Mine Is the Night A Novel - By Liz Curtis Higgs Page 0,131

arranged to have breakfast in his study, then started for the hall. “And do let me know the moment Mrs. Kerr arrives.”

Breakfast came and went. His mantel clock chimed eight times, then nine, then ten. Still no sign of Elisabeth. Jack tossed aside his household ledger with its rows of dull numbers and strode into the hall, thinking she’d arrived some time ago and Roberts had simply forgotten his request.

“Mrs. Pringle,” he called out, catching sight of her at the far end of the corridor. “Kindly send Mrs. Kerr to my study.”

The housekeeper hastened toward him, her expression troubled. “She’s not here, milord.”

“Not here?” He couldn’t hide his dismay. “Do you imagine the ill weather has delayed her?”

“I cannot say, milord, though Mrs. Kerr has walked to and from Bell Hill on many a rainy day.”

“You will let me know the minute—nae, the very second—she appears?”

Mrs. Pringle offered a nervous sort of nod, bobbing her head many times before she hurried off to her tasks.

Jack returned to his household accounts, only to abandon them a short time later, his powers of concentration having vanished. Just as Rob MacPherson had vanished. And now Elisabeth.

He stood at the window, willing her to come running up the walk, full of apologies, none of them necessary. Anything might have happened, he reminded himself. A crisis at Halliwell’s Close. An ailing family member. A neighbor who needed her.

He refused to consider the possibility that Elisabeth too had quit Bell Hill without a word. Yet with each passing moment, the facts pointed in that direction.

Please, Bess. You cannot have run away with this man.

The thought made Jack’s blood run cold. To lose her would be devastating enough. But he could not bear losing her to an ill-tempered, ill-mannered tradesman.

Then another possibility came to him, even more disturbing than the first. What if Elisabeth had not gone willingly? What if Rob MacPherson had simply taken her? Clansmen of old had abducted brides against their will. Who was to say this Highlander was above such a heinous crime?

Undone, Jack pressed his forehead to the window glazing. Come to me, Bess. Let me know you are safe and well and nowhere near Rob MacPherson.

When a man behind him cleared his throat, Jack spun round and was surprised to find Roberts standing in the doorway with Gibson.

Jack crossed the room to greet him in record time. “Have you news for me?”

“Aye, milord. I beg yer pardon for not being free to come sooner. I bring ye a message from Halliwell’s Close. From Mrs. Kerr.”

Jack steeled himself, preparing for the worst. “Mrs. Elisabeth Kerr?”

“Aye, milord. She’s not weel this morn and begs yer forgiveness for missing a day o’ wark.”

Relief washed over him like the rain falling on his gardens. “She’s at home, then. She’s …” Safe. Bless you, Lord. “But not well, you say?” Jack didn’t like the sound of that. “Shall I summon a physician from Edinburgh?”

“Nae, nae. A day o’ rest will set her to richts.”

Jack studied his expression. “You are sure of this?”

“Verra sure, milord. Leuk for her early on the morrow.”

“And have you heard our news at Bell Hill, Gibson?” Jack glanced at Roberts, who shook his head. “We’ve lost our tailor. Rob MacPherson took his leave rather abruptly. Mrs. Kerr might wish to know that.”

“Aye.” A light shone in Gibson’s eyes. “She weel might.”

Jack was awake, bathed, and dressed by seven o’ the clock on Friday, anticipating Elisabeth’s arrival. He’d sent Gibson home with an assortment of jams and teas from Mrs. Tudhope’s stillroom, along with a brief note: Wishing you well. Not particularly clever, but at least it was sincere.

To keep his mind occupied, he worked on a stack of correspondence, signing each letter with a flourish. When he heard Elisabeth’s voice in the hall soon after eight o’ the clock, he left his quill on the blotter and quickly stood.

“Mrs. Kerr,” he said, not caring if he sounded elated to see her. He was elated. “Come and tell me how you are feeling.”

Elisabeth moved as gracefully as ever, though she kept her head bowed as she sat on the chair opposite his desk. “We must speak, milord. In private.”

He closed the door after sending Mrs. Pringle off with strict orders not to tell the others. “I will not have my household thinking ill of Mrs. Kerr.”

“Certainly not, milord.”

When Jack returned to his desk, Elisabeth was seated with her gloved hands in her lap, still wearing a light wool cape draped round her shoulders