Mine Is the Night A Novel - By Liz Curtis Higgs Page 0,52

turned to Marjory, warming her with his smile. “Ye ken I will.” Moments later with biscuit and tea in hand, he said, “I canna stay lang, for I’m on an errand for the reverend. But I had a wee bit o’ news I thocht ye’d want to hear.” He paused, his smile broadening. “I just noo saw Lord Buchanan at the manse.”

“Did you?” Anne exclaimed. “Some claim he’s a spirit, the way he comes and goes without being seen.”

“He’s verra real. O’ course, I didna speak to the man myself. But I overheard meikle o’ what the admiral and the reverend said to each ither.” He took a bite of biscuit and chewed it at a leisurely pace. “ ’Tis a puir servant’s lot to listen whan great folk speak.”

“Come, Gibson,” Marjory scolded him lightly. “You cannot keep us in suspense. What might you tell us about Lord Buchanan?”

“What ye already ken. He’s wealthy and weel traveled, with guid speech.”

Anne inched her chair closer. “But what does the admiral look like?”

Gibson all but shrugged. “He leuks like a man.”

Elisabeth almost smiled. “Nae more biscuits for you, Gibson, unless you tell all.”

“Weel, he was dressed in a verra braw manner. Fit to ride his horse, ye ken, with bonny black boots in fine leather up ower his knees.”

Anne said, “I heard he was quite tall.”

“So he is,” Gibson agreed, “with dark skin from years at sea.”

However honorable or handsome he might be, Marjory still feared the man. “Would you say he is wholly dedicated to God and king?”

“Oo aye.” Gibson paused. “But I jalouse by his wirds he favors the first mair than the second. We’ll soon ken what sort o’ man the admiral is whan he hires folk from the toun.” His biscuit gone, his cup empty, the manservant stood and bowed. “I must awa. Guid day to ye, leddies, and I thank ye for yer kind walcome.”

No sooner had Gibson left than Elisabeth rose, a look of resignation on her face. “I’ve no choice in the matter. Come Monday I shall present myself at Bell Hill and see if Lord Buchanan might offer me a position as a dressmaker.”

“Bess!” Marjory was aghast. “Are you certain that’s wise?”

“If he’s going to expand his staff,” Elisabeth reasoned, “the maidservants will need new gowns, aye?”

Her logic was sound, but the situation was perilous. Even if Tibbie Cranshaw held her tongue, Lord Buchanan might still learn of Donald’s treason and refuse to engage Elisabeth. Or, worse, deliver her to the king to further earn His Majesty’s favor. Marjory glanced at Anne, begging for her support. She cannot do this. Say something. Do something.

Anne was a quick study. “But his housekeeper will surely require a sample of your work, and you’ve naught to show her.”

Marjory nodded, relieved. Well done, Annie. Elisabeth had sold all her creations to Miss Callander. She had nothing in hand to demonstrate her talents.

But Elisabeth was already opening the trunk in which Marjory had stored her stockings and stays. Her daughter-in-law lifted out the cambric nightgown she’d made, beautifully embroidered with deep pink roses round the neckline.

“Helen Edgar cleaned and pressed it before we left Edinburgh,” Marjory told her, realizing she could do little to stop Elisabeth once she’d made up her mind. “If you want to carry it to Bell Hill to show to the housekeeper, I’ll not object.”

Elisabeth crossed the room at once and pressed a kiss to her brow. “Thank you. And I’ll wear Annie’s silver comb, so the two people I cherish most will travel up Bell Hill with me. As to my dress”—she gestured toward the black gown dripping beside the hearth—“at least ’tis freshly washed.”

Twenty-Six

Fairest and best adorned is she

Whose clothing is humility.

JAMES MONTGOMERY

lisabeth rose from the breakfast table, grateful Marjory and Anne could not see her knees trembling beneath her gown. “I must go. ’Tis two miles to Bell Hill.”

“And only six o’ the clock in the morn,” Anne reminded her. “Do you think the others will arrive so early?”

Elisabeth shrugged, if only to shake off her nervousness. “You know what the old wives say. ‘The coo that’s first up gets the first o’ the dew.’ ”

“You are not a cow,” Anne said pointedly. “And I’d hate for you to appear too eager.”

“But I am eager,” Elisabeth confessed. “Our food stores are dwindling. And Mr. Halliwell expects his shillings today, does he not?” At Whitsuntide rents were paid, debts settled, and new servants hired. Lord willing, she would be counted among the latter.