Mine Is the Night A Novel - By Liz Curtis Higgs Page 0,59

she agreed, then quickly hid behind her teacup. Tread with care, dear Gibson. I’ll not have you dismissed because of me. “What would you suggest, Reverend Brown? Gibson is, after all, a friend of our family. I cannot think of making him unwelcome here. ’Twould not be the Christian thing to do.”

Reverend Brown nodded, his frown more pronounced. “It is indeed a puzzle, madam. One that requires further consideration. In the meantime, if you will be cautious in your dealings with Gibson and not …, well, encourage such., eh, flattery.”

“I would never do so,” Marjory said smoothly. She did not need to. Neil Gibson was ever generous with his praise. “He served the Kerrs through many seasons, Reverend. I pray he will do the same for you.”

“Aye, aye.” He stood, looking relieved at having discharged his solemn duty. “I do hope my written character was of use to your daughter-in-law this day.”

Marjory glanced at the door, her fears rushing up the steps to greet her anew. “I thank you again for your willingness to help us,” she said, then after a few formalities, bade the minister farewell.

Keeping an eye on the darkening sky, she set the table for three and willed her loved ones home. Though Anne was too old to be her natural daughter, Marjory could not help feeling a certain motherly affection toward her. And Elisabeth was her daughter now. Had the lass not said so herself? Hurry home, dear girls. Whatever their ages, they would always be young to her.

A half hour crawled by while Marjory walked about the room, picking things up and putting them down with no purpose other than occupying her hands and corralling her anxious thoughts. When at last she heard voices at the foot of the stair, she flung open the upper door. “Annie? Bess?”

“Aye,” they called in unison, starting up the stair.

Marjory stood back, fighting the urge to hug them both. Her own mother, Lady Joanna Nesbitt, had never embraced her children, not even in private. Marjory could at least clasp their hands and draw them toward the hearth. “Come, warm yourselves while I serve our supper.”

They washed their hands first, then stood dutifully by the coal fire. “I’m famished,” Elisabeth admitted. “Do forgive me if I eat before describing my day at Bell Hill.”

“By all means,” Anne said, pouring fresh tea. “We’ll save our stories for later.”

When all three took their places, Marjory smiled. “Grace before meat, as they say. Though you’ll not find meat on your table this night.” What she served them was egg pie, one of Helen Edgar’s favorite dishes. Cinnamon and nutmeg made it flavorful, cream and butter made it rich, and currants gave them something to chew on.

Marjory was pleased when her family cleaned their plates and even happier when they accepted a second serving. Odd, how satisfying it was to see loved ones enjoy her simple dishes. Lady Nesbitt would not have approved of that sentiment either. As for what her late mother might say about Neil Gibson … well, some subjects were best left untouched.

“We’ve waited long enough, Bess,” Anne said, folding her hands in her lap.

Marjory put aside her napkin, also eager to hear a full report.

“I do not have a position yet,” Elisabeth began, “but I do have work.” She went on to describe her long day at Bell Hill, from meeting shy Molly Easton of Shaw’s Close to accepting her new assignment from the formidable Mrs. Pringle. “She worked for the admiral in London and arrived in Selkirk only a fortnight ago.”

Marjory was relieved to hear it. “Then she knows nothing of your Jacobite ties.”

But the look on her daughter-in-law’s face and the hesitancy of her response did not bode well. “I told her myself,” Elisabeth finally confessed.

“Oh, Bess.” Marjory sank back in her chair, undone. “Must you always be so honest?”

Anne arched her brows. “Cousin, I believe you were the one who announced your family’s support of the Stuarts in front of the entire parish.”

With both of them looking at her—and rather smugly, she thought—Marjory could do nothing but nod in agreement.

“Mrs. Pringle was sure to hear the story from someone,” Elisabeth said gently. “I thought it best she hear it from me. And since she insisted I never mention it to his lordship, you can be sure she’ll keep the news to herself.”

Marjory sighed. “Let us hope Tibbie Cranshaw follows suit.”

“It’s possible she’ll not even be hired,” Elisabeth told her. “I imagine we’ll know in a day or