Mine Is the Night A Novel - By Liz Curtis Higgs Page 0,38
attend to this, Cousin.” Anne placed several linen cloths across the dining table, then claimed the flatiron from the trivet by the coal fire. “He must have cleaned his garments before he left,” she said, flicking a few drops of water on the broadcloth, then pressing firmly. “Not a spot on them.”
“That’s Gibson for you,” Marjory said fondly. “Always presentable.” She shook out his waistcoat, both embarrassed and intrigued to be handling his personal attire, which bore his unique scent; like pepper, she decided, warm and pungent. She’d purchased this livery more than a twelvemonth ago, the usual arrangement with a maid or manservant. Wages were paid at Martinmas and Whitsun, and a new gown or suit of clothing was provided each year.
Anne held up the ironed coat with a satisfied look, then draped it round the wooden chair while the fabric cooled and took the waistcoat from Marjory’s hands. “What have we here?” She pinched a round lump between the wool broadcloth and the muslin lining, then smiled. “Shillings, I’ll warrant. Sewn in place for safekeeping. Clever man, spreading them out so they wouldn’t jingle.” Anne ironed round the coins, then pressed his shirt and breeches as well while Marjory did her small part, sprinkling water ahead of the hot iron.
Anne was hanging his finished shirt over a chair when Gibson bounded through the doorway, his face brighter than any candle. “Leddies, ye have afore ye Reverend Brown’s new manservant.”
“Oh!” Marjory clapped her hands together. “You’ll be close to us, then.”
“Aye,” he agreed, smiling at her, “verra close.”
Anne seemed less elated. “The reverend is not known for his generosity,” she grumbled. “You might have worked for Lord Jack Buchanan. Once he is in residence, the admiral could surely use a man of your skills, and the wages he’ll offer might be more to your liking.”
Gibson shook his head. “Reverend Brown suits me verra weel.” He started to say something else, then stopped, and glanced toward the hearth. “ ’Tis some fine trout ye have in yer pan, Leddy Kerr.”
Within the half hour the four of them were gathered round the table, dining on herb-seasoned fish and freshly baked bread. Marjory was secretly amazed at the easy camaraderie among them, despite their marked differences. A Highland weaver’s daughter, a stayed lass with no prospects, a veteran manservant, and a widow of gentle birth. In no other household would such people sit at the same table and share the same food as if they were truly equal.
But were they not? She’d read the Scripture the whole of her life: There is neither bond nor free, there is neither male nor female: for ye are all one in Christ Jesus. Only now, seeing that truth lived out, did she understand. If such equality made her slightly uncomfortable, so be it. At the moment she was glad to have food on her plate and friends by her side.
“When will your service for Reverend Brown begin?” Elisabeth asked him.
“This verra day. Aye, this verra hour.” Gibson stood and reached for his clothes on the chair. “I see that a kind soul has pressed my livery.”
“Annie did,” Marjory was quick to say, “for I’ve no talent with an iron.”
“Ye’re a woman o’ monie talents, Leddy Kerr.” He gazed down at her. “Ye made me walcome and fed me guid meals. Ye brushed my clothes and wrote a fine character. What leddy would have done ha’ so much for her ain lord, let alone a manservant?”
Taken aback by his praise, Marjory murmured, “ ’Twas nothing, Gibson.”
His expression said otherwise. “Leddies, if ye’ll not mind, ’tis time I dressed for wark.” Seeking privacy, he took his livery round the partition, while the women remained at table, speaking of the weather and the Sabbath to come.
Elisabeth sewed as they chatted, soon finishing another shirt. She held it up, examining it with a practiced eye. “ ’Twill do,” she finally decided, carefully folding the cambric. “Since the rain has eased, I’ll take this straight to Mr. Dalgliesh.”
“How is Michael these days?” Anne asked. Her tone was nonchalant yet her eyes attentive.
Elisabeth did not look at her, merely answered, “The same as ever, I imagine.”
Marjory eyed them both, trying to sort out what was being said. And not said.
Her daughter-in-law was already donning her cape. “I’ll not be long,” Elisabeth promised and was gone.
Gibson appeared a moment later, looking dapper in his livery, borrowed clothes in hand. “I’ll return these to Mr. Tait on my way.”