Mine Is the Night (13 page)

“Aye!” Hope rose inside her. Might it be Gibson?

“I canna say for sure ’twas him,” the man cautioned, scratching at his beard. “He was dressed in plain clothing, yet walked like gentry. D’ye ken?” The coachman threw back his shoulders, showing her what he meant. “He’s not far
ahint
. Climbing the
brig
road. A man o’ sixty years, I’d say.”

Gibson
.

By the time she reached Shaw’s Close, Marjory was running.

She had not run in many years, but she was running now. Past the houses and the tradesmen and the shops, hearing her sons sing out in rhyme:
Cooper, souter, tanner, sawyer, dyer, spinner, potter, saddler
. Soon she could see the arch of the East Port, where several men on horseback were entering the town. Behind them came a lone traveler walking at a brisk pace. A man in brown clothing with the carriage of a gentleman.

She could not see his face, but she did not need to.

“Gibson!”

At the sound of her voice, he took off on a run. By the time he reached her, tears were streaming down both their faces.

“Leddy Kerr, Leddy Kerr!” When he held out his arms, she threw herself into his embrace.

“You are safe,” she cried. “You are home.” He smelled of heather and sweat and earth and stream. His beard was ten days grown and his hair matted to his brow. Marjory did not mind, not for a moment.

When he finally released her, his face was ruddy. “I beg yer pardon, mem. I didna mean … I shouldna …”

“I was the brazen one,” she reminded him, making use of her handkerchief. “And I’ll not apologize for a moment.”

Gibson smiled. “Aye, mem.”

She tried not to stare, yet here he was, her beloved servant, standing before her, healthy and whole.

“We’d best go,” he said, “afore the toun folk start to
blether.
”

Marjory drew him to her side and began walking toward the marketplace. “Let them gossip all they wish. The man I thought was dead is alive and well.”

“Bethankit!”
he said, then patted her hand, as he oft did when she took his arm. “I’m only sorry I made ye wait so lang.” His step was light, yet she heard the weariness in his voice. “Whan we reach the
hoose,
” he promised, “I’ll tell ye what happened to yer
auld
servant.”

Marjory gently admonished him, “Neil Gibson, you cannot leave me on tenterhooks. Will you not tell me where you’ve been all this time?”

“In Edinburgh, mem.” His blue gray eyes met hers. “Locked inside the tolbooth, chained to the
wa’.
”

earing his voice on the stair, Elisabeth could not cross the room quickly enough. “Hurry, Cousin!” she cried, flinging open the door. “ ’Tis Gibson!”

Anne was beside her in a trice as Elisabeth clasped Gibson’s hands and pulled him across the threshold. “At last, at last.” She kissed his cheek, her heart filled to overflowing. “We feared we’d never see you again.”

“Aye, weel …” Gibson was clearly embarrassed. “I hope ye’ll not mind the leuk o’ me.”

“Mind?” Elisabeth laughed, a mixture of joy and relief. “After traveling forty miles on foot, you look surprisingly well.” His clothes were rumpled and torn, but such things were easily remedied. “What say you to a comfortable chair and a cup of tea?”

Only then did Elisabeth glance at her mother-in-law, close by his side. Marjory’s color was high, and she was smiling, but her eyes bore a strange light. Something had frightened the woman. Nae, terrified her. Had Gibson come bearing grim tidings?

“What is wrong?” Elisabeth murmured as Marjory eased past her.

Her mother-in-law’s response was cryptic. “You’ll know shortly.”

“Come and sit,” Anne was saying as she lifted Gibson’s leather bag from his shoulders. “You must be exhausted. Can it be ten years since I last saw you? ’Twas at kirk on a Sabbath morn, I’ll wager.”

Gibson eased into one of the upholstered chairs, and Marjory claimed the other while Elisabeth poured his tea from the kettle on the hearth. She placed
the wooden cup in his hands, then perched on the creepie, her mourning gown pooling round her feet. “Please, Gibson,” Elisabeth urged him, “tell us what kept you from Annie’s door for so long.”

A cloud moved across his face. “ ’Tis not a bonny tale, but I suppose ye must hear it, as Leddy Kerr already has.” Gibson shifted in his seat, taking care not to spill his tea, while Anne drew her wooden chair nearer. “Ye’ll remember I left Milne Square on a Tuesday,” he began. “Whan I reached the Nether-bow Port, the guard wouldna let me through ’til he’d searched my bag. O’ course, he found Leddy Kerr’s two letters.”

A chill ran down Elisabeth’s spine. “Did the porter not see how harmless those letters were? One for our cousin, requesting lodging. And a written character so you might find a position.”

“He didna open them,” Gibson said evenly. “Instead, a dragoon marched me to the tolbooth on the High Street—”

“Nae!” Elisabeth gasped.

Gibson shrugged in defeat. “They kept me for nigh to a week. Clapped in an iron collar without meat or ale or a fire to keep me warm at nicht.”

Elisabeth felt sick. Poor Gibson, locked in that wretched place! Dark, dirty, and dank, filled with murderers and thieves. When she and Marjory had departed Edinburgh, they’d imagined Gibson well ahead of them, but in fact they’d left him behind.

“I am … so sorry,” she said, ashamed of how inadequate her words sounded. “We were the ones who supported Prince Charlie, not you.”

“But I was the one leaving toun on foot and me not garbed as a servant. The soldiers were certain I was a traitor, carrying messages for the Jacobites.”

Marjory laid her hand on his. “This was all my fault. If you’d traveled with us—”

“Nae, mem.” Gibson shook his head rather vehemently. “Ye’re not to blame.”

Anne’s frustration was thinly veiled. “If they’d simply read those letters, you might’ve been on your way at once.”

“Aye, but it took days for the letters to make their way up to Edinburgh Castle, whaur the governor himself read them.”

Elisabeth frowned. “General Lord Mark Kerr?” A merciless gentleman, despite being a distant relation on her father-in-law’s side. It was Lord Mark who’d penned the terrible missive on behalf of King George, pronouncing their family attainted and their estate forfeited. “But if Lord Mark read the two letters.”

Her voice faded as the truth sank in.
He knows where we are
.

Now Elisabeth understood the fear she’d seen in her mother-in-law’s eyes, recalling the day a British soldier pounded on their door with the butt of his pistol. What if dragoons appeared at Anne’s house by week’s end? What if they forced the Kerr women to return to Edinburgh—or, worse, travel to London—to face charges of treason? With the Jacobite Rising all but over, who could say what the government might do?

Calm yourself, Bess
. No one had come looking for them, not yet. She’d ruin Gibson’s homecoming if she aired such trepidations. “What happened next?”

He exhaled. “Whan they finally set me free, I walked south as fast as ever I could, keeping to the hills and awa from the road, lest the dragoons change their minds and come after me.”

“My faithful Gibson,” Marjory said, patting his arm.

He turned to her, his expression full of apology. “I ken ye needed me here lang afore this, Leddy Kerr. Nae doubt I’ve disappointed ye.”

“You could never disappoint me, Gibson.” Marjory rose with surprising grace, then reached for her apron. “How does mutton broth sound to you?”

He smiled, showing off a fine set of teeth. “Like a dish sent from
heiven.
”

“I’ll make our Beltane bannock,” Anne declared, returning her chair to the dining table. “I’ve flour, milk, and oatmeal for the baking, with eggs and cream to wash over it.”

Seeing Gibson’s delight at the prospect helped Elisabeth push aside the last of her fears. “You’ve left me little to do but set the table.”

“And finish another shirt for Michael,” Anne said pointedly. Their supply of coins was getting low.

Gibson, meanwhile, was admiring his surroundings. “Ye’ve a fine wee hoose, Miss Kerr.”

“With room for another guest,” Anne said firmly. “We shall all sleep better with a man under our roof.”

Elisabeth shot her a grateful look. “You’ll find our Gibson a welcome addition to the household.”

“He is not to be treated like a manservant,” Marjory cautioned them. “Such days are behind us.”

Gibson made a sound of disapproval, low in his throat. “Ye canna serve me, mem.”

“Oh?” Marjory, busily cutting up turnips, stopped to gaze over her shoulder. “Submit yourselves one to another,” she reminded him. “Or would you argue with the Scriptures?”

“Nae, mem.” His voice softened. “Nor with ye.”

Elisabeth was touched by their warm exchange. Even without her title or fortune, Marjory was, by society’s measure, far above Gibson, who’d been in service the whole of his life and could not read or write. Any public discourse between them would be deeply frowned upon. But within these four walls, their easy banter was further proof of the changes wrought in Marjory’s heart by a loving hand.

An hour later, when the foursome joined round the table for their noontide meal, Marjory invited Gibson to speak the blessing. He balked at first, but Marjory would not take no for an answer. “You are seated at the head,” she reminded him.

When Gibson bowed to pray, Elisabeth saw the faint brown spots on his balding pate and the wreath of silver hair that circled it and thanked the Lord this good man had been spared.

“
Almichty
God,” he began, “
bliss
yer servants wha are gathered here. Bliss the broth and bread and the hands that made them. I thank ye for bringing me hame, and I thank ye for them that made me walcome. The grace o’ the Lord Jesus be with ye. Amen, amen.”

All four lifted their heads at the same time and smiled.
Home
.

s that a’?” Michael Dalgliesh regarded Elisabeth with mock disdain, his red eyebrows arched, his full mouth curled in a most convincing sneer. “I’ve not clapped eyes on ye syne Wednesday, and ye bring me one shirt?”

Elisabeth laughed, seeing through his broad pretense. “I’d hoped to finish more, but—”

“Yer manservant arrived from Edinburgh.”

“Oh, you’ve heard, then?”

It was the tailor’s turn to laugh. “ ’Tis a’ folk can blether about.”

Elisabeth was not surprised. After dining on their broth and bread yesterday afternoon, the Kerr women had gone for a walk, allowing Gibson the privacy needed for his first hot bath in many days. They’d stopped at the reverend’s to share the good news and inquired about another impending arrival, that of Admiral Lord Jack Buchanan. The reverend had nothing further to report. For Marjory’s sake, Elisabeth was relieved the admiral would not be living at Tweedsford, but she was still wary of having an officer of the Royal Navy two miles from their door.

Wondering what Michael might know of the matter, Elisabeth baited him. “I should think the gossips would find Lord Buchanan a much worthier subject of discussion than our Gibson.”

The tailor wagged his finger at her. “Ye’ll not tempt me to sin, Mrs. Kerr. Or have ye forgotten? ‘Thou shalt not go up and
doon
as a talebearer among thy people.’ ”

“Nae, I’ve not forgotten.” Elisabeth was sorry she’d broached the subject. Even if Michael Dalgliesh was teasing, he was not wrong.

She grew quiet, letting him finish a buttonhole without distraction. He had nimble fingers for a man, handling his needle and thread with effortless efficiency. According to Anne, Michael had learned his trade from his late father, just as Angus MacPherson had taught his son, Rob, though the two young tailors had little else in common. Michael was outgoing; Rob was taciturn. Michael had a playful nature; Rob was a brooding sort.