Mine Is the Night A Novel - By Liz Curtis Higgs Page 0,62
in thankfulness
when God tells him he’s a good Cat.
CHRISTOPHER SMART
lisabeth’s bewhiskered friend was still there, circling the room, when she claimed her dinner tray. The plate of steaming beef broth, thick slice of bread, and generous serving of butter made her mouth water. She spoke a hasty grace over her meal, then ate at the small table while the cat settled at her feet, watching her spoon travel back and forth, its slanted eyes gleaming in the candlelight.
“I forgot to ask Sally your name,” Elisabeth said, placing her almost-empty plate on the floor and letting him lick it clean as she enjoyed her almond pudding. She retrieved the dish, then put her dinner tray atop the chest once more, washed her hands in the bowl of water beneath the window, and returned to her labors.
Still the cat did not leave, though the door was ajar and the hall filled with enticing sounds and smells. While she pinned the long side seams of Mrs. Pringle’s skirt, the cat stretched out before the hearth, legs extended, showing off his pristine white belly.
“You must see to your own amusement this afternoon,” Elisabeth told him, “for I’ve a fitting at three o’ the clock.” Mrs. Pringle would surely know the cat’s name, if he had one. Perhaps the admiral simply called him Puss.
Elisabeth was putting the final pins in the voluminous skirt when Mrs. Pringle appeared, pocket watch in hand. “I am here for my fitting,” she announced.
Whether it was the housekeeper’s brusque manner or stern voice that spooked him, the cat shot past her skirts and through the door like a trail of gray smoke. “That cat!” Mrs. Pringle grumbled under her breath, then closed the door with a decisive bang.
“Nothing is stitched,” Elisabeth reminded her, “and the pins are sharp, so do take care while I slip this on you.” She made quick work of the fitting. “We can take in the waist a full inch,” she declared, which brought a smile to the housekeeper’s face just as Elisabeth had hoped, having intentionally made the waistline an inch too big. A wise dressmaker did what she could to please her customers. “I do wish we had a long looking glass,” Elisabeth said, “so you might see how well this fabric suits your coloring.”
Mrs. Pringle touched her hair. “ ’Twas even brighter when I was a girl.”
Elisabeth smiled. At last something personal. “ ’Tis a lovely shade, like a freshly cut orange.” The housekeeper looked the other way but not before Elisabeth saw a hint of a smile.
“If we’re finished,” Mrs. Pringle said, “I have several younger girls who require a bit of coddling.” She quickly dressed herself, then met Elisabeth’s gaze. “You are made of stronger stuff, Mrs. Kerr. I cannot imagine having to dry your eyes.”
Elisabeth pushed a stray pin into the cushion. “Had you been with me in January when I lost my husband, all the handkerchiefs in your linen closet would not have dried my tears.”
“Aye, well.” Mrs. Pringle began tying her apron strings. “True for us all. Mr. Pringle died of the plague soon after we married.”
Elisabeth gasped before she could stop herself. “The plague?”
“He and another merchant went to the Isle of Man to purchase trade goods. When ships from Marseilles sailed into port, the rats on board brought the plague with them.” Her delivery was matter-of-fact, but the lingering sadness in her eyes was not. She fished in her apron pocket, drew out two shillings, then pressed them into Elisabeth’s hand. “For yesterday’s mending. Mrs. Craig, the head laundress, said you did exceedingly fine work.”
Elisabeth gripped the coins, overcome. “I did not expect this …”
Mrs. Pringle had already opened the door before she turned to ask, “You’ll not mind being down here alone all week?”
Elisabeth caught a glimpse of a gray tail flicking past the housekeeper’s skirts. “I suspect I’ll have company.” Unbidden, the cat trotted into the room and sat before the hearth, looking very pleased with himself. “Does this animal have a name?”
Mrs. Pringle made a slight face. “The admiral calls him Charbon. A French word, apparently.”
Of course. Elisabeth smiled at the cat and then at the housekeeper. “It means ‘coal.’ He is indeed charcoal gray, just like the fabric Lord Buchanan selected. Do you think he meant for his household staff to match his cat?”
“I hardly think so.” Mrs. Pringle was not amused. “I may not see you again until Saturday. I trust you have everything required to complete my gown?”