Mine Is the Night (26 page)

Once Elisabeth settled her gaze on Lord Jack Buchanan, the décor ceased to hold much interest. Though she’d glimpsed him earlier from a distance, now she could assess him properly. His brow was lined with a lifetime of experience, and his brown eyes shone with intelligence.

“Milord,” she said, then curtsied.

“Mrs. Kerr,” he said with a polite nod. “Roberts informs me you are a Highlander.” He quit there as if waiting for her to elaborate.

“I was born in Castleton of Braemar in Aberdeenshire,” she began, “the only daughter of Fiona and James Ferguson, a weaver.”

“And what of your Highland family now?”

“My father is dead, and so is my brother, Simon. My mother has … remarried.” Elisabeth hoped he would not require further details. Even speaking of Ben Cromar made her ill.

Instead, his lordship changed the subject. “Roberts said you came to Selkirk from Edinburgh.”

“From the age of eight-and-ten I was educated in the capital and worked as a seamstress for a tailor in the Lawnmarket.”

Lord Buchanan leaned back in his chair. “Might he provide a character for you?”

“Angus MacPherson is dead, milord. And so, I fear, is his son.” She looked down for a moment, composing herself.

“You buried your husband as well,” the admiral said.

“Alas, I never saw his grave. He was killed in battle. At Falkirk in January.”

Lord Buchanan straightened, his expression more alert. “Your husband was a soldier? And a Highlander as well?”

Elisabeth hesitated but only for a moment.
Speak honestly
. “He was a soldier, aye. But a Lowlander. ’Tis why my mother-in-law returned home to Selkirk.”

He gazed at her more intently. “And you came with her even though the Borderland is not your home?”

“She is the only family I have now.” Elisabeth spread her hands, searching for the right words. “As it happens, we share more than our name. We both trust the same God.”

He slowly rose, never taking his eyes off her. “Madam, everything else you have told me cannot hold a candle to that.”

Elisabeth looked up to meet his gaze. “Should you wish to read them, I have written characters from Michael Dalgliesh, a tailor in Selkirk, and from Reverend Brown.”

“Leave them with Mrs. Pringle if you like, though I’ve no need to see them.”

Elisabeth’s heart sank. Was he not interested in her services after all? “Milord, I truly need this position,” she pleaded.

His gaze did not waver. “And I need a dressmaker.”

Does he mean …
Elisabeth moistened her lips, suddenly gone dry.
Am I to be …

“Heaven knows,” he continued, “I brought enough cloth from London to dress half the county. At the moment I’d be satisfied to have all my maidservants arrayed as finely as my housekeeper.” When Mrs. Pringle bristled, he quickly amended his words. “Well, not
quite
so finely. Perhaps a simpler design might be best for the others. Shall we say … eighteen gowns in all, Mrs. Pringle?”

“That will do,” the housekeeper replied, looking smug.

Elisabeth eyed both of them, wanting to be very sure she understood. “Then … I am … engaged?”

“Most certainly,” Lord Buchanan said. “What say you to six months in my employ? From now ’til Saint Andrew’s Day?”

The thirtieth of November
. She nodded, uncertain if she could speak.
God bless this man
. Her future, as well as Marjory’s, was secure—at least for the balance of the year. “However can I thank you?”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he protested, “for you’ll be working very hard.” He began to pace before the massive mantelpiece, hands clasped behind his back. “Tell me, is it a long distance for you to travel each day?”

“Not so far. Two miles on foot.”

He spun round. “You
walk
to Bell Hill?” When she assured him she did, he suggested, “Perhaps you might prefer to take up residence here.”

Elisabeth balked. She could not entertain the idea, not even for a moment. “Forgive me, milord, but I’ve promised not only to provide for my mother-in-law but also to care for her. I cannot leave her side, nor would I choose to.”

“Admirable,” he said, though something did not appear to sit well with him.

Elisabeth exchanged glances with Mrs. Pringle. Might she know what was on his mind?

Finally he said, “If you insist on walking here from Selkirk, then I would ask you to be cautious, traveling only by the light of day and with other women whenever possible. Even here at Bell Hill, see that you remain in the company of my maidservants.”

Elisabeth agreed, if only to appease him. “Is there something in particular that concerns you?”

He rubbed his chin, where a shadow of a beard was starting to show. “Although Roberts and Hyslop have chosen their men with virtue in mind, you are a widow, a Highlander, and a beauty. Some men might view such attributes as license to., eh, overstep their bounds, since you have no male relatives to defend your honor.”

Her cheeks warmed at the bluntness of his language. “As you wish, milord.”

“I will speak to the men myself and make certain you are not ill treated or taken advantage of.” He seemed most adamant on that point.

Mrs. Pringle piped up. “You can be sure I will see to Mrs. Kerr’s safety.”

“Aye, and to her daily meat and drink as well,” he added. “As to payment for your labors, rather than holding your wages until Martinmas, Mrs. Pringle will pay you for each gown when it’s finished. Shall we say … one guinea each?”

Elisabeth swallowed.
A guinea? ’Tis twenty-one shillings!

Mrs. Pringle said faintly, “But that …”

He held up his hand. “Am I not permitted to spend my money as I see fit?”

“Aye, milord.” The housekeeper bowed her head, as meek as Elisabeth had ever seen her. “Forgive me.”

“You are merely being mindful of my household accounts, Mrs. Pringle, as well you should be. I shall add sufficient guineas to your ledger such that we needn’t give up sugar, aye?”

She lifted her coppery head and smiled. “Very good, milord.”

Elisabeth simply looked at the man, awed by a generosity she’d seldom known. “Shall I begin on Monday, then?”

“You shall,” he agreed, “though, in truth, you’ve labored all week.” The admiral produced a hefty calfskin purse from which he drew a gold coin. “For Mrs. Pringle’s gown. The first of many.”

When he placed the cool guinea in her palm, Elisabeth stared at the coin. “Are you always so generous with strangers?”

“You are no stranger to God,” he reminded her. “This is his blessing, not mine.”

Elisabeth looked down, overwhelmed.
You have not forgotten us, Lord
.

Then she felt something brush against her foot. “Charbon,” she said softly. “How glad you must be to have your master home.”

The admiral scowled at his pet. “There you are, you ungrateful creature. Transferring your affections at the first opportunity.” He bent down and scooped up Charbon, then tucked the animal under his arm. “You must be very special indeed, Mrs. Kerr, for my cat does not often pay attention to women.”

She scratched Charbon along the crooked white streak between his ears, setting off a roaring sort of purr. “He kept me company all week, awaiting your return.”

“Well done, puss.” He shifted his stance. “Shall I see you at kirk in the morn?”

She curtsied, then met his gaze. “Indeed you shall, milord.”

arjory still could not believe it. A gentleman who’d sailed round the world was seated in her pew, in her kirk. Well, not truly
her
kirk.
The earth is the Lord’s, and the fulness thereof
. She knew everything belonged to the Almighty. Still, Lord Jack Buchanan was definitely situated in the Kerr aisle that Sabbath morning.

Furthermore, he’d engaged her daughter-in-law as a dressmaker, a position not without merit, even for a lady. As if that were not enough, his lordship had sent Elisabeth home with a gold guinea.
A guinea!
The three Kerr women had taken turns holding the coin through most of supper.

Our dear Bess, the dressmaker. And our new friend, the admiral
.

Marjory was trying hard not to be prideful and failing miserably.

True, she was not much pleased when Elisabeth returned home early last evening with the news of Lord Buchanan’s offer. He was a bachelor, after all, and had suggested she reside at Bell Hill. A gentlewoman in mourning, sleep beneath his roof?
The very idea
. When her daughter-in-law explained the reason—for her safety—Marjory was willing to give his lordship another chance to earn her good opinion.

He’d done so the moment he’d arrived at kirk that morning, impeccably dressed in a royal blue silk coat and periwig, and had inquired if he might sit at the end of their pew. “Mrs. Kerr,” he’d said with a courtly bow, “it would be my great honor to share your aisle this morn if you would allow it.”

When a very tall, very polite, very rich man asked for two feet of wood
on which to sit, only a foolish woman objected. “Naturally, milord,” she’d told him, moving down so he might be seated next to her rather than beside Elisabeth. It seemed prudent.

Marjory looked round the church, beginning to feel at home once more. Providing a written character for Tibbie Cranshaw had turned out to be a wise decision. Tibbie was now engaged as a kitchen maid at Bell Hill and so had honest work and a worthy incentive to keep hidden her unfortunate history.
And mine. And Elisabeth’s
.

The admiral would hardly be seated next to her if he knew the truth. Perhaps by the time he learned the whole of it—and Marjory had no doubt he eventually would, for Lord Buchanan was a clever man—they would already be friends and such things might be forgiven.

He’d sung the psalms with conviction, she decided, and listened to Reverend Brown’s dry discourse on the Midianites with particular attentiveness. Earlier that morning Marjory had enjoyed pleasant exchanges with Sarah Chisholm and Martha Ballantyne in the kirkyard. It was in every respect a commendable Sabbath. As to the weather, the day was clear and bright and mild. Wasn’t that like June, to make so sunny an entrance?

With the reverend’s stirring benediction still ringing through the sanctuary, Marjory turned to Lord Buchanan, a thousand questions bubbling up inside her. “Will you be constructing a loft here in the kirk?” she asked him. “I’d imagined it hanging just above us.”

“I prefer to sit with the congregation,” he said. “In the Kerr pew, if I’ll not be imposing on you and your household.”

“Not at all!” she cried, then wished she’d curbed her enthusiasm a little. People were staring, and not all their expressions were friendly ones. Tibbie Cranshaw had an especially sour look on her face, which Marjory found irksome after all she’d done for the woman.

Composing herself, Marjory said to the admiral, “I am told, milord, that your father was Scottish rather than English.”

“Indeed, madam, from the Borderland. Though he too sailed with the
Royal Navy and sold his land to the Duke of Roxburgh long before I was born.”

Marjory smiled, realization dawning. “You bought it back, didn’t you? Bell Hill was once your family’s estate.”

“So it was.” Though the admiral did not smile in return, his brown eyes gleamed ever so slightly.

When he turned to speak with Elisabeth, Marjory gave them a moment’s privacy by blocking the Kerr aisle so no one else could interfere. She’d already learned two important bits of information about Lord Buchanan and found them both heartening. He was willing to sit among commoners. And his ancestors hailed from Selkirkshire. However, he still answered to King George, a vital fact not to be forgotten.

“Leddy Kerr?”

She turned round to find Gibson moving in her direction even as the reverend’s stern words rose up to scold her.
Be cautious in your dealings with Gibson
. She would do nothing of the sort. Neil Gibson was her oldest friend in Selkirk. Nae, in all the world. Since she could not write letters to a man who could not read, Marjory made the most of their encounters.

“Good day to you, sir,” she said, offering her gloved hand.

She meant for him to clasp it briefly in greeting. Instead, Gibson enveloped her hand in his, the centers of his blue gray eyes darkening. “Guid day to ye, milady.”

Marjory glanced over her shoulder, hoping Reverend Brown had already moved to the door. “Have a care,” she whispered.

Gibson tugged her closer. “I care mair than ye ken.”

Flustered, Marjory withdrew her hand. “My, but we’re being rather serious this morn.”

He stepped back, his expression cooling. “The reverend is bidding me come.”

“You must do so,” she urged him, not wishing to anger the man on whom Gibson depended for his living. So many masters to be served! Reverend
Brown and now Lord Buchanan. Marjory had grown accustomed to owning few possessions and to living under someone else’s roof, but she still missed being in charge of her own household. Best not to dwell on a life she would never see again, she reminded herself, then turned to see how Elisabeth was faring with his lordship.