas a frightening notion, which made it all the more ideal. Rose jotted a brief note to Jane, pausing until Etta Carlyle had her back to the class before reaching forward and placing the folded paper beside Jane’s hand.
Suppose I took you to meet a wutch? Prepare to leave at noon
.
Rose watched in despair as the note sat there unclaimed.
Please, Jane!
Several minutes passed before Jane picked it up, fingered it without opening it, then slid it inside her book. Rose was certain all was lost until she saw Jane take the note out again and unfold it. It took her friend only a moment to read the words and even less time to spin round in her seat, her eyes wide, her elegant brows arched.
“A
wutch?!
” Jane mouthed.
Rose nodded, keeping her face composed. Time enough for explanations later. Now she must think how the two of them might manage to slip away for a few hours. Rose had enough silver in her purse to hire two horses, and they’d not be gone long enough to require food. Finding Nethermuir would be simple; ’Twas along the way to Auchengray, was it not? Beside Craigend Loch, Lillias had said. Anyone in the neighborhood could point the way.
By the time the lesson concluded and the lasses were sent to their rooms to pack, Rose had her scheme well devised. A convincing story for the schoolmistress was all that remained, and Jane was adept at
coming up with those. “Tell me,” Rose whispered, “for I cannot bear the suspense.” She touched Jane’s elbow as she followed her into the sleeping room. “What say you to our adventure?”
Jane spun about and gave her a quick embrace. “I say yes!”
“I am forgiven then? For what happened at the Globe?” Rose held her breath one moment longer.
“Completely.” Jane squeezed her hand. “You’ve simply more to learn about life, and I am the very one to teach you.”
“So you are.” Rose blinked back tears, relieved to be in her friend’s good graces again. She briefly described her intentions, then assured her, “We’ll return by five. Think of something to tell Etta the Grim.”
Jane pursed her lips for a moment, then offered a cunning smile. “I have an elderly aunt in Lochrutton parish whose heart is failing. I’ll tell the schoolmistress that I must visit her without delay. And since she’s heard so much about you, my Aunt Catherine has requested to meet you as well.”
Rose’s spirits fell. “I do not think we will have time to see your aunt and Lillias Brown, too.”
Jane gaped at her, incredulous. “My aunt is in fine health, silly girl! And she will vouch for us, should some question arise.” She glanced over her shoulder at the other pupils, busy with their trunks. “Let us pack at once so they’ll not say we’ve shirked our duties here. Then we’ll be off.”
Rose watched their plans unfold like a lace handkerchief. Quietly. Gracefully. Unobtrusively. They slipped out the door with their schoolmistress’s blessing before one o’ the clock, pulling their hooded cloaks tighter about their faces to shield them from the cold and damp. Neither rain nor snow was falling at the moment, but thick, pewter-colored clouds hung low in the sky. Heads bowed, Rose and Jane hurried toward the stables at Whitesands, seeking a pair of horses to hire.
As they neared the bridge and the stables came in view, Jane slowed her steps. “You’re very sure you can pay for this, Rose? I fear my father does not trust me with much silver.”
“A prudent man.” Rose laughed, hoping it might dispel her nervousness. “Aye, my purse will be sufficient.” Saying it aloud, Rose swelled
with pride. Though Jane’s family was wealthier by far, ’Twas her own generosity at work this day.
Moments later they approached a stable lad loitering about the horses. Jane held her head high, daring anyone to refuse them. Rose, with her fingers clutched round her purse, worried she might not have enough silver after all. “T-two geldings, please. Saddled for ladies.”
Before he could answer, the boy coughed, bending in two. A miserable barking sound, as if he could not breathe. Lifting his head at last, he wiped his sleeve across his face. His eyes were red rimmed, and his shoulders sagged. It appeared he’d not slept in days.
“Poor lad.” Rose could not help noticing how young he was. No more than ten. “How long have you been sick?”
He shrugged listlessly. “A day or twa. My brother has it as weel.” Waving a weak arm toward the stables, he asked, “How lang will ye be needin’ the beasts?”
“Only until five.” When he mumbled the cost for half the day, Rose swallowed hard. ’twould take every coin in her purse, saved over many a season. Despite his wavering steps, the lad saw the ladies well seated with their skirts modestly arranged and sent them across Devorgilla’s Bridge at a brisk trot.
“Under no circumstances are we to tarry along the streets of Brigend,” Rose cautioned, aiming her eyes straight ahead, pretending not to see the beggars and vagrants, Gypsies and traveling folk crowded along their route. She held the reins tightly, urging the horse forward, ignoring the coarse suggestions tossed at her like refuse from a second-story window. At all costs they had to put Brigend behind them not long after nightfall or risk their very lives.
When the two of them passed the last mean hovel and were breathing fresher air again, Jane threw her head back and laughed aloud, nearly frightening her horse. “I do believe you’ve aged a year since we first met, Rose McBride!”
“If I have, then so much the better,” Rose said, urging her mount forward. “Did you not say I’ve more to learn about life?”
The incident at the Globe well forgiven and forgotten, the two set off with lighter hearts, despite the foreboding sky. The familiar road
undulated across the hilly countryside, a brown ribbon of mud and gravel amid the gray green grass of winter. Keeping a brisk pace, the two were soon a few miles southwest of Dumfries before Jane eased them to a stop, pointing out a familiar landmark. “Goldielea. You’ve been there, I’m sure. The colonel gives the loveliest parties.”
Rose gazed at the grand mansion situated on a pleasant rise. Much as it grieved her, she confessed the truth in a small voice. “I’ve ne’er been inside Goldielea.”
“And here we are, practically in your parish! You disappoint me, Rose.” Jane’s
tsk tsk
could only be heard as disdain. “Goldielea has much to commend it. A good-sized drawing room, well-fitted library, and eight bedrooms. Plus all the servants’ apartments, of course.”