Mine Is the Night A Novel - By Liz Curtis Higgs Page 0,113
door, Dickson having ridden ahead to announce his lordship’s arrival. All were red cheeked and damp with sweat beneath the hot August sun as Lord Buchanan dismounted, then passed the reins to a stable lad.
“May the good Lord be with you,” he called out, as was his custom.
“And with you!” was his household’s enthusiastic reply.
Elisabeth watched him greet each one by name and receive a swift bow or curtsy in response. For a moment she thought he’d glanced her way, but perhaps she’d only wished it so. In due time he reached his front door, where she stood beside Mrs. Pringle.
“Your chamber is ready for you, milord, and your hot bath as well,” the older woman assured him, then dispatched the household to their duties.
“No man could hope for a better housekeeper. Or a finer dressmaker,” he added, nodding at the maidservants as they passed by. More than half of them wore Elisabeth’s creations now. “I see you’ve been busy while I was away, Mrs. Kerr.”
Elisabeth felt the warmth of his gaze. “Aye, milord.”
The corners of his mouth twitched. “Perhaps I should leave my country estate more often, as some landowners do. Spend six months in London. Take the grand tour.”
“Your lordship has already sailed the world,” Elisabeth reminded him. “And I do believe the grand tour is meant for … well …”
“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—”